The Awakening (36 page)

There had certainly been others in the line ahead of them, but no one seemed to notice that they were being seated out of line. In fact, people smiled at them as they walked by to take a seat at the table for five.

“That was rather remarkable,” Megan commented.

He shrugged. “Mind over matter,” he said lightly. “What will you have?”

“Straight coffee. It's going to be a long night.”

He gave their order to the waitress who seemed to materialize at their table, then leaned forward. “So this old man has been warning you about Bac-Dal?”

Megan actually tried to hesitate. It was very strange. He didn't seem evil at all to her. Nor did he seem like a stranger, which meant she should be all the more wary. It didn't work. She immediately found herself saying things that she shouldn't have.

“Finn doesn't even know this, but . . . I went to meet him one morning and he told me the tale about Bac-Dal, and this man named Cabal Thorne who had come here long ago. Apparently the townspeople—with help maybe from some other religious group—managed to kill Thorne. They weren't going to have him arrested, not after the witch debacle. So they killed him. And then . . . later, one night when after we played . . . he was there again. This morning, when I heard what happened to him, I was . . . wow, strange, I was overcome by this terrible guilt. As if he were in the hospital because of me. Because he's tried so hard to warn me.”

Lucian nodded. The coffee arrived. He pleasantly thanked the waitress, but didn't speak again until she was gone.

“You don't believe it was an accident that landed Andy in the hospital.”

She stared at him. “No.”

“And you and Finn went to the hospital, and they let you see him?”

Megan smiled at that. “I ran into my aunt—Martha, with whom I'm staying right now. She's been in Salem forever, knew the nurse on duty, and managed to get us in.”

“And what happened then?”

Unease filled her. The way that he was looking at her . . . he knew. More than Finn had known, that something had indeed happened.

“He's supposed to be in a deep coma. But I could swear that he came to and . . . and talked.”

“Exactly what happened?”

“He told me again that Bac-Dal wanted me. And it was very strange, because he wasn't really looking at me, it was more as if he were looking through me . . . and Finn was looking in at us through the glass windows all the time—oh, jeez!” she broke off with a gasp, amazed and dismayed at what she had just said.

He smiled slowly, a dangerous smile. “It's all right. You two are in trouble here. And you do need help.”

“My husband isn't . . . Finn isn't cruel, or a killer, or evil,” she said. Great. She was explaining all this to a man she didn't know. A man Morwenna had termed “evil” himself. “Of course, neither of us believes in demons or things that go bump in the night,” she tried to add lightly. “It's all the power of suggestion,” she went on quickly.

He raised a hand to her. He smiled again, that slow rueful smile. “I don't believe that you're being plagued by the power of suggestion. You see, there are plenty of things out there that go bump in the night. And I'm sure that there really are demons, and your life may depend on your belief in them.”

 

 

Despite the fact that Eddie Martin's store was as crazy as Morwenna's Wiccan shop, he didn't at all mind the fact that Jade DeVeau was still at his desk, browsing his manuscripts. He inclined his head when Finn entered the shop, indicating that he should go back and find Jade at his leisure. Finn felt badly about having taken over his business area, but he didn't want to leave Megan alone long with Lucian DeVeau, though he didn't know exactly why. The guy had his own beautiful wife, and the two seemed so compatible, they were almost as one.

Jade didn't see him arrive at first, she was so engrossed in what she was reading. It was a bound book, not ancient, but very old.

“Jade?”

She looked up, startled. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him—almost suspiciously—and he wondered what she had found.

“Hey,” she said, her forced tone belying her manner.

“Lucian sent me to get you. He's with Megan down at the coffee shop.” He paused. “I'm supposed to collect you, and we're supposed to meet them. He somehow got some ladies to inhale their coffee. We have a table, and need to meet.”

“Of course.”

But she stared at him, not closing the book.

“What is it?”

“Your name.”

“What?”

“Your name is in this book.”

“What?”
he repeated, coming around behind her.

“It's an account of the events of the Cabal Thorne killing . . . a diary. The writing is very confusing, hurried.” She looked up at him, studying him. “I keep reading it all over and over again, but I can't quite tell if
Finnegan Douglas
was among the citizen vigilantes, or . . .”

“Or?”

“The Satanists,” she said flatly.

“I'm telling you, it's impossible!” Finn said vehemently, both hands surrounding the large coffee cup that held his extra large cappuccino. “Look, I know that we go back, way back, in Louisiana. I have my great-great grandfather's Civil War diary. He put together a militia outfit, and when things got bad, wound up being commissioned as a captain in the regular army. He was killed at the Battle of Cold Harbor. You can look him up—his name appears in any number of southern Civil War museums! He was a Dixie-singing Rebel, for fact.”

Jade nodded. “We believe you, Finn. But the Civil War started in 1861. The events here preceded that by nearly sixty years.”

Finn leaned back, staring around the table.

He had seen the passage that referred to a Finnegan Douglas having been in the area when it was “rumored” that a vigilante party had taken care of the “perceived” evil of Cabal Thorne. And, like Jade, he had been unable to determine if the writer had referred to the said Douglas as having been among Thorne's followers, or the vigilantes. The writer had been scornful of any of the proceedings. Having escaped an accusation of witchcraft himself by timing alone, the author of the words, a man named Ethan Miller, was writing from hearsay, and the script had been so full of “thees” and “thous” and other strange spellings that only Jade's deciphering had made any of it clear to him at all.

“My name isn't Finnegan, by the way. It's legally just Finn. Finn Douglas.” He flushed slightly, then grimaced. “I have a middle name—Beauregard. I'm telling you, we're as Southern as pecan pie.”

Jade shrugged. “Maybe it's just a coincidence.”

“It's not a coincidence,” Lucian said flatly.

Megan leaned forward suddenly. “You know, I've just realized—this is beyond insanity. Finn, you were right. We need to get the hell out of here.”

He turned and looked at Megan. Her eyes were on his, bright and determined. They all looked at her. “Finn wanted to leave before. I had it in my head that we were imagining a lot of things. That we were totally vulnerable to the power of suggestion. Then I thought—I thought that something was wrong with Finn. Then me. Then both of us. But what would be crazy would be to stay here! Whatever one believes—if there are or aren't demons—there are people capable of torture and murder in the world, we all know that. So, since I seem to be a target for whoever or whatever, the intelligent thing to do would be to get beyond range of it.”

No one replied to her right away. Finn stretched his hand out across the table.

Jade cleared her throat. “I think they may be right.”

“It would seem the logical thing,” Lucian agreed. “But I don't know. I just wonder if they can really be out of reach. We don't know exactly what is happening. So far, most of what is going on happens in dreams. You can't run away from dreams.”

“The dreams . . . are all the same. When I have them, I'm being . . . attacked. When Finn has them . . . I guess he sees himself as some kind of god or being walking through adoring crowds to take . . . kind of a sexual prize, I guess.”

“One fear that I've had,” Finn admitted, “is that the killing in Boston may be related to what's going on now. Say our coven of Satanists arranged for her murder. Well planned, since I don't know how anyone here could have known that I was in the city! Then,” he hesitated, not looking at his wife, “say they wanted to make Megan another sacrifice. They've caused a rift between us, so I'd make a good fall guy for both killings.”

Lucian sat back in his chair, studying Finn. “You've got an interesting point right there. How could anyone know that you were going to stop in Boston? Most drivers would get through the big, traffic-riddled city as quickly as possible. And, if I understood you right, you felt as if you were actually compelled to stop off in Boston.”

“I don't even remember,” Finn said with disgust.

“Someone has some kind of mind control, that seems clear enough,” Jade said

“All right, hold up,” Megan said with practicality and determination. “What exactly is a demon?”

Both Lucian and Finn opened their mouths, but then stared at Jade.

Lucian gave her a crooked smile. “You wrote the book.”

Jade shrugged. “The term ‘demon' comes from the Greek ‘daimon,' and what it actually means is ‘replete with wisdom.' In some societies, a demon may be considered either a good or evil spirit, and some people believe that they are just mischief makers. In the Middle Ages, there were a number of Christian demonologists, and they classified various demons, had them serving different princes of evil, and so forth. Exorcism dates back to the early sixteen hundreds. In the days of the witch hunts—across Europe—it was believed that demons could gain human form and that they were terrible sexual molesters. A succubus was a female demon who came down to seduce men. An incubus took on the male form and seduced women. Demons are supposed to be sterile, and yet, they were able to impregnate women by drawing upon the semen of living men, and making it their own. There are all kinds of accounts of demon molestations, including a number which have to do with haunted houses, or with poltergeist activity. Usually,” she said ruefully, “these cases turn out to be either the longing or loneliness of certain living souls.”

Jade shook her head. “But . . . it sounds as if demons are as laughable as the thought of old Rebecca Nurse really being a witch practicing black arts.”

“No, that's just it. Say Rebecca Nurse was innocent of any kind of witchcraft—malignant or benign. That doesn't mean that there aren't Wiccans—your cousin is one. And by the fierce of avowal of modern day Wiccans, no evil is done in the practice of true Wicca. But hell, the rites of Satanism can be very similar. And some self-proclaimed witches have been evil people—take Aleistar Crowley.”

“He was still just a man,” Jade said.

“Probably,” Lucian agreed.

“So what you're saying,” Finn interjected, “is that most reported cases are invented, or hallucinated. But that doesn't mean that the real thing isn't out there somewhere.”

“Exactly,” she said softly.

“I don't know if I can believe any of this,” Megan said softly.

“Well, I do know this,” Jade said. “Whatever you decide about leaving,
don't
tell anyone.”

Megan looked uncertainly at Finn. “Don't you think the sooner we tell Sam Tartan the better?”

“Megan, he's not going to give us a reference once we don't show up tomorrow night no matter what,” Finn said flatly.

“Don't say anything, and don't worry about it,” Lucian said. “It won't matter.”

“How can you say it won't matter?” Megan asked.

Lucian shrugged. “Midnight is when things are going to happen. You're scheduled to play at midnight. I can guarantee you, someone has other plans. Whatever they are, I don't know. But they don't intend for you to be playing at midnight. The witching hour.”

Megan glanced at her watch. “It's nearly six! We have to get ready to go in.”

“We don't start until nine, Megan. We're fine,” Finn said.

“We should still get going. You can drive me to Martha's first, then we'll stop by Huntington House, and be at the hotel with time to get a quick bite before we start.” She looked at Lucian and Jade. “You'll be there tonight?”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Lucian said.

“Safety in numbers,” Jade added.

“Remember, don't say anything. To anyone,” Lucian warned. “Whether you choose to go, or stay, make sure you don't give anyone advance warning.”

Megan looked at Finn. He smiled his assurance to her. “All right,” she said softly.

They hadn't asked for the check, but their waitress came by, and Lucian insisted on offering his credit card. They started out of the coffee shop as a foursome.

“We probably won't be there until elevenish,” Jade told Megan. “I want to go back to the shop and try to find out what else I can.”

“Sure.” Megan smiled at her. “Are you going to dress up? You should, you know. It's fun. A lot of Morwenna's Wiccan friends frown upon the ghoulish costumes, but to most of the people, they love the chance to be famous folk, living or dead, and monsters.”

“Maybe, we'll see.”

“You could do Frankenstein's monster and his bride—Lucian is so tall,” Megan said.

“We could,” Lucian agreed.

“Hey, he'd make a great vampire, too, huh?” Finn asked, setting his arms around his wife's shoulder, as he, too, smiled at the friends who were practically strangers—and yet, a very sudden and odd lifeline as well.

“A vampire. Hm,” Jade murmured. “Maybe we'll just come as Wiccans. We'll see.”

“Come just as you are, if you choose,” Megan said. She hesitated, then gave Jade a quick, fierce hug. “Thanks.”

“It's our pleasure to be here,” Lucian assured her.

Finn thought there was something underlying in the words, what, he couldn't tell.

“Someday, you may need to give us a hand,” Jade said lightly. “Hey, we'd all better get going.”

She waved, and turned with Lucian back toward the direction of the bookstore. Finn led Megan down the street, since they were several blocks from the common and the car.

“Nice folks, huh?” Finn said to Megan.

She looked up at him after a moment. “I can't believe some of the things I said to him.”

“Oh?” Finn queried, startled by a sudden little jab of jealousy.

“No, I mean . . . most people would have thought I was crazy. Wait—do you think they might be crazy? I mean, you say the word ‘demon' and they don't blink an eye or give so much as the hint of a smile. Maybe they're dangerous themselves? Crazy people who think that they're magicians, or . . . or . . . I don't know! Maybe they've been doing occult articles and have begun to believe in their own fantasies. Maybe . . . Finn, maybe they're as crazy as everything else going on.”

Finn didn't answer her right away. Her fingers cinched around his. “Finn?”

“Let's hope they're legitimate,” he said softly. “They seem to be all we've got.”

She walked along in silence beside him. An eerie sensation seemed to scrape against his neck and he suddenly stopped, turning back.

“Megan.”

“Yes?”

“Don't look now—I mean, really, don't stop and stare! But there's a guy behind us in a long brown duster who just stopped to light a cigarette.”

“So . . . ?”

“I think he was standing outside the coffee shop.”

“I'll pretend to fix my shoe.”

Megan did so, dropping down. She stood again, linked her arm with his, and started walking.

“Well?”

“I don't think I've ever seen him before.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. He's not as tall and dark as you and Lucian, but . . . pretty darned cute. I'd have noticed.”

“Oh.”

She laughed at his tone.

“Don't tell me you don't still notice cute girls?”

“I give more attention to dynamite women.”

She was still smiling. He was glad she could still do so, and startled when she said, “Maybe we're beginning to get the entire trust thing right again.”

“Maybe.”

She grew serious. “Honestly, I don't think I saw that man outside the coffee shop. But then again, I wasn't really noticing people.”

The car was right ahead of them. Finn was glad.

No matter what Megan had said,
he
had noted the man before.

And he was damned convinced that they were being followed.

“Finn,” Megan said suddenly, pulling back.

“What?”

“I want to . . . I want to stop by the church down the street for a minute.”

Finn paused. They had just reached the car. Going to the church meant backtracking, and taking up time he wasn't sure that they had. “You want to see Martha—but you want to stop by the church first?”

“Finn, please, it's important to me.” She squared her shoulders. “I'm going with or without you.”

“You know I'm not letting you go anywhere alone.”

She smiled, and turned. He quickly caught up with her.

Despite the crowded streets, Megan managed to keep up quite a pace. But when they reached the church, she hesitated on the steps and turned back to him. “Are you coming in?”

Finn stared up at the building. It wasn't particularly old—certainly not from the seventeenth century, more likely the nineteenth century or even early twentieth century. He wasn't sure why, but as he approached, he felt a strange burning sensation.

“I'm coming, yes,” he said, surprised by the irritated tone that came from his lips.

Megan frowned, but started on in. She hesitated again at the door, as if afraid that it would be locked. The door opened, and she entered.

Finn, still feeling somewhat hampered and on fire, stood at the door. It was a church; yet he was disturbed to feel that he shouldn't enter, that he didn't have the right.

No.

That he
couldn't
enter.

Megan walked on in. An eerie feeling assailed his spine. He turned. The man he had seen watching them at the coffee shop was on the street, apparently engaged in conversation with a group of costumed children.

Finn gritted his teeth and walked in.

Megan stopped by the little font at the entrance, crossing her forehead with holy water. Finn came up to her. “Do it,” she said.