The Awakening by Heather Graham Page A

now, or later?” Megan asked.
    â€œLet’s stop by Morwenna and Joseph’s first,” he said, wishing his grin didn’t seem so forced now.
    As they walked the short distance from the museum to the shop, he tried to tell himself again that the streets were still filled with tourists. Mothers, fathers. Children. Laughing. Some of them with costumes on already, though Halloween itself was still days away. Aliens, pirates, and princesses abounded, along with the more ghoulish. Movie theme characters were walking around as well—some sci-fi, others from horror flicks. Still, normal , he told himself.
    They came down the street, heading for the centuries-old building with a large plaque that read “Spiritual Sustenance.” Megan started right in.
    Finn was amazed to feel as if a foreboding washed over him. No . . . as if a heaviness had come into the air, so strong that it was hard for him to put one foot in front of the other.
    â€œFinn?” Megan paused, looking back at him.
    He stared at his wife. She had never appeared more beautiful—or even angelic. Pure, filled with light, golden hair streaming softly around her shoulders, eyes like blue pools of the ocean.
    She had worn black that day, too. A long black sweater-coat kind of a thing over black jeans and a scoop-neck long-sleeved black knit blouse. Both hugged her form. He wanted to keep her from the shop. From whatever evil lay within.
    He gave himself a firm mental shake.
    â€œGreat window display,” he said. He hadn’t even looked at it.
    â€œYeah? Morwenna did major in art for a while,” Megan said.
    She didn’t feel it. Didn’t feel the miasma hanging over the shop.
    Because it didn’t exist. Once, he’d almost lost his wife. And after her nightmare last night, he was just being a horse’s ass. He was afraid. He’d spent a few years thinking that he was just too hot, that he wasn’t going to bow to what he considered ridiculous fears and suspicions.
    And now . . .
    He was damned afraid himself.
    â€œHey, maybe they have some really great gargoyle bookends in here,” he forced himself to say cheerfully. Determined, he walked up the steps.
    Bits of prayer flew into his mind.
    Yeah though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .
    Ass! he charged himself. He was walking into a shop! And what the heck was the matter with him? He’d just watched a program on how feelings, suspicions, and spectral visions had sent more than a dozen innocent people to the gallows. Get a grip, man, it’s the twenty-first century, here. No such nonsense allowed.
    Hand in hand, he walked closer to the entry with his wife, a smile glued to his face.
    Even from the sidewalk, they could see that the shop was crowded. There was a man—all in black, naturally—sitting on the stairs that led to the upper level of the old place. He was monitoring the amount of people heading in and out of the shop. He rose, about to stop them, then recognized Megan.
    â€œHey, Megan!” The fellow hugged her. Megan’s hand was dragged from his own.
    â€œJamie!” Megan said, and turned. “Jamie, my husband, Finn. Finn, Jamie Gray. He’s worked for Morwenna and Joseph for ages.”
    â€œHey, there,” Jamie said. “Good to meet you. Go on in. It’s wild in there today. Getting close to Halloween. Tons of gawkers are out.”
    There was nothing evil or weird about the guy, Finn told himself. Lots of people wore black. He wore black a lot himself. Hell, they played a lot of Celtic music. Black jeans and loose-sleeved, medieval type shirts worked well on stage. That’s what all this was, too, of course. Wiccan. They were performers. Living a lifestyle to sell their wares.
    â€œThanks, we won’t stay long,” Finn told Jamie.
    â€œYou’re family—you stay as long as you want.”
    â€œWell, we’re family, and so we shouldn’t get in the way