The Awakening (44 page)

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.

“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.

“I have to get him to talk!”

“It's my understanding that you were here before. And that you meant to harm him.”

Martha sighed impatiently. “I might have been here . . . but I wasn't really here. Not willfully. Not to hurt Andy. I mean, really, he'd do me no good dead!”

“So . . . ?” Rick said, leading her onward to an explanation.

“I don't know you,” she said pointedly.

“No, you don't. But since you're the one who just attacked the nurse, you're going to have to trust me.”

“You don't even begin to know what's going on here—”

“Trust me on this for sure—I do.”

Martha let out an aggrieved sigh. “They think that Megan and Finn might have caused that terrible fire,” Martha said. “But she didn't—she would never do such a thing. And Finn . . . well, no matter how strange things may be, he wouldn't do it either. Not purposely, anyway.”

The fellow in the room was strange. And frightening. Something about him wasn't quite right. Martha inhaled deeply. “She's safe, you say?”

“Yes.”

Martha walked past him to Andy's side. “I . . . don't believe it. I don't feel it. I've been such a fool all these years. Insisting that nothing out of the ordinary can be true when I've . . . sensed there was something . . . going on. All these years. I thought that Morwenna was such a ninny with all her hokum hocus-pocus, but . . .”

She looked at the stranger standing closer to her now. He looked like the boy next door. The tall, blond, star quarterback–looking spic-and-span clean boy next door. She knew she'd never seen him before, but he seemed to know who she was, and it was true, he definitely seemed to know what was going on. She swallowed hard, not knowing who to trust.

“Andy has always talked. He's told his stories for the tourists, of course. But . . . he's been convinced, for years, that something was coming. And with all the various things that he's hinted at . . . I'm afraid. And afraid that it has to do with Megan. And some of it may be my fault. When they were married, she and Finn, of course, I was proud as a peacock. I went around showing everyone the pictures. And Andy got mad at me! I thought he was crazy as an old coot at first, and I
wanted
him to be crazy. I ignored him and got mad at him every time he tried to talk to me. He knows something. I'm not here to hurt Andy—though I came before, and didn't know it. One of your other friends was here before, apparently! That's why I had to come back. If I can get him to wake up, he can help.”

“I told you—Megan is safe.”

Martha shook her head vehemently. “I don't think that she is. You may think that she is, and that you and your friends can protect her. But there's something that's not right yet.”

“We'll never let them hurt her,” Rick said flatly.

“You don't understand. I don't think they want to hurt her.”

Rick Beaudreaux frowned. “You think they mean to kill Finn, and not Megan?”

Martha shook her head. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. She looked out anxiously into the hall, but it was still quiet.

“They don't mean to kill either of them physically,” she said softly.

“What are you saying?”

“I don't know . . . exactly. Oh, even with Megan and Finn here, and at odds, and feeling strange, I just refused to believe any of it! But now, since Andy was attacked—and I'm certain he was attacked!—I've started going over everything that he's said, and what it could mean. I don't know if I believe any of this myself, but when Andy rambled . . . it was something about Bac-Dal wanting Megan, but the point is, Bac-Dal must come back in a human form. They plan to kill Finn, yes, his essence, his soul, whatever you would call it. And allow Bac-Dal to become Finn. I think that the demon has already seeped into his skin, that he has caused the dreams, that . . . he will become Finn. And then I'm afraid that . . .”

She paused, tears flooding her eyes.

“I'm afraid that then, Megan will either be his initial entertainment, and then a sacrifice to him, or . . .”

“Or?”

“Someone else, someone who wants to serve Bac-Dal, will take over her human form as well, and the Megan that I know and love will die upon the altar, just the same as if her throat were slit there, and her blood flooded the earth.”

 

 

From darkness, Finn came to in another world.

A world of fog.

He was striding through it, boldly, walking naked upon the verdant earth, and aware of the deep, sensual smells of the forest. The fog touched erotically against his bare flesh, and bit by bit, as he moved through the swirling zone of strange, eclectic pleasure, the soft, curling brush of the mist became that of delicate fingers.

He was escorted as he moved. Women shadowed his every step, stroking him, praising him. He knew that he walked to a certain place, and that, when he came there, the greatest glory would be waiting. Creatures of unearthly beauty seemed to float before him, taking shape in the swirling mist, beckoning. He had to follow, enticed, seduced, because each stroke against him seemed to bring him closer and closer to a point of power so orgasmic that he would be able to seize the world, every delight within it, every carnal pleasure, along with the sheer ecstasy of total command over all that lived and breathed . . .

He came to a halt, for the altar was before him. A wraith with long hair came directly behind him, rubbing against his back, teasing his flesh with her hair, her hands, drawing them down his body, seizing hold of his erection, stroking. Another came before him, offering up a knife that gleamed despite the shadows and fog.

Take it, take it, take it
. . .
she's there, take her, seize her, do what you will. Then spill the blood of the innocent, taste it as well, come, come, come . . .

He moved forward, and he could see her, Megan, hair like a web of spun gold and silver, careening down the side of the altar. Her flesh, prone, tied . . . her throat, so beautiful, and more, the length of her form, so well known to him, but new now, stroked as well by misty hands, offered up to him, and yet . . .

There was screaming, muffled, from somewhere . . .

The sacrifice, the blood sacrifice . . .

He didn't know if the sound came from elsewhere . . .

Or from Megan.

 

 

Sean Canady sat back, staring at the computer. “It's ridiculous. Well, ridiculous, but then again, I'm afraid, not out of the norm. They really have nothing, absolutely nothing, on who might have murdered the woman in Boston. I've been into the case files, even the files that are only supposed to be for the eyes of the police task force involved, and they haven't managed to get a thing from witnesses. She was with someone in the bar—but not a soul could even begin to say if he was light or dark, tall or short . . . black, white, Hispanic, Asian—nothing!”

At her husband's side, Maggie looked up. “Finn was there,” she murmured.

“Yes, but, he might not have done it, even if he's been affected by the demon. Anyone could have reached Boston from here in under an hour. A man could have even gone to sleep for the night, slipped out of his house, killed the girl and disposed of her remains, and made it back in time to wake up beside his wife in morning,” Sean said.

“Hey, hey! I've got it!” Jade exclaimed, nearly jumping from her seat. She looked at the others with her eyes afire with pleasure and triumph. “Finn's ancestor was not trying to bring back the demon! Look . . . the ink here is smudged over, and it's from an old book of eighteenth-century ghost stories, but, listen! ‘Though my grandfather did not see the deed done, he heard that it was the Douglas, well aware of such heathen activity through the ancient stories of his Highland family, who drew the blade, and slew the man who would have willingly come to share his mortal being with the Demon. And thus, Cabal Thorne died, and with him all hopes of evil!' ”

“It all makes sense then,” Maggie said. “Finn's ancestor destroyed Bac-Dal's hopes of coming back before. And Finn was lured to Boston—and then here—for revenge as well as for convenience.”

“So it would seem,” Sean agreed.

“Megan will be pleased to learn that,” Ann said, smiling, and looking to the chair before the fire.

Ann leaped up. “She's not there!”

Sean, too, came to his feet. They all stared at the chair.

“Megan!” Brent Malone called.

Tara rushed to the door leading to the cabin's bedrooms. She flicked on the lights, calling out as well.

“Megan!”

“Son of a bitch!” Brent swore. “The front door is ajar.”

“You mean . . . she just stood up and walked out, with all of us here?” Jordan inquired incredulously.

Sean began to swear softly, berating himself.

“Hell, you're not to blame. You're human,” Brent said bitterly, starting out.

“Wait!” Sean told him. “We can't fly off like idiots now. We have to use logic to find her. And we have to keep a tight control on our communications. It's coming down to the wire.”

Brent didn't reply. He looked toward the door, his senses now on keen alert. “Someone is coming . . . Rick is back. But he's not alone.”

Sean strode toward the door, throwing it open. Rick was indeed back. He was accompanied by an attractive older woman.

And he carried a very old, unconscious old man in his arms, handling his weight easily, but having a bit of trouble with the dangling IV.

“Where's Megan?” the old woman asked anxiously.

They all stared at her.

A look of horror filled her eyes, along with a flood of tears, and she slumped to the floor.

 

 

Finn paused, despite the pressure on him, the hands, not just enticing him, but pushing him ever forward.

The sound . . .

Megan.

She was calling him back . . . or protesting his move forward. And for a moment, he felt nothing, not the evocative lure of the flesh, nothing, for she was finer than anything that could be taken elsewhere, except that...

She was what lay ahead. She would be waiting for him. He felt the whisper of reassurance in his ears; yes, Megan was the prize.

The seduction began anew . . . yes, yes, oh, yes, just keep moving forward, just keep feeling the soft fingers, moving so fluidly against him . . .

Then . . .

Finn screamed himself, for in the midst of his growing, erotic pleasure, the soft cool feel of fog and feathery fingers against his bare flesh, he suddenly felt as if he had been immersed in a tidal wave of fire. He jerked up.

He hadn't been doused in fire.

Rather, water. He was drenched, from head to toe. It was dripping into his eyes.

He was still in the church, stretched out on the floor before the altar, and both Lucian DeVeau and the priest, Mario Brindisi, were bent over him.

Thank God!

Because he knew now that . . .

It would be Megan, but not Megan. Megan until the hurt began, and then . . .

It made no sense, but he knew. He wasn't being lured to his wife. They were both meant to somehow pay.

“You've brought him back, Father,” Lucian said.

The priest nodded, not proud of his achievement, but relieved.

Finn scrambled to his feet, nearly knocking over the two men who had hunkered before him. He stared at them with wild eyes.

“I think they have her,” he said sickly.

Lucian stared at him, frowning. As he did so, his cell phone began to ring. Still staring at Finn, he answered curtly into the phone, “Yes?”

He listened, then said, “We're on our way now. I have the items from the church; make sure you have what you need from the spell shop.”

“Son, you need the Word of God,” Father Brindisi said, looking white and pinched.

“Father, these people have taken their spells and incantations from both the old pagan religions, and from the church. And so we will need both as well to fight them.”

“God first!” Brindisi said.

Lucian stared at him.

“Oh, hell!” the priest swore. “I'm coming with you!”