His walk had taken him out to a large rock at the front of the property where he had sat, convinced that he'd be alone-it was past even the "wee" hours of the night, and Salem, even with all its happenings, wasn't Vegas or even New Orleans. It did close down.

But h.e.l.l, leave it to his luck, he'd been sitting on the rock, smoking another of the cigarettes he stashed into his robe pocket, when a young couple had sauntered by. She had screamed-he seemed to have that effect on women lately-and the guy had said h.e.l.lo, but they walked around him as if they'd come upon dog p.o.o.p. But then the girl had looked back. She'd recognized him, and despite the man, she'd turned back, startling Finn at first, causing him to rise. Then she'd gushed about his music, and kept touching him, on the shoulder, the arm... and he'd found himself saying that he couldn't sleep, so he was sitting on the rock. In a robe. In forty degree weather. Well, h.e.l.l, that would probably be all over town by now.

He showered and dressed, hoping that Megan would return while he was so occupied. She didn't.

He came through the house and found that, despite the fact that breakfast time had long pa.s.sed, John and Sally, the picture-perfect young American couple they had met at breakfast their first day, were enjoying coffee by the fire.

"Hey!" Sally called in greeting."We caught your act the other night," John said.

Finn paused. "You did? Great. Thanks for coming."

"Well, it was strange," John admitted. "We were just heading out to dinner, and we'd heard they had a decent meal out there, and usually, some kind of entertainment We'd just happened to pick up the national paper and there was an article in it about you and your wife, and it mentioned you were playing. It was great. We'd just met you-and there you were. In color in the paper, and in person on stage."

"I hoped you enjoyed it," Finn said. "What paper?"

"I still have the article in my purse," Sally said, setting down her cup and rummaging through her bag. "Here!"

She produced a folded sheet. "Some girl wrote it in New Orleans, it seems, but the article was picked up and syndicated along with some other suggestions for Halloween."

He should have been jumping up and down at the national exposure. Instead, he found himself nearly surprised. They'd been interviewed for the article weeks ago-before leaving for their quickie Florida vacation. The woman had arrived when they'd been playing a local jazz club. Jade Deveau. She and her husband had been in the audience and he and Megan hadn't even known anything about the interview. They'd been pleased-and cautious, as well. Articles could become skewed.

Reviewers could do some major harm as well.

And her husband-not a writer, he had a.s.sured them-had still asked plenty of questions, especially when it had come to their playing for the week in Salem.

Neither of them had looked like reporters, but he'd checked the woman out the next day and, apparently, she was well known in New Orleans. She had her own little publishing company, and put out respected travel articles along with a number of guides to the Crescent City. She was exceptionally attractive, and well dressed, and her husband had been a tall guy, dark, with some of the strangest eyes Finn had ever seen, red, gold, ever changing, but never seeming to be the color eyes were supposed to be.

Contacts, he'd thought.

Megan had been impressed with him.

They'd both been nice.

And he'd seen a good review on their act at the jazz club the next day, so he'd thanked his lucky stars, and forgotten the pair.

But now...

"Wicked!" he murmured.

"What?" Sally said, frowning.

He laughed. "New England expression, so I've been told. I hadn't seen this."

Hadn't imagined that it might have existed. There was a large, clear picture of Megan and him on stage. There was information about their performance, and more information about the wonderful time to be had in Salem.

Then...

At the bottom of the article was a strange little notation where the author was given credit: Jade McGregor Deveau is a frequent contributor. Her E-mail address was down, and there was an invitation for anyone to write to her-especially if they knew of the bizarre, unusual, or downright scary and dangerous. A number of her books were listed-they all seemed to deal with the paranormal, rather than simple travel.

"Great article! "John complimented.

"And you were great," Sally said. "You know, we didn't get a chance to buy the CD, and I'm not sure if we're going to be able to get back-"

"I'll be happy to get you one."

"We can pay you?"

He had the feeling she was expecting his response, but that was all right. He'd been taught in his business cla.s.ses that there was nothing like putting giveaways into the right hands to promote talent.

"It will be my sincere pleasure to give you a CD," he told her. He started to hand the article back to her.

"You can keep it-just in case you can't get a copy of the paper."

"Hey, thanks."

He brought the couple a CD, hoping then that he didn't run into anyone else. It was growing late.

Susanna had a habit of always looking dour and ruining a good mood if you happened to be in one.

And Fallon...

Fallon always looked at him as if he were surely an ex-con in disguise.

But exiting quickly through the front of the house then, he saw no one else.

Megan hadn't taken the car, so he a.s.sumed she was walking around town somewhere. He'd do the same, he thought, until he found her. He was anxious to show her the article, but once he was down the street, he realized he'd left it in the room.

He didn't want to go back. He wanted to find his wife.

Everywhere, pumpkins, skeletons, and ghosts decorated yards and buildings. Boys playing kickball in the street apologized when they knocked their ball at his legs. He waved a hand and gave the ball a solid thrust back. They grinned and waved in return. He kept walking.

When he reached the common, he saw that Darren Menteith was out with Lizzie. Darren waved, and Finn walked over to the young man and the dog. Lizzie wagged her tail with delight, a friendly creature, despite her ma.s.sive size.

"Caught your act again last night," Darren told him cheerfully. "Man, I wish we had more like you around."

"Thanks. I didn't see you."

"I didn't want to bother you."

"Don't worry about bothering us," Finn said. "Trust me, there have been those times when I've thought we were playing to the walking dead."

Darren grinned. "Well, hey, you know, it's Halloween around here. You might be playing to a few walking dead-dope-outs and lushes. But, hey, what the h.e.l.l. As long as they move and put their hands together, huh? This whole Halloween thing here gets so crazy. Cute, too, though. I've seen some great art projects for kids going on in the streets.""It is the ultimate Halloween destination," Finn said.

"Well, you must have expected it. Your wife coming from here, and all."

"I don't think I was completely prepared," Finn said wryly.

"Where is Megan?" Darren asked.

"Up and about somewhere. I slept late. In fact, I'm looking for her."

"Haven't seen her. But tell her Lizzie and I said h.e.l.lo."

"Sure thing."

Finn moved on. He realized that he was heading straight for Morwenna's, and his footsteps slowed, but then he knew he was being stupid. If Megan was around here somewhere, she'd surely stop at her cousin's place.

There was no one at the door at the moment; he entered through a full shop, but one that wasn't as insanely busy as he'd seen it at times. Morwenna was behind the counter. She gave Finn a beaming smile when she saw him across the store. A few minutes later, she came around the counter, leaving the cash register to the young man they'd met on the first night.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, handsome. You're off on your own? Where's my cousin?"

"I'm not sure. I thought she might be here."

Morwenna shook her head, frowning. "Are you two having an argument?"

His muscles quickened, and he willed himself not to appear tense, or take immediate offense. "Nope. I just slept late."

"Well, you two work hard, and late, poor darling," Morwenna said, studying his eyes. "I haven't seen her today, though, I'm sorry. I wish I would. Finn! You wouldn't believe it. Since you two appeared costumed from my shop last night, I've filled out more order forms than you can imagine. And we make the capes right here, you know, so it's incredibly wonderful for local business. I can't thank you enough."

"Hey, you bailed us out. We owe you the grat.i.tude."

"Well, I hope you sincerely feel that way. I'd like you both to pick out something new for tonight."

He hesitated, then shrugged. He still felt so uneasy-on guard-every time he was around Morwenna and Joseph. Foolish. They were trying hard. "I hate to keep taking your things, Morwenna. There's surely some wear and tear on them by the time we return them."

"I swear! You're doing us the favor."

"Well, then, sure."

"Do you want to find something now?"

Again, he hesitated. Absurd. He didn't want to change clothing in that store. Not without Megan around. Great He was a grown man afraid to take off his clothes.

"I think I'll find Meg, and come back, if that's okay? We can choose things that complement one another."

"Great. If you want, though, take a quick look at some of the new things that just came in. Back room, by the reading area and dressing rooms. We received a ma.s.sive shipment, today, can you imagine? Clothing and books, mainly. But take a quick look." What he wanted was to get out of the shop. Still, it was a fight to maintain a really friendly relationship with Morwenna and Joseph.

He had sworn to himself that he would do so.

"All right."

He walked into the back room, thinking he should feel privileged. Regular customers didn't get past the beaded curtain that separated the front from the back unless they were being led back for readings, or to use the fitting rooms.

The curtains fell around his shoulders with a little tinkling sound. He paused for a moment, then saw a rack where a number of shirts hung, having been just unpacked. There was a large, commercial steamer standing by the rack, since the clothing arrived folded and wrinkled.

He walked over to the shirts, and as he absently looked through them, he felt that strange sensation that warned him of another presence. He turned.

Not ten feet from him, Sara was on the floor with a stack of boxes. These contained books. She was pulling them out, discarding the packing material, and sorting them. But she had paused, her eyes on Finn.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you," he murmured awkwardly. "Morwenna said I should look through the new things."

"You're not disturbing me," she said.

But she hadn't moved, and didn't still. She sat, legs-clad in black tights-sprawled at her sides. For a minute, she looked like an innocent little urchin.

"The books are a pain in the b.u.t.t," she muttered men, lifting up the one she was holding. "I don't know why on earth Morwenna ordered this thing in. It's by some travel writer with a little publishing house in the south and it's a look into the absurd. One of those things that makes a mockery out of the true practice of Wicca." She glanced at the back cover, shaking her head with irritation.

He caught a glimpse of the back cover of the book and a little jolt of recognition shot through him. "May I see it?"

She shrugged. "Why not? You put on a good facade in the shop, but you really think we're a bunch of idiotic pagans anyway."

"I just don't believe in casting spells or any of that mumbo-jumbo," he said. "It's a free country, and freedom of religion is guaranteed. I am a big believer in the Const.i.tution. May I see the book?"

She handed it to him. He turned it over. There was a picture of a very attractive woman on the back. The author photo was a casual shot, taken in Jackson Square, right in New Orleans. Naturally, he recognized Jackson Square. But he realized that he recognized the woman as well.

"Jade Deveau," he murmured.

"An old girlfriend?" Sara asked.

He shot her an irritated glance, and decided not to reply. He didn't know why he was surprised that a book written by the woman might be in a Salem store. The author acknowledgment had stated that she was... what? Into the occult? Or intrigued by stories about things that went b.u.mp in the night?

It just seemed strange that a woman he'd met recently should-in a roundabout way-reenter his life twice within a few hours.

"You wouldn't like the book," Sara said. "Trust me, you'd think it was a bunch of bunk!"

"Have you read it?"

Sara shrugged. "She has some strange ideas, certainly." She sighed. "All right, maybe you would actually like the book. She feels that anything out of the ordinary needs to be inspected more deeply. In other words, she isn't of the opinion that all witchcraft is benign. By the way-where's your wife today?"

"Seeing some sights," he muttered.

"So... did you let her out on her own, or did she trust you on the prowl?"

"Sara, being married doesn't mean that you're glued together."

"No, it doesn't, does it?" she said huskily. Then added a quick, "So where do you think she is? And with whom?"

"I think she's shopping, and maybe saying h.e.l.lo to a few friends."

Sara nodded. He wanted to walk right by her, but he kept staring at her. He could feel his jaw tightening, his teeth clenching. At the same time, he found himself noticing that she'd left a number of the b.u.t.tons on her sweater undone and that she was almost spilling over the wool.

"You should leave, you know," she said.

"I'm going."

She shook her head. "Not the shop. Ma.s.sachusetts."

"Why? You go into some silly trance and tell me that I'm going to hurt my wife. I love my wife. You tell me I'm dangerous, but you also seem to have your claws out, as if you'd jump me if you could. What the h.e.l.l is it with you, and what do you think I'm going to do? Or would breaking up a marriage just make you happy as h.e.l.l?"