Twisted Fate

By Shanon Grey

Ruthorford – the perfect southern town, with even more perfect descendants. Except, perfection has come with a price. Now, in order to survive, they must turn to outsiders for help.

A missing body and an accident that looks like a set-up force the powers that be to call in someone who can do it all – with the help of the descendants. Things never appear to be quite as they seem and, at every turn, things start heating up – in the investigation and between those that should know better.

Welcome to Ruthorford – where science and magic merge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanon Grey
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005237141

Shanon Grey

Shanon Grey weaves suspense and action with mystery and romance. Under contract with Crossroads Publishing House and TOVA Publishing House, her books are available in e-format and print at most booksellers.Shanon spent most of her life on coasts, both the beautiful Atlantic and the balmy Gulf. A major hurricane taught her the fragility of life and the strength of friendship, family, and starting over. She found out that her son had salvaged notes and pages of her original novel, Capricorn’s Child, which she thought had been destroyed along with everything else. (Ironically, a neighbor found her marriage certificate in a tree.) She plans to resurrect her original novel one day.She now lives in 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 beautiful cottage in the woods, where inspiration abounds.Having dual careers, one as an author and the other in IT Security, affords her, in her dual personas, to meld expertise from many disciplines and venues into stories that keep her readers coming back for more.Jerry Hampton, the companion attendant to the alter ego, Shanon Grey, provides the discipline and order to the creativity. She also provides the artistry that does into covers and accompanying materials for web sites, events, and book signings.Stay up to date on other Shanon Grey books and events by visiting her website at: www.ShanonGrey.comYou can also visit Shanon Grey on Facebook or Twitter @ShanonGrey.You can write her at [e-mail] would love to hear from you.

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Acknowledgments

Life is never easy. Sometimes it’s easier to give up than to keep going. I have been blessed with those who wouldn’t let me give up, no matter what.

To my readers: You always let me know you’re waiting for the next story. Sometimes patiently; sometimes not. But, it is your insistence that pushes me.

To my friends, fellow authors, and all those that put up with me. You make me laugh on days when I want to cry. You hold my hand when you are nowhere nearby. You put your arms around me and give me encouraging hugs.

To my sister, Becky: You believe in me. You insist that I can do the impossible. So, I do.

To my husband: You have the patience of Job—for all the dinners that I forget to make; for all the times you step in so we eat; for not letting it bother you that I work all day, then dive into my fictional world all night, barely saying hello; for reading every single word, over and over, and being gentle with me in your critique; and, for loving me—I thank you.

To my children: I wouldn’t be here without you. You have always been the wind that enables me to fly.

To all of you—you inspire me every day.

You believe in me.

Thank you.

Dedication

This story is dedicated to all those who have ever had their world turned upside down and, yet, continued down the path, even though it was one not of their making nor one of their choosing. Sometimes, these paths bring us to new and wondrous things. Sometimes, they bring us back to the path we should have been on in the first place. No matter what path you are on, do your best!

Prologue

He didn’t know what possessed him. It was too damned cold and late; but, nevertheless, Mike Yancy pulled his coat collar up higher around his neck and kept walking. He didn’t stop until he was past the end of town and saw the bronze plaque on its wood pedestal on the other side of the road. He walked across the narrow two-lane country road and stood looking at the plaque, darkened with age. "Welcome to Ruthorford" was all it said.

With a harrumph, which sent a cold cloud of breath into the air, Mike looked up from the sign toward the town. Even in the dead of winter, with not a leaf on most of the trees, it lay before him like an exquisite jewel, almost exactly as he’d seen it all those decades ago, when he’d driven into town, the keys to his office in his pocket, to take over the private medical practice. Takeover, hell. There’d been no doctor before him that he knew of. He’d had no clue what he was getting into when Kristoff Bask, the head of the Abbott House—a foundation he’d heard mentioned, but couldn’t remember exactly where—had approached him toward the end of his residency with an offer he just couldn’t refuse. It hadn’t hurt when the hospital administrator had walked up and clasped Bask’s hand in a hearty handshake asking about someone they knew in common. Hell, Mike could count on one hand the number of times he’d even seen the administrator since he’d been there, but he sure knew who Bask was. When asked what brought Bask to the hospital, Mr. Bask didn’t minced words, saying he was there to steal Mike away. Right on the spot, the administrator had given Mike a glowing recommendation. Too many things had fallen in place for Mike not to accept the more than generous offer.

On that first trip, having driven for over an hour, Mike was sure he was lost when he’d happened upon the bronze plaque. Just seeing the plaque had his nerves firing. He was not, by nature, spontaneous. Then, he had looked up. The sun shone on the town’s Main Street, as if framing it in its perfect southern beauty. He wondered, if he’d known then what he knew now, would he have turned and fled?

Feeling the cold seep through his jacket, he pulled it tight and looked up from the plaque. Before him, the narrow, two-lane road widened and became separated by a landscaped median, which went down Main Street with its shops on either side until the median stopped at a cross road in front of a large Victorian, the largest in Ruthorford. It stood, as though overseeing the town, facing another Victorian that rose next to him at the entrance to town. This one, however, stood empty. It remained well-tended, even though Jasmine Monroe, now Vreeland, hadn’t lived there since she’d moved into the other large Victorian after her parents had been killed. Her family home looked as though it were waiting, for what he wasn’t sure.

Mike made a diagonal cut back across the road to the side he’d come down, but not before glancing past Jasmine’s family house to Merc’s, the general store. Set back from Main Street, a few cars dotted the parking lot and he reminded himself to stop in before he left to get some fresh milk before they closed. The container at his farm was too close to bad to trust another day.

He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked forward. The fountain in the median stood empty, as it had been since the last freeze, right after Christmas. He walked past a narrow lane, almost an alley, which led to the fields behind Ruthorford and remembered a picnic many years ago. He was still reminiscing when he heard a screen door slam across the street. He looked over to see Miss Alice rising from the porch swing to follow her sister inside, wearing just a heavy sweater, even in this weather. She stopped, turned, and looked at him. You need a warmer coat, Mike Yancy. He could almost hear her clucking as she chastised him.

Yes, ma’am, he responded. I’m heading to my car right now.

He would always give the sisters a ‘yes, ma’am’. No matter who he asked in Ruthorford, the sisters had always lived there, in that house, together. They had always been old. They had always baked pies and sweets for every occasion and won ribbons at the State Fair. And, they had always watched over Ruthorford. And, now, it was his job to watch over them. The thought warmed him.

Not that they needed looking after, at least if they’d stay off the roof. The last time he’d tended one of them was when Miss Grace fell off the porch roof after slipping on the leaves she’d been sweeping. Talk about a trial by fire. It was right after he’d come to town and it seemed like the entire town had shown up in his waiting room, Miss Grace in tow. Everyone was talking at once about things he did not understand. By the time he got her, along with everyone else, over to the new clinic, Bask had arrived. The man dragged him away and proceeded to explain that Ruthorford was like no place he’d ever been and the people that lived there like no other people he’d ever met. Talk about an understatement. At least it had explained all the strange confidentiality contracts he had signed. That had only been the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

When he’d finally extricated himself from Bask and gotten back to the old sister, the people had encircled her bed, fussing over her. It took an act-of-congress to get an x-ray, with everyone telling him she was find and just to put a soft cast on it. Suddenly, everyone was a doctor. He’d already examined her at his office. It was broken. But, sure enough, the x-ray said otherwise.

He probably should have left town that day.

Lights in the shops began to blink out, bringing him back to the present. One by one, the stores along Main Street began to close for the night. First Sassy’s Tea Room, then Elements, which was the Native American gift shop. He suddenly remembered the hat that he had ordered when the mule had taken a chunk out of the brim. Dink, who managed Elements, had laughed her loudest when he’d handed her the hat. But, she’d promised, wiping tears from her eyes, she’d have its replacement in about a week. She’d then reminded him that he was probably far better at doctorin’ than farmin’. Of that he had no doubt.

A little farther down, Chapters, the wonderful little bookstore, still had its lights on. They tended to stay later so the other shop owners and managers could stop by on their way home. They had also started up a book club, open to all, no matter if the book was print or digital. They had one of those leather-bound fake books with it top open on the counter for donations to pay for the goodies they got either from Sassy’s or the Abbott Bed and Breakfast for their customers. Word was that even the old sisters had contributed turnovers. Suddenly, his mouth was watering, wishing Miss Grace had offered him one when he’d passed.

Mike noticed that The Shoppe of Spells was still lit, which was good because he needed to pick up a couple of scripts before heading to the clinic. Plus, it was colder than he’d realized and he needed to break the chill that was seeping into his bones.

The bell on the door tinkled as he stepped inside the warm shop.

Mike! What a pleasure, Morgan said as she walked over and gave him a hug. I was just coming to lock up. Stay for something to drink? I bet you haven’t eaten tonight, either. I could warm you up a plate. I made pot roast."

It sure smells good, he said, inhaling the aroma that came of the kitchen right behind the gift shop’s main area. Unfortunately, I need to get back to the clinic before going home. I’m trying like hell to get more than four hours of sleep tonight.

With that, Morgan took his hand, stepped back a step and closed her eyes. As she slowly opened them, she ran her gaze down the length of him. Had he not been accustomed to her brilliant green eyes taking on a swirling effect, he would have probably fainted dead away. Instead, he grinned. Everything okay?

Perfect. She gave his hand a squeeze and a push of energy travelled up his arm to course through his body, making him shudder from the energy rushing through his body. However, it also pushed away the cold, replacing it with a tingling warmth.

Morgan noticed the ever so slight quiver of his body. Sorry, she whispered. I’m still learning to gauge my strength.

I don’t know why you even have a doctor, he said with a laugh. He really didn’t. The people in Ruthorford never got sick. When they did, it was always something odd, which sent him to the Abbott House in Atlanta to research it; or, there had been some exposure from the damned Gulatega, the invisible—to him, anyway—creatures than could come through a portal in the quaint little town. Another thing that should have had him running in the opposite direction. Luckily, none of the creatures had been seen since Morgan and Dorian had taken over as the GateKeepers. Well, not that he knew of, anyway.

I thought I heard you, Dorian said as he came bounding down the steps. Just got the twins down.

Morgan frowned, They won’t stay down with that noise, if you aren’t careful.

Sorry. He walked over, kissed Morgan on the cheek and shook Mike’s hand. I have the compounds ready. Dorian was a rarity in today’s day and age—he was a licensed compounder. He could create medicines hard to find, which came in handier than most realized. Dorian turned around and grabbed a bag from a shelf behind him. Here you go. I’ll charge it to the clinic. Want something to eat?

Already asked, Morgan said. Wish you’d stay, Mike. You’re looking thin.

Mike laughed. I should hope so. I’ve been working out. I hope all that suffering isn’t going to waste. You two take care. With that, he headed back out, the old-fashioned bell announcing his departure.

Hey, Dr. Mike, a chorus of voices called out to him from across the street. The twins were just locking up the boutique they’d managed for Jasmine since she’d gone to Virginia to heal from her attack. They’d done such a great job, she’d left it in their hands. He waved as they turned to hurry down the street, out of the cold.

Next to the boutique stood the Art Gallery, which housed, among other things, Kat’s sculptures. Since moving back, she’d become involved in the gallery, bringing in even more visitors to Ruthorford, which he figured was a mixed blessing. But, Ruthorford seemed to have a handle on it. He loved Kat’s work and proudly owned one of her pieces. She’s given it to him on his last birthday.

He stopped at the corner of the narrow alley just on the other side of Chapters. On the other side of the alley, stood the gingerbread post office, and next to that, the small house that had once served as his home and office when he’d first come to Ruthorford. Funny, he still parked in front of it most of the time when he was in town. They used it now to store some of the decorations for the many holidays Ruthorford observed, since he’d moved his office to the clinic. He started to step forward and stopped, a movement inside the Abbott Bed and Breakfast catching his eye. The huge Victorian stood alone on the huge corner lot, diagonal from where he stood, as it had for well over a century, welcoming those that came to town to sit on the porch, stop in for dinner, for stay in one of its wonderfully furnished rooms. The light fairly glowed from its windows, almost as if the building itself glowed. Mike squinted, looking through the glass on the large double doors into the lobby. Teresa was standing behind the high desk, looking down, concentrating on something. Probably the reservations ledger, the old leather-bound book she kept on the desk, even though they had all the technology a business could want. People expected less technology and more ambiance when they stepped through the doors of the bed and breakfast. Teresa made sure they got what they wanted.

Mike stood there, on the corner, just watching, remembering the past, not daring to look to the future. She was, no matter what the circumstances, a descendant of Ruthorford, a mix of the Scot and Native American that had created Ruthorford, and he was not. No matter how welcome they made him feel—over the years, he had grown to love every one of them, as he was sure they loved him—but, he would always be an outsider. And that was as it should be, because the descendants were there to protect Ruthorford and Ruthorford was there to protect the descendants. With that thought, he turned away from the bed and breakfast and walked toward his car, his gait a bit slower, his head down.

Hey, Dr. Mike. What are you doing here so late? Someone sick?

Mike turned at the sound of Brenda’s sweet voice. She was stepping out of the Post Office, locking the door.

He squared his shoulders, held up the bag, and smiled. Nope. Just stopped by to get a prescription. Heading to the clinic. You have a good night.

You, too. You might put on a warmer jacket. It’s cold out tonight.

Miss Grace already chastised me, he said, laughing, pulling his coat tighter. I was hoping it was getting warmer. But the winds haven’t changed.

Brenda touched the tip of her finger to her tongue and held her hand high. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling, There you are wrong. The winds are about to change. I can feel it. With that and a slight chuckle, she headed toward Chapters for her evening scone and hot chocolate.

Mike just shook his head and got into his car. Descendants. You never knew exactly what they were referring to when they spoke—he had a feeling it wasn’t the weather.

Chapter One

The body’s gone!

What’d you mean, ‘the body’s gone’?

Did I sound like I stuttered?

No. Definitely not. Kristoff Bask wasn’t one to stutter. Or mince words, for that matter. Mike Yancy, squinted, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, and tried to focus on the old wind-up clock sitting on the bedside table, atop a mound of dusty medical journals. 4:47 a.m. Well, at least it wasn’t 3 a.m., like the last time Bask had deemed whatever it was an emergency. Mike couldn’t remember what that was for the life of him and it’d been last week.

Bask was talking, as was his bent, never waiting for the other person to catch up.

…when Jim left at 11 last night, it was still…

You had Jim work ‘til 11? Mike interrupted.

I did not…not exactly…I just thought it would be better to get the autopsy done as soon as possible.... The words trailed off.

It was an out and out lie. Bask knew it. Bask knew that Mike knew it.

Was that hesitancy Mike heard in the old man’s voice? Couldn’t be he was getting soft. I’ll be there as soon as I get some clothes on.

The line went dead. No goodbye, kiss my ass, nothing. Mike pulled his aching body up from the side of the bed. God, what had possessed him to up the weights last night? He rubbed the small of his back as he grabbed his khakis off the back of the chair. For a man almost fifty, he considered himself in good shape, especially for a doctor who had no life of his own. Why on God’s green earth he’d decided to beef up his workout….

Who was he kidding? It was because Teresa Abbott Ruthorford was a free woman. Well, almost. Once they recovered Bill’s body—again.

* * *

It was almost 6 a.m. by the time Mike pulled his SUV up to the imposing wrought iron gates that safeguarded the entrance to Abbott House, the brick mansion that housed the Abbott Foundation, set in the midst of the still exclusive part of Atlanta where old money had its say. He grabbed his coffee and, with one last swallow, punched his code into the keypad. The gates eased back behind the ivy-covered brick walls and he moved up the long drive, admiring the estate as it came into view. Bask had offered him his own suite of rooms in residence, or even a cottage on the grounds, but Mike had declined. If he thought his life wasn’t his own now, there was no doubt he’d never have a moment’s rest were he on the grounds. As it was, he was at the beck and call of Ruthorford’s foundation more than he’d like to admit, which was why he’d chosen a place out in the country, closer to Ruthorford than Atlanta, but still far enough away to give him some respite from the foundation, yet close enough to Teresa, should she need him.

Not that she had. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d seen her in the last decade or so. Other than the official functions of Ruthorford—and even then, they managed to keep people between them—he’d avoided her...correction...she’d avoided him…like the plague. He figured he’d seen her more in the last couple of years—with Morgan’s biological parents dying, Morgan learning about her legacy, Jasmine being kidnapped and attacked, Morgan having the twins, and, of course, Bill’s death—than he’d dreamed possible. God, what a busy couple of years. It seemed like Ruthorford could go on about its business, all peaceful and quiet like any other southern town, then bam, all hell would break loose. He realized that using the word hell wasn’t far from the truth when it came to Ruthorford.

Shaking himself out of his memories, he pulled under the portico and made one last attempt to drain what was left of the coffee cooling in the cup holder before exiting his SUV. Mike walked over to the door, punched his password into yet another keypad and waited for the multiple clicks that would grant him access through the side of the building. He pulled his phone out as he walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing around him, and tried to silence Bask’s distinctive blast of tones as they proved another loud assault on the quiet of the early morning.

Where are you? Bask’s brusque tone demanded.

In the damned hallway. Where do you want me to meet you in this mausoleum?

Come on up. I’m in my office.

Mike heard Bask’s voice fade as he gave instructions to someone before he hung up.

He stuffed the phone into his pocket and started up the steps, meeting Missy coming down. What in the hell are you doing here this early? he half-teased.

She smiled at him. I guess that’s why he pays me the big bucks, she said and patted his arm. Coffee and croissants are in his office.

Well, you need more money, Mike laughed and jogged up the second story of stone steps.

You be sure and tell him that, the tall blonde that was Bask’s right arm called after him.

Mike, even knowing he was expected, tapped on the massive mahogany door.

Come in.

As he pushed the door open, he glanced across the room. Bask, his silver hair now more white than gray, looked up and rested the desk phone in its cradle. He knew Bask had a cell phone, probably more than one, but somehow it seemed out of place in this office. Being February, and the crack of dawn, light had yet to filter through the stained-glass panes on the windows behind his massive desk. The desk, with its small, carved images of what appeared to be Ruthorford’s famous Gulatega holding up the top, was as permanent as Bask seemed to be.

Missy brought coffee. Bask waved his hand is the general direction of the sideboard.

Mike ignored it and took a seat in one of the sumptuous leather chairs in front of the desk. You know, you really do take advantage of people, he said, thinking of the loyal Executive Assistant whose expression was one of the few things that could smooth or ruffle what was left of Bask’s hair at the drop of a hat.

She’s well compensated for her troubles, Bask commented as looked at Mike. As are you, he added, with just a hint of a smile crinkling the lines at the corners of his eyes.

Not saying I’m not. However, sleep is NOT overrated. He raised one brow, Which reminds me. You are overdue for your physical, old man.

Don’t ‘old man’ me. You’re no whippersnapper.

Trust me, I know that, he groaned and rearranged himself in his chair.

Bask’s demeanor changed instantly. You okay. He studied the doctor, looking for some sign of something.

Mike smiled. I’m fine. Just worked out a little too hard last night.

You know we have a perfectly good gym right here.

Yes, I do. Believe it or not, I like getting away from here, occasionally.

Bask shrugged as if he had no concept of Mike’s complaint. A faint tap sounded on the door.

Well, come in. Come in, Bask called impatiently.

A very bedraggled and wan looking man stepped into the office, his white lab coat wrinkled.

Dr. Yancy, the man’s voice cracked with fatigue.

Hi, Jim. He motioned him over to the chair next to him. The poor man looked like he was ready to drop.

Well? Bask asked, impatience in his voice.

Mike frowned a warning look his way, which Bask ignored.

We’re waiting for John’s team to get here. We’ve closed everything down and everyone is waiting at their stations, as per your orders.

Jim, why don’t you tell me what happened, Mike gave the weary man his attention.

The man glanced at Bask for assurance, and with Bask’s nod, turned toward Mike. I think I’ll go back to when we received the body. Given the circumstances, and with Mrs. Ruthorford’s permission, we set up for a series of test before we were to start the autopsy. We took videos, pictures, and physical measurements, as well as blood, fluid, skin and hair samples. Because of other things going on, we decided to delay the autopsy and he...the body...was placed in cold storage, under lock and key. Well, we got all the results together and decided, for Mrs. Ruthorford’s sake, that we couldn’t delay things any longer. I went to get him...the body...last night and he...it...was gone. His voice rose on the last, almost to a squeak.

Mike sat forward, his brow furrowed. There was a delay? Mike had wondered why the funeral had been put off so long but hadn’t wanted to bother Teresa. Looking at the distraught man, he took a different tactic. Could you have put him someplace else and forgotten which drawer? They had twelve drawers, God only knew why that many. They only handled descendants of Ruthorford and descendants didn’t die that often—and, usually, didn’t require a complete workup.

Oh. I thought of that, Jim scooched forward in the chair. I mean, we were going to do it some time ago, the autopsy I mean, but when we got ready to do it—the first time, I mean—and pulled him out, we noticed the lack of decomposition. Excitement brightened his eyes. I mean, even in storage, there’s something. There was nothing. The only reason he even looked dead was the violet color of his skin.

Mike’s gaze went to Bask, who suddenly took an interest in the papers on his desk.

More so than when he died? he asked. Bill’s death had been after a rather strange illness, leaving him with a violet hue, not dissimilar to that of the Gulatega. Did you record this?

Oh, yes, Dr. Yancy. It was amazing. His skin was supple, his eyes....

I want to see..., Mike started but didn’t finish because Bask picked up the phone and ordered the video sent to his office computer.

That’s when we decided to give it more time and see.

See what? Mike had an uneasy feeling in his gut.

If there was any change.

Was there?

We don’t know. The body has disappeared.

I want to see the room. Mike said.

Not until they process it, Bask retorted and picked up the phone, listened for a moment then commented, Send them on down.

Thanks, Jim, Bask said to the man sitting next to Mike. John’s team is heading down to the lab. You might want to give them a heads-up.

Jim was out of the chair in a shot and headed toward the door. Please tell Mrs. Ruthorford I am so sorry, he said and closed the door behind him.

Mike groaned. Oh, God. No one had told Teresa. They would have to tell her.

You want me to do it? Bask asked, seeming to read his thoughts.

No. But, I sure would like a little more information before I do.

Bask hit a switch and a mahogany panel rose from behind the sideboard, revealing a large screen. He pulled out a side drawer and a keyboard shifted upward. With a few key strokes, they were viewing the body of Bill Ruthorford and listening as Jim narrating the findings in a much calmer tone than he’d used when he’d been in the office.

Mike rose and walked closer to the screen, studying it, watching the camera pan down the body and back. Except for the violet color, Bill Ruthorford did not look dead. In fact, he looked a hell of a lot better than he’d looked when Mike had tended him in his final hours. What the hell? he muttered under his breath.

Bask’s voice beside him made him jump. Mike hadn’t heard the man come around the desk. Good Lord. You don’t think.... Bask didn’t finish the statement.

No. I don’t think, Mike’s voice snapped out and he took a deep breath. He was dead as a doorknob when I made the pronouncement. Given the circumstances, we even did an EEG. There was no brain activity. No heart. No respiration. Nothing. Bill Ruthorford was dead.

I saw his body when he arrived. He had a faint tint to his skin, and it was sallow and shrunken. This doesn’t even look like the same man, Bask added. I waited for you before I viewed this. I’ve been around descendants a long time. Granted, I didn’t see Ian before he went through the portal in Virginia, but…. His voice trailed off.

We need Dorian, Mike said. He and Morgan saw Ian before he went through that portal. No one else saw him when he was ‘changing,’ as he put it.

Mike tried to remember just what they had told him about Ian MacIntosh, a Scottish descendant, Meadow’s father, and owner of Meadow’s Keep. He’d kidnapped Morgan in an insane attempt to have her help him get through a portal he’d created in the castle he’d built in Virginia Beach. When Dorian had come to her rescue, Ian managed to convince them to help him. Heaven only knows why, but they had—which now rankled the physician and scientist in Mike, because Ian’s condition might just be what they were seeing in Bill.

Bask pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Before he could dial, Mike laid a hand on this forearm. Be careful. We don’t want Teresa upset. At least not until it’s absolutely necessary.

The older man nodded and hit a key, waiting. Dorian. I need you up at Abbott House as soon as possible. Something’s come up. No. It’s not the Gulatega, he said at the sound of Dorian’s concern. With his new babies, Dorian was ever vigilant. But it is in-house business. That was the code for ‘no one’s to know, not even descendants. Bask listened for a moment before commenting. Tell Morgan it’ll take few hours. Is Teresa there to help Morgan? He waited for a heartbeat. Good. Give her my love, and Jasmine. I’ll see you soon.

At the sound of Teresa’s name, Mike had stopped scrutinizing the screen, honing in on Bask’s side of the conversation.

Bask slipped the phone back into his pocket. Teresa’s at the house, as is Jasmine, and Becky and Talbot.

Mike frowned. I thought Becky and Talbot has returned to Virginia. They were Morgan’s adoptive parents, and the only parents she’d known about until Bask brought her to Ruthorford.

Eryk’s over at Merlyn’s Roost, Bask continued, working on his and Jasmine’s new house, but that’s not far from Ruthorford, and he’ll come over to cover with Jasmine, just in case.

The ‘just in case’ Bask referred to was the chance the Gulatega—the small raccoon-like creatures—were to come through the dimensional portal. So far, since Morgan and Dorian had taken the place of her biological parents, who had died before Morgan could meet them, the creatures had rarely shown in Ruthorford. They’d been all around Ian in Virginia and, since only certain descendants, like Morgan, could see them, there was no certainty as to their staying on the other side of the portal in Ruthorford. The fact remained, no one was sure if it was because Dorian and Morgan were in Ruthorford or if it was because Ian had gone through the portal himself, believing he would die if he didn’t, that the Gulatega had all but disappeared. Which was fine, as far as Mike was concerned, as long as they weren’t on this side where they could endanger normal people. When the creatures came around non-descendant people, they caused Alzheimer-type symptoms, as seen by the man who’d attacked Jasmine. Now, given what had happened to Bill, there was a possibility that these creatures could also have dangerous effects on descendants, as well.

Merlyn’s Roost? Mike asked, realizing it was a name he didn’t recognize.

Oh. Bask walked back to his desk and sat down, picked up his coffee and sipped, making a face. Mike grabbed the pot from the warmer and a mug and poured himself some of the strong brew before heading back to his chair in front of the desk. Carrying the pot over, he topped off Bask’ cup, warming it.

Cream? Sugar? he asked as he walked back to the sideboard.

No, I’m fine. Thanks.

Bask waited for Mike to take a seat. You know that Eryk bought that old piece of land that used to be a crafters’ town? Seeing Mike’s expression, he went on. Well, he bought a town, basically, and gave it to Jasmine.

Mike’s mug stopped midway to his mouth. Good lord, had it been that long. He’d been so tied up with other things that he’d missed the important things happening around him. He thought back. Bill had died suddenly from an unknown illness right before Morgan and Dorian’s twins had been born. Jasmine and Eryk, who were dancing around one another, had just made it to the birth after saving that young girl—what was her name—oh...Lily—which wasn’t her real name, either. Mike took a deep breath, remembering rushing back and forth from Ruthorford to Virginia, to help with Lily’s father, who was suffering from Gulatega exposure. No wonder he was tired.

Mike?

His attention was jerked back to the present. Sorry, I was trying to do a mental catch-up.

Bask laughed. Well, hell, when you figure out how to do that, let me know.

Mike set down the mug and ran his hand through his hair. Maybe he’d drop downstairs for a Vitamin B shot, get some energy back.

Back to my story. Eryk had named the town Meadow’s Keep. But Jasmine decided to rename it Merlyn’s Roost—for two reasons—one, the falcon that befriended her and now roosts atop the old Victorian they are renovating. And two, Eryk is a magician....

Got it. So, they’ve moved down here?

Apparently, the time she spent at Safe Harbor in Virginia had a profound impact on her. She wants to have a place for families to start over after they leave Safe Harbor. Or, at least, to give them the option of someplace other than the place they’d escaped from. And, Eryk decided he could use a permanent place for his crew. It all just fell into place. Bask shrugged.

Yeah, with some help from you, I’ll gather.

I made some calls, that’s all. Eryk has his own resources. Quite a lot of them, actually.

Which won’t hurt the Abbott Foundation..., Mike added.

Bask held up his hand, interrupting him. The Abbott Foundation, in its own right, will be able to take care of Ruthorford and all her business for a long time to come. Don’t you worry about that.

Trust me, I wasn’t....

He stopped when the door opened and Dorian walked in. Bask cast a momentary glance at the phone.

Don’t, I told Missy you were expecting me. Dorian walked over and shook Mike’s hand, then Bask’s.

Don’t sit down. I think you’ll want a closer look. Bask reset the video and Bill’s body came into view.

My God, Dorian whispered and walked over to the screen. I want to see him. His voice was tight.

So would we all, Bask said as he and Mike joined Dorian. He’s gone missing.

Dorian swung around to Bask. What do you mean, exactly?

Bask didn’t hesitate. His body has disappeared.

Dorian’s brows drew together. Damn it, Bask. He should’ve been buried weeks ago. Teresa never said a word. Morgan and I figured it was her and Abbott House’s decision to delay, but to lose the body....

Dorian. Concentrate. Bask didn’t want Dorian going off half-cocked and frying any electronics with a burst of energy. We have a problem here. I need your help.

Dorian stopped and turned his attention back to the screen. He stepped closer. When was this taken?

A couple of weeks ago. A month at the most.

He didn’t look like this when I saw him last—right after he died. Do you have anything from the time he arrived?

Bask walked back over to his desk, moved the mouse until a menu appeared. He saw what he wanted and clicked on it. Still pictures appeared.

Dorian stepped right up to the screen and pointed. Zoom in on that one.

Suddenly an image filled the screen. Bill’s cheeks were sunken. His body more greyish than violet.

Do a split screen, he called over his shoulder.

Shit, Dorian hissed through his teeth as he viewed the two images. He glanced back at Mike and Bask, pointing at the shrunken body. This is more what Ian was like when he went through. Except his color. Ian’s was definitely more violet.

Mike put his hand up, rubbing the night’s worth of beard. This shoots my theories on the bioluminescence all to hell, he said, and thought for a moment. Any chance the Gulatega could have gotten in here? He looked at Dorian.

Don’t look at me. I can’t see them, remember? The only reason I saw them around Ian was Morgan was touching me. I was surprised I could see the color. And, it was much more vibrant when I took Morgan’s hand. Strange how we can see it on film.

Bask and Mike shrugged, not having an answer.

I guess we need Eryk or Morgan, Bask commented.

Eryk, Dorian snapped. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Morgan get involved with this. He ignored Bask’s raised brow. Not with the babies, he said. And, remember, Eryk’s on call as our stand-ins.

Bask sat down heavily in his chair. The only thing that kept him from tearing out his hair at this point was knowing that John Davis was downstairs, with his crew, going over the scene. That, and the fact that, although unusual, this was just another day for Abbott House and the descendants of Ruthorford.

Coffee? he offered, knowing it was going to be a very long day.

Chapter Two

Mike opened the door to Sassy’s and stepped inside. It was bright and fairly warm for a winter’s day, so he’d settled on the shepherd’s cable-knit sweater, instead of his much loved and well-worn leather bomber jacket. That’s probably why it took Teresa a moment to recognize him. He watched as that moment went straight to her eyes, and the laugh lines deepened beside those vibrant blue eyes.

Mike! she exclaimed and set a plate full of prettily arranged sandwiches on a table, letting her attention switch, momentarily, to the women seated at the small round table. Here you go. If there’s anything else, you just let me know.

Still smiling, she walked toward him, her shoulder length silver streaked blonde mane moving as she walked. Come in. Come in. She took his arm and led him toward the table near the women.

He hesitated and nodded toward the corner on the opposite side of the room. Do you mind?

No. Not at all. You want some tea. Sassy’s is famous for it.

She smiled up into his eyes and his heart stumbled. God, the woman still had that effect on him after all these years.

He raised a brow. I’d love some, but you want to tell me why you’re here, instead of the bed and breakfast? he asked, even though he knew the answer.

A slight tension in her hand was the only sign she showed of the statement bothering her. Sit down. I’ll be right back. She didn’t meet his eyes.

He watched her disappear into the kitchen and looked around. Sassy’s was new to Ruthorford. Hell, if it wasn’t a hundred years old, it was new to Ruthorford. This was a quaint little restaurant/tea room. Elegant, but not overly frou-frou. The chairs were substantial enough for a man to sit comfortably and the colors were purple, red and gold. Warm and inviting.

Mike had gone straight to the Abbott Bed and Breakfast, figuring that’s where Teresa would be, if she wasn’t at The Shoppe of Spells, visiting the two youngest additions to Ruthorford. He’d walked in to find Sandra calling orders over her shoulder as she walked out of the dining room.

Sandra? Mike’s eyes had widened. No longer was this the little girl who refused to cry when he’d reset her dislocated shoulder. Before him stood a beautiful young woman, sharply dressed in slacks and a sweater, fully in charge of her surroundings.

Dr. Yancy, she said and walked over to hug him. Teresa’s over at Sassy’s, giving her a hand, she said, knowing he’d be looking for the proprietor. When Bill got sick, I took over the kitchen. Now, I supervise that and the B & B for Teresa. Inn Keeper in training, she said, offering him a bright smile and a shrug of her shoulders. She stepped closer and sobered. She has trouble being here 24/7. When Sassy’s opened, she offered her services over there. She’s there more now than here. I know it’s temporary, but I think it’s good for her and I can use the training.

He glanced around. Well, it looks like you’re doing an outstanding job.

She beamed. Can I get you anything?