The Shoppe of Spells (33 page)
Morgan looked at Jenn. Jenn smiled.
Jasmine went on. “There are things I need to understand about myself and what happened to me.” She looked at Morgan. “I was a bitch when I first met you. I was jealous.” When Morgan glanced at Dorian, Jasmine laughed. “Well, that too,” she shook her head, her spiky dark hair framing her beautiful face. “I was jealous of you,” she leaned forward. “I don’t have the…” she searched for the right word, “…traits that you have. My mother was like Melissa, my father like Thomas. I should have been like you. However, I’m not. I guess that jealousy has been in me for a long time.”
Morgan started to speak, “But—”
Jasmine interrupted her. “I’m not.” Her statement was final. Morgan wondered about the small transfer of energy she’d felt when they hugged. She kept quiet. For now.
“Are you planning to come home with us?” Dorian asked.
Jasmine looked at Jenn. “I’ve asked Jenn if I can stay here for a while. I’ve been impressed with what she’s doing here. I’d like to stay and learn more, if she’ll let me.”
“You know I’d love that. I can use all the help I can get.”
“What about your shop?”
“Bonnie has offered to run it for me for a while. Sales are up. I can’t argue with that.”
Before Morgan or Dorian could interject, she raised her hand. “Yes, I do know about the slight punk look that’s taking place.” She shrugged. “Maybe an infusion of younger blood is a good thing. Besides, I have Teresa and you guys to keep an eye out for me.”
“Speaking of which, where is she?”
“Oh, she had to head back. Bill managed to book a small convention of romance writers, and then decided he couldn’t handle it on his own.”
Kayla walked in and joined Morgan and Dorian on the couch. She slipped her arm through Morgan’s and gave a squeeze. Morgan reached over and patted her hand.
Jasmine got to her feet. “I still tire a bit quickly, so I will say goodnight.”
Morgan and Dorian both rose. John, who had said nothing, remained seated but smiled at her. Jasmine gave them both a hug, stopping at Morgan. “You take care of him or I’ll come kick your butt.”
Morgan laughed but saw a challenge in Jasmine’s eyes. “I promise.”
They watched her walk down the hall, her step a little slower, her shoulder’s slightly drooped. Morgan realized the bravado had been just that, bravado. She tuned to Jenn.
“She’ll be a great help to me,” she spoke to Morgan’s unasked questions, “and she’ll be able to heal. It takes time.”
“What’s the latest on Rob?” Dorian asked.
John spoke up. “He came out of the coma yesterday. He appears to have amnesia. He’s confused about who he is but has retained his education memories. He remembers nothing about Ian, what happened, or what he did. Whether it’s selective or dissociative, they don’t know. He does seem to have an altered personality. He’s too weak to work with yet.” He relayed the discussion he’d had with Dr. Yancy earlier.
“Does Jasmine know?” Morgan asked.
“No. We don’t see any reason to bring it up. Unless she asks, we aren’t volunteering information about him. Her counselor prefers she approach the event in her own way.”
Morgan walked over to the chair and dropped into it. “God,” she said, remembering the man she’d known. “It’s hard for me to fathom what he did.”
Jenn sat near her. “What upsets me is it could have been you. Not that I wanted Jasmine hurt, or anyone else for that matter, but he was working for Ian before he started dating you.”
Sadness etched Morgan’s features. “Do you think we’ll ever know the whole story?”
“I doubt it,” Dorian spat. He felt the anger rush to the surface. He still held murderous thoughts about Rob. He kept seeing Jasmine chained in that mine.
If Bask has anything to do with it, he’ll know every detail about everything before the year is out. That man is a pit bull when it comes to Abbott business,” John added.
Kayla’s voice interrupted. She spoke quietly, softly. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but I want to ask Morgan about the apartment.”
“Sure,” Morgan said. “Did you like it? It’s not very large. You can keep the furniture. And Mrs. T,” she finished. She was going to miss that cat but didn’t see uprooting her at this time in her life.
“Meadow adores Mrs. T. And, Mrs. T has a real fondness for Meadow. And I have a real fondness for the things my daughter likes.”
“Mrs. T will grow on you.”
“I have been offered a job with Jenn. Your apartment would be perfect.”
“It’s a great school district, too.” Morgan was getting excited for them. “Have Jenn introduce you to my parents. They will love Meadow.”
Tears welled and fell down Kayla’s cheek. “Thank you,” she choked out, “for everything.”
Morgan reached out. “That’s what families do. Right?”
Kayla nodded and sniffed.
John broke up the sob fest. “I’m starving. I say we raid Jenn’s larder.”
Jenn punched him in the arm. “Don’t let me stop you, you oversized lunch pail.”
Five adults raced each other down the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
Morgan stood before the cheval mirror in the master bedroom above the shop. Her fingers brushed the ivory velvet that ran down the sides and the back of her gown. Ivory brocade covered the front and fell in flowing pleats from the deep vee in the front waistband of the medieval-style wedding gown. The gown had belonged to Melissa, Melissa’s mother, and her mother’s mother. A few tucks and it fit Morgan’s figure to perfection. How the gown remained in such exquisite condition was surely attributed to the Abbott House, where it would be returned after the wedding. Her fingers gently touched the owl necklace that had also been her mother’s. A kirtle belt of hammered gold and silver draped around her hips and hung down the front of her gown, gems twinkling in the light.
She glanced past her reflection in the mirror to watch her mother gently lifting the veil that was attached to a silver and gold band, encrusted with the same stones as the belt, which would encircle her head. Her mother raised her eyes as she came toward Morgan, caught her look in the mirror and smiled at her.
Ruthorford had been literally cordoned off for the wedding, which had only been put into production a little over a month ago. Morgan had had her doubts as to whether such an event could be arranged in such sort time. However, as soon as Becky and Teresa got their heads together, Morgan stepped back and let them take over. It would have been dangerous to do otherwise. The women had taken to each other immediately and Becky and Talbot had become frequent visitors to the bed and breakfast.
Her parents fell in love with Ruthorford and Ruthorford responded in kind. Morgan couldn’t believe it, but her parents were actually considering selling the house she’d grown up in and transplanting themselves to the small town in Georgia. They decided to put off the decision until after the wedding, which had been set for December 22nd, the winter solstice.
The month and a half had flown by. Dorian and Morgan arrived back in town to find that Teresa had orchestrated the cutting and hanging of the herbs from the garden. The cottage beams were the customary location for this and the cottage was perfumed with the scents of drying flowers and herbs. When she and Dorian stepped into the cottage upon their return, she was astonished to find, not only had all the stones been put back in their original locations, but the rug was lying in its spot as well, looking none the worse for wear.
Not one Gulatega had been seen since their experience at the castle in Virginia Beach. They came together upon the rug, touching in more than five points, but raising the current nevertheless. The portal shifted but no creatures appeared near them. The portal quietly collapsed. She and Dorian spent more than a few evenings contemplating possibilities. Although they hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else, they had discussed the stone the creature had pushed across the portal and the fact that the eye of the unicorn in Meadow’s locket looked to be a tiny version of the same stone.
They had no way of knowing whether or not Ian had survived being pulled, however willingly, through the portal. Nothing was said about the incident except between themselves. A few days after their arrival in Ruthorford, it was announced on the evening news that financial tycoon, Ian Macintosh, had disappeared when his plane went down in the Atlantic Ocean. He apparently was on a solo flight to Scotland when the accident occurred. Minimal wreckage had been found and no black box. She had called Kayla and talked with her, extending their sympathies. Morgan still didn’t know if Kayla knew what had happened. She hadn’t had a chance to ask John, who was spending more and more time in Virginia.
Kayla and Meadow were, in fact, staying in the cottage for the wedding. Meesha loved the idea of having Meadow around, even if it did mean putting up with Mrs. T, who took a swat at her whenever the chance arose. Meadow wouldn’t go anywhere without Mrs. T. Morgan figured it was a good thing the Gulatega were not to be found, since poor Mrs. T would have resumed her enraged porcupine status immediately.
The only other accommodation that had been made in their absence had been the gentle packing and storing of Melissa and Thom’s clothing from the master bedroom. Morgan wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but Dorian didn’t seem to mind. His clothes had been moved in with hers and his old room was converted into a guest suite, where Becky and Talbot were staying. They planned to move into the bed and breakfast for the night to give Morgan and Dorian more privacy. Meesha had been invited to spend the night at the cottage with Meadow, so they would have the shop all to themselves. Even Miss Grace and Miss Alice had promised to refrain from calling until the second day, at which time the two sisters were promised their pastries would be greatly appreciated.
Morgan stepped out of the limousine in front of the chapel next to the bed and breakfast. The sun glinted off the silica in the dirt next to the stone path. A chill breeze ruffled her veil. She took her father’s hand and they walked up the steps to the chapel and into the front hall.
Meadow stood holding a basket of deep red rose petals, their fragrance permeating the air. She looked up as Morgan stepped into the room.
“Oh, Miss… Aunt Morgan, you look like a Scottish Faery Princess.” She came over to hug her. Morgan heard her mother’s intake of breath and smiled at her. She knelt down in all of her finery and looked into Meadow’s glowing green eyes.
“
You
look like the princess,” she said. “Thank you for attending me as my lady in waiting.”
Meadow beamed.
The music began.
Suddenly, Morgan’s nerves bunched. She saw her mother slip through the door. Then Jenn and John. Oh, God. Her stomach did a somersault.
“You ready, beautiful daughter of mine—at least for the moment?”
She heard her father’s voice falter and blinked back a tear.
“I love you, Pumpkin,” he said. The doors opened and they stepped through.
The chapel was full. Everyone she knew, and many she didn’t, crowded into the chapel to see her marry Dorian, their beloved son. All eyes were on her.
She looked up. The only eyes she saw were Dorian’s. He stood in the front, waiting for her, wearing a short tuxedo jacket. Pinned to his shoulder and hanging down the side was a
tartan plaid
, its purple, green and black colors dark and dramatic. He was tall, rugged and handsome. Her breath caught. His lips parted in a smile. His eyes twinkled. He waited for her.
Morgan didn’t remember the trip down the aisle or much of the ceremony. She vaguely remembered placing a Celtic braided ring on his finger after receiving a matching one from him. Until they kissed, everything seemed a blur.
As they were announced man and wife, he lifted her veil. His eyes looked deep into hers and they stood there, the energy flowing between them. The stones in the windows and around the altar vibrated and began to glow. A hush moved through the chapel.
“My mate, my partner, my wife,” he said as he lowered his head and the warmth of his mouth took hers.
Down the street, the sign above The Shoppe of Spells shimmered, its outline an iridescent violet.
THE BEGINNING
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shanon Grey weaves romance and suspense with threads of the paranormal. THE SHOPPE OF SPELLS, published by Crossroads Publishing House, is the first in her series, THE GATEKEEPERS. Shanon spent her life on coasts, both the beautiful Atlantic and the balmy Gulf. Hurricane Katrina taught her the fragility of life and the strength of friendship, family and starting over. She currently lives in northern Georgia, trading the familiarity of the coast for the lush beauty and wonder of the mountains, where her husband fulfilled her lifelong dream—to live in a cottage in the woods. There, she garners inspiration from horses grazing on rolling pastures and deer that wander by to tease her beloved dog.
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