Meadow's Keep (The Gatekeepers Series) (5 page)

“Yes. Very. I’ve bought many different kinds of locks and secured them to chains. I haven’t acquired one yet
that I can’t open.”

“And this is done how?”

Jasmine wiggled her fingers and her smile disappeared. “Too bad I didn’t have this ability before I was kidnapped.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Sure. I mean it did. But then I realized I might have killed him. It really wasn’t his fault. His mind was altered…,” she stopped not knowing how much the doctor knew or which story she’d been told.

“Do you think it was the trauma that enabled your abilities?”

Jasmine shrugged. She’d thought about it a lot over the last year. Her ability seemed to appear about a month after the kidnapping. At first, she was setting off electronics or would get shocked just touching things. In a similar, but much smaller way, to what happened in the car. Back then, she’d thought it was static electricity. When she fried a rather expensive computer and ruined a security circuit board, Jasmine realized she was the problem. Why hadn’t she thought about that tonight, before she got in her car. Maybe she could have grounded herself.

Having
grown up around Dorian and Thom, both of whom had the ability to manipulate energy, Jasmine was familiar with the concept. In Ruthorford, or at least at The Shoppe of Spells, these abilities were treated as normal. She’d been around on many occasions when Dorian and Thom had started throwing balls of energy at one another—until Mel would run them outside. She was grateful she’d been allowed to hang around during Dorian’s lessons. She’d tried to apply the lessons she remembered to her own burgeoning abilities, with a little success. She felt she was learning by mishap. Tired of trying to reinvent the wheel, she planned to corner Dorian and ask him about a million questions.

She couldn’t wait to show Dorian. He would be so shocked.
She laughed.

At Dr. Browne
’s frown, Jasmine pulled her wandering mind back to Dr. Browne’s question. “I think, Dr. Browne, that, over the years, I repressed my abilities. I didn’t think I was supposed to have them—therefore, I didn’t. I don’t know of any other woman, who’s a descendant, who carries this trait.” Then, thinking of Eryk, she added, “I sure don’t know another man like Eryk.”

“Almost like he was made for you
,” Dr. Browne commented, almost under her breath.

Jasmine set down the cup.
Still unsure just how vetted Dr. Browne was on Ruthorford’s secrets, she gave her a noncommittal smile. Dr. Browne’s statement was far closer to the truth than the good doctor realized and something she hadn’t considered. Jasmine knew there would be little else she’d be thinking about tonight.

If Browne saw her
consternation, she ignored it and changed the subject. “Bask wants to make sure you are okay with flying down in the magician’s plane.”

“I was
n’t, but then I figured he couldn’t do much while flying the plane. Honestly, I’m more worried about our combined abilities screwing up the electronics of the plane."

“Bask said to tell you he’d have no problem sending a plane for you.”

Jasmine lips curved in a smile. Yep, underneath that exterior, Bask was a softy. “I’ll think about it and let him know.”

“It’s okay, either way,” Dr. Browne said and held up the pot of tea. “Warm-up?”

“No, I think I’ll call it a night.” Jasmine pushed back the chair and stood. “Thanks for the tea and the chat.”

“My pleasure. You know I’m here for you
, any time.”

“I know. I figure it’s time you move on to more urgent needs.”

The doctor’s eyes looked over at her desk. “Yes,” her voice saddened, “we got a couple today.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Jasmine asked.

“Not at the moment.” The doctor’s voice had quieted. She walked back over to her desk and sat down.

As Jasmine neared the door, the doctor called to her,
“As I said…any time.”

“
You, too.”

The doctor spoke softly. “
Yes. Well, maybe when you get back I can get you to serve as a sounding board for some of the intakes. Sometimes they share more with someone who’s been through it.”

In Jasmine’s mind, there was no way the one attack from Rob
would equal the years of abuse some of these families went through. “You know I’ll do whatever I can,” she said and meant it. On occasion, when outfitting the women and children, they would talk. She’d listen. Sometimes just a sympathetic ear, with no fear of recrimination, helped fill the void.

Chapter
Four

Jasmine managed to escape Jenn’s questions when Jenn
was called away to take a phone call. The owner of Safe Harbor had cornered her in her room. In that respect, Jenn was like Bask. They would fire a volley of questions, knowing that you’d be so overwhelmed you’d divulge more than you realized. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to share her experience with her friend. Of all people, besides Dorian and Morgan, Jenn would have understood the most. However, being a person of normal abilities, there were things that Jenn couldn’t understand. Morgan was the one person Jasmine wanted to talk to.

Morgan had come to
Ruthorford barely aware of her abilities. It wasn’t until she’d come in contact with Dorian that those abilities had evolved, as had their attraction to one another. Jasmine remembered Morgan telling her after the wedding, “It was like trying to stop a freight train.”

Jasmine finally understood.
Since leaving the fairgrounds, Eryk kept popping into her thoughts—into her being. She could feel him, as if he was standing in front of her. His imagined touch was almost as powerful as the real thing. Her breath hitched. Her body ached.

She went to the mini
-fridge in her room, took out a can of ginger ale, and rubbed the cold metal against her forehead. Then against her lips. The tingle reminded her of the sensation she’d felt the instant Eryk’s lips…. She popped the lid and took a deep swallow, letting it burn down her throat. Was she really ready to be in a plane for hours with this man?

Jasmine went to her laptop and started it up.
She checked her messages and emails—nothing significant. The Crosstown Gazette, a weekly newspaper shared between Ruthorford and her sister town in Virginia, Adams Grove, detailed some of the goings on in Ruthorford, while emails from Teresa supplied the rest. According to Teresa, Morgan was getting closer to her due date and had Dorian redecorating the nursery—for the second time. Jasmine laughed. He was such a wimp. She could just imagine what their little girl was going to look like. Eighty-five percent of the babies born to blends were girls with green eyes. Very special green eyes. Jasmine glanced into the mirror over the table at her very dark eyes. Unless the baby ended up with traits like hers. Jasmine was supposed to have the green eyes, since her parents were blends. What had happened? She felt her energy rise and mentally tamped it down. This was her third computer.

She read on.
Miss Grace had entered a national pie contest and had made the finals. She and her sister were going to Atlanta to participate in the contest. Miss Grace and Miss Alice were from a founding family. Neither had married. They lived in the family home on some acreage at the end of town near her old home and bestowed the favors of their pies and goodies on the townsfolk. No one made pies like Miss Grace. In fact, even Teresa—who was famous for her baked goods at the bed and breakfast she and her husband, Bill, owned—served Miss Grace’s pies on Sunday. Jasmine felt her mouth start to water. She could do with a slice of apple pie.

Her shop was doing well.
Reading that, Jasmine felt a twinge of homesickness. She loved her boutique and missed the fast pace of the fashion industry. With her approval, the girls she had managing it had added a couple of new designer labels to the boutique and it was a huge success. They’d sent some pictures of their changes and Jasmine was thrilled. Even the slightly Goth jewelry, with its chunky darkness, set off the clothes beautifully. Jasmine made a mental note to let them know she’d be coming in, when she knew the date.

She sent Teresa a quick email, sending her love to everyone and telling her that she planned a visit soon and would send updates as
soon as possible.

Then
, she googled Eryk Vreeland. Page after page popped up—images of him from various shows, ranging from state fairs to over-the-top charity functions. Several showed him with his father. The resemblance was uncanny. But, the older man looked staid, his smile forced. She guessed theirs wasn’t a close relationship. Neither man looked particularly comfortable with the other. She clicked on some more. The society pages showed him in picture after picture with a beautiful woman hanging onto his arm. She studied the pictures. He definitely looked comfortable there. Each time it was a different woman. Nowhere did she read of any long-term relationship. She smiled. No, that was not good. She chided herself. She wanted him in a long-term relationship—with someone else. Yet, that thought made her stop smiling.

After reading
a bunch of articles about Eryk Vreeland’s good works, she shut down the computer. Either the man was a blessed saint, or he was good at covering his tracks. There was no mention of the type of thing she’d witnessed today. From what she’d seen, it didn’t look like he resisted using his abilities. How come no one ever noticed or wrote about it? With him being wealthy, from a highly placed social family, as well as a celebrity in his own right, the paparazzi should have had a field day.

Flying to Georgia should give her plenty of time to get to know him—to feel him out
—just so she’d know how best to approach him about Ruthorford’s secrets. Even with her resolve wavering each time she thought about their trip together, Jasmine was determined to call him first thing in the morning and make arrangements.

****

The morning proved too busy for Jasmine to give a thought to contacting Eryk. She was just finishing up her egg and bagel—she was still amazed at her craving for protein—when Jenn came into the dining room. She got some coffee, came over, and sat down across from Jasmine.

“I’m going to need your help,” she stated
.

“Sure. Dr. Browne said you’d taken in some clients last night.”

“Yes,” Jenn said, stirring too much sugar into her coffee, “I did. But, they aren’t it. I just got a call from the police department. They picked up a girl last night for soliciting. Apparently, she didn’t do a very good job of it. They took her to the precinct. She said she was nineteen. They don’t believe her. Her ID’s fake. During the body search—you remember Lieutenant Meyers—well, she was subbing on homicide last night, and the lone female, so she got called in to do the search. She found some injuries, old as well as new. Looks like the girl’s taken some pretty severe beatings, expertly done, maybe by her pimp. They told her if she would agree to come here, they’d look at reducing the charges. She finally agreed.”

Jasmine saw the strain on Jenn’s face. All her wards, as J
enn called them, were special, but the young ones bothered Jenn the most. “You know I’ll do anything I can.” She pushed the untouched half of her breakfast across the table. “If you’ll eat something.”

Jenn picked up the bagel and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Jasmine doubted her friend knew she’d eat
en anything. Jenn set the bagel down and frowned at it, as if seeing it for the first time. She grabbed her coffee. “What’s on it?”

“Cream cheese and jelly.”

Jenn shivered and made a face. She pulled the bagel apart and, taking Jasmine’s knife off her plate, scraped off the spread. She took another bite and continued. “Well, Sonya called me a little while ago. They ran a missing persons on her. Nothing. When Sonya asked about her family, the girl freaked out. I think that’s where the old injuries came from. So, my guess is that the poor thing went from an abusive relationship at home to an abusive relationship on the streets.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“This time I want you at intake. Show your style. I have a feeling she’ll respond. Then, we’ll play it by ear. Maybe you could strut your stuff right after she gets here.”

Jasmine smile
d.
Strutting her stuff
was one thing she knew how to do. She was already mentally going through her wardrobe. “I guess we want to entice her to stay, not run.”

Jenn laughed.
“You got it. I have Dr. Browne on call.”

“God,
does that woman ever leave? She was here late last night.”

“I know. I really like her. I think she’ll work out
well.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jasmine thought of the tea. “Any hints on the girl
’s looks?”

“Oh yeah,” Jenn reached into her pocket and pulled out a
folded piece of paper, the faxed mug shot.

She was a pretty thing. Round face. Too much make-up.
Jasmine guessed her age between sixteen and eighteen. She hoped for the girl’s sake it was eighteen. “Vitals?”

“Five-six, one
ten. Slim.”

“Between a
four and five dress size. I have an idea.”

Jenn rose. “Whatever you can do, just do it.”

Jasmine looked at Jenn’s posture. The vitality that poured from her was gone. “You all right?”

“Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

Jasmine reached out and placed her hand on Jenn’s arm. “You’re our mainsail. You need to take care of yourself.” With that, she gave a little push and a pulse of energy.

Jenn’s eyes flew open.

“Too much?” Jasmine gave a half-smile. She still had a lot of practicing to do.

Jenn laughed. “A bit.
” She shook her curls. “Funny thing, I do feel better.” She reached over and hugged her. “Thanks.”

****

There was a light knock on Jenn’s office door just before it burst open. Jasmine, wearing black capris, an open-drape white cardigan over an azure blue silk shell, and canvas ankle-laced platforms the exact color of the shell, strode into the room. Her hair, softly spiked, moved when she walked. Silver earrings hung down her long neck. She looked every bit the fashion diva and presented the air of a runway model. She carried a hanger slung over her shoulder, on it a tone on tone ivory embroidered top with open cutwork sleeves and a Queen Anne neckline. She stopped in front of Jenn, whose eyes had opened wide.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt.” Her deep southern accent sounded not in the least contrived. “Marsha has dropped out. She has that appointment for
the audition you talked her into doing. Now I have no one to wear this Nina Ricci top in our fashion show.”

Sonya made a sound in her throat.

Jasmine pinned the detective with her black eyes, made even darker outlined with coal. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Sonya, I just don’t have it in your size this time. You did wear that gold lamé at the Christmas bash to perfection.”

The young girl’s eyes flew to the plus size woman standing near the window. The sun glinted off her caram
el colored skin. The woman stance shifted, one of a model. Her suit lines changed at the movement and, other than the shoulder holster bulging under the jacket, she looked like she could easily carry off a lamé dress. The light in the girl’s eyes heightened.

“You!” Jasmine
twirled and stepped in front of the young girl, who flinched, her eyes once again hooded in fear, as she looked beseechingly at the tall beauty standing in front of her. It took everything Jasmine had not to drop the garment on the floor and enfold the young girl in protective arms. Instead, she swung the top in front of her and, tilting her head, studied the top, then the girl. “Well…I suppose…,” her voice drawled, dripping southern honey with each exaggerated syllable.

Jenn
coughed, interrupting. “I’m sorry. But Lily—it is Lily,” Jenn asked, directing her question to the young girl in the chair, “isn’t it?” When Lily nodded, she looked up at Jasmine. “Lily hasn’t decided if she wants to avail herself of our facilities.”

A small voice spoke. “Well, if I could help…
.” Lily stared at Jasmine.

Jasmine
looked her up and down. “I don’t know. This is a 5-ish.”

The girl smiled
for the first time. Perfect white teeth graced her mouth, except for a chip which had broken off the side of one of her front teeth.
A little porcelain…,
Jasmine couldn’t help thinking. “I’m a five,” Lily said, her large brown eyes widening, almost too big for her heart-shaped face.

“Well, you do have that perfect neck,” Jasmine purred, hiding the
horror she felt when she saw the deep purple bruise peeking out above the line of her deeply cut T-shirt. She wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch who’d done that to Lily with her bare hands and made a mental note to talk to Dr. Browne about that—someday.

Jenn interrupted. “
Lily, this is Jasmine. She came to us a year ago and has graciously agreed to stay and help me out. She owns an upscale boutique in her hometown and provides these gorgeous pieces for our women. We have impromptu fashion shows,” she added, trying to cover the ruse.
Well, what the hell, a fashion show might just be the ticket
. Jenn jotted a note on her desk blotter. “Unfortunately, it’s in-house only.”

“I…I,”
Lily stammered, eyes darting to Sonya, tears springing to her eyes. “I don’t want to go home...I can’t.” She looked at the lieutenant again. “I’m afraid they’ll make me go home.”

Jasmine knelt in front of her, crumpling the expensive top without a second thought. She took her hand. “
Lily…listen to me,” she looked into the frightened hazel eyes, “I promise you, if you don’t want to go home, you won’t.”