The Shoppe of Spells (The Gatekeeper Series)

by Grey, Shanon

  She walked in on a discussion between Dorian and John. Jenn stood to the side, her expression tense.

  “I think I need to go with them,” John’s warm voice rose.

  “John, think about this. That son of a bitch is crazy. It would be a lot easier for him to track them if you’re with them, than if they go by themselves. You know I’m right.” Dorian tried to keep his voice calm, steady.

  “You’re asking me to just let them fly off to God knows where…” he sighed the last words.

  Jenn stepped in, touched his arm. He jumped. She quickly removed her hand, but stayed standing next to him. “Listen.” She spoke softly but firmly. “I know you don’t know me, but this is my job; I’m damn good at my job.” Her voice got stronger with each word. “I haven’t lost a family yet. And I’ve helped one hell of a lot.” She turned to Morgan.

  “She’s right, John. Her safe houses are in five states and opening on the west coast. She knows what she’s doing. Trust her. She won’t let any harm come to them.”

  He turned to Jenn and looked at her. “I didn’t mean to offend you…they are my family…” he spoke quietly but she saw the fear in his eyes. “He’s one scary son of a bitch.”

  “I understand. I’ve talked with the people from Abbott House. They are backing up my security teams. We’ve got them covered. No one, and I mean no one, is going to find them once they come into my care.”

  “What about me?” John asked.

  Jenn laughed. “I think we can fix things for you to be in touch. However, it will have to be through me. That’s the only way.” She looked at Morgan. “Or through her or Dorian, which might be even better—the less direct access the better.”

  Dorian, having disappeared into his workroom, reappeared with IV in hand. “Sorry, I need to get this to Yancy,” he stated and left.

  Morgan fixed a cup of coffee and urged John to sit down while they got Meadow situated.

  When she saw Jenn’s fingers tremble, she went to her friend. “Hey, before everything gets hectic,” she laughed, “why don’t you let me show you my room? We can take this suitcase upstairs and make sure you brought enough of my favorite things. Come on,” she grabbed the huge suitcase and trudged it up the steps.

  John stood. “Want me to—”

  “No!” both women answered a bit too quickly. Their laughter followed them up the stairs.

  Jenn followed Morgan into the master bedroom and headed straight to the picture on the dresser. “Wow. I hadn’t seen any pictures. You really do look like her.” She set it back gently.

  “We can talk about me some other time. What’s going on?” Morgan flung the suitcase up on the bed, unzipped it and flipped back the top. “Oh, Jenn,” she sighed and pulled out her underwear, “you are definitely my best friend.”

  “Nothing like wearing your own,” Jenn sat up on the bed.

  “Speak,” Morgan commanded.

  “It’s John. I was terrified he was going to come with us.”

  “You’re afraid of him?”

  “No. I’m afraid of me,” Jenn looked down at her hands. “There’s something about him. I want to focus on Kayla and Meadow and I’m afraid if he were around, I wouldn’t.”

  Thinking of Dorian, Morgan nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Yeah,” Jenn drawled out the word. “Dorian’s some kind of gorgeous. And, it’s not like you’re involved with Rob anymore. Speaking of which, what was he doing here, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. He just showed up. Now, he’s left. Rather strange, if you ask me.” Morgan hadn’t had time to think about it at all. However, she planned to, as soon as things calmed down. There was something not quite right about him “just showing up.”

  “Your parents felt badly about letting him know where you were.” Jenn jumped off the bed, “God, I almost forgot.” She dug into her cargo pants pocket. “They sent this for you.” She handed Morgan an envelope. “Said it’s not urgent.”

  Morgan took the envelope, saw her mother’s neat scrawl across the front and held it to her breast before setting it on the bedside table. “Then I’ll read it later, when I have more time. You’ll let them know I’m okay, won’t you. I know they’re worried and I haven’t had time to talk with them. I should call them.”

  “I think that’s what that’s about. They told me they wanted you to feel free to take all the time you need. Not to worry about them.” Jenn saw the tears in Morgan’s eyes. She put her arms around her. “Honey, they know you love them. I know that you know they love you. We’ve been friends too long for me not to feel like you guys are family. I’ll look in on them. You just do what it is you have to do.” She pushed Morgan to arm’s length and stared into her green eyes. “Somehow I know it has to do with things I probably don’t understand. Things that make you and Meadow alike.” She handed Morgan a tissue.

  Jenn turned and walked over to the armoire. “This place is to die for, by the way,” then realized what she’d said. “Oh God, Morgan, I’m—”

  “Not a problem, girlfriend. I miss those feet sticking out of your mouth.” Morgan threw her arm around her shoulders. “We better get back. You’re going to have a busy day.”

  “Don’t forget me...” Jenn whispered as they headed down the steps.

  “Never,” Morgan promised.

  ****

  It was after eleven and Morgan was snuggled under mounds of comforter, freshly bathed, and wearing her own pajamas. Finally—she didn’t feel like she was staying on someone’s borrowed dime. They had supped at the B & B, not wanting to tackle making a meal, despite Morgan’s earlier offer.

  The promised storm broke during dinner sending them back to the shop in torrential rain pushed by howling winds.

  Jenn had called and said that Meadow was resting comfortably in the Children’s Hospital and surgery was scheduled for the morning. Kayla was set up in Meadow’s room, the hospital having private rooms for their patients with large window seats that converted to beds for a staying parent to sleep. Dr. Yancy was staying close by and had already conferred with several of the doctors.

  Morgan was glad Dr.Yancy was there. He was the one physician that knew about patients like herself and Meadow. Since Meadow couldn’t or wouldn’t speak, he was more than her doctor; he was her advocate.

  From what little Morgan had gleaned from Dorian, Mike Yancy had been around for quite some time. Long enough, in fact, to have been engaged to Teresa Abbott before she met Bill Ruthorford. Morgan bet that was one interesting story. It might also explain why he always asked after them but wouldn’t go see them when he was in town. She wondered just how long it had been since they’d spoken to one another.

  John was a nervous wreck. He was going to go down to the B & B but Dorian convinced him to stay in the cottage. Morgan had left them strategizing about Kayla’s ex-husband when she got so tired she could barely keep her eyes open and excused herself to go on to bed.

  She’d found it amusing that for about an hour after Jenn had left, John had done nothing but question her about Jenn and Safe Harbor. At first, she figured he was getting information to reassure himself about sending his family off with a virtual stranger. As the questions progressed, however, they became more personal. Finally, Morgan told John that some of those answers would have to come from the source herself. He’d reddened slightly and changed the subject.

  John hung around until word came that Meadow’s surgery had been successful and they expected a complete recovery. They’d found a benign tumor and removed it. They also expected her speech to return, believing the loss to be because of the tumor, not from the attack. John planned to take a trip to Virginia once she was settled in and healing. He wanted to know what had happened to her and Jenn assured him she had the right staff of psychologists to help gain that information, without overly traumatizing Meadow. Morgan caught certain expressions on John’s face that told her retribution would be swift.

  Mrs. T was safely ensconced back at Morgan’s apartment for the
time being, until Meadow was released from the hospital. Jenn said she’d lifted her head, crooked her tail and assumed her customary position atop the hutch as though she’d never left.

  Morgan’s conversation with her parents had been another matter. Their letter had been sweet and loving, trying to let her know they supported whatever she chose to do. She’d picked up the phone and spent the next half hour with the three of them talking, filling them in on everything she could think of. At one point, both of her parents were firing questions simultaneously, first at her, then at one another, until the conversation was completely between the two of them. Picturing them standing not five feet apart and talking to each other on the phone had her doubled over in laughter. She missed their easy banter and the camaraderie the three of them enjoyed.

  Explaining about herself proved to be a more difficult task, not because of her parents, but because of her. She had been different all of her life, but it had always been thought of as a birth defect. Now Morgan knew it wasn’t…she really was different—in ways her parents couldn’t comprehend. Or, maybe they could, Morgan pondered, suddenly remembering her mother’s study of parapsychology. As an expert on hypnosis, she’d attempted to use it on Morgan to squelch the nightmares, with little success. Maybe, Morgan thought, when things settled down, she would bring her parents down and discuss “things” in more depth, getting their take on the situation—after she made damn sure it was safe for them to be here.

  Through Dorian, the powers that be—The Abbott House or Foundation or whatever it was—tried to tell her the need for discretion. Did they think she was going to go around shouting it from the rooftops? She didn’t understand what she had, or even what she was, by a long shot. She intended to find out as much as possible. She’d never been one to hide from herself. She understood that open knowledge of the creatures and the portals could cause panic. She certainly didn’t want to cause panic. So, she had sworn her parents to secrecy, which, in her mind, was pointless, knowing they had kept the secret of her adoption for twenty-six years.

  ****

  The next several weeks flew by for Morgan. Very quickly, she and Dorian established a routine. By the time she got a shower, dressed and went downstairs, he was already up and had hot coffee waiting for her. She watched the shop the first part of the morning, which was generally quiet, except for the occasional pharmacy needs. This allowed Dorian more time in his laboratory. She’d finally been granted access to the room under the stairs. It looked like a well-stocked pharmacy, albeit surprisingly large. She would come out, stand in the kitchen and look back at the stairs, trying to figure out how that size room fit under the stairs. Catching her quizzically staring one day, he laughed, grabbed her hand, and led her outside and around to the side of the house. The side was flat. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out. Then Dorian stepped through the bushes, put his hand next to some decorative brick and, voila, a door handle appeared. Clever. It was a false side, built out flush to the building and providing a storage area on one side and access to the root cellar—which was far larger than she imagined a root cellar to be—on the other. He took her back inside and showed her several more hidden doors—one on that side of the building at the top of the stairs and one behind the counter in the shop.

  “It was built with possible raids in mind. This area was under a great deal of conflict between settlers and Indians in the beginning.”

  “I thought Ruthorford was immune to the problems.”

  “It was, for the most part. The raids were done by the white settlers, not the Indians. In fact, during one of the attacks, it was the Creek who protected the inhabitants from their own countrymen.”

  She was fascinated by the history of the area and hoped to get some books on the subject. Ruthorford had its own library, but it was Abbott House that held the true records about the area and its people. Morgan definitely wanted another trip into Atlanta. She remembered the will—full access into perpetuity. Plus, she didn’t know how long she could avoid the confrontation with Bask. He was pushing her to make a commitment to stay in Ruthorford. That was one commitment she wasn’t quite ready to make. Luckily, his urging had been filtered through Dorian, who was adroitly keeping the man at bay.

  In the afternoons, Dorian took over the shop, giving her full access to the gardens in the back. She was in heaven. They were well-designed, well-planted, and well-tended. By the third day, she knew every plant occupying the copious beds, where it was, and what it needed. She stooped and pulled weeds as she went—not that there were many. Meesha normally joined her, lying along the walkways, not wandering among the plants. At night, her muscles ached from overuse, but the hot, lavender scented showers eased the discomfort.

  True to her word, Morgan had gathered herbs and made Dorian several meals she knew he would like. The sounds of pleasure he made while eating told her she had done a good job. She refused, however, to take on total kitchen duties, no matter how much he begged.

  Late afternoon was the most active in the shop. Morgan figured just about every inhabitant in Ruthorford had passed through the shop at one time or another. They were sweet people and seemed saddened by the loss of Melissa and Thomas, but welcomed her with open arms.

  Miss Grace sent a pie by way of Miss Alice. It turned out to be every bit as good as she had heard. So good in fact, she and Dorian demolished half of the pie after dinner.

  The twittering group of women came by several times and fussed over her. She never did get all of their names—the constant chattering seemed to interfere.

  Teresa came by, always bearing a basket of one goody or another. Morgan, in turn, returned one of the baskets filled with her freshly made herb rolls. Teresa begged for the recipe, and, if she couldn’t get that, asked if Morgan would consent to producing such delicacies for the B & B. Teresa repeatedly asked after Meadow. Her interest had definitely piqued when they informed her that Dr. Yancy had traveled north to help.

  The only person who hadn’t put in an appearance was Jasmine. Morgan just couldn’t work up any sadness over that slight. She apparently had gone on vacation shortly after Rob left, leaving her boutique under the care of a couple of the younger crowd. Morgan didn’t think Jasmine would be too thrilled when she returned to find some of her wares had gone rather punk.

  As for the Gulatega, there had been no known incidents regarding them as yet. She still didn’t know if they came singularly or in multiples. Just the same, she had opted to stay above the shop. Even though Dorian assured her they were no threat to her, she wasn’t quite comfortable being alone in the cottage.

  Besides, she like being close to Dorian. There was something about him—other than the handsome factor. When she was around him, she felt whole. All her life she had felt something was missing, like some part of her was just a little less. Around him, she didn’t feel that way, and that drove her crazy. She didn’t know him well enough to feel so strongly, but it wasn’t just a feeling, it was more tangible…. It was a need.

  ****

  It was late when Morgan pounded the pillow into shape for the umpteenth time. Having worked in the garden most of the afternoon, her shoulders ached. She’d let a hot shower ease the tension in her muscles, put on her softest jersey pajamas, and crawled under the cool covers. She began to drift off when she suddenly sprang up. She felt itchy. Must be too much sun. She got up, rubbed the lavender scented lotion up her arms and across the back of her neck and laid back down. She felt as though something was crawling on her skin. She looked down. The hairs were standing up on her arms.

  Dorian. The thought slammed into her. She shot out of bed and ran for the door, yanking it open. The hallway was quiet. A dim light filtered up from the kitchen, the one they left on when they went up to bed. She listened. She heard Meesha’s soft whine on the other side of Dorian’s door. She crept over and reached for the handled. A tingle ran up her arm. She pulled back. Meesha moaned. She reached fast, grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pushing at the door. Meesha sat on
the floor facing the bed. Dorian lay on his back, his arms flung across the sheets. The rumpled covers were pushed over the end of the bed. He was wearing pajama bottoms. Morgan caught her breath. Every exposed part of Dorian’s skin glowed—a vibrant white-gold. It sparked. Her hair began to dance lightly off her shoulders. A static current filled the air. Perspiration dotted his forehead, sparkling like tiny diamonds in the glow. He moaned. She wasn’t sure she could get close to him. At first, as she stepped toward the bed, the current beat at her, pushing her back. Suddenly, it stopped, grabbed her, and tugged her forward. She tried to step back. That wasn’t happening. The energy had formed a wall behind her. The force grew, the aura rose higher. She was pulled to the bed. Then, it was as though someone shoved her. She slid across his body. His eyes flew open and he stared at her, unseeing, his eyes a deep sapphire. She pushed back but could only get so far as an arm’s reach. He blinked, brought her into focus. He was looking at her mouth. His hands gripped her shoulders. A pulsing force pulled her head toward his. When she opened her mouth to protest, his lips captured hers.

  His mouth was hot. The tingling sensation turned into a hot flame that laved her entire body. His tongue swept her mouth and the current flowed one to the other, a slow pulse connecting the two. Slowly, he slid her off him and rose on one elbow. She stared into lust filled eyes.

  “This isn’t fair,” he breathed, his voice deep. “You don’t understand.”

  Morgan let her hand ease up his chest and around his neck. “I don’t know that I ever will,” she breathed back. “I want you to…” she looked at his mouth and let her tongue slowly lick her bottom lip, “…complete me.” She heard his moan as he let her pull his head down to hers. His hands stroked down her body. His mouth followed, spreading liquid fire where his lips touched.

  Dorian knew he should stop. Knew he must. The feel of her softness next to him, beneath his hand, was too much. She drew him like a magnet. He grew harder with every beat of his heart. He’d done everything to avoid this, to give her time. He’d lived through hell. The longer she stayed in the house with him, the more impossible it was for him not to want her, to crave her.