He didn't believe in demons, and agreed that the dreams she was having had to have something to do with the many impressions she received during the day.

"That old Andy Markham! So he said, 'Bac-Dal wants you'? "

"That's what he said, exactly."

"That old fool!" Her hand lay on the table. He covered it with his own and told her seriously, "Megan, there are no such things as demons."

"But there are such things as bad people."

"Sure. But I think that old Andy may be crazy, but do you think he's a bad person? You know, you can take ghost tours here and hear about all kinds of bad things that have happened to people. They'll show you all kinds of pictures and tell you that rain spots are ectoplasm and stuff like that. There are plenty of horror stories that take place in real life. But that doesn't make those involved bad people. Take old Andy though—he's been telling his tales the longest. You know, Salem wasn't all this great big place where tourism ruled everything. It's only been… what, maybe twenty, thirty or so years that everyone has cashed in on history. But Andy… he was just a storyteller from the start, that's what the old folks say. He was a teacher when he was young, and loved to set up campfire tales and stuff like that. He started believing his own schtick. That's all there is to it."

Megan smiled. "I never thought of Andy as dangerous himself. Just scary."

"What things do to the mind is scary," Mike said. "Don't let him get under your skin."

His hand remained on hers. Both their heads were lowered.

"Did you order my coffee?"

Megan's head jerked up at the sound of her husband's voice. Inadvertently, she jerked her hand back.

She didn't know why in hell she felt guilty when she looked up.

"Finn. You made it. Yes, I ordered the coffee—the waitress said she'd bring it as soon as she saw you so that it wouldn't get cold."

She thought his smile looked a little forced, but he acted casually.

"Thanks. Hi, Mike."

"Hey, Finn, good to see you."

Mike offered him a hand across the table. Finn shook it, and sat in the chair at the end of the table.

"Where are your friends?" she asked.

"Reading," he said, giving her another smile and glancing at Mike. He didn't want to say too much in front of a third party, she realized, and dropped it, despite the fact that she was dying of curiosity and still feeling somewhat left out.

"I have some friends in from New Orleans," Finn said to Mike. "A woman who does travel books, guides, tilings like that. So… they're off, happily exploring Salem. How was lunch?"

"Good," Mike said. "Seems like a place that will make it Some here do, and some don't."

"Like everywhere in the world," Finn said agreeably.

The waitress brought his coffee. Finn thanked her and brought the cup to his lips, but then paused, looking out the glass window to the street.

"What?"

"I don't believe it."

"What?"

Mike was staring at him, too.

Finn shrugged. "There's Mr. Fallon, walking around with a big bag. He's been doing some tourist shopping, I guess."

Mike swung around to look out the window, too. It was true. Fallon was standing in front of one of the shops with a big sign that advertised itself as a witchcraft store.

"Who'd have thunk, huh?" Mike said dryly.

"So everyone gets into it a little bit," Megan murmured.

"Not everyone," Mike said. "But, hey, most people who come here do so for the history—and the fun of it. Moms buy their daughters all kinds of jewelry in those shops, and some of them carry beautiful little Victorian dolls and things like that. Cute books, and oils—lots and lots of people get into the scented oils, whether they believe that they do anything or not. I had a lady in the museum one day who had bags full of mortars and pestles—and not for witchcraft. She needed them because she had five kids and found out they were great for science projects."

"The commercial world is the commercial world, right?" Finn said.

"Oh, yeah. And it's okay. One of the haunted houses is run by a really great guy. He starts off his little bit by telling the kids that it's all just for fun, and the entire 'scare' factor is done by someone running around in front of them in the darkness, making things bang and bob out. But if anyone gets really scared, he just stops and escorts them out. Fear is usually in the mind," he said, offering Megan an awkward little smile again.

"Fear can be real and sensible, too," Finn said flatly. "Megan, did you tell him that you were attacked in the parking lot last night?"

Mike stared at her hard. Funny, she had said so much, but nothing about that. Maybe because she was still smarting from what Morwenna had said. Could she say for sure that anyone else had been there?

Anyone other than Finn?

She looked at her husband in the light of day. She'd known him to be angry at times, temperamental, determined, impatient, passionate… and tender. She couldn't look into his eyes and believe that he didn't love her, almost too fiercely, at times.

She gritted her teeth, absolutely determined to shake off the unease that Morwenna had awakened in her.

Her husband might be many things, but not a demon.

"I was stalked, more than anything. I wasn't hurt, but Finn did get into a tussle with whoever it was."

Mike looked sharply at Finn. "You went to the police, right?"

"We didn't actually have to go to the police; a cop who comes in all the time was there. They're going to set up more security at the place."

"You've got to be really careful," Mike said gravely. He looked at Megan, and seemed uneasy. "You know… they haven't caught that guy who killed the girl in Boston. And we're awful damned close here."

"A murderer who struck in Boston almost a month ago could be anywhere in the country now," Finn said, "but that's beside the point. Every young woman out there has to be extremely careful because at any given time, there's more than one psychopath in the world, preying upon the vulnerable, which usually means children and young women."

"I'm careful," Megan said.

"You really shouldn't go anywhere alone," Mike said. "Anywhere. There's strength in numbers, you know."

"I'm careful," Megan said. She didn't know why, but she felt as if Mike were warning her about Finn as well—he didn't suggest that she cling to her husband at all times, but rather seemed to suggest that she needed lots of numbers around her.

"There," Mike said, "look, they've got it on the television again."

There was a TV set over the bar, set to a local news station. The volume had been low, but a young bartender had a remote in her hand, and she clicked the volume higher. The newscaster was repeating words they had just exchanged, warning that people needed to be extra safe this Halloween, and saying that the police in Boston had no new leads on the murder committed there.

As they watched, she went on in a slightly dramatic tone to mention a more local situation.

"An apparent hit and run has our local police searching for the perpetrator of what may prove to be a deadly accident. Mr. Andrew Markham, local storyteller, was found on an embankment off US1 this mid morning by a banker on his way to work. Police believe that he was struck and that the driver paused long enough to drag him off the road, but that he was then deserted by the offender. The driver might well be guilty now of manslaughter for leaving the man to the. As yet, no news has been given out as to what type vehicle may be involved. Mr. Markham was brought to the hospital in critical condition, and remains in a coma as of this newscast. Anyone with any possible clue or information is asked to call the police or our crime stoppers number. Sadly, the doctors doubt if Mr. Markham will survive his injuries. Police are imploring the public for any information, however slight, they may have."

The news being the news, the young woman went on in a cheerful voice to give a list of the activities available for children in the following two days.

Mike, Finn, and Megan all stared at one another.

"The poor old bugger!" Mike said.

Megan knew the blood had drained from her face.

There had been no accidental hit and run, she was certain.

Andy had been struck on purpose. Mike, despite Finn's presence, covered her hand again. "He's an old man. He was walking where he shouldn't have been walking."

Finn was staring at her.

She'd never told him about her morning excursion with Andy.

She couldn't be absolutely certain that there had been anyone else— other than Finn— out in the parking lot last night. And this morning…

She didn't really know where her husband had been.

Finn had been in Boston when the girl had been killed there.

Ridiculous.

She looked her husband in the eye. "I'd like to go to the hospital, Finn. And see Andy."

Finn frowned. His eyes seemed guarded. "Megan, the old fellow scared you to pieces the first night we

got here with all his tales. We barely know the man."

"If he's in a coma, they're not going to let you in," Mike pointed out.

"That may be true," Megan said.

She still believed that Andy Markham was in a hospital because of her.

Or because of what he knew. Which still came back to her. He had tried to warn her.

She stared hard at her husband, praying she wasn't going to be afraid just to be in a car with him. And yet, if he absolutely refused her…

"Finn, I'd like to go to the hospital."

He hesitated. Too long, she thought. Then he said, "Sure, Megan, we'll go. But I think Mike is right.

They're not going to let us in."

"Take me anyway."

"I don't suppose it would hurt if you just went by."

"We'll get the check," Finn said, and rose.