Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

by Lara Parker

  Barnabas said nothing, his face immobile.

  “Answer me.”

  He turned away.

  “You could have sent her to release me. I would have come, gladly. And do you desire her still?”

  “No.”

  “You can hunt again, and you desire her no more.”

  “No more.”

  “This is hard to believe. What did she mean to you?” Again, she disappeared in the mist.

  “Julia, where are you? I don’t have to answer these questions. You have no right to hound me.”

  A whisper. “What did she mean to you?”

  “She was a victim, a casualty of my needs.”

  “To be used up and thrown away.”

  “Yes…”

  The wind moaned. “Then you will not be unhappy when you find her.”

  “Why? What have you done?”

  “Good-bye, Barnabas.” Her voice was far away. “I’m sure we will meet again.”

  He stood in a stupor; then he heard the car start and slowly drive down the road.

  The air cleared a little and he walked in a daze to where she had parked. When he saw the blood on the snow, he wondered whether some animal had made a kill and dragged it to its lair. If he found it, it might suffice. The trees shimmered, their branches like lace. Something dark was up ahead, under the snow.

  Blood like flowers. Scattered in huge droplets, like red roses tossed from a vase. Deep bloodred.

  And then he saw her. Antoinette.

  Julia had tried to bury her, her brightly colored coat, her long golden hair, and one gloved hand. With a cry he dug the snow from around her face, tried to kiss her awake, and lifted her into his arms. She was light, drained, and her skin was as white as the snow, deathly white, almost blue, except for her throat, ripped to a dark red rose.

  Stumbling blindly, he carried her, light as a child, her shape so familiar, her odor as well. And then he fell, dropped her, and buried his face against her body. When he rose again, a stab of grief plunged through him like a thrust knife. He staggered and caught himself, and lifted his head to the sky and cried out. He was washed through with a desperate sadness. All who love you will die.

  It was the curse, but it was more than that, a sense of helplessness like none he had felt since the death of Josette. Loss—not only of Antoinette—but also of the possibility of a new existence, one free of remorse. He had hoped to escape this pain, and now he felt such heartache and such deep sorrow for this woman he thought had meant nothing, a passing companion, someone to discard as he had so many others. He ached as if a great sickness had entered his body when he thought of how she had begged for her freedom, and she seemed no longer to be something he would miss but something he could not live without. A new awareness shuddered through him like a blast of cold air. He was not dead inside as he had believed himself to be. He was still prey to the bitterness of love; and still burning within him, like a flickering ember, was the soul of a man.

  His weakness returned. Not able to fly, scarcely able to walk, he stumbled back through the graveyard with Antoinette in his arms. Where to leave her? What was he to do now that she was dead? What of the young girl, Jacqueline, her daughter? If she learned of her mother’s death she would be inconsolable. But was he to blame? Julia had killed her. It mattered little. Who would take over her house, and how could his casket remain there? He lumbered through the gravestones, each a specter shrouded with snow, each condemning him. Julia had deserted him. It was a mistake he had made more than once—pursuing an impossible love and rejecting the one proffered. But was he different from any other man? Man is a hunter—as a vampire or as a lover—relentless, insatiable, and inevitably foolish …

  It would be a dark night, the dark of the moon, a night when even the new moon is hidden behind the earth. Snow still spun about him in agitated flurries like the whirlwinds of his thoughts. The Mausoleum. The inner chamber. His casket was empty and he could leave her there. But he could not return to find her withered and decayed. Trudging further, he brushed against a statue, and startled, looked up at the angel who was watching him in the dimming light. Her sorrowful gaze cut him to the bone as he forced himself to meet her accusing eyes. She seemed to be reaching out to him. He shuddered, holding in his embrace the fragile corpse of her twin, and wondered once again whether she had been Angelique.

  Half an hour later, or an hour, he could not tell, he turned off the road toward Widow’s Hill. The snow deepened as he approached the precipice, and when he was at the cliff’s edge he stood above a void with nothing beneath him but utter blackness. He could hear the sea crashing against the rocks, but he could see nothing, only a yawning chasm as he released her and let her fall. Her arms flew out and she turned once, slowly, before she was sucked into the dark. He did not hear her fall but only the waves breaking in a repeating boom and rush of foam, and the tide rolled in with no moon to draw it, as it had done for thousands of years.

  Eighteen

  Curled up by the fire in the drawing room, studying math problems for his SATs, David found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He had not seen Jackie in days, and he had grown increasingly despondent. At first he had been sympathetic, knowing that the journey back in time had been emotionally draining for her. She had seemed so distant after they returned. Then he had heard from Dr. Hoffman that Antoinette had gone to Boston and left Jackie behind.

  He remembered a train ticket Antoinette had bought for her daughter and his heart shrank at the thought of her going away, but apparently Antoinette had not left any kind of address where they could meet. It seemed thoughtless of Toni, but then she had often been unfeeling where her daughter was concerned. Wherever she was, and whatever she was tripping on, she was sure to come down sooner or later and send for Jackie.

  Most of all David wanted to remind Jackie that he had found a second painting of Quentin in the tower at Collinwood. That it was perfectly intact. Somehow in all the excitement he had forgotten to tell her where it was hidden, and he looked forward to her delighted smiles of gratitude and to her reconciliation with her mother. He had so hoped to make that happen. Their journey back in time had revealed many things: that Quentin was indeed immortal, and that the family curse was still upon them. The crimes of his grandfather were enough to have kept it alive.

  He did remember what Tate had said when he showed him the painting. The curse of the full moon. But it is worthless. It is not signed. Should he simply turn the painting over to Quentin and be done with it?

  Pushing aside his books, he reached inside his shirt pocket and withdrew a small velvet box. Inside was a gold locket on a chain. His mother had left him few treasures, but this was one of them, and he had decided to give it to Jackie. For a long time he had wanted to give her a present and he had settled on this as a token of his affection. He held the locket up to the firelight and read the inscription on the back.

  I will always love you.

  Perhaps she would wear it and think of him, and at some time in the future, both their pictures would go inside, face-to-face.

  He had made another attempt to return to his trig problems when he heard a determined knocking at the front door. He seemed to have missed his lessons for over three weeks and he couldn’t remember the last time one of his tutors had come to the house. He wondered whether they had been scared away by rumors going around, unfounded stories of a wolf attack—a wolf the police could not seem to track down. The knocking was repeated, and David dragged himself to his feet and marched into the foyer just as his father descended the stair.

  “Who can that be at this hour?” said Roger in his usual irritable manner.

  David was curious as well. When he opened the door, he was dismayed to see Nathanial Blair standing under the portal lamp. He was holding Willie by the collar of his jacket.

  “David, good evening. May I come in?”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  Willie looked extremely disgruntled. But Blair was full of business.


  “There’s been another attack. And I’m certain this man knows a great deal about it. If he is not himself the culprit.”

  “Ah, no, Dr. Blair. I don’t know nothing,” cried Willie, his eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know nothing about no vampire. You gotta believe me.”

  “He was found trying to bury the remains.”

  “Is this true, Willie?”

  “Aw, Mr. Roger, he was already dead. Just some bum from another town. I thought it would make more trouble for you and Miss Elizabeth if another body was found near here.”

  “His hands were covered in blood, and just look at his clothes.”

  Blair moved brusquely past David and dragged Willie into the foyer, where he finally let him go. “Fetch Dr. Hoffman,” he said. “I believe she knows this man quite well, and I would like her to question him.”

  “I think Dr. Hoffman is at the hospital.”

  “Please check. I would also like to speak to Quentin Collins. Is he around?”

  Thinking it might be a waste of time to argue with Blair in his excited state, David went to the top of the stair and walked to Julia’s door. He knocked but received no answer and so he pushed the door ajar. Her room was empty. When he returned, Blair was arguing with his father.

  “Where has everyone disappeared to? I tried to call on Antoinette Harpignies and she is also out of town, I believe. A young girl is living in her house…”

  David was suddenly livid. “Listen, Dr. Blair. This is a situation for the sheriff. You are completely out of your territory.”

  “There is a vampire, David, living here on the grounds of Collinwood or somewhere close by. Doesn’t that bother you? And if it does not, may I ask why? What is everyone hiding?”

  “We are hiding nothing, and even if we were, it is no business of yours. You seem to see vampires everywhere you look! We refuse to be subjects of a sordid pseudo-scientific publication written for your own financial gain. You are the grubbiest sort of Peeping Tom, sneaking around other people’s lives. Why don’t you investigate your own?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, let’s see. I seem to remember some pretty distasteful stories about your brother, Nicholas. Is there anything more depraved than a pact with the Devil?”’

  Blair bristled but held his ground. “If you refuse to cooperate, then I will make my own investigation. I will start by having this man arrested.”

  Willie’s eyes widened in panic.

  “I’m sure Willie meant well,” said Roger. “He is devoted to this family.”

  “He is an accomplice—”

  “Very well, Blair. Have it your way,” said Roger, losing patience. “Take your case and your corpse to the police. I’m sure the Collins family will weather any storm and withstand any inquisition. We always have.”

  But David had already jumped on the snowmobile and was headed for the Old House.

  * * *

  As he gunned furiously down the sea road, David made himself a promise. He would protect her, no matter what. Even if he did not feel her equal in magic, he would keep her safe, love her, stand in the way of anyone who might harm her. He would not leave her alone in the same house any longer with Barnabas now that her mother had deserted her. Barnabas was the vampire! One of their family, but still a threat. He shuddered at the thought of Jackie living so close to a monster.

  He and Jackie should find a way to leave Collinsport, make a life together that was separate from his family’s legacy of misfortune. He understood from his time in the past that his ancestors had always been involved in illegal activities. A greedy strain ran though the blood of the long line of Collinses, and it was in his blood as well. They had come to America from England first as Puritans grabbing land that was not theirs and then as shipbuilders in the slave trade. They had been bootleggers in the Twenties, ruthlessly cooperating with the Mafia, and were members of the KKK. They had cheated and even murdered others for personal gain.

  How could he hope to be any different? He believed his father was a good man—taciturn and critical, but not dishonest. Perhaps he could be convinced to give David a part of his inheritance so that he and Jackie could leave. No, that was not likely. What about Aunt Elizabeth? She was kindhearted and seemed to hold inside her some sadness he did not understand. But something told him she might help.

  First he must convince Jackie to go with him. He believed that she loved him and he knew he loved her more than life itself. He jammed the throttle and leaned back, the track grinding into the snow.

  Two figures were up ahead on the road, the larger one wearing a red-and-black plaid lumberjack coat and a cap with earflaps, the smaller one in a dark jacket and a stocking cap, his head bowed and his hands in his pockets. As he drew nearer, David saw that they were boys about his age, probably come out here from town since he had never seen them around Collinwood.

  He decided to drive around them, but the taller boy called out to him. “Hey, you!”

  David braked and turned back to see the boys walking toward him.

  “Yeah?”

  The larger boy spoke. “We wanna ask you something.”

  David shrugged. “Okay.” He shut off the engine.

  The two boys looked at each other and then the larger one spoke.

  “We got a buddy, Ernie. Something happened to him when he did a job at that house down there, and we thought we’d come over here to see if anybody knew anything.”

  David shook his head and gripped his handlebars, keeping one foot on the ground. “I don’t know Ernie,” he said. The boy in the plaid jacket was the size of a football player. A tackle. The smaller boy had pale green eyes and a mouth full of crooked teeth when he spoke.

  “They said it was a wolf, but we don’t think so.”

  “I’m sorry,” said David, “but I don’t know your friend.”

  “He was all torn up. In the basement of that fancy house. Ain’t that where you live?”

  David nodded, anxious to get away.

  “And you ain’t heard about no murder?” The boy’s posture grew menacing and there was a scowl on his face as he moved closer to David. The smaller boy stayed behind him, grinning, and then he spat on the ground and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We figured someone here would know somethin’,” he said.

  “I did hear the son of the exterminator was unfortunately killed by a wolf down in the basement where he was searching for a wild animal trapped in there.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. And he ain’t the only one. Three weeks ago another friend o’ ours got lost in these woods, and we ain’t seen him again, either.”

  “Well, this is private property. You guys shouldn’t be around here.”

  “How come the cops don’t do nothin’? That’s what we want to know. This here Collins family. The cops never come after you people, do they?”

  “No one said anything about a murder,” David said, lifting his foot back on the running board.

  “That so?” The boy in the red jacket stepped between the two skis and put his fat fists around David’s handlebars. “What about that spooky witch girl,” he said, leaning in. “Don’t she live back there in that old house with the columns?”

  David seized up inside. He jerked back on the snowmobile. “Stay away from her,” he said, then immediately regretted it.

  “Why? She your girlfriend?”

  David began to feel threatened. It was so quiet and empty in the woods. “Wait a minute. I don’t want any trouble,” he said, pulling the start cord. The engine came to life and David shouted over the noise, “I’m sorry about your buddy.”

  He moved the sled forward but the boy stood his ground and leaned over and hit the kill switch. The engine coughed and died. David leaned back.

  “I’m just askin’. Is Jackie your bitch?”

  Then the boy in the green jacket came out from behind the larger boy. “You done her yet?” he said.

  “Get out of my way,” said David. He lifted up on h
is sled and reached for the handle, but the boy in the red coat grabbed the handlebars and twisted them hard, turning the skis, and David lost his balance, and caught himself with his other foot stretched out on the ground. Then the boy in the green coat stuck his boot under David’s ankle and tugged. David fell, bringing the sled down on top of him as he crashed into the snow. “Hey!” he yelled. “What the hell are you doin’?”

  The larger boy fell on him and rammed his shoulders against the ground. Furious, and hauling back his fist, David smacked him in the face. When the boy backed up, he scrambled to his feet and reached for his sled, but he felt two hands grab him by his jacket and pull him. He spun around.

  “Cut it out, asshole!”

  He hit the boy as hard as he could in the stomach.

  David heard a click and there was a silver flash in the smaller boy’s hand. He backed away, but saw the larger boy bend over and pick up something out of the snow. It was the velvet box. He opened it and took out the locket.

  “Oh wow!” he said in mock admiration. “Now ain’t that pretty. That for your little bitchie witchie?” And he tossed it in his grubby fingers.

  “Give me that!” David leapt for him, but the boy stuck out the flat of his hand and slammed David so hard in the chest it knocked the air out of him. Even though the boy with the knife was scared—David could see that—he still waved it in his direction. David was breathing hard, sidestepping; which one should he go for? The sled was still on its side.

  Then the big boy turned his back and leaned his head over, fumbling with the locket. When he got it open, he turned around and twisted it. “Watch this,” he said, snapping the hinge. Then he swung the chain and pitched the locket over his head into the woods.

  “Goddamn you!” David jumped him again, blasting him with his fists, socking haphazardly, his brain white with rage. He hardly felt the blows that came at him, but when the knife cut his forehead, he reached for it and it sliced his hand. He howled in pain, the world spinning, and he could tell they were not about to quit. He backed away heaving, blood flowing into his eyes.