The Awakening (27 page)

Joseph leaned across the table. “Listen to me, Megan. You can't continue to be such a skeptic when . . . you both need help!” he said firmly.

Not surprised by his words, but definitely taken aback by his strange tone, Megan frowned at Jamie Gray, hoping he would offer a line of sanity. But Jamie shrugged. “Who the hell would any of us be to say that strange things
don't
go on in the world.”

“The murder in Boston is really distressing,” Morwenna said.

Frowning, Megan stared at Morwenna. “Murder is always horrible. I saw the news. A young woman was apparently raped, murdered, and thrown in the river. Yes, that's very distressing. Unfortunately, it happens far too often. Why is that particular murder so distressing?”

Morwenna stared at her hard. “Meg! Come on. Boston. She was apparently killed a month ago. In Boston.”

“So, what does that have to do with us? All right, sorry, we're not an hour out, so someone who committed a heinous murder did so not very far away. We have a high murder rate in New Orleans. It doesn't stop us from going out.”

“Megan—” Morwenna began.

“Don't,” Joseph said suddenly, firmly.

“Don't what?”

“Don't get her going on things you know nothing about!” Joseph said firmly.

Megan stared at Joseph, then at her cousin. “What? You think that this guy is in Salem now? Do you think he's a serial killer? From what I've seen, the police don't really know anything yet. It might have been a horrible crime committed because of jealousy and anger. I'm sure they're checking out any ex-boyfriends, her family, and coworkers. I don't remember the exact percentages, but most violence against women comes from their immediate family or social circle. Although random killings happen as well, when there is a psychopath on the loose.”

All three of them were just staring at her. Almost as if she were a naive child, and Joseph had been right, there was no real need to make her open her eyes to real terror in the world.

She glanced toward the stage and saw that Finn was back. Time to go play. As she rose, aware that the three of them were still watching her covertly, she felt a chill seep into her.

Lord, that was the most ridiculous thought that had passed through her mind yet. What? On his urgent trek to reach her, he had stopped off in Boston to murder a girl? That was beyond absurd. She knew Finn.

She had known him once.

He played through the intro to a Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs' hit twice. She picked up on her next cue.

Their last break came. Finn left the stage first and went by Morwenna and Joseph's table, smiled, gave Morwenna a kiss on the cheek, then moved on. This time, he didn't disappear. As Megan wandered over to the bar for a fresh water with lemon, she saw him talking to Sam Tartan, who seemed pleased with the busy turnout, and then, once again, he had a beer with the fellow in the monk's cape and half mask.

As she sat at the bar, she felt a tap on her shoulder and quickly turned around. She didn't recognize the person in the executioner's mask and black cowl.

“You all right?”

“Mike?” she said, hearing the voice.

He gave her a broad smile. “Okay, so I gave in to the concept of dress-up. You look stunning, by the way. Great show, lots of fun. I love the music you're choosing.”

“Finn chose it.”

“Hey, I'd compliment him, but I don't think that he'd appreciate it. He doesn't like me very much.”

“That's not true. He's just . . . tense . . . here.”

She could sense that Mike was smiling. “I don't know, Megan. I'm getting vibes.”

She had to laugh. “You're getting vibes? Mike, you're the academic. You can't be getting vibes.”

“Okay, then maybe it's the way he looks at me. Or when he shakes my hand. Powerful grip your fellow has there. I feel like he's ready to crush my bones.”

“We should all go to lunch together. I know that you two would actually get along very well, if you just had a chance to really talk.”

“Maybe, somewhere along the line,” Mike said. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks, I just stick with water and lemon during the evening.”

Mike nodded, then inclined his cowled head toward the stage. “I think you're being beckoned.”

“And so I am.”

She grinned at him and headed toward the stage. Now, Finn was staring at her very coldly. Had he recognized Mike? How?

She neared the stage and started when it appeared that she was touched by the skeletal branches of a tree. She started, then heard laughter. “Wild costume, huh?”

She turned. Another green face, entirely green. Surrounded by plastic, vinyl, and latex in an incredible green forest costume. It was Darren Menteith—despite the green makeup, she recognized him immediately. But the costume was really great. Standing still, he might very well look exactly like a tree.

“Darren!”

“In the flesh—and all,” he told her.

“It's stupendous.”

“I have outdone myself,” Darren said, grinning. “Didn't mean to hold you up. I just wanted you to know that I'm an even more avid fan, and here to support you whenever I can be!”

She paused, seeing the earnestness in his eyes. She caught him by the green latex shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks!”

“Take my hand, and I'll make sure you don't trip on that divine black skirt on your way up on the stage.”

His hand was so well done. His fingers were gloved in the vinyl, and other little protrusions in heartier material added to the appearance of the twigs and leaves at the end of a branch.

“Thanks.”

She came up on the stage. Finn was still staring at her. She met his gaze, then turned to face the crowd.

There was suddenly nothing Megan wanted more than for the evening to end.

And of course, at last, it did.

Morwenna, Joseph, and their crew had cut out early. In fact, that night, the place emptied out just minutes before their last number, even before the bartenders and servers gave last call. Either people were becoming exhausted from so many days of revelry so far, or they were gearing up for the big night to come.

Megan lingered, but Finn seemed engrossed in the synthesizer. She was sorry that Morwenna was gone already. She felt ridiculously alone, and she had no right to, since she was the one who had determined that she had to leave Finn. But she hadn't left him. Not really. She wished she could explain, but then, she probably should have made a point of doing that earlier. But last night . . . he had really terrified her.

He wasn't going to pay attention to her tonight, she decided. And she wasn't ready to beg him to do so. She didn't want to be talked into coming back. Or worse. Be told that she wasn't wanted back.

She looked around but didn't see anyone she knew well. Darren would have been clearly evident in his tree costume, had he remained. And even Mike Smith would have stood out. Neither Sara nor Jamie Gray had remained either.

Megan said good-bye to the hotel workers finishing up at the bar and started out. When she reached the front, she hesitated. The car seemed as if it were acres away. Many of the other vehicles were gone, and the trees planted in symmetrical angles every sixth spot seemed like dead sentinels long deserted by the living.

She could go back in.

She could just walk to her car—or Aunt Martha's car. She could see it clearly enough. She squared her shoulders, determined that she was leaving, and started to walk.

 

 

Finn finished covering the equipment and looked to the bar where Megan had been. He hadn't wanted to make a big deal about leaving with her—she might have refused so much as an escort out of the place. He'd meant to keep an eye on her and follow her, but she had been there, just seconds ago.

Adam Spade was sitting there. “Have you seen Megan?” Finn asked.

“Sure, she was here just a few seconds ago.”

“She told us all good night,” one of the servers called to Finn. “She just went out the main entrance, seconds ago.”

“Thanks,” Finn said.

He didn't want to look as if he were running, but he hurried out through the main entrance and reached the parking lot.

Looking into the distance, he saw her.

But there was no fog.

“Megan?”

He didn't see her.

And as he looked down . . .

A soft, blue swirl was beginning to curl around his feet.

It was when she reached the first tree that the blue mist began to rise.

Just around her feet . . .

By the time she reached the second tree, it was up to her chest. She quickened her footsteps, then instinctively paused, thinking that she was being followed. When she stood still, there was no sound. The air seemed to be dead calm. There was no rustle of the trees. No laughter from other groups of people leaving the hotel.

She turned around to look back. The hotel seemed impossibly far away now, too. Turning again, she saw that her car seemed no closer. Impossible, of course. It all had to do with the fog. She looked back to the hotel once more, assuring herself that there was absolutely no one but herself anywhere near the parking lot, and her car. She wished that even a drunk would stumble out of the hotel.

Her temptation was to go flying back. She swallowed down the ridiculous rise of panic, and even as she turned toward the car once again, she was already walking.

She came to a dead standstill.

There was someone else out. Someone by the car. Someone in a haze created by the fog.

“Megan!”

She wasn't sure if she was really hearing her name, or if she was imagining the sound in her own mind. She couldn't tell who it was standing there, because he was wearing either a cape or a long winter coat. The stance seemed to be powerful, though, and provocative. She was tempted to move forward, to reach the figure as quickly as possible, throw herself upon his . . . power?

She started to move, but stumbled. No matter how strong the urge was to move forward, something was pulling her back.

Screw sanity and reason.
She turned, ready to fly back to the hotel.
Screw pride as well.
Someone was going to walk her out.

But this time, as she ran, she did hear footsteps behind her. Coming closer, closer. She looked back. The dark form was gaining on her. It was a blue against the fog, and yet . . . it moved swiftly, coming nearer, nearer . . .

She kept running, suddenly sure that her life depended on her speed.

“Megan, Megan!”

This time, she was certain that she heard her name being called. She couldn't tell from where. It was as if she were running through a sea of thick, silver-blue soup.

She could feel him . . . it . . .
something
. . . behind her. As if tentacles of fiery breath were reaching her, stroking down her hair, touching her, trying to get a grip.

She screamed out loud, for suddenly, it seemed that the form was in front of her, it, or another dark shadow, rising from the mist.

She didn't even know which direction she faced anymore, the fog was so dense. Not dark, like the ebony of the night. Blue. Swirling, though now, there was still no rustle of trees. Nothing picked up a breeze that should have cast dead leaves scurrying as it made the fog twist and whirl.

Spinning again, she choked back a cry. There were eyes in the mist. Burning. Gold, red, pinpoints of fire.

Eyes...

Eyes she had seen before. Eyes that had haunted her dreams, her sleeping . . .

Her awakening?

Headlights, flashlights . . . something else. No!

She turned to flee, not knowing her direction, just determined to fly in the opposite direction of those eerie points of light and fire. Her lungs seemed to burst, her calves to rage with pain.

Hands . . . fingers . . . something real, was upon her, branches, reaching into her hair, trying to wrench her back.

“No!”

The fog was whispering her name; it was as if the fog itself had taken life. And the touch . . . it wasn't real, couldn't be real . . .

But she
felt
it!

Felt hands reaching for her, wrapping around her, but they weren't there, they weren't real, the figure was still just behind her, coming closer and closer . . .