The Shoppe of Spells (11 page)

Tears welled. “I don’t understand.”

Pain tugged at her. She tried to console herself with thoughts of her parents—her adoptive parents. A door opened in her heart and the pain rushed in. She would never know the people in that picture upstairs. She got up and went to the bedroom, pushing the doors closed behind her. She crawled onto the bed and let the tears fall. She cried for herself. For not ever knowing them. She cried for Dorian. For the situation their deaths had thrust them into. The tears turned to sobs.

She heard the doors open and felt Dorian’s weight settle on the bed before he gathered her into his arms. She tried to turn away, but he pulled her back against her chest. His breath caressed her hair and he whispered soothing words to her and let her cry. She held on and let the sadness and doubts wash out of her.

Finally, the tears stemmed; she closed her eyes and slept.

Dorian eased her back onto the bed and pulled a blanket over her. As he walked out of the room, he turned back and looked at her. He could only imagine the hell she was going through. He’d been rescued from his life and raised by two loving people as though he was their son. When they died, the people of Ruthorford wrapped their arms around him and gave him comfort. Ruthorford was more than his town, it was his family. He wished he could impart that love and warmth to her. He wished he could erase all the pain and fear the last few days had wrought. He shook his head and gently closed the doors.

He walked over and looked out the window at the gardens in all their magnificence. He remembered the look on Morgan’s face when she realized her part in all of this. A beautiful prison was still a prison.

Chapter Seven

Morgan awoke to the sun casting late afternoon shadows across the bed. The French doors were pulled closed but not shut. Her eyes stung. She reached up to rub them and caught herself. Remembering the bottle of ibuprofen on the bathroom shelf, she eased off the bed and trod into the bathroom. She filled the glass with water and glanced at her image in the mirror. Slightly swollen orbs, the green accentuated more than normal by a tinge of pink stared back at her.
Great
. She smirked at her reflection.
I look as bad as I feel.
She tidied herself as best she could. The shirt was hopelessly wrinkled, the jeans not too bad. She tucked the shirt firmly into the waistband, hoping to pull out a few of the wrinkles, and headed to the front room.

Dorian sat at the table by the front window, hunched over a laptop, papers strewn on either side. Hearing her, his typing stopped and he looked up. “You okay?”

“My eyes are bothering me a little, but I’m okay.” She crossed over and sat opposite him.

“I thought they might be.” He rose and picked up a small bottle. “Lean back. Let me put some drops in them.”

She did as he asked and tried to relax as he gently pulled her lid back and dropped a couple of drops in her eye. Relief was instantaneous. She tilted her head slightly for the other eye. When he was done, he smiled at her and handed her a tissue. “Blot gently,” he reminded her. She nodded and obeyed.

He went back to where he had been sitting.

“What’re you working on?” she asked as she dabbed a remaining drop on her cheek.

“A short paper for Dr. Yancy. He was very pleased with the effectiveness of the compounded salve I used and the drops. He asked me to write it up and send it to him for ‘The Herbal Apothecary’.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

He raised a brow and looked at her.

“Snob,” she countered his look. “For your information, I’m a bit of a geek when it comes to herbal magazines and journals,” she defended. “I thought I knew most of them.”

“Well, I will have to put you on the list. This is actually an in-house magazine that the Abbott House publishes for distribution among its various sites.”

“We are back again to the size of this…consortium...or whatever.”

“Hungry?” he changed the subject.

“Famished. What time is it?”

“Almost six.” He raised his hand at her gasp. “Don’t. You’ve been through a lot. You needed to rest. Oh, by the way,” he began, reached in his pocket, and pulled out her phone, “I brought this over when I went over to check on the shop. It was ringing when I went in. I didn’t answer it.”

The shop. Things had been so convoluted that she had completely forgotten that he was running a shop. “I am so sorry. I completely forgot about the shop,” she said as she flipped open the phone. She had three messages, two from her mother and one from Jenn.

“Not a problem. The Shoppe of Spells is kind of an institution around here. We seldom close.” He laughed as he shut down the computer. “And when we do, people actually tape notes to the door.”

Morgan remembered the bevy of little old ladies that had surrounded her in the shop. She could imagine them peering through the windows and taping notes on the door. She laughed and watched him lower the computer lid. She was taken by the elegance of his long tapered fingers and wondered how a man with such large, albeit beautiful, hands could type on such a small keyboard.

He held up a yellow sticky note. “One of the notes was from Miss Grace. She has a pie waiting for us. She left it at the B & B. Guess we should face the music.” He rose and tucked the computer under his arm.

Morgan looked down at her shirt. Pinching the front she pulled it outstretch and looked at him pleadingly. “I don’t want to go anywhere looking like I slept in my clothes.”

“But you did,” he teased.

Her cell phone rang. She flipped it open and saw her mom’s pretty face in the caller ID. “I’d like to take this, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Come on over when you’re ready. I’m sure we can find you another shirt in the closet upstairs.” With that, he walked out the door, closing it behind him, leaving her alone in the cottage.

With a small shiver, Morgan answered the phone. “Hi, Momma,” she said, eyes still darting about the room, anticipating something creeping across the floor.

“Hi honey. I tried earlier but couldn’t get you. Everything okay?” Morgan could hear the concern in her mother’s voice.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just busy.” No need to alarm her mother at this point.

“Morgana,” her mother’s voice took on that
mom
tone. “I know
busy
. I’m not hearing
busy
. Is everything all right?”

Morgan took a deep breath. “Actually, I don’t know. I think so. Everyone here is so very nice and kind. It’s just a strange place. This has been a lot to face.”

Her mother was saying something in the background, her hand over the phone, probably to her father. Then she was back, “I can be there in a heartbeat, Sweetpea. I don’t mind.”

Morgan smiled. “I know, Mom.” She was tempted. Then she remembered the creature. “No!” she said too emphatically and tried to make her voice sound calmer. She wanted to keep them away from here until she knew just what she was dealing with. Yet, if her parents sensed she might be in danger, they would risk everything to be at her side. “I need to do this myself. I promise I will call you if I need you to come. Mom, you guys know I will always need you.”

She heard her mother’s voice crack. “I know, baby.”

Becky hushed her husband in the background, then asked, “By the way, did Rob call you?”

“He’s here.” Morgan sighed. “Mom, I meant to tell you—we broke up.”

“That…that,” her mother hissed. “I knew something was wrong. It was the way he acted. Sneaky. That’s what it was. He showed up at your apartment. Before I knew what I was doing I told him where you were.”

“Did you tell him anything else?” Morgan prayed she hadn’t.

“No. Actually, your father stopped me. He couldn’t understand why Rob didn’t know where you were, if you two were as close as Rob was letting on. He was right, too.”

“Mom,” Morgan hesitated, then decided to throw the whole ball of wax on the fire, “I need to tell you about my job.”

Her mother interrupted her. “I already know, Sweetpea. I went by to tell them you had to leave town unexpectedly. When I saw that the shop was closed, I called them. They told me everything. They send their love and said to tell you they’re sorry the shop had to close.”

“Me, too, Mom. Me, too,” she sighed.

“They also told me that it was you who convinced them to do it.”

Morgan didn’t say anything.

“That was kind of you, Morgan. You saved their retirement. We’re proud of you.”

Tears welled. “Thanks, Mom. I needed that.”

“You sure you don’t want us to come?”

“I’m sure. I can take it from here.”

“Dad said to tell you to kick Rob in the butt for him. He’s more than a little ticked off.”

“Thanks. Tell Dad I intend to. Love you guys.”

“Love you back.”

She disconnected and looked around the room. So far, nothing had scurried. She sank down onto the sofa facing the fireplace and took a deep breath. She knew the sacrifices she’d be willing to make to protect her parents. Moreover, she knew damn well how far they would go to protect her. Maybe she did understand a little why Melissa and Thomas Kilraven gave her up. She tried to imagine herself with a child. Would she be willing to give up her daughter? She wondered what circumstances would make her consider that as an option. She didn’t know. However, she felt she was on the right track. Maybe she wasn’t unloved, but loved well.

Without the creepy gargoyle creatures running around, Morgan could imagine enjoying the little cottage. Everything about it was homey and light. She could envision a fire in the fireplace, the scent of a pie baking in the oven, strong arms wrapped around her, warm breath against her neck. She leapt up from the couch.

She scoffed, knowing full well that Dorian’s kiss was still planted firmly in her mind. Without him near, she could think about him a little more clearly. When he was near, it was all she could do to think, period. There was something about him—other than the fact that he was devastatingly handsome. As soon as he got near her, her whole body became attuned to his. He drew her, like a magnet. And, when she was in his arms—she tried but couldn’t come up with an explanation. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. She wondered if he felt anything near what she felt.

Had it been that way for Melissa and Thomas? Was it some sort of destiny compulsion for two “marked” people to be drawn to one another? Was it magic? He had used the word sync when describing the shock that had happened in the beginning. She didn’t experience the shocks anymore. Were they now synced? She definitely vibrated when he got close. There was almost a need to get even closer. When she was near him, thinking was damn near impossible. That had never happened around any man before. Maybe she was just a late bloomer. This was one hell of a time for her hormones to finally kick in. She would definitely have to get control over them.

Morgan stepped up to the fireplace and picked up one of the crystals, noting its exact location. She didn’t want to throw anything off by setting it in the wrong place. She turned it over in her hand. It was a rough crystal. It looked like it had been chiseled out of a mine, wiped off, and placed here. She hadn’t handled many crystals before, but she assumed they would be cool to the touch. This one wasn’t. In fact, the longer she held it, the warmer it became. Holding her rising anxiety at bay, she gently returned the crystal to its precise location and picked up another one. This one looked more like a stone of some sort. Again, it became warm in her hand. She set it back. She added another question to her mental list of things to ask Dorian.

She picked up the coverlet from where it had slipped off the back of the couch, refolded it and placed it over the back. Reaching down, she grabbed a pillow, fluffed it, set it down, and smiled. It was a quaint little cottage. She pulled the door behind her and crossed through the gardens to the shop. Without knocking, she eased the back door open and stepped inside.

Dorian’s voice carried from the front room. He didn’t sound happy. “Good God, man, don’t you think she’s been through enough?”

She moved forward quietly. His back was to her. “No, I haven’t told her. Shit. All this happened so fast. Then she got injured. Yes…yes, I’ll—” he turned and saw her. “I have to go.” He pocketed the cell phone.

“Tell me what?” She moved into the room and faced him, daring him to evade her question.

He looked tired. “Morgan…,” he began and shook his head. “Look, you don’t have to do this. This is all new to you.” He ran his hand through his hair and turned away.

She reached out and stopped him, gently turned him back to her. “Tell me.”

Even now, she could feel the energy begin its rhythm, pulsing between them, flowing one to the other. Dorian sighed, put his hands on her shoulders and leaned forward, letting his head rest on hers. Such an intimate gesture, yet it felt so right. She put her arms around him and drew him in closer. They hugged. She felt the steady beat of his heart, a slow strong rhythm.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He pulled back gently and let his hands slide down her arms until he took her hands in his. “You have another talent,” he said. “Besides seeing the Gulatega, you can see people’s auras. In particular, sick people’s auras.”

She frowned into his eyes. “No, I can’t.” She searched his face. He gave her a half smile.

“I would have known,” she stated. He remembered the spikes around him earlier but said nothing.

“It happens when you are attuned to your…” he searched for a word, “…mate,” he said softly.

“My mate? I don’t have a—”

He squeezed her hand.

“Oh.”

“Listen, Morgan,” he began and let his hand cup the soft skin of her cheek, “I wouldn’t do this to you if it wasn’t important. Something’s happened.”

“What?”

“You don’t know them.” He let go of one of her hands and while still holding the other, led her to the kitchen, motioning for her to sit down. “Right around the time Melissa and Thomas died, a young girl was attacked. She’s thirteen.”