The Shoppe of Spells (The Gatekeeper Series)

by Grey, Shanon

  “Now, I’ve got you,” he said aloud, tossed the stone in the air and caught it.

  It took three rings before Bask answered his phone, his voice hoarse. “This better be important.” The man sounded more like a military commander than a lawyer.

  “It is,” Dorian shot back.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Remember when those people wanted to buy the rug from Mel and Thom and got so belligerent that you threatened to put a tracking chip in it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you?” Dorian almost shouted.

  “Yes. Took a pretty penny to have it inserted just right, but Mel finally agreed. It eased her mind. I’ve been following the damn thing all over the place.”

  Dorian let a small smile play at his lips. “Where is it now?”

  “You told me to hold off on retrieving it until you were sure. Something about not pissing off Morgan.”

  “She’s missing.”

  “Oh, God. You don’t think she took it, do you?”

  Dorian let frustration push him. “No,” he snapped. “I think whoever took the rug might have her.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “I want to go after the son of a bitch, got it?”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  Dorian walked back through the cabin. In her room, he saw the open closet and Mel’s robe hanging there. Lavender still clung to the material. He let his fingers run over it. He couldn’t lose both of them.

  His phone went off.

  “Yes.”

  “It stopped moving a while back. It seems to be in the old Hollis Mine in North Carolina. I’m texting you the coordinates. I can get someone there—”

  “I’ll call if I need backup. I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t, either,” Bask mused. “Be careful, just the same.”

  “I will.”

  Dorian grabbed Morgan’s phone and purse, opened the refrigerator, took out several sodas and headed for the truck.

  John was harder to persuade than Bask had been. “I’d rather you take care of Jenn and Meadow. I’m already on the road.”

  “You’re not Superman. Remember that.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  Dorian stopped in Emporia, Virginia, filled the tank, and grabbed something to eat. As much as he hated the delay, he needed to eat since he and John had left without eating anything.

  Around Oxford, Dorian thought he could feel Morgan for just a moment. Like she slipped in and out, faintly, briefly. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Come on, girl. Think of me. Think of us. Nothing. Try as he might, it escaped him. Pulling into a rest stop, Dorian turned off the engine, closed his eyes and let his mind flow to Morgan. Again, that faint tinge. Morgan, I know you can’t hear me. Just feel me, baby. That’s all you have to do. The current flowed. Warmth filled him. He smiled. It flickered and was gone. “Damn it!” he bit out.

  He started the engine and headed back to the interstate. Something worried him. It didn’t feel like she was in this direction. However, since this was the only direction he had, he drove forward.

  His insides ached. Was this what she been feeling the other night when he’d come to her in her dreams? He’d been guided by lust, a need so great he couldn’t fight it, but it hadn’t hurt. This hurt. He opened one of the now warm drinks and let it burn down his throat. A shiver ran up his spine. Concentrating so strongly on Morgan, he nearly passed the turn-off. Daylight was just breaking.

  The road, no longer used, was overgrown. Kudzu reached out its tendrils to entangle his tires. He could see where a vehicle had been through here before, enough to tamp down the foliage. He could feel his current pulsing. His anger fed it. The engine sputtered. Shit. He took one hand off the wheel and forced himself to calm down. The last thing he needed was to stall his truck.

  Dorian crept forward. He could see the opening to the mine. It was clear, not a vehicle in sight. That didn’t mean no one was here. They could’ve hidden a vehicle easily. He backed up, turned around, and parked down the road a bit, off to the side. He made sure that, if he had to, he could get the hell out, fast. Remembering the flashlight, he checked it. His nerves were hopping. He forced himself to keep from running.

  Dorian eased into the entrance of the mine and listened. It was quiet. He walked as far as he dared without using the flashlight. Not wanting to fall down an open shaft, he switched on the flashlight and adjusted the beam. He had no clue what kind of mine this was. The gradual decline and the lack of tracks led him to think it was hand done. Timbers seemed well placed for support. About a hundred feet in, he heard a sound—a moan. It was all he could do not to run; it could be a trap.

  He moved forward as quietly as possible. He let his senses open and felt nothing. If she was conscious, he should feel her. His hand tingled. He shook it, trying to keep his energy down. Now he knew why Thom had forced him to learn those stupid meditation exercises. He was damn near ready to shock himself.

  Another moan, this one louder. Then, a scream.

  He ran. Suddenly, he was in an area about the size of his grotto. He heard shuffling to his right and swung the light down the wall. He gasped.

  Jasmine turned her head away from the light. Her lips, cracked and coated with dried blood, tried to move. She felt him kneel next to her.

  “Jas,” he whispered.

  She tried to draw her arm across her naked body. It wouldn’t move. She winced as pain shot through her.

  “It’s okay, sweet,” he soothed and tore off his shirt, laying it across her.

  “Do-r-r-y?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Let me help you.”

  “He…he…” she couldn’t get the words out.

  “Is he here?”

  She shook her head slightly. “He…hasn’t…come…” She took a deep breath.

  Dorian pulled out his phone and hit 9-1-1. Nothing. “Damn it,” he cursed and turned back to her. “I can’t get a signal.” He stood.

  She screamed. “No!” Then more softly, “Please.”

  “Okay, okay.” He eased the light up her arm. “Jas, I can get this off you, but it’s going to hurt.”

  He shone the flashlight across the floor, saw a piece of material, probably the rest of her blouse, grabbed it and gently forced it between her wrist and the chain and lock. He knelt down beside her and took hold of the lock. Concentrating, he pictured the lock and let his current flow.

  Jasmine moaned. The lock opened. He pulled it away from the chain and eased her arm down. She groaned. Her hand was like ice. There was no telling how long she’d been hanging here.

  “I’m going to carry you out.”

  She nodded slightly, tried to move the damaged arm and sucked in her breath.

  Dorian felt her shoulder. “Jas, your arm’s dislocated. I’m going to try to put it back in, okay.”

  She looked away. He put his knee under her armpit to give him leverage, let a small amount of current flow to warm up the joint and pulled. He felt it snap back. When she didn’t say anything, he looked down. She’d passed out. It was just as well.

  He shoved the flaring flashlight into his back pocket and lifted her as gently as he could. She felt so thin. He could barely see for the anger. That son of a bitch was dead.

  Alert to the slightest movement, Dorian made his way back to the truck carrying his abused friend. He had no doubt he could end the man’s life with a look right now, but he didn’t want to chance hurting Jasmine any more than she already was. Her struggles warned Dorian that Jasmine was coming to in a panic.

  “Jas…it’s me…Dorian. I have to get you to the truck. Hang on, sweet.”

  She stopped struggling.

  “I’m going to set you down so I can get the door open. I’ll put you in the back. There’s a blanket, okay?”

  When he leaned forward to set her down, his shirt slipped away. Her breast was bruised and swollen; a large bluish mark was forming around her side. Blood marked her abdomen and down her legs. Bruises
and bite marks were interspersed with blood. She hung her head.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get him,” he promised.

  Her once beautiful face was swollen into a misshapen orb, her brown cat eyes purple and swollen into slits. Dried blood was smeared across her cheeks and matted her hair. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. His heart sank at her broken spirit.

  Dorian got her settled, gave her a little water, and dialed 9-1-1. He gave the coordinates and called John.

  His voice cracked when he spoke. Not wanting her to hear him, he walked away from the vehicle. “John. I found Jasmine. She was in the mine. The son of a bitch beat the shit out of her. I think he raped her. I’ve called 9-1-1. We’re going to need Jenn on this; she knows what to do.”

  “Morgan?”

  “Nothing. She’s not here.”

  “We’re almost to the cabin; Jenn wanted to check something. I’ll call Bask. He can get her there faster. Let me know where they’re taking her.”

  “Dory…”

  He barely heard the hoarse whisper of his name. He ran back to the car.

  “Rob…he’s gone…after…Morgan.” Tears trailed down her cheeks.

  She jumped when his palm slammed the side of the truck. “Sorry, Jas. I think he must have her. She’s gone.”

  “Noooo...” It came out as a long, low moan.

  “I’ll find him. I promise I’ll find him.”

  He heard the sirens in the distance. He turned on his flashers and waited. The ambulance pulled up beside him. When two women got out, he was relieved. He didn’t know how she would react to men in her fragile state. He explained what he suspected had happened as one went with him to the truck and one pulled out the gurney. He stepped back and let them tend her.

  “I had to put her shoulder back in,” he added, but left out any explanation of the slight burn on her wrist. They would figure it was from Jasmine trying to free herself.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “She’ll go to Greensboro. She’s stable enough and it’s a better facility.”

  As they moved the gurney toward the ambulance, he took her hand. “Morgan has a friend, Jenn. She’s going to come see you. I think she can help you.” He kissed her knuckles.

  “Mor…gan,” she moaned again.

  “I’ll find her.” He backed away as they loaded her into the ambulance. They moved into the clearing in front of the mine, turned around, and sped past him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morgan swam toward consciousness, battling her way through a miasma of pitch black sludge. She was careful this time. She knew if she so much as let a muscle twitch, a needle would jab her vein and the blackness would overtake her once more. She lay on a cot of some sort, the mustiness bringing bile up her throat. She swallowed trying not to let the muscle in her throat move too much. She cracked one eyelid. Her lashes brushed against material. Something was over her head. Not tight, but there. She forced her eyes open ever so slightly. The weave wasn’t so tight that she couldn’t make out light in the room. And movement. She shut her eyes and prayed whoever it was wouldn’t see the glow of her eyes.

  Morgan strained to listen. Feet shuffling back and forth, back and forth. Someone typing on a keyboard. A hand slammed down on a table. She jumped. He grabbed her arm again and jabbed a needle into a vein. Dorian, she screamed in her head as everything went black.

  ****

  Dorian slouched in the waiting room chair, legs stretched in front of him, demanding his body to rest. There was nothing he could do but wait. Everything depended on someone else. He hated depending on anyone but himself. He waited on the doctor to finish his exam and treatment of Jasmine. His heart cringed every time he thought about her. He waited on the arrival of John and Jenn. He’d waited on the team from Abbott House to retrieve the rug and stones from him. He’d found the rug and most of the crystals in the mine when he went back in, looking for clues as to where Rob might have taken Morgan. He’d used the gloves he’d gotten from the EMTs and “bagged and tagged” the items as carefully as possible. He’d finished just before the local sheriff’s department arrived, followed by the FBI. Bask would turn over any information he had once he’d had his team study the evidence. He didn’t feel bad about that either, since Abbott House was a financial gorilla when it came to state of the art equipment. Now, he waited on their findings.

  Several times he thought he felt Morgan. It was brief, just a whisper. Then it was gone. Cut off. He wasn’t sure he could get a fix on her, even if they had full contact. He shifted in the chair, frustration making him restless.

  Voices in the corridor drew his attention. He looked up under hooded lids. Jenn’s bouncing blonde curls led the way as she rushed toward him, an ever-vigilant John behind her.

  Dorian pushed himself out of the chair and found himself enfolded in a warm hug.

  “Wow, you look like hell,” Jenn leaned back and looked at him.

  He tried to smile. Failed. “Thanks,” his voice was hoarse.

  “Where is she?”

  Dorian nodded toward the closed doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only” and shook hands with John. John’s expression told him there was no news from anywhere else.

  Jenn sat down, drawing Dorian down into the chair next to hers. “Have you called the Briscoes?”

  He hadn’t had the heart. He’d only talked to them, what, a day before. They were so upbeat, so loving, so supportive of their daughter. He didn’t know how to tell them she’d been taken and he couldn’t begin to find her. He simply shook his head.

  “Do you want me to call them?”

  “No. I’ll do it.”

  “Have you been able to talk to Jasmine?”

  “No. She’s not talking right now and they’re running a CT and a MRI to make sure there’s no internal damage.”

  “Oh, God,” Jenn said. “I am so sorry. Family?”

  “I called Teresa, her cousin. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

  “When she can be released, I’d like to bring her back with me. We have a great staff that can help her. Get her on the right track.”

  He let his head fall onto his hands. “She didn’t deserve this.”

  “Nobody does,” she rubbed her hand up and down his arm.

  The doctor walked through the doors. All three rose. “She’s sleeping right now. We have turned the physical evidence over to the police. She doesn’t have any internal hemorrhaging. Her physical wounds will heal…” he voice softened to a mere whisper, his features showed strain.

  Jenn approached him and handed him her card and ID. “Can I have a word with her?”

  The doctor looked at her credentials and handed back her ID. “I’d like to keep your card. I’ve heard of Safe Harbor. I will ask her to let you talk with her. Thanks for coming.”

  He then looked at the two men. “I do have a message for Dorian.” Dorian stepped forward.

  “She said Rob’s gone after Morgan. That she did her best to stop him. And that he’s crazy.”

  Pain flickered across Dorian’s brow. The doctor took his arm. “I’m sorry. That was all she said.”

  The doctor turned to Jenn. “Why don’t you come with me?” He led Jenn through the closed doors. She looked back once before she went through. Dorian saw the fear and sadness in her features an instant before she transformed her expression into professional calm. He nodded his assurance that he would do whatever it took to find Morgan. She turned and was gone.

  John waited for him over by the windows. Several people had come in and sat in the chairs, speaking softly, their own concerns utmost on their minds.

  “There’s an APB out on Rob. The university was extremely helpful and gave the police access to his personnel file. Bask said it was interesting reading. How Bask got access, I have no idea. The man continues to amaze me.” John was a private investigator that Bask used regularly, since John knew more about the history of Ruthorford than even Bask knew. John’s ancestors were the tribes that surrounded the area, protect
ing it. “He didn’t have good news,” John continued. “It seems the bastard has vanished off the face of the earth.”

  ****

  Morgan lay perfectly still. She couldn’t have moved her arms and legs had she tried. Their heaviness was unfamiliar to her. It was as though she were lying among a tangle of miscellaneous arms and legs—cold, heavy, lifeless forms. She wanted to move away from the corpse-like appendages but forced herself to remain motionless. Her head throbbed. Her tongue seemed stuck in her parched mouth. She could still see light through the hood. She listened. It seemed like she’d been listening for eons. It wasn’t completely silent, just lifeless. There was a faint distant hum. When she reached out with her senses, something sparked back at her. Stinging. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe, she silently commanded herself. Her breath eased shallowly into her lungs. She had been breathing this way for so long, she’d become lightheaded. Disjointed thoughts ran through her mind. She wanted to call for Dorian. Every time she tried, someone shot her full of drugs. The drugs were disconnecting her thoughts and separating her mind from her body. Dorian. His name was like the air she fought to keep in her lungs. Screw it. She focused all the energy she had and cried loud and long, hoping her mind would carry it along whatever pathway it needed to reach him. Bee stings of electricity rushed over her body. But, no injection. She risked inhaling deeply, focusing Dorian in her mind’s eye, every detail of his handsome face, pulling to his eyes. His deep blue, compelling eyes. She let her thoughts thrust from her in a rush, straight to his mind. As she watched, the aura surrounding her conjured image spiked. A sliver of a smile crossed her lips as she passed out.

  ****

  “No, no… No!” he yelled. “Hang on,” Dorian screamed as John dragged him through the emergency room doors. Nurses and doctors watched. Several stepped forward. John held up his hand. They turned away, figuring grief was overtaking the poor man.