Finn had to play the intro twice.

But then it was all right. She slipped into the melody, and as they went through the ballad, the room became quieter. Waiters stopped by tables. Glasses and silverware ceased to click.

A pretty song, and Finn's arrangement made it even more so.

As they finished, his music cues warned her that they weren't going to stop for applause, but that they would slip right into the next number, a dance tune.

His choices were good. By the time they finished the set, the night had worn on in a way that had pushed the incident at the bar to the back of peoples' minds.

It didn't matter. For Megan, the rest of the evening was a nightmare. Gayle Sawyer had become an attachment. It turned out that she knew Morwenna and Joseph, not surprising, since it was a small establishment. Mike Smith was there as well, and during the breaks, Morwenna made arrangements for a larger table. A bizarrely dressed small woman in a green flower costume and makeup turned out to be Sara, and she, too, joined the table. More of Morewenna's employees were there, including Jamie, with whom Megan usually felt very comfortable as she had known him a long time. That night, he was dressed in a strange brown cape and cowl and carried a plastic executioner's ax, which somehow seemed far too real. When she excused herself to go to the ladies' room, she was stopped at a table where it turned out that Brad and Mary—her co-guests at Huntington House—were sitting. They'd arranged for baby-sitters for the kids, since Sally and John had told them how much fun an evening at the hotel could be. She chatted with them, promised them a free CD, and managed to leave them. When she returned to the table, she found that Darren Menteith had joined the table as well. Her chair, next to Finn, had been taken. Sara was now on his one side, while the adoring Gayle was on the other. She couldn't hear any of the conversation. Everyone was drinking—except for her. She'd been sticking with water and a twist of lemon all night. The conversation was loud, and annoying, and Finn, though he looked tense and uncomfortable, seemed to be listening to something that Sara was saying, as if she were giving him world-shattering information. Sara's green "forest goddess" costume was skintight. Her cleavage spilled over. Finn wasn't usually an ogler. Megan felt that his eyes, that night, were glued to Sara's breasts. She wondered at her growing irritation. To everyone here, Finn had behaved admirably—almost heroically—

trying to avoid violence, but proving his prowess with a single moment when he was no longer able to do so. She didn't resent the attention given him—at least she didn't think so. She loved him, she was proud of him… and felt that strange almost gluelike attachment to him as well. She didn't want to behave like a jealous idiot. She believed that he loved her.

Didn't she?

She glanced at her watch. They were due back on stage. Finn was always so careful about their breaks.

He didn't appear to have a care in the world. Other than Sara's breasts.

The cop stopped by their table, and started up a conversation with Finn. Megan was ready to hop to her feet and say that they had to be back on stage. But Sam Tartan himself came by then, and apologized to Finn, telling him he did what he had to do, and the hotel was grateful, since they prided themselves on the fact that single female guests were never harassed there. With a machismo wink—odd in a man who looked like Ichabod Crane—he noted that there was an exception, of course. Sometimes, they wanted to be harassed.

Finn listened to Tartan, his expression controlled, but then his eyes touched Megan's, and his easy grin half filtered into his lips. He didn't need to speak to her. She knew what he was thinking. What an asshole!

She returned the grin with a shrug. He was the asshole who was paying them.

Finn rose on his own then, saving they needed to get back on the stage. Gayle had tried to stop him to say something when he had risen. Her hand lingered on his arm. He seemed not to notice, but extended his arm across the table to Megan.

It was all right.

The night went by quickly after that. Megan thanked God that most of Finn's new fan club had departed by the time they left the stage again.

Adam Spade helped them cover the equipment, and they were on the road back toward Huntington House by one-fifteen.

"What a bizarre night," Finn murmured as he drove.

Megan was silent for a minute. "Very."

"I just thought it was odd… I mean, you know, both ways, sometimes husbands and wives don't really know one another. But that guy—Marty—his wife was really appalled, and I think, in both her heart and mind, she couldn't begin to believe that her husband would have walked off, gotten tanked, and attacked women at a bar."

"I got that impression, too. But who knows? Maybe Marty has been living a secret little life, and she just hasn't known anything about it."

"I guess." He hesitated. "Megan, really—"

"He swung at you twice, Finn. I was there. You don't need to keep giving me apologies or explanations."

She felt him nod after a moment.

"And I'm seriously thinking of violence myself."

"You?"

"Your fans are getting up close and personal."

He laughed. "Go to it, then."

She grinned as well, settling against him. "Does Sam Tartan look like Ichabod Crane or what?"

He laughed. "The cartoon character—or Johnny Depp?"

"He's no Johnny Depp."

His arm nestled more tightly around her. His eyes were on the road. "Do you believe this shit again?"

"What? Do you mean Gayle Sawyer?"

"No, silly. The fog. You'd think it was San Francisco or something."

She hadn't been giving the road all that much attention, but when she looked out the front window, she could see that once again, ground fog was rising. And beneath the moon, once again, it was cast in an eerie blue glow.

"It's New England," she said, as if that explained it all. To residents and natives, it did.

"And once again, no parking," he said.

"It's not that far a walk."

It wasn't. Still, the minute they got out of the car, Megan felt uneasy.

"What's the matter?" Finn said, coming around to her side.

"It's just… eerie."

"Hey, it's New England."

"Touché."

She wanted to be light, to feel a sense of security. As she well knew, Finn was no pushover. She also believed that he'd die for her.

She still felt as if they were watched through the fog. And, for a moment, she remembered the way Finn's eyes had looked… a few times now. When she had awakened from her dream, and even tonight, while they had played and looked at one another.

She glanced up at him cautiously, alarmed by the feeling of something akin to terror that tugged at her heart while she forced her eyes to raise to his, got him to look down at her. For a moment her heart stood still. They would be gold, red-gold, orangish red-gold, like the eyes of a cat in the night. She didn't need to be afraid of the fog, because the horror that was after her was walking along at her side.

She expelled her breath as Finn looked down, giving her an encouraging grin. His eyes were green. Just as they had always been.

But then, assured that her husband was her husband, just that and nothing more, she felt again as if the blue fog was hiding a multitude of… eyes. Demon eyes. Eyes, perhaps, belonging to a creature with a forked tongue, a horned head, a long, evil tail with a strange extremity that could reach out and touch…

like a hand.

She quickened her pace.

"Careful, we'll trip over something. Why are you shivering?"

"Cold," she lied.

He stopped, ready to pull off his own black cape.

"No, I'd rather just get there. Finn, come on, hurry."

He shook his head, then shrugged. Megan felt the breeze pick up. Branches with dead leaves seemed to whisper and chatter at the onslaught. She had said that she was cold. Now, it was as if waves of icy sleet were washing over her.

There was something in the fog.

And it was after them.

She heard Andy Markham's words ricochet in her mind.

Bac-Dal wants you.

Despite Finn's presence, she started to run. "Megan! What the hell is the matter with you?"

He ran behind her. Long-legged, he easily caught up, catching her by the arm. Irrationally, she struggled against him. "Finn, we have to get in!"

"Megan, please, I'm with you!" he said sternly.

Looking past his shoulder, she could see a huge old oak. There was something in it Tall, big… small. She didn't know.

But it had eyes. Eyes that glowed red and gold.

She broke free from Finn and raced for Huntington House. As fast and long-limbed as he was, he didn't catch her until she sped her way up the steps, and was struggling with the key at the door.

Finn's hand fell on her arm. She started violently, swinging around to stare at him.

"Megan—"

"Finn, there was something out there. There is something out there."

He took the key from her, fitting it into the lock. He was stiff and angry. "Great, Megan. A pack of weird, pierced, Wiccan women think I'm the next best thing to Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I can't even protect you from a fog."

He pushed the door open. She preceded him in. He locked the door behind them. Once it was closed, Megan began to feel relieved, and a little bit silly. Finn remained uptight, walking ahead of her through the foyer and dining area to their room in the solitary right wing of the house. She followed behind him.

He slipped the room key into their door, and once again, walked ahead of her. She followed him in. Finn walked straight into the bathroom. She heard the fall of the shower as he turned it on. Locking their door, she eased on into the room and sat at the foot of the bed, wondering herself what had gotten into her. It was the power of suggestion, Mike had said. She needed to turn on a ridiculous sitcom.

She turned on the television, pressing the button to get into the main channels.