The Awakening (39 page)

Still, there was something. Maybe it was in the way he was standing. He took a longer look at the Barbie doll, but she appeared to be college age, and he was certain that he had never met her.

Tonight, he didn't see anyone he knew—or at least, anyone that he
knew
that he knew. In all the nights they had been working, he hadn't begun to see so many fantastic costumes.

He gave his attention back to the work at hand.

“Hey, how did it go at the bookshop?”

He looked up. He didn't recognize the girl in front of him. She was dressed as a witch, and she had gone all out. Wickedly pointed hat, green makeup. “Sara?” he said incredulously.

“Yeah. Well?”

He didn't answer. He still just stared at her. Then he asked, “Sara, isn't your costume against your beliefs?”

“I was feeling like a rebel,” she said dryly. “Well?”

“It's all going really well, thanks,” he told her.

She came closer to him. “Well, I'm glad to hear that, but you've really got to watch out.”

“Why is that?”

“Your friends from New Orleans . . . they may not be your friends.”

“Oh?”

“He was in the shop today. Look, Finn, I admit to being afraid of you, right? There's something really off with you. But I can tell you, too, that your friend Lucian . . . well, there's something really off with him.”

“And how do you know that? Did you read his palm or his cards?”

She shook her head, then lowered it. “I know because. . .”

“Yeah?”

She stared at him again. “When he looked at me, I would have gone anywhere with him.”

“He's got a wife. He tried to seduce you?”

“No,” she admitted. He thought that she was blushing, but it was hard to tell, since she was wearing green makeup. “But,” she continued, “he could have made me say anything, do anything. I think he's dangerous, and . . . tomorrow is Halloween night. He's dangerous, and you're dangerous. I know that you're dangerous, Finn. I don't believe that you mean to be—you just are. You're the chosen, or something.”

He watched her, remembering the great hostility he had felt toward her, and the almost ridiculous desire to seize her sexually, assault her. Right now, she just seemed like an ordinary young woman dressed up for a Halloween party. But she also seemed sincere.

“You should lock yourself up somewhere,” she told him.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I'll give that my deep consideration.”

“Finn, I'm serious. You see, I looked at Megan tonight while she was singing, and . . . she had an aura around her.”

“An aura. What does that mean?”

“It means she's going to die,” Sara said, and turned and walked away, back into the crowd.

 

 

He watched from the shadows.

And just before midnight, it happened.

The door to the ICU room opened and closed. The person in scrubs, cap, and mask entered slowly, bootie-covered feet moving silently across the room.

He waited.

The person moved to stand over the bed, looking down at Andy Markham. Seconds ticked by.

Then the person moved around to the plugs that connected to the monitors and oxygen system.

And bent down.

“No.”

Lucian stepped from the shadows and said the single word. The person spun around.

To his amazement, he saw that it was Aunt Martha who had come to do old Andy Markham in.

Finn was watching for her anxiously when Megan returned to the stage.

“What's the matter?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he told her. “Nothing at all.”

“You're lying.”

He shook his head. “Are Morwenna and Joseph here?”

“If so, I haven't found them,” Megan said. She was certain her cousin and Joseph would show up tonight. She watched Finn curiously, because he seemed to have gained a shade of pale. Still, she decided not to press the point. “It's getting late, but I'm sure Morwenna and Joseph will show up. Unless they're just too tired. Hey, I did see Theo Martin at the bar. He's not on duty tonight, but he told me he's keeping an eye on things anyway; people can get crazier and crazier the closer it comes to Halloween. Even just rowdy, you know? He was telling me that sometimes the local college boys like to pretend to be ‘haunts' during some of the tours on these days, and that they can pretend some pretty silly things, that get people hurt—like trying to break into places, wearing sheets, and coming out on balconies. One kid dressed up like a ghost and fell out of a second floor window of one of the historic buildings last year. Luckily, he landed in some bushes and only broke his leg. But thankfully, Theo took our stalker in the parking lot last night very seriously, told Sam he had to hire a few guys and the cops would provide extra on their own. So, there are several extra guys here and around the parking lot tonight.”

Finn nodded. “I've seen a few of the uniformed cops.”

She smiled. “So why are you so white?”

“We need to get back in the sun for a while, that's why,” he said lightly. He glanced at his watch. “Our time is up. Let's do our set.”

Megan picked up her mike and looked out at the crowd as Finn announced their next number. There was a grim reaper standing very close to the stage. He had on a cowl that almost completely obscured his face, and still . . .

She could see his eyes.

She shivered.

It appeared that his eyes glimmered in the dark. Like those of a cat.

Or a wolf.

 

 

Martha stood still, staring at Lucian, but not seeming to see him. She wasn't even surprised that he was in the room, a stranger.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She kept staring at him.

“Martha!” he said, and waved a hand in front of her. She didn't blink. He snapped his fingers, and at last, her lids rose and fell.

She took a look at him. Her eyes widened in sudden terror. She opened her mouth as if she would scream.

“No!” he said again, very softly.

The scream died on her lips, but her distress became very apparent. “Who are you? What am I doing in here? Oh, my God—Andy!”

“Sh. Andy is all right. The question is, what are you doing here?”

“I—I don't know!” she said with dismay.

In a few minutes, someone in the hospital would realize that there was a commotion going on in an intensive care room. “Let's get out of here, shall we?” Lucian said.

She stared at him, still trying to figure out who the hell he was, but aware as well that she was dressed up and in scrubs and in a room where she shouldn't be, not at that time of night.

He opened the door quietly, ushering her out.

The night nurse, Janice Mayerling, was standing in the hall. Right in front of the room. She was staring into space. She didn't see them, despite the fact that they walked right in front of her. Lucian motioned to Martha to move down the hall, toward the elevators. He tried the same routine, waving a hand in front of Janice's face, to no avail. He snapped his fingers directly in front of her eyes. She blinked, shaking her head, pretty face knit in a frown of bewilderment, quickly masked. She stared at Lucian. “Sir, who are you? What are you doing here? Visitors are not allowed to roam around in this wing.”

“I'm not here,” he said quietly. “Get in with your patient; stay with him.”

He turned and walked down the hall to join Martha. Though still distressed, she seemed to have stiffened up with solemn Yankee resolve.

“Who are you?”

“Lucian DeVeau. I'm a friend of Finn's.”

“Finn,” she murmured. Her eyes widened again. “Megan . . . she's all right?”

“They're both fine at the moment. The question right now is you.”

A deeper dismay and confusion filled her eyes. “I went to bed!” she exclaimed, lowering her voice as the elevator arrived and she looked in to make sure that it was empty. “I went to bed; I fell asleep. I woke up here. Oh, my God! I hope it isn't Alzheimer's!”

“I doubt it,” Lucian said.

The elevator came to the ground. “I—I don't understand any of this at all,” she said in deep frustration. “I don't remember . . . I don't remember getting out of bed, coming here . . . I don't even remember waking up. And I'm in . . . I'm in scrubs!”

“So that's it—you don't why you're here, you don't remember getting here, driving here, anything?”

She shook her head. “Why would I come here? I saw Andy this afternoon. Oh, this is so frightening. But . . . you! Why were you in there?” she asked, her confusion turning to suspicion and anger. “I don't know you—and I don't believe you know Andy. How did you get into that hospital room?”

“I don't matter in this,” he assured her.

“You could have hurt Andy!”

“Martha, let's get back to you. I stopped you before you could pull the plug on Andy's oxygen supply.”

“I would never do such a thing!” she protested adamantly.

“But you would have come to the hospital and dressed in scrubs to sneak into his room at night?”

Martha, looking mortified, hurried to the exit. She pushed open the door to the outside, inhaling deeply as if the night air could clear her mind.

She didn't look at Lucian, but gasped. “I had a dream! I remember the dream. Andy was in it. He was some kind of a monster and he was calling to Megan. I could hear him, and his voice wasn't at all old and decrepit, it was compelling, commanding . . . even seductive. And I remember in my dream that I was trying to get to him, to stop him before he could hurt Megan!”

Her eyes turned to his, as if wondering if he could verify such a strange dream, but then she squared her shoulders again. “This is ridiculous! Andy wouldn't hurt Megan, and I never usually have dreams—oh, it's all this stuff with Halloween, and the shenanigans of all our local Wiccans. Or the college pranksters. I'm going to see a doctor first thing in the morning. This is so dangerous. There's my car. I drove here. I might have killed someone!”

“I'll see you home,” Lucian said.

“You'll do no such thing. I don't know you—for all I do know, you could be a maniacal killer. You'll get yourself out of here, before I call the police.”

He arched a brow slowly. “You're going to call the police and tell them that we were both in Andy's room?”

She blushed to the roots of her silver-white hair, then lowered her head. She met his eyes.

“You're going to go home, and back to bed,” he told her. “And that's it, back home, and back to bed.”

Her eyes were locked with his. “Back home, and back to bed. Of course.”

“And you're going to drive carefully.”

“I'm going to drive carefully.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then became determined. In no-nonsense fashion, she walked toward the parking lot with long strides.

 

 

At twelve-ten, the fire broke out.

Finn was on the acoustic guitar, Megan was singing.

The electric connector on the stage suddenly exploded, the noise as deafening as thunder, sparks flying to the ceiling and in every conceivable direction.

Screams rose in an instantly cacophony.

The electricity went as terrified workers and clientele alike dashed, pushed, prodded, and ran through the darkness.

Finn dropped his guitar.

“Megan!”

There was no answer.

“Finn!”

Despite the bursts of sparks and the small fires instantly breaking out across the room, the darkness seemed overwhelming.

Then, as flames began to lap around in the velvet ebony of the room, the sprinkler system came on, creating more havoc.

People were being trampled.

Someone was yelling for calm; some people were shouting that others were being hurt. The words did nothing to stop the stampede.

Megan found herself being pushed and shoved, caught up in the crowd. She was shouting herself, but no avail. Panic was ensuing

“Stop!” she insisted, feeling elbows gouge into her.

There was no help but to continue to be propelled forward.

She thought she heard Finn shout her name; she tried to reply, but there was so much noise, he couldn't possibly hear her trying to shout in return. Obviously, some of these people knew where the exits were, and she was being jostled along in that direction.

A surge of flame suddenly shot up from the area of the stage. Her heart seemed to catch in her throat for a moment, but she knew that Finn couldn't still be there. He, too, was somewhere in the crowd, being forced toward an exit. The emergency signs to guide them out should have been more prominent, but by now, smoke was filling the space, obscuring even the glow of the signs.

Megan decided just to allow herself to go with the flow.

But then her foot fell upon something that was obviously a human limb. She yelled out in fury and gave a fierce shove back to the person trying to force her forward and bent down, groping blindly to help the fallen person up. She felt coarse wool, limbs, and then a hand. Fingers curled into hers and she strained to pull upward. The person came.

But then, the grip on her hand became a vise. And a whisper sounded against her ear. “Stay with me!”

Firmly guided, she made her way through the throng. By then, she was coughing and choking; her eyes stung terribly.

They burst out a door, smoke billowing out along with them. Frantic yells continued to sound; even outside, milling people were bumping into one another, every one trying to get farther and farther away. Shouts sounded from everywhere.

“It's going to explode! The whole place is going to explode.”

“Get away, get away, get far away!”

“Someone planted a bomb.”

“It's just an electrical fire!”

“There's no bomb!”

“Calm down!”

Sirens blared through the night; the fire department was on the way.

Megan was still jostled forward, and still blinded, for the darkness, combined with the smoke, and the fog that curled low over the ground combined to create a thick pea soup of the night.

She felt her hair pulled, her elbow jostled.

And then . . .

Along with all the other sounds, a whisper.

“Run, Megan, run.”

Then laughter. A soft, eerie laughter, right at her ear.

The person in the cloak and cowl still had her hand. In a death grip.

“We've got to get farther. We've got to get away.”

“No, I have to find Finn!”

“Finn's all right. We've got to move out!”

“Who the hell are you?”

She tried to jerk away. The grip was relentless. She couldn't see the person's face. The voice was deep and raspy.

“It's all right, Megan, it's me. It's Mike. Please, let's just get far enough away in case there is an explosion. Finn will get out, he'll know you're out.”

“No!” she said insistently. “Finn will be looking for me; he could run back in!”

Apparently, Mike didn't hear her. Someone pushed her from behind, forcing her forward. Mike took advantage, jerking her hand hard, running.

Propelled and dragged with equal force, Megan found herself tripping across the parking lot. They were heading past the cars, she saw.

And toward the woods.

 

 

Megan had gotten off the stage; Finn made certain of that. Despite the sparks flying and the flames leaping up around the area, he crawled on his hands and knees over the entire area of the stage, praying only that he wasn't electrocuted in the process. People were running into the dais there, falling, crying out. He could hear a voice, begging for calm. It sounded like Adam Spade. It wouldn't be Tartan, Finn thought bitterly. Tartan would have been the first person out of the building.

Someone fell hard against the stage. Finn found an elbow and lifted whoever to their feet. He was rewarded with a dazed, “Thanks!”

“Get out, buddy, get out!” Someone told him.

Another small explosion rocked the stage. Finn rolled backward to avoid the flames. Landing hard on the dance floor by the stage, he ducked beneath it quickly to keep from being trampled. Despite the tangle of legs rushing past, he managed to roll out and get to his feet.

The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. The smell of it definitely indicated an electrical fire, but he knew that his sound system had been in excellent shape. So . . .

“Move, move, move! The fires are growing!”

They were, which seemed impossible, since the sprinklers were now dousing the entire place. Caught up in the exodus, Finn became determined to move with the crowd, shouting Megan's name all the while.

Feeling the temptation to give way to panic, he gritted his teeth, telling himself that Megan was capable and smart; she had been caught up in the flow of the crowd, just as he was himself. When he found an exit, he would find Megan.

Still, fear set in. All this hokum about dreams and demons. And the greatest danger they were coming to face was a fire. A very real danger. Not something out of the mist, or the imagination.

A fire set on purpose?

He thought back to the afternoon and remembered what Lucian had said—that they wouldn't be playing tomorrow night. They were scheduled to play, but they wouldn't be playing, because midnight was the hour.

The hour when a demon could best return to earth.

“Megan!” His voice roared over the spray of the sprinklers, the screaming, the thumping, the crashing of objects around him.

A few minutes later, he burst outside.

Into something worse than darkness.

A true shadow realm, for smoke had combined with the ceaseless fog that seemed to haunt the place, and all that was visible was a field of shadows.

“Megan!”

He called her name.

“Finn!”

Faint . . . the answer so faint, and yet, he was so certain he heard her. From where? From the direction of...

He whirled around.

“Finn!”

He thought he heard her again. Real? Imagined? He didn't now.

He had no choice. He ran in the direction of the woods.

 

 

“Mike! Stop, I mean it!” Megan said determinedly. She jerked hard on his hand, forcing him to come to a stop.

“Megan, we have to have distance!” he insisted, jerking her hand again.

“We've got distance. We're nearly in the trees.”

“I am not going to let you kill yourself!”

He started to move again, jerking her along. But suddenly, in the midst of the fog, he came across a barrier and crashed into it so hard that he drew Megan along with him.

It was another man in a brown cape, the hood so far over his face she couldn't begin to see it.

“Let her go,” he said firmly.

“I'm trying to get her out of here, you idiot!” Mike claimed.

“Are you?”

He reached for both their wrists, jerking. Megan was instantly freed from Mike's hand.

“Thanks. If you'll excuse me, I'm going back,” she said flatly.

“No, Megan,” the man said. “You're coming with me.”

He had lifted his head somewhat.

Ice filled her heart. She had seen him before. He was the man Finn had said was following him. Who had stood outside the coffeehouse, watching them. His hair was a dark sable color; he wore it on the long side, like Finn. He was muscularly built, but his eyes were his strangest feature. They were a strange green, almost yellow.

It was the color of his eyes that unnerved her most.

“No, I'm going back,” she said, and turned.

His hand fell on her shoulder, and he spun her around.

“You're coming with me.”

“The hell I am!” Great. She kept pepper spray in her purse, but, of course, her purse was back at the hotel—burning up somewhere, probably.

And she wasn't a weakling.

But neither could she hope to win against this fellow's apparent force.

“Leave her alone!” Mike shouted.

“You don't know me, but I'm a friend,” the man said.

“A friend, right!” Mike protested.

“Get out of the way.”

“You're not taking her anywhere!”

The man pushed by Mike effortlessly. He made a move to come at the man, assault him. The man let out a sound that was chilling . . . a warning, but not a warning, a snarl that seemed to fill the night. She was dragged along as he walked through the fog, not blinded at all.

Gritting her teeth and bracing her strength, she coughed and choked. “Wait!”

When the fellow turned, she kicked him. With all her strength. He loosened his grip.

Megan saw her chance. She turned to run back toward the hotel. In the fog, she couldn't tell the direction at first. She heard her feet clip on the pavement.

Then, a tongue of fire suddenly lapped into the night sky. She spun around, realizing she had been running in the wrong direction.

And just as she did so, she felt a rush of wind. Someone coming, seeming to be all but part of the wind. She kept turning, listening to the fall of feet on the pavement.

Darkness seemed to blacken even the murk of the fog, as if giant wings had unfolded before her.

And as it encompassed her, she heard her name again.

A whisper.

“Megan . . .”

 

 

As Finn ran, intent only on finding the direction in which Megan had gone, he crossed over the asphalt of the parking lot. The sounds of sirens, shouting, and cacophony began to fade the farther he ran.

“Megan!” he screamed her name, into the night.

Then he paused, gasping for breath, bracing his hands on his knees as he bent over, fighting the pain in his lungs. He listened intently, praying that he would hear her respond.

Megan did not shout back to him.

But he became aware then of other sounds.

Footsteps . . .

A rush of them, running . . . coming in his direction.

He straightened, spinning around.

Figures began to emerge from the fog. One, two, three, four, five . . . more. They were all clad in cloaks, some brown, some black. The cloaks were hooded. The people clad in them were wearing masks as well, most of them simple plastic, the kind that gave them all a faceless quality.

He was so furious and desperate that he was ready for them.

When the first man rushed him, his timing was precise. He kicked out in a split second, taking the man sharply in the jaw with the butt of his heel. A screech of pain ensued, but even before it had died out, others were rushing him.

At that point, instinct took over. Two came at him, and again, the years of martial arts training paid off, for he was able to throw out a punch and a kick at the same time, once again eliciting gasps and cries of pain. The one man was down, doubled over, the other was staggering.

But there were more.

Finn fought, and fought well, adrenaline and sheer willpower his main strength. But while he jabbed and lashed out as another two came forward for a frontal assault, someone jumped him from the back. Someone heavy and powerful. He whirled, seeking a tree against which to slam his assailant. Someone else came to the side, using both his arms to snare Finn's one. Another attacker fell to capture his arm.

He still had his legs, and he used them with brutal dexterity. But even as he did so, he knew he was bound to go down. He could only take on so many of them for so long a time. Adrenaline could not sustain him forever.

One of the furious fellows he had first kicked came forward then, and delivered a blow to his chin that caused blackness to spin with a few pinpricks of stars before his eyes. “You'll have to kill me, you asshole!” he raged.

“He's not supposed to be harmed,” someone else yelled.

Finn gathered all his strength, freed an arm, and lashed out with a solid kick again.

“Fuck that!” the man with the lethal jab roared, coming forward again.

Finn braced for a jawbreaking swing, but it never came.

The man was picked up cleanly and jerked away from him. The guy must have been two hundred and fifty pounds, at least, but he was picked up as if he were a feather. He was tossed aside.

He couldn't see his sudden ally, but he knew the fight wasn't finished. He used the surprise his attackers were feeling, and jerked free. He elbowed the man at his right side so fiercely that he was almost certain he heard a rib crack.

The man grunted in agony, falling halfway over. “Get up!” the man on Finn's back ordered his fallen comrade, but to no avail. The one who had been at Finn's side staggered into the fog, into the safety of the nearby trees. Finn again gathered his resources, ducked, and pulled, sending the man from the rear flying over his head to land with a thud against something on the ground.

Others flew at Finn again.