The Awakening by Heather Graham Page B

want a hand. He was feeling irate again, unreasonably so, and less than gracious. “It’s all right, I got it,” he said, curbing his temper, and stupidly ripping out a good handful of hair in his haste to prove that he was free from the thing.
    â€œPoor baby!” Morwenna cooed as he reached the table. She halfway stood, rubbing the top of his head. That irritated him even more. Somehow, he kept his cool. He was sure he ground through half the enamel on his teeth.
    â€œIt’s all right.”
    â€œThe steaks are great,” Joseph said.
    â€œSo Wiccans aren’t vegetarian?” Finn said.
    â€œSome are,” Joseph said with a shrug.
    â€œGreat, then,” he said, determined that come hell or high water—or every stupid prop or piece of scenery in the place—he was going to get along here. Megan was his wife; he loved her. No asinine Tarot reader was going to make him blow this in any way. “Steaks sound good. I guess I’ll go ahead and order for Megan, too. She likes a good steak.”
    â€œWe’ll see to it that they arrive for your next break,” Morwenna assured him.
    â€œThanks.” He peered through the room. Fog machines were keeping a constant, low mist going. At first, he couldn’t see her. Then, through a sudden clearing gust of air from an overhead vent, he caught sight of her through a milling group of friends in all forms of bizarre fashion. She was standing dead still, listening to someone. A frown knit her brow.
    Finn shifted around, trying to see the person who had her so engrossed in conversation.
    â€œIt’s just old Andy Markham,” Joseph said.
    â€œMarkham?” He looked at his cousin-in-law sharply. “Isn’t that the old geezer who was telling the ‘haunted’ stories the other night?”
    â€œAndy is harmless. Once upon a time, way back, he ventured to Boston and did some Shakespeare on stage. You know, good enough actor to get a few jobs, not good enough to make a real living. So he tells tales really well.” Morwenna said. She inclined her head. “You know that I don’t personally approve of any of the hokum they do around Halloween. Even for those really dedicated to concepts of organized religion, it’s supposed to be a holy day. But we have all kinds of ghoulish creatures—pulling peoples’ hair out!—and stories about the spirit world and evil that seeps through time and such rot. But hey—they make a living out of it here.”
    Finn hadn’t quite realized that he’d stood until he saw that Morwenna was then frowning up at him. “Honestly, Finn, Andy is harmless.”
    â€œSure,” Finn said. He wanted badly for his tone to be light. “It’s just that the last time Megan listened to him, she had the worst nightmares I’ve ever seen. I think I’ll just go rescue her.”
    â€œNightmares, of course,” he heard Morwenna murmur as he started from the table. Once again he gritted his teeth. Hard.
    There was just something in her tone.
    She pretended to sympathize.
    But her words came out as a far different shriek of accusation in his head.
    Wife beater.
    He was going to hurt Megan . . .
    He was bad for Megan. So said Sara, the palm reader.
    Before he could reach Megan, he paused, fighting again to control the waves of fury that came crashing over him.
    He could make it. They were in Salem for a week. He was paranoid because their being back together now was still so fragile.
    Hell or high water, he reminded himself.
    Or every demon in the place.
    He was going to be decent. A good guy.
    The perfect husband.
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    â€œSmoke!” Andy Markham was saying. Maybe the simple word sounded so sinister coming from his lips because he was just so darned . . . ancient. Even his wrinkles had wrinkles, Megan thought, and wished she could smile inwardly at least at the observation. His eyes—so pale a blue they seemed