The Shoppe of Spells (6 page)

“Do what?”

“Look away. Or down. Or out from under your bangs.”

Her cheeks flamed.

“It’s your eyes, isn’t it?” He reached over and gently lifted her chin with just the tip of his finger, barely touching her, until she was looking right at him, into those glacial blue eyes. She felt a slight tingle. “You have Melissa’s eyes,” he said. “Wonderful eyes.”

“Eyes that bring stares and starts.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “I forget.” He went back to eating. “Here, we are all used to her eyes. Eyes that shined with kindness and love.” He took a sip of coffee. “But, now that I think about it, she did have sunglasses she wore whenever we went anywhere else. Or, she’d wear a hat.” His eyes crinkled at the memory. “I’d forgotten.”

“You’re sure Teresa’s okay?” She changed the subject. Talking about Melissa felt weird, as it pertained to her.

“Yes. She’ll be all right. They grew up together.”

“Losing a friend and then having her likeness appear before you must be devastating,” she acknowledged.
Finding out you’ve lost someone you never even knew isn’t easy, either
, Morgan thought and realized she, too, was experiencing a sense of loss.

Dorian poured her a second cup of coffee and turned the conversation to herbs, soaps, and lotions. The things she knew and loved to craft. He seemed to have a real talent for concocting just the right blend. For a little while, he was warm and friendly, as though he’d forgotten to be mad at her. Morgan began to relax. They sipped coffee as candlelight flickered in the deepening dusk.

“You don’t know how much you look like Mel. It took my breath away.” He cocked his head and looked at her. “But you are softer, gentler.”

“I wish I had met them.”

“They would have loved you.” He looked into the candle flame. A far away, sad expression passed over his eyes.

Wanting to comfort him, Morgan reached over and touched his hand. Zapped, she jerked back. “Ow! What is it with you? Every time we touch…” she let the words trail off as he looked at her, his brow furrowed. Obviously, he hadn’t felt it.

“Shall we go?” He rose and came around to pull out her chair.

“Don’t we need to wait for the check?”

“No. We… I have a running tab. Plus, I provide all the herbs for them.”

The warm night and events of the day began to wear on her. By the time they entered the shop, she was exhausted. “I think I’ll go on to bed. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Wait and thank me tomorrow,” he said. He looked so serious. Then he smiled. “I’ll walk you out. Make sure you don’t need anything.” He stopped, as if pondering something. “Wait here,” he said and bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Okay,” she responded to his retreating back.

Turning, she saw the cottage through the back door. Like a painting, the small Tudor building cast fingers of light over the gardens. She watched flickers of color, entranced, and remembered the crystals decorating the windowsills and mantel. She moved toward the back door.

“This ought to do it.” Dorian came up behind her.

She turned. He handed her an armload of clothing.

“I don’t need all this.”

“Well, I’m a guy. I wasn’t sure what you’d need. If you want something else, just ask.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Dorian walked her over and said goodnight, leaving her alone in the cottage. She set the clothes on the bench at the foot of the bed and picked up the nightshirt. It smelled of lavender. She put it to her face and inhaled, wondering about the woman who’d worn it.

Her cell phone rang. Her mother’s voice sounded cautious. “Am I disturbing you?”

“Of course not, Mom,” Morgan said and rushed on, “I’m sorry I didn’t call. It’s been so busy.” She sat on the side of the bed and set the nightshirt at the foot, feeling guilty. For what? Wondering about her biological mother? She pushed the thought and guilt aside and launched into a detailed description of her day, leaving out the hotness of her new “brother.”

She wasn’t so lucky with Jenn, who called on the tail end of her conversation with her mom. Her mother had insisted Morgan take the call and promised to give hugs and kisses to her father for her. Ever the romantic, Jenn jumped on the idea of sparks flying between them, even when Morgan insisted he didn’t feel them, only she did. Jenn also reminded her that he most definitely was not her brother. All in all, the conversations with her mom and Jenn lightened her mood and she grabbed the nightshirt and headed into the bath.

An antique claw-footed tub sat at an angle in the dusky beige bath. An oval mirror hung pristinely over a pedestal sink. Diamond panes set in a small window showcased the vine covered brick fence behind the cottage. She lifted the lid on a glass jar. An herbal infusion of lavender perfumed the small space. It was becoming apparent that Melissa was a fan of lavender. She looked at the tub and sighed. She was too tired. It was all she could do to climb beneath the cool sheets and turn off the light. Her last thought was how the pillow smelled of lavender.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Again. And again. Morgan pushed back the covers and padded into the front room. Meesha? She moved toward the front window.

Moonlight streamed across the garden. Something scurried through the plants, rustling leaves. A cat? She couldn’t quite make it out. Meesha barked again—from inside the darkened shop. The hair on the back of her arms stood on end. It moved again, whatever it was. She leaned into the window and squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the outline of the small animal silhouetted by moonlight. It looked hairless. Her breath caught. It stopped, rose up on hind legs and faced her. Violet slits glared at her. She screamed.

The hairless creature moved on all fours toward her, its body outlined in bluish violet. Morgan screamed again and stumbled further back into room. She saw the door of the shop fly open and Meesha and Dorian bound down the steps. Before she could turn, he burst through the door, pulled her away from the window, stopping just short of the bedroom, and pulled her into his arms. His initial contact with her sent a jolt, but before she could pull away, he gathered her close, resting his chin atop her head. The energy changed. It seemed to pulse—to catch and match a rhythm from him.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded, his voice husky from sleep. Points around the room began to glow, including the edge of the rug on which they stood. She quickly obeyed, closing her eyes. He whispered soothing words to her, his voice taking on a crooning tone. She began to relax, become lethargic. The pulse changed to a hum.

She could smell the heat of his bed warmed body. She could feel the beat of his heart. For a moment, she felt like she could hear both hearts, then one, as if they’d become attuned. She breathed him in and snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her, then loosened. Slowly, he released her. She blinked, stepped back and looked around. Nothing glowed. Not the stones. Not the rug. She didn’t hear a pulse or a hum.

He stood before her, watching her. Except for the fact that he was shirtless, in pajama bottoms, with mussed hair, he looked fine. Actually, he looked more than fine. She had an incredible urge to step back into his arms. Instead, she turned away.

She walked to the window and looked out. Nothing stirred. Warm scents wafted in through the still open door.

“What the hell was that?” She point toward the garden. “And what did you just do?”

“You were frightened,” Dorian said simply.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she snapped at him.

His brow furrowed.

“Something happened here.” She waved her arm inclusively. “I’m not stupid.”

She faced the dog. Meesha sat three feet from the rug, ears forward, staring in rapt attention at the rug beneath Morgan’s feet, as she had the day before. Morgan hopped off the rug. “What’s that?” she pointed at the dog.

“Meesha?”

“No. Yes. But, what’s she staring at?”

Dorian stepped off the rug, lifted it to reveal the wood floor. Meesha looked up at him and moved over to the sofa where she hopped up and settled down, resting her head on her paws.

He walked over to the door. “You must’ve had a bad dream. I’ll go and let you get some sleep. Meesha,” he called. Meesha looked up at him but didn’t move.

“No!” Morgan’s voice came out in a yelp. “I’m not staying here alone.”

He smiled at her.

“You can have the couch.” She walked into the bedroom, retrieved the blanket from the bench, and grabbed a pillow. “Here,” she shoved them at him, marched into the bedroom, and closed the French doors firmly behind her.

“Oh…yeah…thanks for staying,” she called from behind the safety of the closed doors.

“Meesha, down.” She heard his command. A few grumbles followed and then silence.

Maybe he was right. It was so similar to her nightmares. They seem to be returning. She was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. She pulled the covers up and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Outside, a pair of violet eyes stared at the cottage.

****

Morgan woke sprawled across the bed, the quilt piled in a heap on the floor. A heavy fog clouded her mind. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. There was something flitting just beyond her consciousness. She turned her head. She stared at the closed French doors…and bolted upright, remembering that Dorian was on the other side.

She crawled off the bed, grabbed clothes off the bench and crept into the bathroom. Trying not to make too much noise, she bathed and got dressed, pulling her still damp red hair up off her neck and fastening a large silver clip to hold it. The jeans were a little loose, but when she tucked the chambray shirt in, they were just fine. She started out and turned back, pulled her make-up kit out of her purse. A little lip-gloss wouldn’t be going too far.

She pushed on the doors. With a thunk, they finally pushed open. There lay Dorian, asleep, one long leg hanging over the end of the sofa, while the other was bent and resting on the floor. He couldn’t be comfortable. His bare bronze chest rose and fell in an even pattern. She should cover him. She stepped over and looked down at Meesha, sprawled on her side in a nice little nest of blanket.

Her attention lifted to the window. She eased around the couch and tiptoed over to the large window. The happy faces of flowers turned upward toward the bright sun. The garden looked welcoming and safe. No animals of any sort. Maybe it had been a dream. It seemed so real. In all her dreams before, the threat was vague, the creatures undistinguished. She could still picture it, the malevolent eyes glowing. She shuddered.

“Hey.”

She jumped.

“Sorry.” Dorian sat facing her, his arm thrown across the back of the couch. His hair looked tousled and, with a night’s growth of beard, he appeared quite the rake. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She couldn’t help but stare at the muscles rippling across his torso. A shimmer of heat coiled in her belly.

He looked into her eyes. The shimmer of heat turned into a flame.

She looked down, letting her bangs curtain his view, then remembered his comments at dinner, looked up and brushed her bangs back.

He glanced at the mantel and was off the couch in one swift movement. “Crap. It’s almost 7:30. I need to open the shop. Meesha, come.” He was at the door with a panther’s grace before he turned back. “Give me a few moments. Then come on over.” He opened the door and turned back. “Coffee?”

“I can make some.”

“No, I meant do you want some? I always get a pot going in the morning. Not the most herbal smell for the shop, but I’ve found I have no desire to go without my coffee.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I will be over in a little while.”

Without another word, he walked out the door with Meesha on his heels. Through the window, she watched him cross the garden to the shop—watched his magnificent muscles flex as he walked. “Down, girl,” she admonished her thudding pulse. Instead, she concentrated on Meesha, who had raced off to the side and now bounded up the steps behind him and yipped as he opened the door to let her precede him.

Morgan turned and retrieved the blanket from the floor. She shook it and folded it, laying it over the back of the couch. She grabbed a throw pillow, used her fist to fluff it, and caught the scent of him. She stopped and inhaled. He definitely had an effect on her. A few bars from “Music of the Night” played.
Jenn!
Morgan raced into the bedroom and grabbed her cell phone.