Meadow's Keep (The Gatekeepers Series) (2 page)

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think of something. Gotta go.” She disconnected. God, was Bask gonna be pissed. He expected deference from everyone, no exception. He was, after all,
the
foundation.

Jasmine slipped the phone into her pocket. “Look, Jenn, it’s the magician,” she announced loudly, pointed at the man fast approaching them, and tried to look thrilled.

“Wow!” Jenn gushed. “You are fabulous. We were just discussing your act.”

“I bet you were
.” He looked from one to the other.

His accent was gone. Jasmine placed his speech pattern from somewhere slightly north of Virginia. Jasmine raised one arched black eyebrow. “And here I was swooning over the European theme,” she taunted him.

His brilliant green eyes scanned back and forth, finally stopping on Jasmine. “You.” He reached out to grab her arm and jerked his hand back as the electricity arced between them.

“Damn!” He rubbed his hand down his thigh then looked at it. “What gives?”

“Better watch out or you might get stung.” Her eyes flashed a warning. So much for the idea of DNA gathering. Didn’t look like she was getting anywhere near him. That jolt had gone both ways, except, given what she’d experienced in the auditorium, she’d pretty much anticipated it and could hide her reaction.

“You almost ruined my act,” he declared.

They both knew he was referring to what had happened earlier. “No, I didn’t. I thought you were attacking me.” In truth, Jasmine hadn’t thought, she’d reacted. It had stunned her as much as it had him. Maybe more. Trying for a more diplomatic tactic, she worked at dampening her energy and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Jasmine Monroe.” Her black eyes sparkled.

He hesitated,
narrowing his eyes as he looked from her hand to his, lifted the corner of his lip in a hint of a smile and grasped her slender hand in his larger one. A current flowed from both at the same time and slammed into their hands. His eyes darkened—the green facets beginning to swirl—and locked onto her obsidian orbs.

A loud pop
had Jenn staring at their clasped hands. Without thinking, she grabbed their arms to pull them apart. The current burst through her, flinging her backward onto her butt as it broke the connection. For the briefest second, Jasmine stared at him as a sense of loss coursed through her and was gone.

“Are you all right?” Jasmine, knelt, fighting to keep the vibration out of her voice. Her entire being was on fire. The memory of the current flowing through her was vivid. Their heartbeats had matched, beat as one. She looked at the man kneeling beside her. His pupils were still dilated, but the green was returning to normal.

“I am so sorry…I don’t understand,” he said quietly. He reached out to offer Jenn a hand up. Jenn studied it, made a face, waved it away, and struggled to her feet.

Dusting
off her jeans and not looking at the man in front of her, Jenn commented, “Must be a storm nearby.”

Jasmine took the cue, looking to the sky. “We better get going before it hits.” She turned to the magician. “Interesting show.”

Eryk ran his hand across the back of his neck, dazed. “Yeah. Wasn’t it?” He looked at the cloudless sky.

“Nice meeting you,” Jasmine called over her shoulder as she pulled Jenn along with her. She didn’t know how long it would be before he followed them. As soon as they rounded a curve, they took off for the parking area.

“What was that all about,” Jenn asked, out of breath. “And that zapping thing. What…?”

“I don’t know. I dampened my energy, but it didn’t seem to matter. On the other hand—literally, I might add—I got his DNA.”

“How?”

“When you grabbed us and we came apart, I scratched him. Any way to bag and tag this?” she asked and held up her hand, a twinkle in her black eyes.

Jenn laughed and shook her head. “Whatever you do, don’t wash it?”

As they climbed into the car, Jenn reached over the console, into the back seat and grabbed a box of plastic bags,
pulled one out and handed it to Jasmine.

Jasmine
took the bag and held it up. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope. It’s the best we can do until we get you home."

With her right hand in the baggy, Jasmine dialed Bask. Her fingers trembled as she punched the code. She’d felt an undeniable pull toward the magician and wondered if it was because of the similarity to Dorian. The height, the build, the hair, even to the warmth of his voice. They were all Dorian. But, those eyes definitely were
not
Dorian. She’d seen those eyes before—a
blended
trait—in Morgan, Morgan’s birth mother, and in Kayla’s daughter, Meadow.

All women. Thinking back, Jasmine couldn’t recall having seen that particular trait in a man.

A heaviness settled over her. Her parents were both descendants and she, therefore, should have had the eye trait. She had the birthmark, or what was left of it after the attack, but not the green eyes. Which explained why she and Dorian had never matched. God knows, they’d tried.

Bask’s brusque questions interrupted her reverie. “Yes, it’s in a bag…and still attached to my arm, thank you very much.”

She glanced at Jenn and shook her head. “Bask,” she chided, “you have no sense of humor. Love you.” She hung up, knowing she was one of the few people to actually get away with such offbeat behavior around the head of Abbott House. She’d been doing it since she could remember and getting away with it just as long. Not that she didn’t respect him. She did. He was, after all, the head of the protectors of the founding families.

“He’s going to have someone meet us at Safe Harbor,” she said to Jenn.

She looked down at her hand resting on her lap, inside the baggy. Her fingers still tingled from the contact with the magician. The memory of his heartbeat, syncing with hers, and the heat that was pooling low in her gut, caused a tingling of a very different sort.

Was
this what Dorian and Morgan felt?

Poor Morgan, pulled into Ruthorford without any foreknowledge, except that she’d been given up for adoption, never told, and suddenly had to claim an inheritance and a legacy, no questions asked.

When Morgan had arrived, Jasmine knew instantly that she was Dorian’s match. At first, it hurt. But, as she’d discussed with Dr. Browne, her therapist at Safe Harbor, she wasn’t sure if it really hurt, or if it was just that she’d felt it was supposed to hurt. Either way, it had left her being catty to Morgan, behavior she regretted and had since begged Morgan’s forgiveness. Morgan, ever gracious, repeatedly gave Jasmine the assurances she needed, and encouraged their friendship. Which was good—because, right now, Jasmine could use some sisterly advice from another descendant.

Jenn reached over and patted Jasmine’s arm as she drove the SUV through the gates at the entrance to Safe Harbor, following the drive
around to the helicopter pad Abbott House had had installed. A helicopter was there, its blades almost stopped. Several men stood talking, one of them Dr. Yancy, Jenn’s uncle, whose medical bag sat on the ground at his feet.

Suddenly, Jasmine’s gut did a somersault. Before, she’d felt foolish. Now, watching the building
brouhaha, she knew something was coming. Maybe it was the remnant of the energy she still felt in her body. Even after the long ride home, her body hummed. She had an incredible urge to go back and find him again. To touch him. To feel the current.

She shook it off as Dr. Yancy pulled open the door. His gr
ay eyes studied hers, concern etching the already deep lines by his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him before he could ask.

He didn’t say anything, but continued to watch her eyes as he reached for her bagged hand.

She dropped her gaze. He was busy wrapping tape around the baggy and her arm.

Secure in that he’d preserved the evidence, he helped her out of the SUV, holding onto her arm at the elbow. She felt like an idiot, her hand sticking out in front of her, encased in a baggy, as she made her way into the building.

Meadow, Kayla’s fourteen-year-old daughter flew down the steps to meet her. A true blend, she combined Kayla’s Native American beauty with the green-eyed traits of her father, to create a gorgeous, albeit tiny, young woman. Still young for her years, she reminded Jasmine of a young filly, all legs and energy. Seeing her as a cross between the legendary faerie folk and a Creek maiden, Jasmine smiled at her impish friend.

Meadow’s eyes widened in horror. “What happened? Did it hurt? I’m learning my healing abilities with Morgan’s help. Can I help you, Dr. Yancy? I won’t get in the way, I promise.” The words rushed out in a single stream.

“Whoa,” Dr. Yancy
chuckled. “First of all, she isn’t hurt, so your abilities aren’t required for the moment.” He smiled at his young protégé. “We need to get some evidence from her hands, so we’re protecting them.”

Meadow studied the hand. “Evidence? Like a crime scene. I love forensics shows. Can I help?”

“Not this time, sweetings,” Dr. Yancy said, repressing a laugh. “With all that energy flowing around you, we could blow it away.” He then added, after seeing her dejected look, “I’ll tell you all about when we’re done.”

“And I might have a scratch or two,” Jasmine interjected. “You could keep me from scarring.”

“Okay. Just call me.” With that, she bounded up the stairs and past her mother. Kayla, standing at the top of the steps, just shook her head.

Kayla turned to Jenn. “I have the information you asked for. It’s in your office.”

“Thanks, Kayla. I’ll come get it while Uncle Mike sees to Jasmine.”

Jasmine looked at Jenn. She’d heard Jenn talking on her cell phone while she’d talked to Bask but hadn’t paid too much attention. Now she was curious.

Jenn offered a smile to Jasmine. “You go on. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Jasmine nodded. Nothing she could do about it now. She was at the mercy of Dr. Yancy, who pulling her down the hall toward his office. He led her straight into an exam room, with one of the men from the helicopter following, carrying his medical bag and another case.

The doctor made her sit in a chair and wheeled an instrument table in front of her. He took a covering the other man handed him from the case and placed it over the table, then rested her hand carefully on top of the covering. He placed a thin container under her fingertips before he carefully removed the baggy, making sure her fingertips remained over the container. He resealed the baggy, once it was off her hand, and set it aside.

Jasmine watched as he took some sort of pick—it reminded her of a dental tool—from a sealed bag, and proceeded to give her a makeshift manicure, scraping underneath each nail. To be on the safe side, he clipped her nails onto the bed of another container.

“Good thing I don’t wear acrylic nails,” she laughed.

Yancy’s head popped up, suddenly aware of the liberties he was taking with her nails. He stopped, his color heightening. “I’m…” he stuttered.

She flashed him one of her radiant smiles, known to bring the mightiest of men to their knees.

His color heightened some more.

She let him off the hook with a laugh. “After all this time, you should know when I’m teasing you.”

He took a deep breath and grimaced. “I know how you women are about your nails and I just lopped
yours off without thinking.”

“You could at least file them now,” she wiggled her fingers. He was sealing the containers
, having moved them safely away from her antics.

“I draw the line at scraping and clipping,” he tossed back. “Now, if you want me to paint...,” he let the words trail off as he smiled back at her.

“No thanks, Doc,” she countered and put her hands under her legs. “You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

Dr. Yancy reached up and
tousled her short black hair, ruffling the soft straight wisps that gave her a pixie-ish look—a rather tall, gorgeous pixie—but still a mysterious creature of the imagination. Realizing what he’d done, he pulled back his hand.

“It’s okay, Doc,” she laughed. “My hair needed fluffing.”

“I…I,”

Jasmine leaned over and kissed his handsome, weathered cheek. This was the man who’d rushed to her bedside in the hospital
, where they had taken her after Dorian had found her chained to that timber in an abandoned mine. There wasn’t a part of her battered body this gentle man hadn’t examined and treated, reassuring her all the while that she would be okay. With his kind ministrations and those of Dr. Browne, Jasmine felt she was close to being okay, now. The nightmares were gone, her body healed, and she’d begun to be her flirtatious self once more.

All of her life, she’d loved to tease—always in a friendly, fun-loving way. She’d been born with an overabundance of self-confidence, fostered by her parents. Unfortunately, her parents had been killed in a skiing accident when she was twelve. Teresa, her cousin, had taken over the task
of raising her and Jasmine had grown up in the Abbott Bed & Breakfast, where she never lacked for attention, either by the guests of the B & B or the townsfolk of Ruthorford. She’d rarely, if ever, gone back to the estate where she’d been raised, although it sat just on the edge of town. Abbott House, or Bask, more specifically, took care of its upkeep. Abbott House had also taken care of her heritance, which, when she came of age, had enabled her to buy the building that housed her boutique and upstairs apartment on Main Street across from The Shoppe of Spells. Her personality, strong and bold, proved a perfect match for her sense of fashion and her boutique had thrived.