The Awakening (9 page)

“Poor baby!” Morwenna cooed as he reached the table. She halfway stood, rubbing the top of his head. That irritated him even more. Somehow, he kept his cool. He was sure he ground through half the enamel on his teeth.

“It's all right.”

“The steaks are great,” Joseph said.

“So Wiccans aren't vegetarian?” Finn said.

“Some are,” Joseph said with a shrug.

“Great, then,” he said, determined that come hell or high water—or every stupid prop or piece of scenery in the place—he was going to get along here. Megan was his wife; he loved her. No asinine Tarot reader was going to make him blow this in any way. “Steaks sound good. I guess I'll go ahead and order for Megan, too. She likes a good steak.”

“We'll see to it that they arrive for your next break,” Morwenna assured him.

“Thanks.” He peered through the room. Fog machines were keeping a constant, low mist going. At first, he couldn't see her. Then, through a sudden clearing gust of air from an overhead vent, he caught sight of her through a milling group of friends in all forms of bizarre fashion. She was standing dead still, listening to someone. A frown knit her brow.

Finn shifted around, trying to see the person who had her so engrossed in conversation.

“It's just old Andy Markham,” Joseph said.

“Markham?” He looked at his cousin-in-law sharply. “Isn't that the old geezer who was telling the ‘haunted' stories the other night?”

“Andy is harmless. Once upon a time, way back, he ventured to Boston and did some Shakespeare on stage. You know, good enough actor to get a few jobs, not good enough to make a real living. So he tells tales really well.” Morwenna said. She inclined her head. “You know that I don't personally approve of any of the hokum they do around Halloween. Even for those really dedicated to concepts of organized religion, it's supposed to be a holy day. But we have all kinds of ghoulish creatures—pulling peoples' hair out!—and stories about the spirit world and evil that seeps through time and such rot. But hey—they make a living out of it here.”

Finn hadn't quite realized that he'd stood until he saw that Morwenna was then frowning up at him. “Honestly, Finn, Andy is harmless.”

“Sure,” Finn said. He wanted badly for his tone to be light. “It's just that the last time Megan listened to him, she had the worst nightmares I've ever seen. I think I'll just go rescue her.”

“Nightmares, of course,” he heard Morwenna murmur as he started from the table. Once again he gritted his teeth. Hard.

There was just something in her tone.

She pretended to sympathize.

But her words came out as a far different shriek of accusation in his head.

He was going to hurt
Megan . . .

Before he could reach Megan, he paused, fighting again to control the waves of fury that came crashing over him.

He could make it. They were in Salem for a week. He was paranoid because their being back together now was still so fragile.

Hell or high water,
he reminded himself.

He was going to be decent. A good guy.

The perfect husband.

 

 

“Smoke!” Andy Markham was saying. Maybe the simple word sounded so sinister coming from his lips because he was just so darned . . . ancient. Even his wrinkles had wrinkles, Megan thought, and wished she could smile inwardly at least at the observation. His eyes—so pale a blue they seemed colorless—were all but sunk into the deep caverns of their sockets. Only a few wisps of snow-white hair remained on the top of his head. He resembled a living, breathing crypt keeper, the great puppet on the television show. His skin was almost translucent. He was more than skinny, he was a pile of bones with not nearly enough flesh stretched over them.

He wasn't in costume. He didn't need to be.

“Smoke,” she said politely in reply. She wasn't at all sure what he'd been talking about so far, only that he'd seemed desperate, and then, strangely hypnotic. He'd said something about nightmares, and nightmares being projections of the past, and of the future. She'd thought at first that he'd heard about her dreams and come to apologize because he'd done his job so well that he'd scared her half out of her wits.

But he hadn't come to apologize.

He stopped her, in the middle of the floor, to warn her.

“Don't you understand? Always, where there's smoke, there's fire beneath. Subtle. But smoke is a warning. Oh, there are so many stories, of course. But myth and legend always have root in fact. You're not one of them. Doesn't matter.”

“Andy, I'm not one of who?”

He shook his head. “Not a Wiccan, not a pagan, girl. But your roots are from here.”

“Andy, I was born nearby, grew up nearby, but I've actually been gone a long time. My folks moved up to Maine. I went through college. It's been years since I've really been around. I guess I was just susceptible to stories again.”

The old man shook his head. “I feel it. I feel it! Take time, take a breath, feel it. Like I said, there's something to the old stories and legends. There are more stories, tales I don't tell folks 'cause they are just too close to . . . real. To life. There's a veil, don't you understand, a thin veil between life as we know it . . . and what lies beyond.”

She smiled, still confused, and still surprised that she didn't seem to be able to make up some excuse and walk away. She'd gone to get water for herself and Finn ages ago, or so it seemed now, and she hadn't even reached one of the service stations.

“Andy, my folks were both from Irish ancestry. I've heard lots of stories. About banshees, leprechauns, pixies, fairies . . . and the old ways of Halloween. Actually, it's just darned decent, remembering those who have gone before with a lot of love. Respect for the dead, and—”

“No, the veil lies thin on All Hallow's Eve,” Andy said firmly. “Too thin. And usually, that's just fine. Someone who lost a mother gets to feel as if they know her tender touch upon a shoulder again. A wife who has lost a husband may feel as if he whispered an assurance in her ear. But there are those who were not good in life, who wanted to touch the other side. There are those who are evil. And they're used by evil. Usually, they don't know that they're selling their souls. They are too beguiled by false promises. The world is ancient. You don't understand what came before man.”

“I think there was something called the Big Bang,” Megan murmured, a touch of humor and dryness surging forth. Still, she didn't seem to be able to walk away.

The old man suddenly seemed to see something behind her. His voice lowered to a raspy whisper, like wind blowing through fallen, brittle leaves.

“I
need
to talk to you.” His emphasis had a desperate edge. “I must talk with you, make you understand that something is happening, you're in danger, you're—”

He broke off abruptly.

“Hey, so what's going on here?”

Finn. He was at her shoulder, standing right behind her. His arm came protectively around her, drawing her back against his frame. “Mr. Markham. You've got to watch it with your tall tales of terror. Have you heard? Sure, you've heard. The whole town has heard. Megan woke up screaming her head off the other night.”

Andy Markham stared at Finn, as if assessing him—and sizing up an enemy.

“Tall tales. Right. Tall tales.” For a moment, Megan thought that he would dive in, and start telling Finn that something was going on, that evil walked, or try to convince him that his tall tales were not so tall at all. Smoke. Where there was smoke there was fire. Where there was a myth or a legend, there was a fact somewhere lying beneath.

Smoldering.

“As you say, young man, as you say. I'll be watching it with the tales. Taking care. Well, good evening to the both of you. Lovely music. You've got the young crowd hopping and the old timers like me entertained as well. Enjoy the rest of your night. By the way, the steaks here are excellent.”

He seemed straighter as he turned and walked away. Still ancient, but straight and proud.

Finn's arm tightened around her. Actually, it seemed to jerk, as if he had been riddled with a spasm.

“So what's the old creep been telling you now?” he demanded rather harshly.

She turned and looked at him. His appearance was bizarre. Finn was a really handsome man, with his strong facial bone structure and contrasting coloring. He was angry, though, and trying to smile through it. The effort gave him a very strange look. As if he were a satyr. Something macabre. Evil . . . and still, as alluring as evil could be.

“Meg? No more horror stories, right? You're not going to wake up screaming again?”

She shook her head. “No—no.” She didn't know why, but she lied glibly. “No, he just wanted to say hello, and tell me how much he liked the music.” Now that he was gone, she felt as if the the poor old fellow was absurd. She managed a brilliant smile, and then a show of real enthusiasm as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Finn! It's really going incredibly well, isn't it?”

He grinned back, the touch of evil gone.

“Really well,” he agreed, brushing her lips quickly with a kiss. “Really, really, well. Hey, I got to meet your Aunt Martha.”

“She's a doll, isn't she?”

“Did you see her first, and send her to say hello?”

She shook her head, a small smile twitching. “She gave me a two-second hug and said she was tired and leaving, and was going to go and inspect you up close with the five minutes during which she could still stay awake. I promised that we'd see her—”

“Tomorrow, lunch at two,” Finn finished for her.

“Lunch, she didn't tell me the time,” Megan agreed.

“Two o'clock, and she promised she was a good cook. Our break time is up, we've got to get back up there. Hey, Morwenna and Joseph are ordering our food—we'll join them at the next break, um?”

His words touched her. She knew it was difficult for him to pretend a real friendship and liking for Morwenna and Joseph.

“Perfect. Hey—have you seen the kid we met in the park yet? Remember, I promised him one of the new CDs.”

“I may have seen him, and not known it was him,” he said ruefully. “Some of these costumes are absolute disguises. But don't worry about it. I asked the fellow at the register to make sure that if he sees a Darren Menteith, he gives him a CD.”

“What if he doesn't ask?”

“He'll ask. Maybe he isn't here tonight. I'm willing to bet he'll come up to the stage at some point.”

Megan nodded. He took her hand, leading her back to the stage. When they were there, he picked up the hand microphone, switched it on, and reintroduced them. Megan went to retrieve her own mike. She listened as Finn welcomed them, and thanked them. He was a natural. A totally natural front man. Speaking to a crowd came as easily to him as buttering a piece of bread. He had a pleasant sense of confidence that was still somehow self-deprecating, a deep, smooth voice that was sexy as all hell. She was amazed that despite the many things that had come between them at times, there had never been once when it hadn't been the most natural thing in the world to work with him.

He introduced one of their own songs, a duet, a love ballad about a highwayman, the lady with whom he fell in love, and the hangman with whom he finally met. He did it with the acoustic guitar only. The melody was haunting, the lyrics a complete and tragic story. She wondered if it would work with this crowd, with people wanting to dance, with waiters and waitresses delivering food, glass clinking, forks and knives hitting plates.

But Finn went into the number with a grin and a shrug and his customary devil-may-care confidence and so she shrugged as well and they went through the number, eyes touching across the stage as they picked up on their different cues.

He strummed the last chord on his guitar. Megan was stunned to realize that the room was in absolute silence. She looked around. Even servers had stopped in their tracks. At various tables, half the people had been given their plates while others remained on trays.

There was a sudden spate of applause. People stood and clapped. Someone shouted out a glowing, “Bravo! Wow!” Then the applause sounded again.

Finn winked and shrugged at her. He spoke into the mike, thanking them all. She realized that half his charm was his ability to make everyone out there think that he was speaking to them personally.

Nor did he allow their moment of glimmering triumph to drift into anything less. He walked around to the keyboard and sound system, nodded her way, and cued her with, “We've had a request for the Big Band era. Megan can't be all the Andrews Sisters in one, but she still does a great ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.'”

They went from the Big Band era to the latest on the pop charts, did another of their own songs, and ended with another duet, “I Can't Help Falling in Love with You.” Then Finn announced their break, and that they'd return, and thanked everyone for coming.

He caught her hand quickly, once he had turned off the mike and set it down. “I'm not letting you get away again. Andy Markham might grab you again and your meat will be as cold as ice.”

“I won't move,” she said.

“You have to move. They'll all think I'm doing something evil if I have to pick you up to carry you to the table.” His tone was light. He was honestly joking. She felt a strange relief, and was glad that they had been received so well in Salem. She knew that his parents had seriously discouraged him from being a musician. It was important to him that he make his living at his work.