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 assured 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 classes 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 assumed 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 massive 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 hell. 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 hello."

"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 gratitude."

"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 massive 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 butt," 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?"