The Awakening

Martha nodded firmly. "Well, you've both finished your coffee. Get going. Take care of the things you need to do. See more of the town. I'm here, whenever you need me."



Finn gave her a very warm hug as they departed.



Megan hugged her as well, giving her an extra squeeze. When they pulled apart, Martha searched out her eyes.



"You know, you are a true beauty, baby. You keep good care of yourself, you understand?"



"Of course, Aunt Martha."



By the time they reached the car, darkness had fallen in earnest. The moon was shining down, and the light still seemed to be an eerie blue.



Megan didn't care. Martha had made the world right. Andy Markham was a ridiculous, desperate old man, bordering on senility.



And Finn was beside her, his arm around her shoulder as he drove.



Fear was a thing of the mind…



Martha had cleared her mind, and the world was a beautiful place.



Then, suddenly, Finn slammed on the brakes. There had been something in front of them. Something like a huge dark shadow flying across the front of the car.



"What the hell was that?" Finn said tensely. He had the car under control. He was a good driver, despite the fact that they spent many days walking where they had to go in the French Quarter.



"I don't know… something… black?" Megan said uneasily. "It looked like a giant, flying, low-swooping shadow. Finn, we didn't hit it, did we?" she asked worriedly. "Whatever it was."



"No… no, there it goes." Finn started to laugh with relief. "It's all right. I didn't hit it."



"What was it? Where is it?"



"What else? A black cat. And there it goes, slinking away into the brush."



"A black cat. That was it?"



She loved cats. Especially black cats. But as he put the car into gear again, she felt a strange sweeping of unease come over her again.



A black cat.



"Yeah, look, you can just see his eyes. There, glowing in the reflection of the car's lights."



She could see the eyes as he pointed them out. Pinpricks of fire, glowing at them from the bushes.



Megan shivered. Just a cat. A black cat. She didn't understand her feelings.



The world had become beautiful, but now…



A black cat. An omen.



A foreboding of all that was dark and…



Evil?



To come.



Chapter 7



Finn felt good. Visiting Martha had been like a return to normalcy. The cat in the road hadn't bothered him; he had swerved and slammed on his brakes carefully. Tough call for any driver anytime—avoid killing an animal and cause a wreck that might kill a person, or run over the creature. His reflexes were sharp; he'd avoided the creature after making certain there was no one following right on his tail.



Megan, however, had gone strangely silent.



"I really like Martha," he told her.



She flashed him a quick smile via the mirror. "She's adorable, isn't she?"



"Blunt, certainly. When she wants you to leave, she tells you so."



Megan laughed. "She knows we're playing tonight."



"I have to do sound checks, of course, but we're pretty set for tonight."



"I doubt if she understands anything about amps, sound checks, or equipment," Megan said.



"Still, we have some time before going in," he reminded her. "What do you want to do?"



She hesitated. He had the feeling she wanted to tell him that she wanted to crawl beneath a rock or something of the like.



"Megan, there was an animal in the road. We missed it. That was good. So what's the matter?"



"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly.



"Meg?"



"Okay—it was a black cat."



He laughed. "Lots of cats are black!"



"Right."



"Hey, where's my girl who gives to the Humane Society on a monthly basis?"



"I'm glad you missed the cat. It's just, you know… the whole Halloween thing here. Witches and black cats and all that."



"You're the mighty defender of the Wiccans. Please, if I were to walk into the room with a broomstick, you'd think I meant to sweep, not fly, right?"



She laughed, and her tension eased somewhat. She suddenly sat straight up. "Let's go to Mike's museum."



"What?"



"My friend, Mike. Let's go to that new place where he's curator."



Finn glanced at his watch. "Those places close between five and five-thirty," he reminded her.



"So, we kill the next hour."



"Whatever you wish."



Finding parking wasn't easy. More and more people seemed to be milling into the small city as Halloween approached. Twice around the common, though, and they found a space. Finn warned her that the museum would probably close just as they walked up to it, but Megan kept up a quick pace and they reached the museum in a matter of minutes. "New" described only the fact that the facility within the building had just opened; the museum was housed in an old building, freshly painted, certainly refurbished inside, but the plaque on the door indicated that the structure itself had been built in 1678, that it was on the historic register, and had originally been built by a man named Stevens whose father had come over on the Mayflower.



"Impressive, huh?" Megan said as they approached the ticket counter.



"I'm sorry, we stop selling tickets at four-thirty," the young woman told them. She had short, very dark hair. Dyed dark, Finn thought. It seemed a number of the Wiccans liked pitch-black hair. Of course, there was nothing about her to indicate that she was a Wiccan, but Finn was willing to bet his bottom dollar that he had her pigeonholed just right. She had a cute, gamine's face, and had to be in her early twenties, if that. Tiny holes on her face indicated that, when she wasn't working, she had a piercing in each brow, one in the lip, and one in the nose. She was sincerely apologetic about not selling them tickets, however.



"I didn't think we'd make it," Finn told Megan. He was sorry himself. She'd seemed so anxious to get in.



He was, for some reason, relieved. He didn't know what was wrong with him. After the fiasco they had nearly made of their marriage because of their different jealousies, they had both determined to learn a, lot about trust. A good thing, because, when they played, they were both often besieged by members of the opposite sex.



His feelings, he determined, had nothing to do with trust. He trusted Megan.



He didn't trust her friend Mike. He hadn't a reason in the world to feel that way. Except that he'd known Megan before Finn. And…



All right, it was strange to be here. Megan's old haunting grounds. Megan's family, Megan's friends, and he was too often plagued by feelings of insecurity. He'd just gotten his wife back. And he was afraid that she could too easily be wrested from his fingers, here, where she seemed to know everyone, and he was a total outsider.



"Okay," Megan said with a shrug, and turned back to the window. "Can you do me a favor, though? Will you tell Mike that Megan and Finn came by?"



The girl's eyes widened. "Hey… Megan. You're Mike's old friend, and the two of you are playing at the new place. Hang on!" she said cheerfully. "I'll go get Mike." She started to rise from her swivel chair behind the little counter. "You don't recognize me, of course. I'm Gayle Sawyer. I was there last night.



You two were wonderful. We need entertainment like you two around here so much more! I mean, of course, the place is small, but to see anything hip or popular, we usually have to go all the way into Boston. Don't go anywhere, I'll get Mike."



Finn was startled when she paused a moment, looking directly at him. Her eyes traveled from the tip of his head down, loitering in the crotch area, going on to his feet.



Then she disappeared.



"You've got a fan," Megan told him. She didn't sound angry, just amused.



"I am beloved by all pincushions," he whispered back.



"She does have a lot of piercings, huh?"



He pulled her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I like my women without holes, except of course, those charming little punctures in your ears."



"I've been thinking about a belly button ring," she said.



"On you, I'll love it," he swore solemnly.



"Glib," she told him, "very glib. How about I get a great big tatoo on my back."



"One that says 'Mother' or a giant snake wrapped around a Harley?"



"I think I'd go for the snake and the Harley."



He angled his head so that he could whisper in her ear. "Are you forgetting that little rose you already have on your ankle?"



"But that's so small!" She laughed suddenly. "I thought my father was going to have a heart attack when I got that!"



He didn't have a chance to reply. Mike Smith, in dockers and a black sweater, was coming into the foyer area where the ticket sales were done. He had a broad smile on his face—dimples showing—and looked confident, assured, and pleased to see them.



"Hey, you made it!"



He came forward and Megan stepped toward him, accepting his warm hug and placing a kiss on his cheek. The act made Finn sizzle inside, despite the innocence of it. Smith looked equally glad to see him, though he offered a handshake rather than a hug.



Finn found himself pulling Megan back against him, resting his arm around her shoulder. "Looks like a great place," he told Mike.



"It is. Come on in, I'll show you."



"Oh, hey, you know, you're trying to close down for the day and all. We can come back," Finn told him.



"I'm thrilled to give you two a personal tour," Mike assured him. "I never get out of here until late, anyway. At least tonight, I'll be staying for a pleasurable occasion."



He spoke bluntly and casually. Finn mocked himself for finding offense at the word pleasurable.



"There are three branches of the museum… we start with the founding of Salem up through the end of me witch trials that way, maritime is to our left, and Salem today is upstairs," Mike told them.