The Awakening

Lucian turned to look at him at last. "Trust me. If you threaten Megan or anyone around you, I'll bring you down faster than you can blink. All right? Let's see how you fare in church, huh?"



They found parking easily enough; it was still early morning, and despite the havoc of the fire at the hotel the night before, the majority of the populace was still gearing up for a big night.



As they approached the church, Finn fell back, feeling the pounding begin in his head. Lucian opened the door easily enough, and stepped inside. As Finn faltered, Lucian stepped back, slipping an arm around him to help him in. Finn gritted his teeth against the agony that assaulted him.



"You'll make it," Lucian said firmly.



Half dragging Finn down the aisle, he came to the front of the church and lowered Finn down into one of the pews. He paused in front of the altar for a minute; Finn, though nearly blinded, watched him, and watched his lips moving. Then Lucian moved. Finn hadn't heard a thing, but apparently, Lucian was aware that the priest had come into church.



"We need your help, Father," Lucian told him.



The priest stared at him a long time, then said, "I can do nothing, you know, without the approval of Rome."



Lucian shook his head. "You're afraid."



"Of you? Yes, that I am. Very afraid."



Lucian shook his head. "Father, you are afraid on so many levels. We need your help. But I understand if you can't give it. I will ask you to turn a blind eye, though, to the theft I am about to commit."



Father Brindisi nodded slowly. Then he walked back toward Finn. By then, Finn knew that his features were totally devoid of color. He and the priest stared at one another. He heard Lucian moving about the church, taking what he required.



Then suddenly the priest stiffened, and seemed to grow. He reached out a hand to Lucian. "The holy water. Hand me a vial."



Lucian did so. Father Brindisi lifted the vial over Finn's head. "Father, protect thy servant. Let him walk in Thy way. Protect him and strengthen him from evil."



The water dropped onto Finn's head. He felt as if he had been shot. He fell to the floor, doubled over in pain. The priest did not stop. He implored God's mercy. Finn could hear the words of the prayer growing stronger and stronger.



A burst of pain knifed through his skull.



He blacked out cold.



The shift at the hospital had changed. Janice's replacement, a woman Martha didn't know well, had come on. She explained herself politely, said that Dorcas had thought it an excellent idea for her sit there, as next of kin, and talk to Andy.



But the new nurse—a Miss Matthews—disagreed.



"No one is going in there during my shift. The doctor has already been in. There's been no change, and he didn't say a word to me allowing anyone in to hold his hand or any other such nonsense!"



"I must get to Andy!" Martha insisted.



"Andy is in a coma!" Miss Matthews said. "And you're not going in there. Not while I'm on duty!"



Martha should have been calm, serene, and hard as nails, totally determined. But her emotions were fraying. "I must. I must see Andy. Get him to talk, to wake up—talk in his sleep, whatever! He knows something. Don't you understand? Haven't you seen the news? My niece is going to be accused of arson.



There has been something going on since she arrived, and Andy, bless his old soul, is part of it! Please, Miss Matuhews, the doctors have said that he might respond to the voice or the touch of a friend."



"No one gets in!" Miss Matthews said firmly.



"Well, you're going to have to call the police to get me out of here," Martha said firmly.



"You think that I won't call the police?" Miss Matthews demanded, aggravated.



She turned to the phone on the counter.



Martha looked up and down the hallway. They were alone; the nurse on duty who should have been at the desk was away, either attending to a patient, or, more likely, making coffee, or going for a snack out of one of the machines.



There was a heavy clipboard on the counter.



Martha picked it up.



She was amazed by her own strength as she knocked the bitchy little pinched-nose Miss Matthews hard on the head.



The nurse crumpled to the floor without so much as a whimper.



Martha set the clipboard down and headed for Andy's room.



Megan sat before the fire, trying to read, but despite herself, growing exhausted. The others had gathered back around the table again. She had thought that if she was going to read, she'd remain comfortable.



They knew one another—it seemed that at times they even thought alike. One could begin reading a passage, get stuck, and find a friend right there, deciphering the words. They were growing excited, as if they were on to something, but so far, they weren't making any sense to her.



She and Finn were evidently the ones in danger, so she was determined that she would keep moving in her own defense as well.



But exhaustion was taking its toll. She didn't think that she'd actually slept through an entire night since they'd come here. And last night… at the least, it had been rent with dreams. So as she watched the flames, she felt her eyes grow heavy.



The fire could be so pretty, fascinating, compelling. Little tongues of flame rising in so many colors, with such strange and ethereal contrast. Brilliant golds, deep maroons, startling blues. Twisting, rising, combining.



Despite herself, she felt her eyes close.



The flames continued to dance, blurring, and then receding.



She didn't realize that she had fallen asleep, and strangely, that thought was with her, even in the dream.



She walked… and walked. Lulled by the colors in the flames. Lulled by a voice, by a face in the fire, by a deep, rich tenor in the whisper of her name that beckoned and compelled. She knew him, trusted him, loved him… and she would go.



Walking… casting off her shoes, for they were annoying, and she needed to feel the sensual, deep, gritty feel of the earth itself beneath her feet.



She was touched by the fog, the mist. And it was sweet. A gentle caress.



Too late, she saw the figures arranged before her. They were part of the mist that surrounded the house, deep in the woods, but they took shape quickly.



She opened her mouth to scream, but one of them was behind her. A hand, holding a cloth dipped in some sweet-smelling liquid, clamped tightly over her nose and lips before she could do so.



She tried to assure herself that it was nothing more than a dream, that she would awaken.



Except that she suddenly knew. It wasn't a dream.



She fought, squirmed, kicked.



Someone swore soundly.



"Shut up!" Someone else said.



"The bitch caught me, right in the family jewels."



"Shut up!"



They were real. Real flesh, blood, muscle, bone. Whatever had come over her face was stealing consciousness, and she fought hard from slipping, in a frenzy of violent energy now, determined that she must escape.



Someone else howled.



She had nails, and she knew how to use them.



But consciousness was fading quickly. Her limbs went limp; blackness swirled before her, and she kept trying to blink, desperately trying to remain awake.



Once, when she opened her eyes, she was aware of being in a car, thrown into the backseat, covered by some of the rough-textured cloaks her assailants had been wearing. She felt nauseated, certain she would be violently ill.



But then the blackness came again…



When she awoke, the fleeting light of the New England fall day was already fading… or gone, or covered by the canopy of green. She knew where she was.



Ah, yes, she knew where she was! An unhallowed cemetery, deep in the New England woods. But no one else would know. Because she, like a fool, hadn't told Finn about meeting Andy. Had she told anyone? She couldn't remember. Maybe Mike.



But Mike…



Mike had tried to take her away from the fire. He might be one of these people, despite his stalwart disclaimers against any belief in witchcraft…



He never mentioned Satanism!



No, she knew where she was, but no one else would know. And she was no longer in the realm of dreams, this was real!



From somewhere, she could hear a soft sobbing, and whispers.



"You've done a good job," a voice whispered. "So good that if… well, if you weren't needed, I'd let you go. Ah, but you are needed, a perfect sacrifice."



The sobbing was muffled. Whoever cried was gagged.



Megan frowned, certain she recognized the voices, but couldn't quite place them.



She tried to move, and realized that she was tied down. She tried to open her eyes very slowly, just a crack.



And when she did… looking up… she started to scream.



Chapter 22



"You're going to get arrested, you know."



Martha almost screamed in surprise. The last thing she'd imagined finding in Andy's room was a man coming from the shadows.



"Who are you? What are you doing here?" she demanded.



"Who I am doesn't matter. What I'm doing does. Why are you trying to kill Andy?" the man demanded.



"Kill him?" Martha said incredulously. She shook her head. "I don't want to kill him! I want to find out where my niece is!"



"Oh?"



She backed away from the man uneasily. "You—you—haven't hurt her, have you?"



"She's safe," Martha was told.



Martha crossed her arms over her chest, afraid, but more afraid that night would be coming again, far too quickly.



And it was Halloween.



"Do you have a name?" she demanded indignantly. "Who you are may not matter, but if I am to address you, a name is handy."



The man smiled. "Beaudreaux. Rick Beaudreaux."



"And you're from New Orleans?"



"Yes."



"How did you get in here?"



"I was a cop—once."



"And that's supposed to make everything all right?"



"No… it just means that I know some procedure, how to get in… and out, of certain places. I've been guarding Andy. I don't think that you intend to guard him, Martha," Rick said.