The Awakening (7 page)

“Megan, I'm not related to any witches, but guess what? The modern-day practice of Wicca may be entirely harmless, but those pagan religions were often led by the Druids, and guess what else? Historically, Druids did believe in blood sacrifices.”

She sighed with exasperation. “And the Catholics created the Inquisition!”

He gritted his teeth—absolutely determined on patience. “True,” he said evenly. “Look, I'm just trying to tell you that it's really kind of a two-pronged thing. I absolutely believe that there are people practicing witchcraft today who do honor the earth, believe in the power of goodness, and may be among the finest, most giving people in the entire world. But you've got to admit that—whether twisted or not!—people have used the practice of magic in other ways. Whether there really is such a thing as magic—white or black—I sure as hell don't know. But it gets back to the main point. The tenets of most religions are very good. They teach us respect, peace, and kindness. But any idiot out there today knows that any religion can be twisted to create terror. I meant what I said. I think Salem is wonderful, just as all the charming towns are that surround it. It's an incredible place to visit, and Halloween here is . . . enchanting. I swear to you that I'm not speaking about anyone in particular—especially not your relatives—when I make the simple statement that places are not evil, only people can be evil. Okay?”

Had she been that defensive? Still staring at him somewhat perplexed, she nodded.

Then, as she sat there, a flare of panic seized her.

They had to get out.

They had to get away.

If they didn't . . .

“Want dessert?”

“What?”

“Did you want dessert? Or should I get the check?”

“We never eat dessert.”

“We can never afford dessert,” he said, jiggling his eyebrows. “But we're making a fortune for very little effort in this incredibly charming place! So . . . ?”

“Let's split something.”

“What?”

“Whatever you'd like.”

“Nope, this is your neck of the woods. You choose dessert.”

Oddly, she still felt defensive. As if she didn't want to be the cause of being here. “Un-huh. We're here because you got the gig. You choose dessert.”

“All right, then. Something gooey and decadent. Chocolate and gooey and decadent. Covered with whipped cream. Slathered in it. Richly. All over.”

She laughed. He'd made every word entirely sensual.

“Did you want dessert? Or sex?”

He leaned back, shrugging. She was surprised that her words seemed to bring out something defensive in him. “Sex—with Fallon monitoring the halls? After last night? The old buzzard would probably be at the keyhole.”

She sighed, folding her arms on the table, looking down at them. It was going to be a long time before she lived down last night.

She looked up at him again, forcing her jaw to unclench. “Great. Well, here's to a mini working vacation. Sexless,” she added, lifting her water glass toward him.

“Hey, don't be silly. There are all kinds of dark nooks and crannies around the town,” he said lightly. Except that his words weren't light. They were dark, with an underlying anger as well.

“I don't think I want dessert,” she said abruptly, rising. “Ask for the check; I'll be right outside.”

She noticed her own wrist as she spoke, since her hand rested on the table. She frowned, deeply dismayed to note that her bracelet was gone.

“I lost it!” she murmured.

“What?” Finn asked.

“The claddagh bracelet my dad gave me.”

“You're sure you were wearing it?”

She nodded glumly. “It's Irish good luck, you know. And a gift from Dad. I don't know why—it seemed important to wear it today.”

“All right, well, don't panic yet. We'll retrace our steps. Hopefully, somebody found it. Maybe it fell off at the museum, or at Morwenna's, or even in the park.”

“If someone found it, it's probably gone,” she said mournfully. “It was light and delicate, but eighteen-carat gold, and a really beautiful piece.”

“Hey, there's hope. Don't give up yet.” He motioned to the waitress and paid her, then caught Megan's hand and headed out with long strides.

She was startled to realize that she was almost glad about the bracelet. The tension between them had dropped like a hot potato. He knew what the bracelet meant to her.

They returned first to the witch museum, but no one had found or turned in such an item. Finn pointed out that they needed to look around the park, since they had been playing with the dog. The catch might have come undone when she was playing with the Great Dane.

But though they tracked the park over and over again, there was no sign of the bracelet.

“It's not here. It's just gone, Finn,” Megan said, dejected. “And I suppose it's silly to think that I will find it now. I shouldn't have been so careless. I mean, if I did lose it here, and someone found it, they'd keep it, surely—I mean, even if they hoped to give it back to a rightful owner, where do you turn something in when it was lost at a park?”

“We can still try Morwenna's,” Finn said. He looked up at the sky. Nearly winter in New England. It was already growing dark. He shrugged, offering her a hopeful smile. “Well, we did this right, anyway. Searching the park before total darkness. Morwenna's has light—a little, at least.”

“Um,” she murmured.

He frowned, seeing something on the ground, reaching down. “What is it?” she asked.

Hunkered down, he shook his head. “Sorry, just a bottle cap. And . . . fall!” As he stood, he tossed up a pile of leaves. In muted but still beautiful colors, they fell around her, a few landing in her hair.

She was startled at first, then laughed, reaching down to scoop up a pile of the leaves herself, tossing them out in turn. “Fall, is that what it is? Fall?”

He grabbed more leaves and she reached down again herself, this time determined to stuff a few down his shirt.

“Hey! That's the way we're going to play?” he countered. He had a handful of leaves and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Finn . . . now wait. You can just shake them out of your shirt . . .” There would be no mercy, she saw. With a yelp, she started running, heading for the street. He caught up with her far too quickly. She stumbled when he spun her around; they both wound up on the ground in a pile of leaves. She squirmed, trying to keep him from getting the leaves down her clothing. By then, she was protesting and laughing at the same time.

“Stop!” Finn said suddenly.

“Stop—so you can fill my shirt with the remnants of an entire oak?” she demanded.

“No! Seriously, lie still!”

“Broken glass?” she asked.

“No—”

“Then . . .?” She started to squirm again.

“No!”

“What?”

“Poop!” he exclaimed.

She lay still, staring at him.

“Great Dane poop, I think,” he said seriously. “A really big pile. Don't move to your left.”

She turned her head. He wasn't lying. She started to laugh. “Boy, you'd have thought we'd have smelled it, huh?”

He grinned. “Careful, careful—with your every move,” he said in his best undercover spy voice. “I'll get you out of this.”

He started to move. She pulled him back for a moment, suddenly dazzled by his smile, the one dimple, the feel of his warmth, and the knowledge of just how much she loved him. And just how feeling him like this, the length of his body hard against her own, could make her realize the many layers of just how much she wanted him.

“Poop,” he repeated, frowning.

She nodded. “I know. And I'll be careful. I was just thinking that . . . we're not really going to let Mr. Fallon influence our nights, are we?”

He watched her gravely for a long moment. “Well . . . just so long as you think you're capable of keeping the ecstacy down. We'll have him in bed with us—and that's a damned scary thought!—if he hears you screaming again. That old geezer would never know the difference between pain and pleasure. Ugh. Okay, no matter how incredible I am, you have to keep it down.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “You could elicit utter silence, you know.”

“Nah—never,” he teased.

“Hm. Well, we'll see. Poop. We should get up now.”

But he didn't move. He laced his fingers through hers, drew them to the ground, and kissed her. They were married. They'd kissed a million times. But there was something erotic about this. And something a little painful and desperate as well. And yet she found herself thinking that he was right, if they were to continue from this point in a hotel room, she might well be screaming . . .

Yet, as she was thinking of the pure sensuality of his simple gesture, he was suddenly rising. He pulled her up with him, and started dusting off his clothing. “Public park,” he said ruefully. “Or common, or whatever you call it.”

She nodded. “Finn,” she said softly.

“What?”

“I love you.”

She thought he would say something like, “I love you, too.” Or, “You know I love you, too.” Perhaps, “Ditto, kid,” or something like that.

Instead he was silent for a long moment. And when he spoke, his voice was deep. There was almost a tremor in it.

“I'd die for you,” he told her.

The wind picked up around them. His eyes were emerald in the coming darkness. Leaves seemed to rise and fall, as if the elements garnered in on their private conversation. Despite his words, she was suddenly cold.

“Well—let's hope it never comes to that!” she said lightly. “Hey, we need to head to Morwenna's. We'll have to skip Aunt Martha's for today—we'll see her tomorrow. We should look for the bracelet, then head back to the B and B and get ready for tonight. You think?”

He nodded. He reached out. Not taking her hand, the way he usually did. He reached out, and waited for her to accept his hand.

They started out of the park.

It had been empty. The streets were not. Once again, they joined various groups of people on the sidewalks. Couples here and there, parents with kids. Young people. Some decked out in costume apparel, some in the hip clothes of the younger generation. People talking. Laughing. Even arguing. Mostly enjoying one another.

It took only a matter of minutes to reach Morwenna's. The store was still crawling with both the curious and paying customers. Sara was on guard duty at the door.

Sara was startled when Finn pulled back at the sight of her, almost as if he were a dog or a horse that sensed extreme danger in the path.

“Hey!” she called to them.

Was she getting paranoid?
Megan wondered. Or did Sara seem uneasy at the sight of Finn as well?

“Super busy in there, huh?” Megan said.

“There's always room for family,” Sara said. “Sorry!” she said to a group of people waiting for the shop to clear out before they entered. “Morwenna's cousin.”

Apologetically, Megan and Finn slipped through the door, past the waiting group. Inside, it was wall-to-wall people. Megan reached her cousin, telling her about the bracelet, asking if it had been found.

“No, I'm so sorry. Or not yet, at least,” Morwenna told her. “But, don't despair—once we close, I'll really look around the place and see if it's fallen on the floor, or behind something. Wow, something your dad gave you. I can ask around town as well—maybe someone did find it in the street and turn it in. I doubt it, but . . .” She broke off and laughed suddenly. “If a really good Wiccan found it, they would have turned it in somewhere. Doing a good deed like that is bound to bring back good luck triplefold.”

Joseph, who had apparently been listening from behind Megan's shoulder, moved up, startling her. “We can hope,” he said. “But if a not-so-good Wiccan or someone else found it, they'd probably go, ‘Hey, what a great Celtic bracelet, must be mine now.' Sorry, Megan, there is the chance that it will turn up.”

“I know it's probably lost for good,” Megan said. “But . . . I had to try to find it.”

“Like your cousin said, we'll keep looking.”

Megan turned around, searching the shop. Finn was no longer at her side. He was standing by a shelf that held all kinds of beautiful little curios and art pieces.

“I need to collect my husband and get going,” Megan said. “Thanks, both of you.”

“Sure thing—and hey, we'll get there late tonight, but we'll be there.”

“That's terrific.”

Megan excused herself to a heavy-set woman, making her way toward Finn. He was reaching for one of the pieces on the shelf, a really beautifully carved wooden dragon. He picked up the piece, swore suddenly, nearly dropped it—then caught it right before it hit the floor.

When she reached him, he had the dragon, but was wearing a severe scowl.

“Finn?”

He looked at her, eyes still dark, brow knit tightly, jaw clenched.

“What's wrong?” she demanded.

“I've been gouged.”

“What?”

He balanced the weight of the dragon into his right hand and raised his left. She was startled to see a major stream of blood trickling down his palm.

“Finn! How deep is it?” she demanded with concern, reaching for his hand.

Once again, Joseph was right behind her.

“Wow, sorry!” Joseph said, voice tinged with what sounded like real concern. “We have a first-aid kit in the back. Sara!” he raised his voice. “Grab the kit in back, will you? Come on back through the curtain. We'll get some peroxide on it and see how deep it is.”