The Shoppe of Spells (The Gatekeeper Series)

by Grey, Shanon

  “No.” His voice was harsh. “Turn over the sign when you leave, Jasmine.”

  “But Dorian,” she pleaded.

  “Not now, Jasmine,” his tone softened. “Let me get her to bed. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jasmine nodded. “I really am sorry.”

  Morgan heard the bell as the door closed. Dorian walked over and locked it.

  “Come on,” he took her arm.

  “Dorian,” she hesitated, “I don’t think I want to stay in the cottage alone. Not like this.”

  “It’s okay. I’m putting you upstairs in the other room. That way I can hear you, if you need me. Meesha will watch you, too, I’m sure.” He bent down and ruffled the fur of the eager Collie. She let out a soft yap.

  “Thanks, Meesha,” Morgan said. She did feel better. “Can I stop at the powder room down here first? I remember its layout.”

  “Sure,” he said and led her to the little room off the hall. “I’ll get you something to put on. Just wait here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she called through the closed door.

  ****

  Morgan stretched and felt her muscles come awake. She opened her eyes to blackness. Her hands automatically grabbed at the bandages. Then she remembered yesterday. Yesterday had been a nightmare, even compared to her recurring ones. Luckily, last night had been nightmare and incident free. Given all that had occurred the day before, a quiet night seemed like a miracle.

  The patches were loose enough to allow her to blink. She felt her lashes rub the soft gauze. At least there was no more pain. She groped around for the pillows and pushed herself up.

  “Good. You’re awake,” Dorian spoke from the doorway. “Do you need some help?”

  “If you don’t mind.” Tilting her head, she heard him approach the bed. “Can’t we just take these off?”

  “Not yet.” He reached for her arm and eased her out of the bed. She anticipated the tingle of his touch and didn’t jerk back.

  “Here. Let me guide you,” he said and led her across the room. “You can use the master bath. I’ll show you where the basics are.” He guided her in and placed her hand on the sink. “Now follow the edge of the sink to your left. Next to it is the toilet. You okay?” He watched her nod, saw the tension in her shoulders. He retreated toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

  “Toothbrush?”

  “It’s on the edge of the sink.” He placed her hand on the toothbrush. “Toothpaste’s next to it. Cup next to that. You can yell if you need help.”

  She nodded and waited until he closed the door.

  Morgan managed everything until it was time to leave the room, then she had no idea where the door was—how far or in what direction. In fact, she had no clue how big the room was. Did it have a shower? Realizing she could walk into a wall or a closet, she surrendered and called Dorian.

  Before the last syllable left her lips, the door opened. He was beside her in an instant, guiding her back to bed.

  For the first time, Morgan realized that his touch hadn’t caused pain. She still felt the current move from his body to hers, but it wasn’t as sharp.

  “Dr. Yancy’s here.” Dorian said as he helped prop her up in bed. “He was Melissa’s doctor. I called him last night,” he added when he felt her tense. He pulled the quilt up for her. “After I told him what I did, he said you should be all right until he got here this morning.”

  “Morgan. I’m Dr. Yancy.” A warm hand took hers and squeezed. “Let me help you back onto the pillows. I want to take a look.”

  Her hand automatically went to her eyes. The bed gave a little creak as his weight settled on the edge. He pulled her hand away and spoke softly. “It’s okay, Morgan. I was Melissa’s doctor,” he said in a deep warm voice. “I understand you have her eyes.”

  Morgan yielded to his touch. As he pulled each patch off, she blinked. A face etched with wrinkles came into view. She blinked again. Silver grey eyes smiled at her. She smiled back.

  He held her lid up and shined a light into the pupil. It contracted. As expected, he saw a second contraction. “Good,” he said and repeated the process with the other eye. “Very good.”

  He applied several drops of a solution into each eye and had her blink repeatedly. His face came into sharp focus. She saw movement and shifted her focus. Dorian stood at the end of the bed, wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before. She frowned.

  “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he defended.

  The smile she offered stunned him. Her luxurious red hair spilled about her shoulders. The quilt nestled beneath her breasts, affording him a glimpse of rose tipped nipples pushing against the thin nightshirt. He felt an undeniable tug in his gut. As her now clear gaze followed the focus of his eyes, her face tinged with pink and she pulled the quilt higher. He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Dorian…would you mind getting me some tea?” she asked softly.

  She waited until she heard him in the kitchen, then looked at the doctor.

  “You said Melissa had eyes like mine?”

  “Yes, dear, she did. Yours seem to be more…” he looked for the right word, “intense.”

  “Intense?”

  “Have you ever been to an ophthalmologist?”

  She looked down. “Yes,” she whispered, “he said I have a birth defect.”

  He tilted her chin until she looked him in the eye. He stared at her. “You have an anomaly, not a deformity.” He was emphatic. “Your mother, as well as many of the women in your lineage, had the same anomaly. Hell, it may be evolutionary advancement. It serves a purpose. It enables you to see the Gulatega.”

  She started. “You know about the creature?”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “I’ve been employed by Abbott House since before I became a doctor.” He laughed. “So, yes, I know about the Gulatega.”

  “Then, I haven’t been dreaming?”

  “No.” He rose and walked over to the window. Turning, he studied her. “Morgan, your eyes have a double lens. I have studied it all my life and still don’t completely understand it. However, it seems to allow you to see in the ultraviolet range. That somehow enables you to see the Gulatega. The only other animal, I think, that seems to have the ability to see it is the cat. Dogs can sense it.” He took a breath and slowly shook his head, “I am only speculating, because, thus far I haven’t gotten either a cat or a Gulatega to cooperate with any experiments.”

  It took her a moment to realize he was teasing. Mrs. T came to mind. The idea of her highness cooperating with anyone for anything that didn’t involve dinner… She laughed. “I have a cat. You’re right. There would be no cooperation.”

  He smiled and walked over. “Just know I am here for you, just as I was for your mother.”

  Simple words and reality slapped at her. He knew her mother. Dorian knew her mother. In this place, everyone knew the woman who’d given her away. Maybe this man knew why she gave her away.

  He seemed to read her mind. “No. I didn’t know of your existence until after her death. However, I did know her. Trust me when I say this, Morgan, she wouldn’t have given you up if she hadn’t had a damned good reason.”

  Dorian appeared at the door with an inlaid teak tray holding several cups, a pot of steaming tea, and a plate of croissants.

  “Ah, refreshments,” Dr. Yancy exclaimed and shifted a tray table toward the bed. Dorian set the tray down, pulled chairs forward and poured the tea. From beside her bed, he pulled an elegant smaller tray, which he placed on her lap and set a cup of tea and a croissant on it.

  “Teresa?” The taste of butter floated across her tongue.

  “Actually, yes. She’s the baker.” Dorian stated.

  The doctor sipped his tea. “How are Teresa and Bill?” he asked but didn’t look up.

  “They are doing well,” Dorian said. “You ought to stop by the B & B while you’re here. I know Teresa would love to see you.”

  “Can’t this tim
e.” He set down his cup. “In fact,” he said, looking at his watch, “I’m late as it is.” He wrapped the croissant in a napkin and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll finish this on the way back to Atlanta.”

  Dorian rose. “Thanks for coming. She’s okay?” He followed the doctor to the door.

  Dr. Yancy turned. “She’ll be fine.” He looked back at Morgan, “Take it easy today.” He held out his hand to Dorian, “Stay. Finish your tea. I know my way out.” He shook Dorian’s hand. “You’re a good pharmacist, an even better compounder. Apply more salve if she has pain. Several more drops won’t hurt either.”

  Dr. Yancy looked back at Morgan, sitting regally among the pillows, the spitting image of her mother. “It’s been a privilege. Remember—if you need me.” He smiled at her and headed out the door. “Amazing,” he muttered as he trod down the steps.

  They both listened for the faint tinkle of the bell. When Dorian turned back to her, she asked, “Pharmacist? Compounder? And here I thought you were a shopkeeper.”

  “I am. I apprenticed under Thomas after I finished my education. I figured, with the kinds of things people were asking for, it would behoove me to avoid legal ramifications.” He walked back, sat, and reached for his tea.

  How a man could drink tea out of a dainty cup and still appear so devastatingly masculine—Morgan felt the warmth spread through her limbs. Her voice squeaked when she spoke, “Where did you go to college?” She felt her face flame.

  If he noticed, he gave no indication. “Emory in Atlanta. Biochemistry and Pharmacology.”

  “Wow.”

  “But I’m a lousy bookkeeper,” he added.

  She laughed and wondered if he knew about her accounting minor.

  The bell sounded downstairs. “Damn,” he hissed, “I thought I left the closed sign up.”

  “Yoo-hoo, Dorian?” a familiar voice called.

  “Coming, Miss Alice,” he called. “Sorry,” he whispered to Morgan and left.

  She leaned back in the pillows, listening to his warm voice flow over the chatter below. She looked around. She lay in a queen size four-poster in the middle of a truly Victorian bedroom suite. She could have been time-warped to the 1800’s except for the cool air blowing out of the air conditioning vents. An ornately carved armoire stood in the corner with a matching dresser and tilted cheval mirror across from it. A fainting couch covered in a delicate stripe sat beneath the window.

  Morgan’s breathing stopped. She was in the master bedroom. Her parents’ bedroom. She pushed back the covers and rose, setting the tray on the bed and walked straight to the dresser. She recognized the man and woman in the picture from the photos in the folder. They were standing in the garden; he had a hoe in his hand. A child played at their feet. Dorian. The picture went blurry. She blinked and wiped her eyes. Why was she crying? She didn’t know them.

  As she turned, she caught sight of herself in the long mirror oval mirror. Her hair tumbled down her back. The thin cotton nightshirt danced just below her thighs. Bikini panties hugged her hips. Her rose nipples hardened when she looked up and saw Dorian looking over her shoulder into the mirror, his eyes riveted on her breasts.

  “Are you up to getting dressed?” he asked tersely. Not waiting for an answer, he left the room.

  She followed behind him and closed the door. Her hand trembled. Never had she reacted so immediately or so strongly to a man. Even an angry man. At times he was so nice to her and at others—he seemed hostile. Morgan glanced around once more. Had she met him somewhere else, some other time, she could see letting her attraction to him take a different course. This was just too awkward.

  Morgan allowed herself time to take a quick shower, having found fresh towels laid out for her on the sink. She reached for the shampoo sitting on the tile ledge in the shower. As the floral scent encased her body, she inhaled the scent of the woman who gave birth to her. Somehow comforted, she finished the shower. When she walked back into the bedroom still wrapped in the towel, she found a fresh pair of jeans and a yellow oxford shirt on the bed. A drawer in the dresser was ajar. Morgan walked over and shook her head, barely suppressing the laughter at Dorian’s sense of decorum. She found the garments she needed and closed the drawer. Her fingers reached for the picture. They looked so happy, so complete. With renewed resolve, she tucked the shirt into the jeans, pulled her damp hair back, twisted it up, and clipped it.

  As much as she regretted not being able to keep her half of the shop and those, oh so magnificent gardens, Morgan knew it was only right to offer it to Dorian. He grew up here. He trained to take over. It was obvious that he loved it. This quaint little town. Remembering the conversation the night before, she knew he loved the people and the people adored him. Everyone had been extremely kind to her. Even Jasmine, after she nearly blinded her. She looked like Melissa and people reacted to that. Nonetheless, she wasn’t Melissa. She just didn’t fit. Letting determination bolster her, she started down the stairs, a spring in her step.

  “Dorian,” she called. Better to get this straightened out so they could get out of each other’s way and on with their own lives. She was sure Jasmine wouldn’t miss her and would be thrilled to have Dorian all to herself once more.

  Midway, she saw Dorian and another man turn toward her. Her step faltered and she grabbed the rail to keep from falling.

  “Rob!” she exclaimed. She didn’t miss Dorian’s scowl.

  Dorian’s brooding, dark handsome features stood in direct contrast to Rob’s blonde Adonis charm.

  “Morgan,” Rob flashed a smile and pushed up his glasses. Taking the steps two at a time, he stopped on the step below her. Now eye to eye, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  “What are you doing here?” She stood on the steps, not moving.

  “I talked to your parents. They told me where you were.”

  She glanced at Dorian, who watched them, his chiseled features unmoving.

  “They send their love.” Rob smiled at her.

  She studied him, wondering what he was up to. Surely, her parents hadn’t told him what had transpired. Then she remembered they didn’t know she had stopped seeing him. God, too damn much had happened in the last few weeks. She let a huff of breath escape.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her voice flat.

  He stepped back one step. “Oh,” his smile disappeared and he threw a look at Dorian, “I see how it is.”

  “No.” Morgan and Dorian spoke simultaneously.

  Rob raised an eyebrow. Morgan steadied herself and stepped around him, preceding him down the steps. “Dorian and I have business to conduct.” She didn’t elaborate. “This was not a pleasure trip.”

  “Well, it should be,” Rob’s smile was suddenly back in place. “I am staying at the most charming bed and breakfast a few blocks down the street. Where are you staying, Morgan? We could—”

  “I’m staying here.” She walked to the counter and leaned against it. Her knees felt weak.

  Her eyes hurt and her head throbbed. Suddenly pissed that Rob got to stay at the bed and breakfast before she’d had a chance, she scowled at him.

  Rob frowned.

  Dorian interjected, “I have the paperwork. I’m ready any time you are.” He hoped she appreciated his saving her ass. “I’ll be in the cottage when you’re ready.”

  “Oh, I can see I’ve interrupted.” Rob took her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  Morgan grew more exasperated by the moment. Rob was giving every indication that they were a couple. She jerked her hand away.

  Unaffected, he continued. “Say, why don’t we meet at the bed and breakfast later.” He turned to Dorian, who had stopped in the kitchen. “You’re welcome to join us,” he added reluctantly.

  “Sounds good to me,” Dorian called over his shoulder.

  “Hang on, Dorian. I’m coming with you,” Morgan called. She didn’t want a confrontation with Rob just now. She didn’t feel like playing games with either one, but especially not Rob.
/>   Dorian whirled mid-step and walked back to the front door. “We’ll see you later, then.” He held the door open for Rob.

  “Sure,” Rob said, taking the none-too-subtle hint. Morgan stepped away, barely avoiding a second kiss.

  As soon as Rob was out the door, Dorian shut it, locked it and turned the closed sign over. He walked over to Morgan and grasped her arm, leading her out the back door. “Now we really have to talk.”

  Chapter Six

  Morgan paced back and forth in front of the cottage fireplace. She stopped, looked at Dorian sitting calmly at the table by the front window, and started pacing again. “Let me see if I have it right.” She pushed back her bangs. “This creature…this Gulatega…is some sort of parasite. It attaches to people,” she shuddered, “and sucks out their brains!” Her voice rose to a shriek.

  Dorian watched her. She’d heard him. She’d understood him. She was being dramatic. “No, it’s not like that,” he emphasized. “Here’s what we know. It’s attracted to some people. It gets around them and they start having headaches, confusion, difficulty remembering. It doesn’t suck out their brains.” He rolled his eyes. “The longer they are attached—” he shook his head when she whirled on him, and corrected, “around—the person, the worse the symptoms become.”

  “And just what do I have to do with this again?” She’d resumed pacing.

  “You can see them. I can’t. Together our energy does something to the portal and they go back through. Unharmed. We don’t want them harmed because we don’t know what effect that would have on their dimension…or ours.”

  She studied him. He still wasn’t telling her everything. She damn well knew it. “What about us?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Can it suck out our brains?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “For some reason, people like us are immune.”

  “People like us?” Morgan felt like she was repeating herself.

  Now Dorian was brushing back his hair. “Yeah. You know that crescent moon birthmark high on your right hip.”

  Remembering the sleep shirt, her lips tightened, “I thought I dressed myself last night.”