"Well, that's good. Good for you."

The door opposite from them opened then. Megan stepped out, laughing at something her cousin had said.

"Perfect timing!" Morwenna said. She smiled deeply. "So how was it, Finn?"

"Great. Just great," Finn said. "And thanks, thanks so much. We can see how busy you are, so we'll get out of your way for now. Please, come tonight, we'll get to spend some time together during the breaks.

Meg, you ready? I'm starving, too, you know. My palm has had too much of a workout."

"Absolutely. Morwenna, thanks, and we'll see you all later," Megan agreed. She looked relieved, her eyes thankful as they met Finn's. Great. He'd earned his wife's approval—for being told that he was evil and going to hurt her.

Kill her…

He'd die first. It was bullshit. All bullshit.

He caught Megan's hand, lifted his free one in a good-bye salute, and made his way through the milling customers in the shop to the door.

All the way, despite the warmth of his wife's hand, he felt as if he were touched by a blade of ice. And he knew…

The palm reader was watching him. Watching him all the way out of the store.

And beyond.

Chapter 3

Finn held her hand comfortably at her side, and whistled.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

He glanced down at her as if he were surprised by the question. "Wrong? Nothing."

She shook her head. "You're too cheerful, you know."

"Not at all." He had one of the world's best smiles. Devastating.

"The reading went badly?"

"Megan, you know I don't believe in any of this stuff."

"Well, not many people do believe completely in a reading of any kind. They're just fun."

"I had fun. Barrels of it," Finn said.

He was walking quickly. He was tall and long-legged. She wasn't short herself, but keeping up with him wasn't easy.

"Are we in a hurry?"

"What?"

"You're running."

"I'm just walking… Hey, well, we're not here that long, and there's a lot to see, right?"

"We don't have to see it all," she said.

He was silent. She had the feeling he was thinking he should see it all now—because he wasn't coming back.

"What's the pirate museum?"

"A cute place. There's some great maritime history. It only takes a few minutes and it is fun."

"Let's do it."

The pirate museum took about twenty minutes, and it was fun. A figure that appeared to be that of a mannequin jumped out from behind a barrel, startling Megan into a little yelp, and bringing gales of laughter from a number of the children around them. Megan held on to him, laughing, while they went through the rest of the museum, stopped in the gift shop, and took off back onto the street.

It was still just after noon, but the sky was growing suddenly dark with a cast that hinted of the oncoming winter.

"Want to go by and see the new place where Mike is the curator?" Megan asked Finn.

He hesitated. "Let's save that for tomorrow."

"Sure."

"Hungry yet?" Finn asked.

"Getting there," she said agreeably. He had changed again since they had done the pirate museum. He was more like his usual self. He wasn't holding her hand, his arm was draped warmly around her shoulders.

"Want to see the memorial and the Old Burial Point, and then head down by the water for lunch?" she suggested.

"Sure. Nothing like a graveyard on a dark autumn afternoon."

"Hey, I love old graveyards; you know that. There are great sayings on the tombstones."

"True. Let's head that way."

They did, stopping first at the memorial to those caught up in the hysteria of 1692; walking around the small area, they read the names of those who had been hanged as witches, and then found the stone for Giles Corey, the old man who had been pressed to death. The memorial, dedicated in 1992, the four-hundred-year anniversary of the events, was a peaceful place. Trees shaded the stones, set in their space adjacent to the Old Burial Point.

Then they entered into the graveyard. There would always be something a little eerie about a graveyard that was so old. The trees, casting off their autumn colors, cast down branches that appeared like skeletal fingers. The sky was gray; the breeze was chilly and seemed to encompass the visitor. The day was dark.

Fascinating. Megan loved it.

Finn seemed distant again, despite the fact that he was talking, joking, staying with her… touching her with his usual affection. But he seemed to be distracted, as if he were making a deliberate point of behaving normally, curling his fingers around hers, or casting his arm about her shoulders.

"It's really a great old place," she said softly.

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"Come on—I'll show you the hot spots," she teased. She knew the graveyard well, and didn't need to refer to a guide to find the stone for the man who had been a Pilgrim on the Mayflower, or the Hathorne grave—she showed Finn the spelling, telling him that Nathaniel Hawthorne had changed the spelling of his name, probably for a bit of disassociation. There were other intriguing graves, that of a man with a number of his wives buried nearby, and sad stones with skeletons and old funerary art that indicated the graves of babes. They read sayings to one another, and at one point, Megan laughed, and lay down before a stone with a very peculiar design in it, tossing up a handful of autumn leaves. Finn seemed uneasy then, his features taut, as he came to her, pulling her to her feet.

"Megan, you shouldn't lie there like that."

"Why?" she asked, startled, laughing as she shook fallen leaves from her hair. "What—do you think that I'm going to get sucked into a grave, or something?"

He shook his head. It was exactly what he'd been feeling, even if he hadn't given the thought full form. He wasn't going to laugh and tell her that of course he wouldn't be thinking anything so ridiculous.

"Sky is getting really dark," he told her. "Does it snow this early here?"

She shrugged. "It can snow. I don't think it will. The darkness too much for you?" she teased.

He glanced at her, a curious look in his eyes. "Scared? This is hallowed ground, right? No suicides or hanged criminals in here, I'm willing to bet."

She angled her head, studying him. "None that I know about."

He nodded kind of absently, running his fingers through his dark hair. "Hey, should we head into either of the museums on this street?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving now."

"Lunch, um. Yep, sounds good to me."

His arm around her, they left the cemetery, heading down to the waterfront. There was a new place just opened and Morwenna had given it a good recommendation. She didn't mention to Finn that her cousin had suggested it.

She was relieved to see that the restaurant had been decorated in a way that emphasized Salem's maritime history. There was charming, shiny wood everywhere. Ships bells and trophy fish adorned the walls. The curtains were beige with soft blue crustaceans abounding upon them. There was enough light in the place to read the menus, and they had been led to a pleasant table with a window that looked out on the water.

"Terrific so far," Finn said. He leaned closer to her. "Now, if only the food is good!"

"Clam chowder and scrod," she said.

"Scrod."

"With butter and bread crumbs. Delicious. You'll love it. It isn't as good anywhere in the world as it is in Salem."

"You know, New Orleans does offer some darned good seafood."

"Not scrod the way you can get it in New England."

He closed his menu. "Scrod it is!"

Their waitress came to the table and took their order. Megan saw that Finn's eyes fell upon the pentagram the young woman was wearing.

He noted Megan watching him and smiled.

"You're sorry you took this gig, aren't you?" she said softly.

He shook his head.

"I wish I believed you."

He shook his head again, reaching out across the table, curling his fingers over hers. "In all seriousness, I think that Salem is wonderful. The first museum was really well done—it made the history concise, and touched upon the incredible sadness of what happened. The memorial is exceptionally well done, too. It's a great town."

"Then… ?"

She was hoping that he would somehow convince her that nothing was really wrong at all. But he hesitated. "It isn't Salem, honestly. Or New England. I think it's beautiful. Even with autumn passing us by a bit—the colors are still fantastic. I love the old buildings and the shops."

"And you think Wiccans are silly."

He sighed. "Megan, you know that I'm not a big believer in organized religion. I believe in God… and mostly, being decent to your fellow man. So… Wiccans don't do any evil. They believe in an earth goddess—or whatever, I don't have any of it down exactly. There's just something… personal going on here that makes me a little uncomfortable. All right—I don't think your folks are happy that we're back together."

"Of course they are! Mom told me that all young couples have problems, but if they believe in marriage, they work them out. My father told me once that I'd only ever be happy with another musician, because it's a language of its own, and someone who loves music the way I do can only be happy with someone else who speaks the language."

"Your father really thinks that we both need nine to five jobs."

She laughed at the wry twist of his lips.

"Fathers the world over tend to worry about the future for their offspring. Honestly, Dad likes you."

"Except that now, he'll really think that I beat you, or that I'm an abuser."

He didn't sound angry. Or as though he thought it was her fault. It was as if he had really gotten past the dream. But he was bothered by something.