The Awakening (14 page)

“I didn't want to wake you.”

He nuzzled her neck. “You can wake me anytime,” he murmured suggestively.

Apparently, she thought, she didn't need to wake him. She refrained from saying so.

“You needed the sleep.”

“I don't need sleep now.”

She smiled, thinking in a brief moment of pure bliss that she loved the sound of her husband's voice. Just his words, his whispers, could slip beneath her skin. She could hop up, right then, and happily drag him back into the bedroom.

But, of course, she couldn't. Not at this time.

“We're due at Aunt Martha's in . . .” she paused, looking at her watch, “thirty minutes.”

His lips moved with playful eroticism over her throat, to her ear. “Won't Aunt Martha wait?”

“Aren't you hungry?”

“You bet, my love.”

She laughed. “For Aunt Martha's incredible meat loaf and mashed potatoes?”

“Sure . . . later.”

“She's furious when you're late for a meal.”

He laughed. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?”

“Hey, you got the long ones, and the short ones. When I get old, you know, we may be down to five minutes.”

She laughed. “We have to be there on time!” she said firmly.

He rose, setting her on her feet.

“I'll think old right now. We won't be late for lunch.”

She needed to be with him. Wide awake, teasing, laughing . . .

Tender.

“It's seriously a fifteen-minute ride.”

“And we won't be sixty seconds late. I swear it.”

They weren't late. They arrived at exactly two. Aunt Martha had come to the porch in a timely fashion, and was there to greet them.

“Punctual! I love my guests to be punctual!” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, ma'am. We wouldn't have dreamed of being late, under any circumstance whatsoever!” Finn lied, with a very straight face. Megan was tempted to punch him, but he grinned at her like the cat who had eaten the canary and she was tempted to laugh out loud.

He would have gladly skipped the afternoon all together.

“Come in, come in, then! Lunch is ready, we've just got to take it from the oven to the table,” Aunt Martha said, preceding them into the house, and leaving Finn, at the end, to close the door behind them all.

The home was a masterpiece of antique and Victorian charm. Some pieces were colonial, some Edwardian, and some Victorian. The lace doilies here and there added a touch of both the old, and the charming. Oddly out of place on a desk in a little room just off the grand dining room with its heavy, richly carved, mahogany table, was a state-of-the-art computer.

Aunt Martha herself was a bit of a strange amalgamation. Megan's mom had always told her that Martha had been old as long as she could remember, but despite her age, her blue eyes remained sharp and twinkling. She had a slender, straight body without a touch of arthritis or even the hint of a stooping at the back. Her mind was like a razor.

“So, young man! My fine young musician!” Martha said, setting down the last of the food and taking her place at the table. “I hope you like meat loaf.”

“Love it.”

The food was passed around the table.

“And how about the community here? All the goings-on? Pass the peas, please, Megan, dear.”

Dutifully, Megan did so. Martha still had her keen gaze on Finn.

He shrugged. “Interesting. The past, of course, is extremely sad. Apparently, it serves an excellent opportunity for twenty-first-century capitalism.”

“Aha! Exactly,” Martha said. “Finn Douglas, take more potatoes than that! They're hand mashed and delicious, I promise.”

“They are exquisite,” Finn assured her politely.

Martha waved a hand in the air as she cornered a few peas. “Morwenna and this Wiccan thing! She drives me crazy, though I am certain it's just a stage.”

“She's happy, Aunt Martha. And there's really nothing wrong with the tenets of her craft. ‘Blessed be.' That's the greeting. I don't think it hurts for anyone to believe in a bit of superstition, or that herbs can help you through a crisis—or even that a mixture of oils can be a love potion,” Megan intervened quickly.

Martha arched a brow to her, then shook her head. “It's all just silly, I'm afraid.” Her eyes narrowed at both of them. “Heard you had a terrible dream the other night and woke up half the town, Megan.”

Megan sighed deeply. “I had a nightmare, and woke up Mr. Fallon.”

“It's all ridiculous hocus-pocus, and that's why the whole thing has it's negative side,” Martha said, waving her free hand in the air once again. She looked at Finn and grinned. “Don't go letting any of it get to you. It's Halloween, and all the crazies are out.”

“We're fine,” Finn said, reaching for the salt. “I'm from New Orleans, and we've the whole voodoo thing down there, so don't worry, this kind of thing really doesn't get to me.”

Martha once again shook her head. “Back in my day . . . well, it wasn't so commercial. And every silly college dropout in the world wasn't pretending to be a Wiccan or a fortune-teller. You were right when you said that the whole thing was a form of capitalism, Finn.”

“Aunt Martha, Morwenna is not a college dropout, you know. She went through and got her degree in business. Same as Joseph.”

“Joseph!” Aunt Martha said with a rise of impatience and ire. “With his silly dyed hair, and his capes. He should know better.”

“Aunt Martha, they're happy,” Megan reminded her gently.

“Yes, of course. And harmless. I believe. It's just that . . . well, you know, the history itself should be enough! So much harm done, so much cruelty, to so many people. The town needs to remember all that with more gravity,” she said firmly. She smiled then. “Ah, well. My darlings, I have to tell you, I was so impressed. Megan, you really are a little songbird. And Finn. You too! That voice. Well, I am a very old woman, but I can tell you, young man, when you come in with some of those husky tones, my old heart does go into a few palpitations!”

Finn laughed. “Thanks. I'll take that as a great compliment.”

“As it was meant,” Martha said briefly. “And that playing machine thing you've got going! Terrific. It allows the two of you to be a major band all by yourselves.”

“Well, not exactly, but we can churn up some good dance music and effects,” Finn said.

“It was all quite wonderful,” Martha said. “Finn, you need more greens.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So, tell me more about life in New Orleans,” Martha insisted.

Megan glanced at Finn. “It's wonderful,” she told Martha, describing their little house, small terrace—and the proximity of their neighbors. “But it's a wonderful city, despite the crime, of course. It's like everywhere else, you know where to go, and where not to go. But I do love it. Despite the fact that it's a major tourist mecca, we go to Café du Monde a lot, read the paper, sip coffee, eat beignets . . . and the jazz at the corner spots is incredible.”

“Lots of strip joints,” Martha murmured, disapprovingly.

Megan laughed. “That doesn't mean we go to them.”

“Aunt Martha, strip joints are alive and well across the entire country, you know. Even in New England,” Finn reminded her with gentle amusement.

“Of course, dear, of course. I guess I am a prude, an old New Englander. Merged in our old history. But then, you mustn't mind us, and you mustn't think that everyone here back then was exceptionally evil or cruel. The belief of the day—a very European belief at that!—was that Satan, like God, existed, and that he could force people to make pacts with him. Far more women were accused—here as well as across Europe—but then, enough men died in the fires and all as well. And do you want to know one of the reasons why? Women were not considered to be as bright as men; therefore, they were more easily led astray by Satan. Also—they were supposed to be far more carnal, more prey to the devil's seduction. Then again, merely dancing naked in the moonlight was often a crime punishable by death. To do such an evil thing meant that you were prone to do much more. People believed in the evil eye and all that rot. They didn't know any better. Science hadn't come very far. When you consider what went on in Europe over several centuries, we were incredibly slow and careful here in the colonies. Ancient history, I say.” She looked directly and sternly at Megan then. “You've listened to me now and know how ridiculous such rot is—and was—back then. So don't go listening to any of Andy Markham's baloney,” she finished firmly. She rose, picking up the remaining meat loaf. “We'll have coffee on the porch.”

When she was gone, Megan leaned over to touch Finn's hand. “Sorry. She is a bit of a bossy old matriarch.”

He ran his thumb lightly over her hand, smiling. “I like her. She's down to earth. No bullshit.”

Megan grinned, wondering if Martha would be pleased to hear herself described as a “no bullshit” woman.

Megan realized that she wasn't helping, and jumped up to help clear the table. Finn joined her, but Martha shooed them out of the kitchen, assuring them that she'd pick up later, she wanted to enjoy their company for the time. Finn carried the coffee carafe and Megan picked up the plate of delicate little tea cookies Martha had made and they went out on the porch.

It was already growing dark, but it was pretty on the porch. The falling sun set the world into gentle shades of lavender.

“I hadn't realized it was so late,” Finn said.

“It's not late, it's just October in New England. It's not even four,” Martha told him.

Finn sighed, sipping his coffee, looking very comfortable. As if he didn't want to leave, which made Megan feel very happy.

“We will have to get going soon,” he murmured.

“Of course.” Martha said, staring at him. Then she gave a happy sigh as well and looked proudly at Megan. “He's quite something, your young man. Gorgeous—oh, I don't mean that you're not a manly fellow, Finn, you're quite that. Most musicians these days are scraggly, unkempt, skinny, scrawny little things. You make a fine match for my beautiful Megan. Why, almost like Barbie and Ken! Except you're not so effeminate, Finn. You've got some muscle there, as well.”

Finn laughed. “Thanks. I liked martial arts when I was a kid. Took karate, and some other forms of Eastern defense.”

“Rugged, I like that,” Martha approved. “Perfect form . . . and that voice. You do complement Megan. Not that looks matter much in life, mind you,” she said firmly. “But you seem as good and decent a human being as my Meg, and she is just as beautiful at heart as she is in body. So—not that you're asking me!—but you sure do have my approval.” She sat straight suddenly. “Now, I must admit, I heard there was some trouble between you. Don't you go letting anyone break you up for any silly reason. And if any silly Halloween malarky starts getting to you around here, you just come back to Aunt Martha's warm kitchen, and I'll set you both straight. Got it?”

Finn laughed loudly, his eyes flashing toward Megan. “Absolutely, Aunt Martha. And thank you. We'll depend on you in times of trouble, for sure.”

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 . . .