The Shoppe of Spells (14 page)

It was a woman’s handwriting. It had to be from Melissa. To her. She smelled the envelope. The same scent—the same one that scented the nightgown donning her body—floated from the paper. Her fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. A necklace fell onto the bed. Morgan lifted it. The head of a tiny owl with emerald eyes looked back at her. She laid it gently on the comforter and opened the letter.

Dear Morgana,

Since it is well past your 25
^th
birthday, I am assuming that the Briscoes have told you of your adoption.

Writing this is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, besides giving up my child—my lifeblood. I am your mother. Before you get angry, please understand that I am, in no way, trying to usurp the Briscoes’ place. However, it is time for you to fulfill your destiny.

Your heritage began in the 1700s, when Ian Galbreath took an Indian maiden to wife. He called her Mary after his Grandmother. Their daughter was the first (that we know of) born with our distinctive traits—eyes and birthmark—and our abilities. Abbott House has journals of our history. They can give you a much better accounting than I can.

I know you are wondering why we gave you up. It was a decision Thom and I fretted over my entire pregnancy. Ours is not an easy life. It is one of service and commitment to others and our legacy. We took one look at you and knew we wanted you to have more—at least a semblance of normalcy—before you took your place. We decided to give you a chance to know the outside world and to enjoy living in it. We couldn’t have asked for better people to love you than Becky and Talbot. We have kept tabs, without their knowing, as we didn’t want to interfere. Your life has been more than we could have wished for you and something we couldn’t give you. We will always be grateful to them.

Now that you are an adult, it is time to show you our path and enlighten you as to your abilities. We understood the risk we took letting you live in the outside world and that you might choose to stay there. It was a risk we felt was worth taking. It was done with love. Always with love.

I have enclosed the Necklace of the Owl. It is our symbol. The owl leads souls and the emerald protects and enhances our abilities. You will understand later.

We look forward to meeting you, Morgana. No, that is wrong. We are beside ourselves with joy at the prospect of meeting you.

Know, always, we love you,

Melissa and Thomas Kilraven

(your birth parents)

The warm smell of lavender eased under the door and caught Dorian by surprise as he raised his hand to knock. For an instant, he pictured Melissa, fresh from a shower, in her favorite robe, opening the door and reaching up to ruffle his hair, a smile on her lips. He tapped lightly. When Morgan didn’t answer, he eased open the door. She sat cross-legged on the comforter, wearing Melissa’s nightgown. The light danced off her still damp, tangled curls. She looked and smelled freshly scrubbed. When she raised her face to him, he saw the tears sparkle. She held papers in one hand and Melissa’s necklace in the other.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded and saw her flinch. The sight of the necklace tore through his heart. He could have sworn Mel had worn it the day they’d left.

Morgan blinked, frowned, looked down at the necklace, and held out the letter.

He crossed the room, took the papers and dropped on the edge of the bed. He read in silence. When he looked up at her, his eyes were moist. He blinked them away. His voice was softer, but raspy, when he spoke. “Where did you find this?”

“The envelope fell on the floor when I pulled out the nightgown.” She held out the necklace. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said, his voice much kinder. “Don’t be. I didn’t mean to snap. She gave it to you. It just surprised me to see it. She never took it off. Here. Let me.” He took the necklace from Morgan’s other hand, stood, and undid the clasp.

Morgan pulled her hair up. Dorian eased the necklace around her neck and secured it in the back. She let her hair fall. When her fingers touched the owl, it felt warm, much like the crystals had earlier.

“Let me see.”

She turned and lifted her head.

For a second it looked as though those tiny eyes winked at him. He blinked. “It looks great.”

Morgan climbed off the bed and went to the mirror. She looked at the necklace resting smoothly against her skin. It looked as though she’d always worn it right there.

She looked up and saw the flicker of pain in Dorian’s eyes, turned and padded back toward the bed. “I could use a robe,” she suggested.

It took a moment for him to tear his eyes from the outline of her naked curves showing beneath the thin material. “Sure.” He went to the armoire, pulled it open, produced a light seersucker robe.

“About earlier,” he began. He didn’t turn but looked at her in the mirror on the armoire door as he closed it. She looked ethereal. A faint glow emanated from her body. Heightened color spiked from her eyes and from the tiny eyes of the owl nestled just above the cleavage of her breasts. He felt his loins tighten. He clinched his jaw.

“Don’t worry about it.” She shook her head. “So much is going on, and now with this…” she let her voice trail off. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone. She wanted to reread the letter and think about them—her parents. She pulled back the comforter. She looked over at him. He was looking at her in the mirror, a haunted expression on his face. He still held the robe. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll call it a night, if that’s okay. Climbing onto the high tester bed, she punched the pillows, and nestled down.

Dorian walked over, laid the robe across the foot of the bed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at her for a moment. She was so damn beautiful. “John is bringing Kayla and Meadow over first thing. I’ll wake you about seven.” He walked to the door, reached over and turned off the light.

“Please leave the door cracked,” she called to his retreating form.

He pulled the door slightly ajar and went downstairs.

Chapter Nine

Morgan woke to a still dark room and stretched. She’d had the best sleep she’d had in years. No dreams, no fears. Just pure, undisturbed sleep. She went to the armoire, pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt, dressed and clipped the mass of red curls atop her head.

She crept down the stairs, hoping not to wake Dorian. However, the smell of fresh coffee rebuked that thought and drew her to the kitchen. There was no sign of Dorian or Meesha. Her hands cupping a mug of the rich black brew, she moved into the shop. The closed sign was still flipped, the lights off. A sound at her back made her spin around, almost spilling the coffee.

Dorian emerged from the open door under the steps. His startled expression told her he wasn’t expecting to see her downstairs just yet. He pulled the door closed behind him. “You’re up. It’s early yet.” He walked over, poured a cup of coffee and took it to the table.

Morgan eyed the closed door. “What’s in there?”

“It’s just a workroom.” He changed the subject. “John brought Kayla and Meadow at about four this morning. I put them in the cottage. I hope you don’t mind.”

Morgan sat down across from him. Dorian had shadows under his eyes. She could tell he hadn’t slept well the night before, if at all.

“Why would I mind?”

“Well, it’s where you were staying. Want something to eat?”

“Not really. Dorian, I don’t feel any claim to the cottage. Or here, for that matter.”

She studied him. He appeared to be uncomfortable with her this morning. She still hadn’t confronted him about what happened last night in the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

The air seemed to leave his body. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I know.

Can we get Meadow settled first? Then, I promise, I will try to tell you everything you need to know.”

She noticed the choice of words but decided to forego the questions. “For now, let me know what I can do to help in the shop. Oh, and I am fixing dinner for us tonight, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”

“Like Rob?”

“Crap,” she put down her cup and pushed out of the chair. “I completely forgot about Rob.”

“And the fact that he had dinner with Jas last night, don’t forget that.” Dorian’s eyes twinkled.

Well, she was glad she provided him with some amusement at least. She walked to the back door. “How much does Jasmine know about me?”

“You’re Mel’s daughter. She probably assumes, given the similarity, that you are like her.”

“I thought you said not everyone knew.”

“She’s from a founding family.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Jasmine. She has an effusive personality and a quick tongue, but she’s good people. Our people.”

Morgan decided now was probably not the time to discuss Jasmine.

“Where’s Meesha?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, she’s staying in the cottage with Meadow. Believe it or not, Meesha has a comforting effect.”

“She’s one incredible dog.”

“I know.” He watched her as she moved about the kitchen, opening random cabinets and drawers. “Are you looking for something?”

She pushed in a drawer and let her hand drop. “I was just thinking about dinner and realized I didn’t know where anything is and…” she faltered, not knowing what to do.

“It’s okay, Morgan. I was teasing you.” He got up and pointed out the layout of the kitchen. It was very neatly organized. He went to a sidewall that led to the door under the stairs. “This is for the pharmacy. I keep it separate. You can do anything you want with anything, except here. Okay?”

“Got it.” She saluted.

Morgan looked through the huge double door refrigerator and freezer and found some salmon in the freezer. She moved it to the other side. She thought about the herb garden and knew they would have a scrumptious dinner.

Dorian had moved into the shop and was organizing one of the shelves. Morgan busied herself figuring out what was where and what she had to work with.

She heard a knock at the front door. Although they had been working for a while, she knew it was still early. Not moving to the front, she listened.

“Well, hello handsome,” came a throaty feminine voice from the front.

“Jenn,” she squealed and raced into the other room.

Jenn set the suitcase and large pet carrier she was wielding on the floor and rushed forward. “Hey, kiddo.” She wrapped Morgan in a tight hug. “God, I’ve missed you.”

She pushed back and held Morgan at arm’s length. “You
have
looked better, but you’ll do.” She hugged her again, stepped back and turned to Dorian. “And who is this gorgeous hunk of man-flesh?”

Morgan watched the red creep up Dorian’s neck.

“Dorian,” Morgan laughed. “This is Jennifer Davis, my best friend in the whole world and woman extraordinaire. Jenn, this is Dorian Drake, my brother.” The last was said with a twinkle in her eye.

“I am—”

“—not,” Jenn finished for him. “I know. Morgan told me who you are but not how you are.” She laughed, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek.

Morgan saw him fluster and decided to save him. “It’s okay, Dorian,” she said and wrapped her arm around Jenn’s waist, “she’s all bark.”

As if on cue, an indignant meow came from the crate.

Morgan stopped cold. “Mrs. T?” She walked over, leaned down, and was greeted with a soft mewl. “Mrs. T,” Morgan cooed and knelt down, opened the door, and hefted out the large, gunmetal grey cat. Mrs. T turned her head, looked at Dorian with eyes the color of Morgan’s and pushed her ears back. Then, seemingly comfortable that her disdain had been noted, she nuzzled Morgan’s neck and managed to turn herself upside down in Morgan’s arms. A loud purr erupted from her throat.

Dorian and Jenn watched as Morgan and Mrs. T shared their moment. When Morgan finally looked up, Jenn lifted her hands in supplication, “Hey, don’t look at me. It was her idea.”

Morgan didn’t doubt it for a moment.

Jenn supplied the rest. “I got a call from Bask late last night. He had the plane coming by Norfolk at four this morning and, as they say, the rest is history. Look, I can take her back with me since we are going back on the plane. She travels very well—settled down in the seat next to mine and went to sleep, after conning food out of the flight attendant, mind you.”

Morgan looked at Dorian. “We’ll talk,” was all he said. It wasn’t a no, per se, just qualified.

“Meesha?” Morgan asked

“Who’s Meesha?” Jenn looked from one to the other.

“My dog,” Dorian stated. “She won’t be a problem. She loves all animals. Now, whether…Mrs. T, is it?…will take to her…that’s another question.”

“She likes dogs. Just not some people,” Morgan teased. She had rested her chin on top of the cat’s head. It was disconcerting having two pairs of what appeared to be the same eyes staring back at him.

Jenn interrupted. “I brought clothes,” she twirled and pointed to the large suitcase.

“Oh, thank you,” Morgan sighed. “Not that I don’t appreciate the loan,” she added quickly to Dorian.

“It’s okay.” Dorian moved past Jenn toward the kitchen. “Coffee, anyone?”

“Sure,” Jenn piped up. “I could use some high octane.” She followed Dorian into the kitchen.

At that moment, the back door opened and John walked through. His long black hair was still damp from a shower and his bronze skin glowed. Morgan heard Jenn suck in her breath and waited for some quippy remark to follow. When none did, she looked over at her friend. Jenn stood rooted, staring. John was pretty much doing the same. Cheeks pink, Jenn looked down.

Well, that’s a first,
Morgan thought. “Jenn, this is John Davis. John, this is my friend, Jennifer Davis.”

Jenn looked at Morgan, laughed and quipped, “Wow, if we got married, I wouldn’t even have to change my na…” the words trailed off and she turned bright red.

Morgan smiled. At least Jenn’s brain was still engaged, at least partially. Morgan decided to rescue Jenn. “Sit down guys, coffee’s almost ready,” she turned to Dorian who had been watching from near the sink and rolled her eyes. As she turned back, John was holding Jenn’s chair for her. And Jenn was letting him.

“Here…sit, Morgan,” John’s liquid voice softly commanded. “You appear to have your arms full. I’ll help Dorian.”

“Thanks, John.” Morgan slipped into the chair across from Jenn and widened her eyes at her best friend. Jenn was watching John’s back with a dreamy expression on her face. Oh, good grief. Where was the Jenn that took nothing from nobody? Apparently, she’d slipped into John’s pocket, not that that wasn’t one handsome pocket to slip into.

“How’s Meadow?” Morgan addressed his back.

He brought mugs of coffee over to the table, put one in front of her and placed one in front of Jenn; then, just as Morgan reached out, he moved the cream and sugar from next to her over to Jenn.

Morgan watched as Jenn added cream to her coffee, something she never did. Damn, it went both ways.

Jenn looked down and toyed with her napkin.

Morgan wanted to groan.

It took a few seconds, but John finally realized that Morgan had asked him a question. “She was sleeping when I left,” he said, sat down and faced Jenn.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the self-consciousness Jenn displayed was replaced with the victim-rescuing acumen Jenn was known for. She drew a notepad from her purse and launched into questions, hammering John with one after another, writing fiercely as they spoke. Morgan and Dorian sat quietly, sipping coffee and listening. By the time the mugs were empty, Jenn was done.

“Now, I’d like very much to meet Meadow and Kayla, if they are up?” She flashed her power smile at John.

“Yes,” he stammered and almost knocked over his chair rising.

As the four of them trekked over to the cottage, Morgan pointed out some of the features of the garden to Jenn. Jenn looked at her and smiled. She knew. They were standing in Morgan’s dream garden. Jenn reached over and squeezed her arm. Morgan shook her head ever so slightly at Jenn. Jenn frowned. “Why?” she mouthed. Morgan shrugged.

At least Jenn was back to herself, or at least as close to herself as she would probably get while John was around. That tall, overly handsome Indian was having one hell of an effect on her outspoken, curvy blonde friend. Too bad Jenn didn’t live closer. Or not. Morgan didn’t know if John was married or committed to someone. He, too, seemed smitten.

She could hear Kayla in the cottage talking to Meadow as they approached. Dorian opened the door and Meesha shot past, heading for the far side of the property.

“Potty break,” he affirmed.

Not so much as a snarl escaped Mrs. T. Either she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. However, as soon as they entered the cottage, she squirmed out of Morgan’s arms and took off toward the bedroom.

“Mrs. T,” Morgan called, apologized to Kayla, and rushed into the room. Mrs. T was already curled up next to Meadow’s stomach as Meadow lay on her side on the bed. “It’s okay,” she started to reassure Meadow, afraid the cat had frightened her. Meadow just smiled and put her arm over the cat. Mrs. T’s purrs could be heard in the other room.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jenn shook her head.

Morgan had never seen Mrs. T act like this. Normally, the cat was the epitome of nonchalance. Yet, here she was curling and cooing as if she’d found someone she’d lost.

Dorian came up behind Morgan and took in the scene. “Can I talk to you?” Dorian took her arm. “Please excuse us,” he called to the others and led her outside. They walked toward the gazebo.

“I’ve never seen her act like that. I hope Meadow isn’t allergic.”

“I doubt it.” He said and sat down on the swing, patting the space next to him. Morgan sat. Dorian gently pushed, setting the swing in a smooth motion.

When he’d pulled her out of the bedroom, his tone had seemed urgent. However, now, as he looked over the garden, his thoughts appeared elsewhere.

Morgan followed his gaze across the floral beauty in front of them. She felt a real sense of peace. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Wait until I show you the rest of the property.”