He stared at Finn as if he had hired a pariah to play at his club.

"What the hell?" he demanded crossly.

"Your 'guest' was attacking the young woman," Megan said sharply, before Finn could even begin to move his lips. She'd spoken with such a contemptuous air, that even Tartan stood dead silent for a minute.

"We employ people to handle this kind of problem!" he stuttered out after a moment.

"Well, your employees were apparently not available and I was practically being raped on the dance floor!" Gayle Sawyer said, looking crossly at Sam Tartan, and then adoringly at Finn.

"I hope you haven't broken his jaw," Tartan said.

"I hope he has!" Gayle muttered.

Someone else—in a two-foot blond wig and velvet Victorian costume had come through the crowd and stooped down by the drunk.

"Hey!" Tartan said.

The "woman" in the velvet dress growled up at him in a deep voice. "I'm a doctor. He's fine, won't even have a bruise on his chin. He's just drunk as a skunk. Anyone here know the guy?"

A startled little cry sounded and a tiny woman came rushing through them, falling to her knees. "It's Marty!" she cried. And she stared at all of them as if she were surveying a circle of vultures. "What have you done to my husband?"

"Your husband?" Gayle repeated disbelievingly. "You're here with… him?"

"Of course! He's my husband, and what did you do to him?"

"Lady, he was being totally obnoxious at the bar."

"Marty? Never!" she protested angrily.

"Ma'am, really," Megan said. "I'm sorry, but he was being really obnoxious."

The woman wasn't about to take it. She glared at the occupants of the bar. "I'm sure he turned all you prostitutes down, and so—"

"Prostitutes!" Gayle cried.

"This is getting out of hand," Tartan said, his lips twitching. "Doctor—" he began, then shuddered, looking at his "guest" in his drag-queen apparel—"can we move him?"

"Of course. He's just drunk."

"Drunk. Marty never drinks too much!" his wife argued.

"Lady, smell him," the doctor said.

"But you!" Mrs. Marty rose, pointing a finger at Finn. "How dare you! What did you do?"

"Excuse me," Finn said firmly. "Perhaps your husband is allergic to alcohol, I don't know. He was rude and obnoxious to my wife, and then to the young lady there—"

"Young lady!" the woman sniffed. "My ass!" she exclaimed.

"I'll lay you wicked flat in two seconds, lady," Gayle warned.

"Please!" Sam Tartan said. By then, Adam Spade had pushed through. He looked at the drunk on the floor, the wife, the crowd at the bar, and seemed to have a handle on the situation. "I'll get him up," he said briefly. Spade even seemed to know that the figure in the Victorian dress was a doctor. "I can move him."

The doctor nodded. "You have a room here?" he said to the wife.

"Yes. And we'll take Marty up to it, but I promise you, there will be a lawsuit. I have witnesses."

"Ma'am, the witnesses will all say that your husband was drunk and obnoxious," Megan heard herself say, her own voice rising.

She was startled to hear Finn speaking, calmly. "Why don't we call the cops right now, just so that there are no questions or hesitations later?"

Sam hesitated, as if the last thing he wanted was cops. But Megan could see that Finn was still angry, and not about to be accused of undue force against the man.

"Hey! I'm a cop," a man, dressed in a Freddy costume, said. He came forward, pulling off his mask. "I'm not on duty, but I did witness what happened." He looked at Marty's wife, a little sadly. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but your husband was drunk and obnoxious."

"Marty barely even drinks!" she said, and the sound of her voice was definitely pathetic.

"Maybe that's what happened," the Freddy-cop said gently. "Maybe he had a drink, and it just all went wrong in him. Marty is probably a great guy who would never bother the ladies, especially when he's got a nice little wife like you. Do you want me to call out a man who is on duty? Do you want to file this?

Marty could be charged with being drunk and disorderly—"

"No!" the woman protested. She looked at Tartan. "Just take him up to the room. Please."

Adam Spade, the huge bouncer, concealed a grin as he gave the Freddy-cop a grateful smile and bent down to pick up Marty. He lifted him as if he were no more than a few pounds.

Tartan started to follow Spade and his burden and Marty's wife. He glanced back at Finn. "Can you play?" He hesitated a moment. "Please? I don't want everyone in the place over here!"

"Sure," Finn said.

But he turned to the Freddie-cop first. "Thanks. You really defused a situation there."

The man shrugged, also intent on concealing the depth of his amusement. "Hey, he could have charged you with assault, but the young lady there"—he indicated Gayle—"could have charged him with assault as well. Dumb incident. Can't believe the wife let him get in that kind of condition and could still insist to herself that her husband was a good guy who didn't drink—and wouldn't think of bothering a woman at a bar."

"Who knows? Maybe Marty can't drink," Finn said with a shrug.

Megan tugged at his arm a little nervously. "We need to get on stage. Officer, thank you."

"My pleasure. I'm Theo Martin, by the way. Officer Martin, by day. Nice to meet you."

"Our pleasure, sincerely," Megan said.

They started to walk toward the stage. Finn had Megan's hand. She was almost wrenched away when Gayle came rushing up between them, throwing herself at Finn, giving him a choker hug. "Thank you! All those other folks—including a cop, so it seems!—did nothing. And you saved me."

"I don't think you were really in danger," Finn told her, trying to politely disentangle himself from her arms.

"And you're fine now," Megan said. She clenched her teeth. What was it around here? Gayle hadn't wanted a drunk fondling her—but she didn't seem to mind becoming a drape over Finn's body—while Finn's wife watched.

"You've got balls! You're the only guy here with real balls!" Gayle insisted.

"He has to get his balls on stage to play now," Megan said, firmly, but nicely.

"Oh! Sorry. But thank you; thank you so much!"

She slipped from Finn at last. He looked at Megan and shrugged. "It must be that power of suggestion thing you had going on today. About women drooling." He was serious suddenly. "Megan, I didn't set out to start a fight. He went swinging for me hard, twice."

"I know, Finn."

"I know how you feel about street brawls—"

"Hey, I was there. I saw what happened. You did what you had to do. Let's get on the stage before Tartan comes back in."

Finn dead stopped for a minute, turning to her. He didn't glance at it, but flexed and relaxed the hand that had been gouged at Morwenna's shop almost absently as he stared at her.

"What? He'll fire us?"

"Maybe."

"If he does, it was meant to be."

"You don't believe in destiny and all that, Finn!" she reminded him.

He muttered something and turned away. They walked up on stage. Finn picked up his guitar and took a seat on the stool. Before he even leaned toward the mike, a thunderous applause suddenly filled the room.

Speechless, he gazed at Megan. She shrugged. It was his ball game. She felt a strange pounding in her heart, and was annoyed with herself. Finn had gotten in trouble at school when he was young for fighting.

Usually, because someone had decided to come after him. After nearly being suspended once, he'd made a point of taking classes in the Asian arts, which, along with self-defense, taught discipline. They had talked about it several times in college, because she'd seen her husband square his shoulders, turn and walk away, many times when a situation might have become explosive. Not tonight.

And to her amazement, she was glad. That Finn had stepped in. There was something archaic and medieval about the pride she was feeling. The word pagan suddenly popped into her mind. As if she had the most powerful caveman in the tribe, or the like.

She shook off the feeling. The incident was regrettable and strange. Mrs. Marty had really appeared to be stunned and brokenhearted that her husband had behaved so badly. She had been so stunned that she had been unwilling to believe the situation. Megan didn't get the feeling that she was the kind of woman who threatened to sue all the time. Her words had been in self-defense because it had been a situation she had been unwilling to accept.

"Hey, guys," Finn said, stilling the applause. "I guess we all kind of have to be careful, this much partying and all. Especially all of you out there who are driving. We have to drink responsibly, no matter how wild the nights may get. Okay… this one is a takeoff on a medieval love ballad, very romantic and sad. Hope you enjoy it."

He stared at Megan. He'd changed the lineup for the second set. She shrugged again. It was slow and sad, with a beautiful melody, and a calming influence. She nodded imperceptibly, but found that she couldn't quite tear her eyes away from his. The green seemed to be catching the light strangely. It looked as if his eyes had turned gold. Very strange eyes…

Like those of the black cat, reflecting off the lights, as it had stared at them from the brush when they had left Aunt Martha's the other day.

The lights in the room were bizarre. Black lights, strobe lights. It might be natural that a strange reflection was occurring. But the color, or the glare of it, was oddly hypnotic and seductive. At last, she felt as if she ripped her gaze from his, and turned back to the audience.