by Ashlyn Chase
“Has my mother visited before?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Ethan gripped the countertop, closed his eyes and counted to ten.
At last he was able to calmly ask, “Why?”
“Because she made me promise not to.”
He smiled.
“Damn it! You tricked me.”
“Now that the cat is out of the bag, can you tell me why she hasn’t spoken to me? I can’t help feeling a little hurt.” He knew if he played on her sympathy, she might try to reassure him with a little more information.
“Oh. Don’t feel that way. She doesn’t get to visit very often, and all she wants to do is check in and see how you are. She doesn’t want to influence you. She says you’re doing a better job of living your life than she did hers.”
“She told you this, but she didn’t tell me?”
“She might not be able to. I don’t know. She’s coming from the other side of the veil. I’m stuck here, on this plane. If it’s any consolation, she says she’s at peace.”
That made sense. And knowing she had finally found peace of mind made him feel ten times better. No—a thousand times better.
“She’s proud of the man you’ve become, Ethan. Very proud.”
It was all he could do to choke back the tears threatening to form. He didn’t even try to talk anymore. He just finished making his coffee and leaned against the counter while he waited for it to brew.
“She likes what you’ve done with the place.”
He snorted. “I take it you never mentioned the remodel was my stepmother’s idea.”
“I have some common sense and discretion, you know.”
He nodded. “Yes you do. And I appreciate that.”
Brigit appeared in the doorway, wiping away a tear. He strode over to her and grasped her shoulders. “Are you all right? What did she say?”
“I—I...”
He waited patiently. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He pulled her to his chest and caressed her back. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it—together.”
“It isn’t anything bad. At first I thought it was, but she cleared that up.”
“So these are tears of relief?”
She nodded against his chest.
Whew. He had thought maybe his mother had given her some kind of dire prediction. Spirits from the other side of the veil might be able to see the future.
“So...what’s the problem?”
Brigit leaned away, gazed into his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “Ethan Cox. I love you, and I want you in my life.”
He tilted his head and scrutinized her. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”
“I—uh...” She twisted her hands.
“It’s okay, Bridge. I just don’t want any misunderstandings between us. Tell me exactly what you want.”
She gazed up at him. “I want us to live together.”
He grinned. “Best news I’ve had all year.”
She chuckled. “It’s only January second.”
“I imagine there will be more good news this year.” He leaned down to capture her lips in a tender kiss. She opened to him. Their tongues met and as they stroked each other, the inevitable fire sprang up between them.
When they finally pulled apart, panting, Ethan announced, “Any spirits present need to stay downstairs for the next hour or so.”
He picked up Brigit, causing her to squeal in surprise, and then carried her giggling form up the stairs to his bedroom.
Chapter 15
Hanna strolled around Michele’s occult shop, marveling at the way it differed from Myranda’s. “You’ve done a wonderful job here, Michele. But why all the Goth?”
Michele giggled and had the decency to look abashed. “I’m sorry, Hanna. This is such a different city than Portsmouth. Up North, people, including occasional tourists, understand that we take the craft seriously...That it’s an integrated part of our lives. Down here, it’s largely tourists looking for entertainment. We still practice in all seriousness, teach ethics in our classes, sell only safe ingredients and insure people are using them wisely, but for the most part, people want jewelry and fortune teller-type readings.”
“Of course. You know your audience best.”
“In this case, we really are talking about an audience. Business was kind of slow until we added a little atmosphere.”
“Well, at least you didn’t add spider webs.” Hanna ran her hand along a heavy chain that secured a display shelf to the wall.
Her pregnant business partner Savern added, “But on the bright side, we’d never have to dust again if we didn’t want to.”
Michele chuckled. “Don’t worry, Hanna. We treat our magical items with respect—as well as our serious customers.”
Hanna nodded. “I’m just glad you seem happy.” She enveloped Michele into a sincere hug. “We were all so worried about you when you disappeared last midsummer night.”
“I know. But you understand why, right?”
Hanna worried her lip. “I understand it had to do with a certain witch who went dark. Someone you used to date, I believe.”
“Yes. Thank you for not speaking his name. Let’s go into the back room.”
Michele led her down a short hallway to an adjacent room. Happily, the large rectangular space held none of the cheesy ‘atmosphere’ that tourists expected of witchcraft.
“This is kind of our everything room. In the front section, we do our readings. Behind the screens we hold our classes. We have storage back there too.” She opened a folding chair by the moon and star tablecloth covered card table. ‘Have a seat.”
Hanna nodded at the practical set-up and took the seat offered. She wanted to get right to the point, but didn’t wish to be rude after not seeing her star pupil for so long.
Thankfully, Michele saved her the trouble. “I know you said something was of utmost importance...”
Hanna breathed a sigh of relief. “It is. Do you remember when you were seven and both you and your mother visited my apartment at the time?”
“How could I forget?” Michele gave her a meaningful look, which must have referred to her contact with the grail.
Just to be on the safe side, Hanna needed to spell it out. “And you remember that ugly cup and what happened when you touched it?”
Michele nodded. “It lit up like a Christmas tree. Does your visit have something to do with the grail?”
“Yes. I guess your mother told you what it really was.”
“In a way. She said it was some kind of ancient, mysterious object and that you had been entrusted with it for safe-keeping.”
“That’s all true. But, there’s more to it.”
“I figured as much.”
“Michele, what I have to tell you has to stay between us.”
“It will.”
Hanna hesitated. Should she make Michele swear to it? The other witch’s solemn expression told her she didn’t need to.
“No one has ever affected the grail the way you did.”
“No one? Ever?”
“Not that we know of. You have some kind of otherworldly connection to it, and now it’s been lost. We’re hoping you can help us find it before it falls into the wrong hands.”
“We? Us? I assume you’re not using the royal ‘we’ and referring only to yourself.”
“No. There’s more confidential information coming. First, the grail bestows supernatural powers on any who drink from it. I’m one of those who have been granted the privilege.”
“Are there many of you?”
“Not at all. There’s only 21 of us in the world. We have our own supernatural coven of sorts. We’re asking you to locate the grail. With your psychic ability and special connection to it, you really are our best hope. Witches who practice war magic are just as interested in finding it.”
“Wow. I—I can try.”
“Please. I thought it might help if we hold hands and I visualize the cup as I
last saw it, and perhaps you can look through your third eye and, hopefully, you’ll find wherever it is now.”
“Yes. That might help.” Michele rose, lit several candles, and then turned off the overhead lights.
When she returned to her seat, they grasped hands and Hanna closed her eyes. She visualized the grail exactly as she last saw it. She and Fayleen had used it with Rebecca in a small initiation rite in her suite. Hanna had handed it to Fayleen, but she stopped the visual there. Fayleen had disappeared with it at that point, but Hanna would only be imagining where it went from there. She concentrated on every aspect of the object. The cloudy rounded jewels. The leaded cup itself. The odd sheen of gold poking out of the gray mass in random spots.
Several minutes later, she was about to give up when a series of new images flashed before her eyes. It had to be the grail’s journey. Michele was following it, and she was able to follow Michele. Hallelujah!
* * * *
Brigit was in the midst of packing her belongings when her phone rang. She glanced around frantically, searching for it. Who knew she had accumulated so much junk in her little guest house?
Ethan strode into the room, plucked her phone off the counter where it had been hiding behind a box. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“Yes. Toss it over,” she said and willed herself to catch it.
He sent it across a span of about ten feet with a gentle underhanded throw, which she was able to pluck out of the air. The only problem was that it had gone to voice mail.
“Shoot. Too late,” she said.
They smiled at each other. Little things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they once did. Maybe she had finally started seeing the big picture...or perhaps having someone like Ethan in her life, someone she could depend upon to be there through anything and everything, lowered her stress level.
Her mother knocked on her front door and Ethan let her in.
“Can I help with anything?” she asked.
“I think we’ve got it. But thanks...”
Her mother shook her head wistfully. “My little girl is moving out.”
From somewhere behind her mother, she recognized her step-father’s laugh. “You’re little girl is thirty.”
For once, she agreed with Jonathan. It was way past time she moved out on her own.
“While your step-dad is here, do you have any heavy furniture you want us to move?” Ethan asked.
She sighed. “Your place is already furnished, and if I took any of this stuff, they’d just have to replace it.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I just didn’t know if you were attached to anything. You’re not far away if you change your mind.”
“The only thing I’m leaving that I’m attached to is Goldie.” Her canine friend perked up her ears and trotted over, having heard her name. Brigit scratched the sweet dog behind her ears.
Her mother smiled. “We’ll take good care of her, and you can visit whenever you want.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll just start putting boxes in the back of my SUV.”
“Thanks.” She knew everyone had to make compromises when they moved in together. She supposed letting go of certain things measured a couple’s commitment. Was Ethan letting go of anything? Other than his total freedom, of course.
Her mom and step-dad followed Ethan’s lead and each grabbed a box that had already been taped and labeled.
She used the brief lull to dial her voice mail, curious to see who might be calling her, since the usual culprits were right here with her.
“Ms. Love?” the unfamiliar female voice said. “This is Connie from the Brass Lion. Your coats are selling quite well. We would like to ask you to make a few more, if possible. Give me a call at your convenience. Bye.”
The coats are selling? She almost jumped in the air and whooped. The woman had originally told her that this late in the season she didn’t think they’d move well. That she should have brought them to her in August or September.
She mentally calculated where she’d be next August and figured she’d probably be flat on her back delivering their first child. Ethan had teased her about keeping her barefoot and pregnant, but she’d be happy if they were blessed with one—possibly two, healthy children.
Maybe she could make a few coats ahead of time—and maternity clothes. Maybe she should take her mother’s sewing machine with her...
As excited thoughts swirled through her head, Ethan returned for another box. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Everything’s great.” She wove through the boxes to give him a hug. “That was the store downtown that called. They sold my coats and want more.”
“Yay, you!” He lifted her off her feet and set her down gently.
Her parents reappeared at that moment. “What’s going on?”
“I just got some good news about my coats. They want more. Can I borrow your sewing machine and take it to Ethan’s house, Mom?”
“Sure. I’m not using it anymore. You can probably keep it, and I’ll borrow it back if I need to.” She turned toward her own house. “Jonathan, would you help me with a couple of things?”
“Aready? I thought you were going to scope out the nursery space first.”
Nursery space?
“Oh. Not that. I want to give Brigit my old sewing machine.”
“Oh, sure. Where is it?”
“I’ll show you.” He mother faced Brigit, briefly. “I’ll be right back with it, honey.”
As soon as the two of them cleared out, she looked at Ethan. “I wonder what that other remark was about.”
“The nursery thing?”
“Yeah. You don’t think...”
He raised his eyebrows. “Think what? That they bought a crib?”
She waved away the thought. “Never mind. It sounds like it was supposed to be a surprise. I should get back to packing.”
He pointed to a large box at his feet. “Is this ready to go?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have a chance to label it, but I’ll remember what’s in there.”
Ethan found a marker and said, “Just tell me what room it goes into.”
“The bedroom.”
He raised his brows. “All that stuff in the bedroom? I figured you’d have a stuffed animal from childhood or something, but what’s all this?”
She chuckled. “My clothes. If you don’t have a dresser for me, I can buy or borrow one.”
He laughed. “Oh. That’s right. You need clothes. I was just planning to keep you bare-assed and pregnant.”
“I think the expression is barefoot and pregnant, and I intend to keep both my shoes and my clothing.”
He shrugged. “Oh, well. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
He hoisted the heavy box up onto his shoulder and carried it outside while she chuckled and shook her head at him.
Yeah. Life was going to be different from now on.
#
A limo pulled into the circular drive and some guy Ethan had never seen before—not that he could see his eyes because of the sunglasses the guy was wearing—exited the car’s back door. His shiny shoes crunched the gravel as he strode toward the guest house.
Huh? He hurried after the man, who was buttoning his suit jacket and shivering. He glanced over at Ethan and said, “Damn cold. How do you New Englander’s stand it?” His smile seemed fake, and he didn’t wait for a reply. He kept right on striding toward the guest house as if he belonged there.
“Can I help you?” Ethan offered.
“Nope.” The guy faced forward and continued as if Ethan was no more than a pest. At last he stopped and beamed at Brigit. “I’m here to see my star!”
“Toby?”
Ethan witnessed a big, friendly hug between the mother of his future child and some slick Hollywood type.
“What are you doing here?” Brigit exclaimed.
Yeah. That’s what I want to know.
“Honey. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d just hang up on me or
forget to return my call. So here I am. Can I take you to lunch?”
Brigit stared at him, openmouthed, then glanced over at Ethan, and then back to whoever-the-hell this Toby guy was.
“Um. Ethan, this is my old agent, Toby Myerson. Toby this is Ethan Cox, my...” She seemed at a loss.
“Her boyfriend, who she’s moving in with,” he said, and extended his hand.
The guy didn’t respond to Ethan’s offered handshake. He just gave him a quick nod and turned the full force of his 100 watt grin on Brigit.
“Cox, huh? Can’t marry this guy. You’d be the Love-Cox woman.” He barked out a laugh, then slid his arm around Brigit’s shoulder and began guiding her toward the limo. “Unless you’ve changed your mind on some of those skin flicks...”
Ethan wanted to flatten him. Please, Brigit, don’t tell me you’re going to go off with this asshole...
As if she’d read his mind, she suddenly planted both feet firmly. “Uh, Toby. It’s nice to see you, but I can’t really take off right now. I’m in the middle of moving.”
“All the more reason to talk now before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” Ethan spoke sharply without his brain’s permission.
Her agent faced Brigit and took both of her hands in his. “I apologize for the timing, but how can you possibly put moving above the role of a lifetime?”
“What? Toby, I haven’t even been acting in community theatre.”
“Oh, thank God. Then we don’t have to break you of any bad habits. Listen...the movie being made about the life of Elizabeth Taylor is a go. Great script. They want an unknown to play Liz. Pardon the pun, but I told them you were Taylor made for it.” He laughed at his own joke. “No one could be more perfect for it than you.”
At that moment, Brigit’s parents returned to the guest house with a sewing machine and a folding table.
“Who’s this, Brigit?” Jonathan asked.
Toby, just like a typical smarmy Hollywood sleaze-ball, took one look at Brigit’s mother and gasped. “Wow! I know you said your mother looked more like Elizabeth Taylor than you, but holy mackerel, she could be Liz herself! I met her, you know.”
Of course Brigit’s mother tittered behind her hand, obviously enjoying the flattery. Jonathan clamped a possessive arm around his wife’s shoulder. “You still haven’t told us who he is,” he said to Brigit, without taking his eyes off the flashy agent.