"Maybe."
She grew serious. "Honestly, I don"t think I saw that man outside the coffee shop. But then again, I wasn"t really noticing people."
The car was right ahead of them. Finn was glad.
No matter what Megan had said, he had noted the man before.
And he was d.a.m.ned convinced that they were being followed.
"Finn," Megan said suddenly, pulling back.
"What?"
"I want to... I want to stop by the church down the street for a minute."
Finn paused. They had just reached the car. Going to the church meant backtracking, and taking up time he wasn"t sure that they had. "You want to see Martha-but you want to stop by the church first?"
"Finn, please, it"s important to me." She squared her shoulders. "I"m going with or without you."
"You know I"m not letting you go anywhere alone."
She smiled, and turned. He quickly caught up with her.
Despite the crowded streets, Megan managed to keep up quite a pace. But when they reached the church, she hesitated on the steps and turned back to him. "Are you coming in?"
Finn stared up at the building. It wasn"t particularly old-certainly not from the seventeenth century, more likely the nineteenth century or even early twentieth century. He wasn"t sure why, but as he approached, he felt a strange burning sensation.
"I"m coming, yes," he said, surprised by the irritated tone that came from his lips.Megan frowned, but started on in. She hesitated again at the door, as if afraid that it would be locked. The door opened, and she entered.
Finn, still feeling somewhat hampered and on fire, stood at the door. It was a church; yet he was disturbed to feel that he shouldn"t enter, that he didn"t have the right.
No.
That he couldn"t enter.
Megan walked on in. An eerie feeling a.s.sailed his spine. He turned. The man he had seen watching them at the coffee shop was on the street, apparently engaged in conversation with a group of costumed children.
Finn gritted his teeth and walked in.
Megan stopped by the little font at the entrance, crossing her forehead with holy water. Finn came up to her. "Do it," she said.
"Do what?"
She sighed with impatience and dipped her own forefinger into the holy water and quickly drew a cross on his forehead.
He staggered back, stunned by the burst of pain that threatened to split his skull. Megan was unaware. She was already walking down the aisle to the pews directly before the altar. Finn stumbled forward, catching hold of the backrest of the nearest pew, trying to steady himself. Black waved before him. He had to grasp each pew to move forward, to reach Megan.
Finally, he came to the pew directly behind the one where she knelt. He nearly fell into it, then down to his knees. He didn"t bow his head so much in prayer as he did because he could no longer hold it upright.
"Are you all right?"
Startled, Finn looked up. He hadn"t heard the priest arrive. The man was probably about forty, well groomed, his priestly attire immaculate. He had concern on his face.
"Halloween," the priest said wryly. "It gets crazy out there. Um. We create our demons, huh?"
"Yes."
"There are services here tonight and tomorrow and the next day-All Saints" Day, you know."
Megan turned. "Father, could you bless us both?"
"No," Finn heard himself mutter.
The priest was studying him strangely. Almost as if he wished that he could back away, but would not do so.
"Father?" Megan said.
"Are you Catholic?" he asked her.
"Yes."
"And you?" he said to Finn.
The pain was pressing horribly into his temples again. I"m whatever she wants me to be! he wanted to say. Catholic"? Am I anything? Have I ever really believed in anything?"Please, Father," Megan said.
He kept staring at Finn, then at last turned to Megan. "It would be best if you came to the service tonight."
"We can"t. We"re working."
"Ah. Tomorrow, then."
"Please. Before tomorrow."
"Come to the altar, then."
They both knelt before him. He set his hands upon their heads, and said the words of blessing.
Finn bowed his head, gritting his teeth, fighting the explosion of pain that erupted within his head.
The priest drew his hand back quickly when he was done, and seemed to favor it, as if his palm had been burned. He spoke to Megan. "Go with G.o.d, child."
Finn, desperate now to reach the cool air outside, was already hurrying down the aisle. He was vaguely aware that the priest told Megan, "I"m Father Mario Brindisi. Please, if you can, come to Ma.s.s tomorrow. And... if you need me, call me."
Finn burst out onto the street.
As he did so, the pain cleared from his head. Megan joined him. "What was the matter with you in there? You were so rude!"
"Head... headache," he said.
"We"ll buy some aspirin, then!" she said angrily.
He gripped the rail going down the concrete steps back to the street, and paused. "No... no, it"s all right now. We"ve got to get moving, if we"re going to make work on time tonight."
Megan was still staring at him. He forced a smile and grabbed her hand, and hurried down the walk. The staggering pain was gone, but...
He could still feel a burning. In the shape of a cross, right on his forehead. Tell her, tell Megan! he thought.
No, he couldn"t have her running from him. Not now. Not when he was convinced that she was in so much danger.
Again, he forced the smile, winding his fingers more tightly around hers. "Happier?" he asked her.
"Yes," she said simply.
Smiling as well, she kept pace with him and they hurried back to the car.
He looked around, certain that they were still being followed. But he didn"t see the stranger who had been watching him.
He was still certain that the man was near.
Lucian spent the late afternoon roaming the streets of Salem as any tourist might. With little time left, he stopped by the newest museum.He stared at the building a long time, then walked toward the ticket counter. The woman on duty was dark haired. He could see the many piercings in her ears and face, devoid now of jewelry.
Gayle Sawyer.
As he reached the counter, she opened her mouth to speak, then fell silent, staring at him. He smiled.
"One, please."
She nodded.
He looked at her a very long time before entering the museum.
Prowling the halls, he came up a seventeenth-century oil. It was tided, Signing the Devil"s Book.
In the painting, three women clad in nothing but transparent strips of a gauzy, floating material cavorted about a fire in the woods, surrounded by horned, tailed creatures. In the background an imp or satyr stood, holding a plume and an open book. A plaque by the side of the painting described the belief that witches made pacts with the devil, and that he or his minions would seal the bargain with carnal activities, often in the woods at midnight.
He moved down the halls. The museum was well done. Fact was presented well, and the viewer could be transported back to somewhat comprehend a different mindset. One large plaque stated that there were cases in which-though there may have been no devil summoned, no soul sold-the apprehended man or woman might have been guilty according to the laws of the day. The very practice of witchcraft in any form was a capital crime, and therefore, sticking pins in dolls, burning herbs while cursing, or any such other such activity was clearly illegal.
He moved on. There were scenes of ma.s.s burnings in Europe, and a diorama of the events that had occurred at Salem.
As he stood studying the tableaus, he listened as a man gave a lecture to a group of tourists, recounting the possible causes of the hysteria. The man giving the lecture was dressed somewhat casually in dockers, a tailored denim shirt, and a tie. He wore a name tag that identified as Mike Smith, Curator.
Lucian fell in with the crowd. As the man continued to speak, his eyes fell upon Lucian. He drew them away, but found himself looking at him again.
And again.
Once, he lost his train of thought, and had to be prompted by one of the children on the tour.
Still, he was an excellent historian, and his speech was good, drawing a round of applause when he had finished. Several people stopped to talk to him, many with questions about details regarding the events.
Lucian waited patiently.
At last, they stood alone in the room. The man at last shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Do I know you?"
"No," Lucian said, stepping forward and offering the fellow a handshake, which was absently accepted. "I don"t think we"ve ever met. My name is Lucian DeVeau. Thanks for an excellent education on the witch trials."
"You"re welcome. Glad you enjoyed it." He was still frowning, as if he should recognize Lucian.
"Actually, I think we have mutual friends," Lucian said.
"Oh?"
"Finn and Megan Douglas. I"m from New Orleans.""No Southern accent," Mike Smith commented.
"I"ve lived all over."
"I see."
"Well, thanks again. Great speech."
"Sure. Thank you." He stared at Lucian, then seemed to recover himself. "You should come again. We"ve got other exhibits." He shrugged. "Halloween week, all anyone wants to do is rehash the witch thing, but our maritime exhibits are great, too. We"ve halls on early settlements, and many other areas that are well worth a look."
"I"m sure. I"d love to come back, since it seems to be closing time now."
"Yes, I"m afraid it is."
"Thanks again," Lucian said, turning to leave.
"Hey!" Mike called after him.
Lucian turned back.
"I take it you"ll be going to watch Finn and Megan play tonight?"
"Probably. I won"t be around the entire night, but if you"re going, I"ll see you there."
"Great."
Smith sounded anything but enthused. Lucian exited the museum. The girl, Gayle Sawyer, was still at the counter. She stared at him as he pa.s.sed. Her mouth worked, but no sound came.
Smiling, he waved and walked on.
Megan absently answered her cell phone, holding it to ear as she b.u.t.toned her blouse.
"h.e.l.lo?"