The Awakening (25 page)

“Now I'm really lost,” Maggie said, staring at Jade again, then at Lucian. “You're wired like a cat, know something is up, but have no idea what—yet, like me, you knew the minute you came into contact with this man there was something strange about him. You haven't really explained any of this, and it isn't like you. Let's begin with this—who is this Finn Douglas? The name sounds familiar.”

“He's a local musician. He and his wife have done a number of the clubs around here. They're very good,” Lucian said.

“I was interviewing them not long ago, and Lucian came along with me; we went to the club where they were playing,” Jade explained.

“As I said, the minute I met the guy, I knew something was wrong,” Lucian said. “But not
what
.”

Maggie was quiet a long moment, staring at him. “Is he one of us . . .
you
, I mean?” Maggie asked, staring at Sean.

“No.”

“You're certain?”

Lucian looked at her with irritation and reproach. “Of course, I'm certain.”

“Sorry!” Maggie said quickly. She glanced at her husband with a wry smile.

Sean told them, “His adult record is as clean as a whistle. He had some trouble in high school, but nothing major. The guy is gifted, went through the university with a full scholarship in music. He and Megan Merrill were married while still studying. Megan writes music as well, but Finn is responsible for arrangements and their technical work. They were split up not long ago, and just got back together last month.”

“How do you know all this?” Maggie asked her husband.

Sean shrugged. “Lucian asked me to check him out.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

“There wasn't any reason at the time.”

“Do you have anything on that murder in Boston?” Lucian asked Sean.

Being a cop offered Sean a great deal of information that might not be so available were he not. “The police have nothing as yet. They've interviewed family and friends. They know her movement up to the time when she left the bar she was at that evening, but after she left the bar . . . she simply vanished. Until she was discovered in the water. The amount of time she was submerged has certainly taken its toll; what trace evidence the crime scene detectives might have found has literally been washed away. I haven't been able to access the exact cause of death yet because the autopsy report hasn't been released to law enforcement yet.”

“And you know all of this, too?” Maggie said, still staring at Sean.

“Hey!” Sean said softly. “I hadn't even put the two together until now. As far as I knew, Douglas was in New Orleans. The murder took place in Boston.”

“Lucian—” Maggie began.

Lucian lifted a hand in a gesture of self-defense. “Maggie, I was going on pure intuition.”

“Right, but you knew this guy was going to call, and amazingly, you already have airline tickets—and you've got me watching Aidan!”

“Maggie, I swear to you, I was groping in the dark on this one.”

“This is frighteningly like the poker game—you're trying to keep me on the outskirts—”

“Maggie, you have children.”

“You have a son now, as well!”

“And you have a two-month-old baby,” Lucian said quietly.

Maggie stared hard at Jade. “You've known that something is going on.”

“All I know is that Lucian has been uneasy since we met Finn Douglas, and that we're going to Salem to talk to him—and that Lucian did somehow know that he'd call by tonight.”

“Maggie, if there were something I could really tell you, I would. And if there were something you could do . . . I'm afraid I'd feel compelled to let you do it. But I don't understand what is happening yet. Honestly.” Lucian sat again, drumming his fingers on the table. He glanced at Jade. “How much time do we have?”

“We need to be at the airport in about two hours,” Jade said.

“I really should come with you,” Maggie said stubbornly

“Maggie,” Sean said impatiently.

“No,” Lucian said.

“You may need me.”

Lucian looked at Sean. “She isn't listening to me. Tell her that you two have a family. That she has a baby daughter, only two months old.”

Sean and Maggie exchanged a long gaze. Sean stood, folding his arms over his chest and looking at his wife with both reproach and amusement. “
I
should go. Hm. I am the one who is a cop, you know.”

“Of course, Sean, but once . . . well, once I was different!” Maggie murmured.

Sean shook his head and sighed with a feigned display of great largesse and patience. He smiled slowly, turning to Lucian. “We'll see, Lucian. We'll see.” He turned back to his wife. “If we decide we just can't live without a trip to New England, we'll come together. Hey, it might prove to be a good idea—like I said,
I am the cop
. Never hurts to have a cop around, even if he's a Southern boy in the far North.”

“Sean is right—it's always good to have a cop around,” Lucian said.

“But I do still have a certain sixth sense,” Maggie protested. “I can tell what you're trying to do right now. You all want to go, and you want to leave Maggie safe at home. It can't work that way and you know it.”

“We'll see,” Sean and Lucian said simultaneously.

Maggie exploded with an impatient sigh.

“We should get to the airport,” Jade said uncomfortably. She stood up. “By the way, Ragnor and Jordan are arriving in New York tonight, and I've put through an E-mail to Tara and Brent.”

“And what did you tell them?” Maggie demanded.

“To stand by,” Jade said.

“Ten,” Lucian murmured.

“What?” Maggie said.

Lucian looked around at them. “There are ten of us—if need be.” He paused, smiling. “Ten of us, including you, Maggie! Yet, I have a feeling we may need a few more.”

“A few—as in twelve?” Jade said, puzzled.

“A coven of twelve,” Sean murmured, looking at Lucian.

“No . . . thirteen,” Lucian said.

“A coven? Because it's
Salem?
Oh, come on, please!” Maggie protested. “I've known numerous Wiccans in my day! They really don't believe in evil—”

“And in your day, you've known a lot more than
Wiccans!
” Lucian said flatly, standing as well.

“But Lucian,” Jade murmured. “Surely . . . we can just put a stop to this?”

He shook his head. “If it were a simple matter of silly men and women playing at parlor games,
I
could easily put a stop to it. But . . . I think that certain forces have already been unleashed. If I'm right . . . we're dealing with a tremendous power. For now . . . well, let's catch that plane, huh?”

Megan was sleeping. A peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Martha watched her from the door way, smiling. She was such a beautiful girl. Such a kind spirit, a gentle soul.

Ah . . . well, life changed things like that.

But still . . .

Megan breathed in easily, exhaled softly. Hair draped over her face, lovely long fingers splayed out over the pillow.

Martha felt fiercely protective of the stunning young beauty on the bed.

“I will never let one speck of injury come to that perfect young body, my dear!” she whispered softly from the doorway. She closed the door. Megan would sleep peacefully for a few hours, thanks to Martha's simple herbal tea. She would have the rest that she needed. In Martha's home, all of her sweet youthfulness and beauty would be guarded—Martha felt like an old bulldog herself, but that was that. She smiled, glad that the girl had come to her.

She headed for her kitchen, then snorted out loud. “Wiccans!”

That Morwenna and her silly husband, Joseph, with his ridiculous, dyed black hair!

And Megan's husband. That man might well be proving more of a menace than Martha had imagined, causing all kinds of trouble.

Not he, not anyone, was getting to young Ms. Megan. No one, Martha determined. Thus determined, she went on with her chores.

 

 

Not long after he'd hung up the phone, Finn began to question his own sanity.

By chance, surely, the book had fallen open to
Bac-Dal.

And so, he had gone off the deep end.

Great. He'd made a writer and her husband think he was crazy. Grist for the mill. He hoped he wouldn't give her too much to write about.

He'd already showered, but he decided to shower again, hoping the hot water would ease the tension in his muscles and help clear his mind.

As it sluiced over him, he felt a sense of calm. Megan had gone to Martha's, and she would be all right there. Whether they thought he was crazy or not, he had a feeling that the couple from New Orleans might have the ability to clear away some of the nonsense—make all that was bizarre become rational.

He determined that he was going to be completely calm himself. He would greet her that evening in an entirely businesslike fashion. He wouldn't even ask her for an explanation.

But as he lathered in a fury, he had to fight to maintain a sense of sanity and determination. He'd been told to watch out for her. In the dark. Beware the fog.

Well, that was just great, and hard to do. You never knew when the stinking fog was coming, and she wasn't staying with him, she'd left him, so it was going to be rather hard to watch out for her.

Drying in an equal fury, he thought again that they should just get the hell out. Maybe he could talk to her that night.
Megan, don't you just hate it in those stupid horror films when teenagers stay in the woods, fooling around, when the killer comes into the woods, and hacks up teenagers who are in the woods, fooling around? I think we're in the woods. It's time to get the hell out, and screw our careers. Let's just opt for our lives.

But Lucian DeVeau had just told him that it wouldn't have mattered at all if he had tried to run. He would have wound up back there.

That had to be bull. And he had to have been nuts, calling those people. They were probably just as crazy into an imaginary psychic power as the Wiccans. And still...

He dressed, then determined to head into the parlor area of Huntington House for a cup of coffee. Something good and strong that would keep him awake—and thinking sanely.

Dressed for the night, he strode into the parlor, wondering if he would run into anyone or not. Fallon—who might know that Megan had left and would stare at him like the wife-beating monster he assumed Finn to be.

Susanna, dour, nasty—there to serve the guests, but doing so with a reserve and superiority that would make many would-be bed and breakfast managers cringe.

But neither Fallon nor Susanna was around. The only occupants of the parlor were the children, little Ellie, and her big brother Joshua. They were playing a board game on the table. Despite his mood, he greeted the two with a cheerful hello, and said that he hoped they were having fun.

“Sure,” Joshua said with a shrug. “How did you like the museum I told you about?”

“You were right, I liked it a lot.”

“I like the place Mr. Smith has!” Ellie piped in.

“Dr. Smith,” Joshua corrected her. “He has all kinds of school degrees, that's what Mom said. But he's cool.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Finn agreed, gritting his teeth. Why? The guy was bright and rational. It wasn't his fault that he was an old friend of Megan's—and bright and rational.

Ellie stood and came over to where Finn was pouring his coffee. “It's scary here,” she said.

He smiled, setting his cup down, and hunkering down by her. “Ellie,” he said, though he had known the touch of fear himself, “it's just Halloween. Dress up. You know that even in those monster museums, the monsters are either mechanical, or plain old dummies, or people in costumes, right?”

“Monsters are just people in costumes,” she repeated. “What about when they're not in costumes?”

Finn arched a brow, looking over at Joshua.

Joshua grimaced, looking uncomfortable. “I think Mr. Fallon is a monster, and maybe Susanna, too.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Finn winked at Ellie. “Susanna is kind of like an old scarecrow—sh! Never tell anyone I said that! But she's just a cranky old lady, really.”

“They were doing things.”

“Things?” Finn said, wondering at the child's revulsion. He wondered if the two old crankpots—Susanna and Fallon—had been getting it on together. The idea sure was repulsive, and he could see how it might scare a child.