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 a.s.sured 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 superst.i.tion, 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 Cafe 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 amus.e.m.e.nt.

"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 G.o.d, 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 p.r.o.ne 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 bulls.h.i.t."

Megan grinned, wondering if Martha would be pleased to hear herself described as a "no bulls.h.i.t" 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, a.s.suring 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 h.e.l.l 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. Pinp.r.i.c.ks 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...

A black cat. An omen.

A foreboding of all that was dark and...

Evil?

To come.

Chapter 7.

Finn felt good. Visiting Martha had been like a return to normalcy. The cat in the road hadn't bothered him; he had swerved and slammed on his brakes carefully. Tough call for any driver anytime-avoid killing an animal and cause a wreck that might kill a person, or run over the creature. His reflexes were sharp; he'd avoided the creature after making certain there was no one following right on his tail.

Megan, however, had gone strangely silent.

"I really like Martha," he told her.

She flashed him a quick smile via the mirror. "She's adorable, isn't she?"

"Blunt, certainly. When she wants you to leave, she tells you so."

Megan laughed. "She knows we're playing tonight."

"I have to do sound checks, of course, but we're pretty set for tonight."

"I doubt if she understands anything about amps, sound checks, or equipment," Megan said.

"Still, we have some time before going in," he reminded her. "What do you want to do?"

She hesitated. He had the feeling she wanted to tell him that she wanted to crawl beneath a rock or something of the like.

"Megan, there was an animal in the road. We missed it. That was good. So what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"Meg?"

"Okay-it was a black cat."

He laughed. "Lots of cats are black!"

"Right."

"Hey, where's my girl who gives to the Humane Society on a monthly basis?"

"I'm glad you missed the cat. It's just, you know... the whole Halloween thing here. Witches and black cats and all that."

Previous Top Next"You're the mighty defender of the Wiccans. Please, if I were to walk into the room with a broomstick, you'd think I meant to sweep, not fly, right?"

She laughed, and her tension eased somewhat. She suddenly sat straight up. "Let's go to Mike's museum."

"What?"

"My friend, Mike. Let's go to that new place where he's curator."

Finn glanced at his watch. "Those places close between five and five-thirty," he reminded her.

"So, we kill the next hour."

"Whatever you wish."

Finding parking wasn't easy. More and more people seemed to be milling into the small city as Halloween approached. Twice around the common, though, and they found a s.p.a.ce. Finn warned her that the museum would probably close just as they walked up to it, but Megan kept up a quick pace and they reached the museum in a matter of minutes. "New" described only the fact that the facility within the building had just opened; the museum was housed in an old building, freshly painted, certainly refurbished inside, but the plaque on the door indicated that the structure itself had been built in 1678, that it was on the historic register, and had originally been built by a man named Stevens whose father had come over on the Mayflower.

"Impressive, huh?" Megan said as they approached the ticket counter.

"I'm sorry, we stop selling tickets at four-thirty," the young woman told them. She had short, very dark hair. Dyed dark, Finn thought. It seemed a number of the Wiccans liked pitch-black hair. Of course, there was nothing about her to indicate that she was a Wiccan, but Finn was willing to bet his bottom dollar that he had her pigeonholed just right. She had a cute, gamine's face, and had to be in her early twenties, if that. Tiny holes on her face indicated that, when she wasn't working, she had a piercing in each brow, one in the lip, and one in the nose. She was sincerely apologetic about not selling them tickets, however.