The Awakening (33 page)

Lucian read aloud again. “ ‘And all who would honor He who is the God of Darkness, remember that All Hallow's Eve, that which falls upon a full moon, is a night when the elements of the spirits and those who roam the netherworld are strongest, and therefore, it can be as well, the Time of The Coming.' ”

“Well, we know that the guy was a crazy, sadistic, murderer,” Finn said. “He thought he could bring a demon to life. What better time than to do so than during the full moon? And All Hallow's Eve.”

“Well, right,” Jade said dryly. “That part seems fairly evident.” She glanced at Lucian, who looked up from the book, and then at Finn.

“Lost any hair lately?”

“Am I going bald? I doubt it. The gene for hair loss is supposed to come from the mother's father, right? My granddad had hair thicker than weeds until the day he died,” Finn assured them.

“Megan hasn't had a haircut here in Salem, has she?” Jade asked.

“Megan . . . a haircut? No.”

Jade looked at Lucian again. “There are brushes . . . the shower. Everyone loses hair on a daily basis.”

“I would think they'd need some solid strands.”

“What are you talking about?” Finn said. “Megan hasn't—” He stopped dead in the middle of his sentence. The words Lucian had read repeated in his head.
Of all that is needed, these three are of the greatest and utmost importance—the blood of the sacrifice, the blood of the anointed, and the hair of the anointed.

“What?” Lucian said.

Finn stared at them blankly for a moment. “This is . . . ridiculous, I think. But . . . the first night that we were playing here, there was some kind of a monster decoration in the hall. You know, a creature. And it had branch-like fingers. Megan walked beneath it and her hair tangled in it.” He shook his head, shrugging then. “I got tangled in it myself about twenty minutes later. And I'm sure more people were caught in it—the creature was taken out before the night was over. I'm willing to bet a lot of people complained.”

Lucian and Jade looked at one another again.

“You know, wait. This is really kind of ridiculous. That would be awfully elaborate, don't you think? Getting some kind of a huge, creature-decoration kind of thing into a hotel hall, and then having it disappear in the middle of the night? It had to have been put there by the hotel, right?”

“Maybe not.”

“Then the whole thing about the blood,” Finn said. “Megan hasn't cut herself, she hasn't run into anything, suffered no injury.”

“What about you?” Jade asked pointedly.

“No!” he said, scoffing at the idea. Then he paused again, chills seeping through him that he denied with a deep and silent scream from within the core of his body. “Yes. There was a dragon in Morwenna's shop. You know, a collectible piece for display. I picked it up, and . . . bled like a stuck pig,” he admitted.

“Hm,” Eddie commented gravely.

“That doesn't make any sense at all. Seriously. Think about every bit of legend and lore out there. A guy is never the sacrifice. It's always a vestal virgin, or the beautiful blonde—someone like Megan,” he said dully.

“The blood of the sacrifice—there's no real tense there, past or present,” Jade said. “The blood of the sacrifice could be blood obtained before the main rite.”

“Someone sacrificed in that sense is usually dead,” Finn said.

“Yes,” Jade said.

“At least Megan and I are both alive and well. So far,” Finn commented. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This is what I'm getting. If there is something to get. There is someone out there who has read all this bull about Bac-Dal and Cabal Thorne. Apparently, Cabal Thorne was not successful at raising the demon, because people came after him. He was, by his own admission, a very bad man, a murderer. He was killed silently, outside the law, because the people didn't want to be accused of any injustice again—most of them probably realized that they had just executed a large number of innocent people, having believed that they were in league with the devil. It seems possible that this nut has targeted Megan, and that they know something about hypnosis, or suggestion, the power of the mind, or something like it. Split Megan and me up, and she becomes more vulnerable. Make me look like a dangerous man, and when she is used for whatever their heinous intentions may be . . .” He paused, swallowing hard, refusing to believe that Megan could become the victim of the insane murderers. He lifted his hands. “Well . . . make me look like a wife beater, a crazy, jealous husband . . . and I take the fall if something terrible happens to her. Maybe it's time to call in the police.”

“And tell them that you're having dreams?” Jade said quietly.

Finn exhaled on a long breath. He shook his head. “Yet I'm the one who lost the blood, and the hair.”

“You're sure that Megan hasn't suffered a cut, or anything like it? A good pin prick on the finger?” Jade asked.

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” Finn said. He hesitated. “Unless she cut herself last night, after I left her. This is all crazy, though. At first, I was upset because of what was happening between us. Now, I'm afraid for her life. I don't believe that you can bring a demon to life, but I do believe she might have been chosen for some kind of ritual killing, and that I'm the one intended to do life in a maximum security prison for the deed.” He rose suddenly, agitated. “And I don't know where she is right now, which is suddenly scaring the hell out of me. Excuse me.”

He turned away from the group around the table, pulling out his cell phone and punching the speed dial to connect him to Megan. She answered on the third ring. “Megan?”

“Finn. Hey.”

“Where are you?” He asked the question tersely. Despite the reassuring sound of her voice, he was afraid for her.

“About a block and a half in from the wax museum and the cemetery,” she told him. “I ran into Mike at the park. We're having a bite of lunch.”

“Great.” He tried to keep the grinding of his teeth from being audible. He should just be glad that she was with Smith, in a crowd, alive and well—safe for the moment. He was still irritated.

“Where are you?”

“Just perusing an old bookshop.”

“Did the writer and her husband get in?”

“Yes, they're with me.” He glanced at the two. “I'm showing them around a bit.”

“Want to meet up?”

He glanced at the desk, and the threesome around it. Before he could reply to Megan, Lucian said, “Jade and I need to study some more of the stuff in here. Why don't you go meet her?”

“How much lunch have you had so far?” he asked Megan.

“We've just ordered.”

“Order me some coffee. I'll meet you. What's the name of the place?”

Megan told him. He rang off. He stared at Lucian, wondering how the hell he had known what Megan had said to him. Maybe he'd heard her.

“We'll see you tonight, at the hotel,” Lucian told him.

He nodded. “I had thought you might want to go by Morwenna's shop as well.”

“We'll find it,” Jade said. “Eddie can point us in the right direction.”

“All right,” Finn said. “I don't mean to run off, but—”

“You want to be with your wife; we understand,” Lucian said.

Finn turned to Eddie. “Hey, thanks.”

“I'm having a great time here,” Eddie told him, shaking his head with pleasure and casting a glance toward Lucian. “The guy reads Old Norse! Thank you for introducing us.”

“My pleasure,” Finn said with a grin. “All right, then. I'll see you later. Oh, and hey—Eddie's twin brother is a cop.”

“Maybe we can talk to him later, too,” Jade said.

“He's a good guy. But he doesn't believe in demons, either,” Eddie assured them.

“Well, thanks again, to all of you,” Finn said, turning to leave.

“Finn.” Lucian called him back.

Finn turned.

“Remember, this is the last day before Halloween.”

“I know.”

“And midnight, All Hallow's Eve,” Jade said.

“Midnight can't mean too much of anything,” Finn told her. “Megan and I are playing tomorrow night. We don't get off until one.”

“You're definitely scheduled at the place?” Jade said, sounding just a little startled, as if that didn't fit into things.

“Yes, we're definitely scheduled. For the Wiccans around here, it's the time of the high holy day, or whatever. But for the entertainment world, hey, it's the time to be working.”

Jade nodded thoughtfully.

“Later,” Finn said, and left them.

For some reason, the troubled look in Jade's eyes seemed to go with him.
It had to be good, then, that they were working. As long as they were in a crowded hotel hall, together, in a crowd of a couple of hundred, they had to be safe.

The question was, of course, safe from just what?

No. People. Crazy, sick, people who thought that they could sacrifice others, and bring back demons.

He moved more quickly. The urge to be near Megan, to protect her . . .

. . . was stronger than ever.

 

 

Morwenna called Sara to the back of the shop.

“What is it?”

Morwenna hesitated. “I want you to take over for me tomorrow night.”

“There are things that I'm going to have to do . . . I'm worried. About the way things are going. With Megan.”

Sara shook her head strenuously. “Morwenna! I couldn't . . . I can't—I'm just not you! You're known, you're respected . . . Morwenna, you have to lead tomorrow night, there's information out there, there are people who have come from all over the country! You have to be there.”

“There are other people doing rites that have been publicized tomorrow; the head witch of Salem is doing a morning rite. Yes, people know about our midnight services, but . . . if I'm not there, it won't be the end of Wiccans in Salem. But Sara, you do have something special. You could fill in for me. You're young, but you speak so well, you've read so much, you know so many of the really beautiful passages . . . you could be me.”

“You are the important person, doing the important service!”

Morwenna shook her head. “Some things,” she said softly, “are just more important than others.”

“There's nothing more important than tomorrow night.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Morwenna,” Sara said firmly. “I can't. I mean it. I can't!”

Morwenna sighed. “Sara—”

“Morwenna, you've got to find someone else. You have to!”

“Sara—”

“Morwenna, I mean it. Tomorrow night . . . well, it's a learning experience for me as well. I'm new—I'm young. Too new, and too young. And tomorrow night, as for myself... there are just no guarantees. I'm dead serious, and truly sorry. If you want to fire me, go ahead. But I can't fill in for you tomorrow night.”

“You're a different coven, of course, but you work for me—”

“Morwenna, like I said, you'll have to fire me. I can't, and I mean, I can't.”

Morwenna shook her head, disheartened. “I'm not firing you. But you've got to help me. There's been a change. I must . . . I must be with Megan.”

Sara sat down in front of Morwenna. Morwenna had been reading the Tarot cards.

The Grim Reaper was face up in front of her.

“I'm really sorry; I do have my own agenda,” Sara said. “But . . . I'll help you think. We'll come up with something.”

 

 

Megan didn't know what had induced her to tell Mike everything she had told him. She hadn't, of course, told him everything, but enough so that they had really gotten into talking. Mike knew a lot of old lore as well as history, and he didn't laugh at Megan at all, but told her he believed the story about Cabal Thorne having come to Salem to raise the demon, Bac-Dal, was certainly based on some kind of truth. He thought it was nearly criminally cruel for Andy to have taken her out to the unhallowed ground to tell her that a demon was after her.

He didn't believe in demons, and agreed that the dreams she was having had to have something to do with the many impressions she received during the day.

“That old Andy Markham! So he said, ‘Bac-Dal wants you'? ”

“That's what he said, exactly.”

“That old fool!” Her hand lay on the table. He covered it with his own and told her seriously, “Megan, there are no such things as demons.”

“But there are such things as bad people.”

“Sure. But I think that old Andy may be crazy, but do you think he's a bad person? You know, you can take ghost tours here and hear about all kinds of bad things that have happened to people. They'll show you all kinds of pictures and tell you that rain spots are ectoplasm and stuff like that. There are plenty of horror stories that take place in real life. But that doesn't make those involved bad people. Take old Andy though—he's been telling his tales the longest. You know, Salem wasn't all this great big place where tourism ruled everything. It's only been . . . what, maybe twenty, thirty or so years that everyone has cashed in on history. But Andy . . . he was just a storyteller from the start, that's what the old folks say. He was a teacher when he was young, and loved to set up campfire tales and stuff like that. He started believing his own schtick. That's all there is to it.”