Wolf Moon Rising (42 page)

right hand with a handle shaped as the head of a wolf. He lay

stretched out on a full- length black cape within the folds of a

coffi

n lined in red satin. His face was framed by a collar of white

cotton, his skin held a pallor, greenish and deeply shadowed,

and his black hair curled fl at on his forehead. Th

en his mouth

moved slightly and the men gasped as one and drew back, but

not before they had seen the two sharp incisors emerge from

under his lips.

“A vampire!” cried the man with the missing tooth. “Oh, God

in heaven! He’s a vampire!”

“Oh, don’t be a damn fool, Jake, there ain’t no such thing.”

Th

en one of the men whispered, “His eyelids are fl uttering.

Oh, Christ, no! He’s— He’s waking up!”

“Yeah, he is! Look— Look at him! I— I gotta get outta

here!” And he turned and scrambled for the door. Some fl ed

with him, but others remained enthralled, held by a fascination

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deeper than fear.

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Th

e sleeping corpse opened his eyes.

Th

ey were bloodshot and rimmed with red. His cavern of a

mouth fell open and revealed long canine incisors slick with

saliva. In a frantic eruption the men leapt away, but not before

the vampire’s arm shot up like a sprung trap and his fi ngers

snapped around the throat of the nearest man, who screamed

with his eyes bulging and fl ailed in the air. Th

en slowly, making

a sound that was a groan and yet more of a growl, the corpse

raised himself to a sitting position. His captive squirmed in his

grip but was helpless to free himself, his throat encased in the

monster’s paw. Th

e creature made another guttural noise, and he

swept his gaze over the room, his eyes shining in demented con-

fusion.

Th

e man in his grasp screamed again as the vampire lurched

heavily to his feet, and stood up inside his casket, towering over

them all, his black cape billowing out behind him. He lifted his

victim with one hand, held him aloft, feet dangling, body limp

like a doll’s, and with grunts that sounded almost pleas ur able,

he opened his mouth further, leaned in, and tore the man’s fl esh

from his neck. Screeching, the terrifi ed crew scrambled for the

door.

Jackie froze in terror, afraid to move or speak. Waves of

darkness tumbled over her like a rushing river and she knew she

had been there before, at this moment when the vampire awoke,

the moment before her own death.

You have become one of the living dead. All who love you will die.

Th

en do you love me, Angelique? Did you know you would be

the fi rst?

All the others had run for their lives. She was left alone.

Barely able to move her lips, she whispered, “Barnabas . . .”

He turned to her, his mouth swollen and bloody, his eyes lit

like coals. His voice was hoarse as if his throat were scarred by

knives. “Who are you? Do I know you?”

“Don’t you remember?”

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Lara Parker

“Angelique?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“Th

e curse . . .
one of the living dead
. . .” He looked down at the helpless man still hanging in his grip. “I am a monster.”

“Hey, Duckie!” It was Quentin’s panicked voice. “What’s the

matter? Come on out of there!” She took a step back.

“What have you done?” Barnabas cried. “Are you my maker?”

He glared at her with a hatred that made her limbs freeze. She

knew she would die again, as she had once before, the victim of

her own curse. He would drag her into his coffi

n and strangle

her. “You,” he breathed, “you have done this to me.”

Newly awakened and disoriented, his powers were still not

fully aroused, and Jackie saw her chance. She pushed with all

she had, forcing her mind into a vortex of re sis tance, thrusting

her will against his, keeping him at bay. Finally, she found her

voice. “You must remain here,” she whispered. “You must stay

in your coffi

n. You must not leave this place.” She pulled away

and reached for the ring in the lion’s mouth. “Try to remember

she loved you. She will always love you.”

“Witch! It was you who cursed me!”

With all her strength, she jerked down on the ring. For a

moment nothing moved. Th

en Barnabas leapt from the casket

and lunged for her, his arms grabbing at the air, but his feet

landed among the rusted chains that snaked around his ankles

and caught him for the moment it took for the door to slide shut.

Jackie trembled, tears streaming, then she stiff ened with re-

solve. “Sleep . . . sleep, and forgive me . . . forgive and forget . . . ,”

she whispered.

Th

e anguished cry was muffl

ed behind the stones.

The drive back to Collinwood was silent except for Liz softly

sobbing in the front seat. Th

e moon in the black sky looked

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as if one side had been gnawed away by a hungry giant. Quentin

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gripped the wheel and stared out into a night soft with summer

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

sounds. Once he turned to Liz and said, “Th

ere now. You’ll be

fi ne.” He looked back over his shoulder at Jackie. “You’ll take

care of her, won’t you, Dearie? You’re a good friend.”

When they reached the Great House, the fi re in the pool

house was still burning, and groups of people still milled about.

Jackie got out of the car, and Quentin sat with Liz for a long

time, talking to her in low tones. Jackie wondered whether she

and Liz would still exchange dresses, but to her surprise, Quen-

tin climbed out of the car and, without looking back, walked

slowly down the driveway and out to the main road.

Jackie moved uneasily to the car window. Liz’s face was

ashen and her eyes were glistening with tears. “He’s gone,” she

said.

“Aren’t you going with him?”

“No. He changed his mind. He said he could not marry me

after all. Th

at he was not the marrying kind. Th

at, at the party

to night he met another girl, and—” Liz’s voice broke as she stared out of the car window, her beautiful face silhouetted against the

fi relight.

“I’m so sorry,” said Jackie.

“Don’t ever trust any man,” she said, smiling wanly, and she

reached up to touch Jackie’s cheek. “Th

ey are all sheiks and

gigolos. Th

ey are all the same.”

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S i x t e e n

After stowing the painting hurriedly in what he believed

would be the best possible hiding place— in the library’s

secret room, back behind the bottles of whiskey— David ven-

tured out into the melee of fl eeing partygoers and careening

automobiles. Th

e house had been silent, as though it was fi lled

with ghosts; not a sound came from any of the rooms, while out-

side horns blared and voices boomed over megaphones. He

thought he might have heard gunshots, and he was more worried

than ever about Jackie. Th

e intriguing elements of the adventure

were fading and he was beginning to panic. He had found the

painting and now it was time to go home.

He was determined to reclaim the green car, and he decided

he would drive around the grounds until he found her. Th

e car

had brought them there, and it would take them home. He grit-

ted his teeth and tried to remain calm.

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When he walked out under the front portico, however, he

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was thrust into chaos. Broken glasses and linen napkins littered

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the grass, tables were capsized, and chairs lay on their sides.

Automobiles honking and revving their engines were trying

vainly to drive around a line of square black police cars parked

across the driveway. Another group of police cars had crossed

the lawn, leaving muddy tire tracks in the grass, and formed a

haphazard ring around the pool house, which seemed to be on

fi re. A crowd of people was gathered there, and David thought

Jackie might be among them.

As he drew nearer he saw that all the swimmers were gone,

and the fi re, which must have been horrendous— the entrance

to the pool was smoking and blackened— now burned with fi n-

gers in the grass and crackled inside the door. As soon as he saw

the fl ames, David shrank back. Ever since he was a child he had

been terrifi ed of fi re, not only because of the danger but also

because he was drawn to it with magnetic fascination. He was

afraid of what he might do, and he was afraid to look too closely

at the tongues of fl ames still fl ickering within the opening of

the pool house door.

He was vaguely aware of wounded people lying on the

ground being tended by the servants, and there was a large white

ambulance parked back on the road with a red cross on the side.

Again he grew anxious for Jackie and wondered whether she was

among the injured. Even though he was wary, he decided to ap-

proach the scene.

He caught sight of fl ames still licking the walls inside the

pool house, and his body tensed when he felt himself being

drawn to the confl agration. Servants were carry ing buckets of

water from the kitchen of the Great House and pouring them on

the blaze, but they were doing little to quench the inferno that

was still a burning lake surrounding the pool. It was as if the fi re continued to ignite itself, popping with small explosions and

erupting in sparks. Th

en he saw the grass was on fi re, little rivu-

lets of fl ame trickling by his feet.

As he drew nearer he could see the lawn was strewn with

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broken casks, and men in police uniforms carry ing rifl es shouted

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Lara Parker

orders. He passed a young man in a daze, probably one of the

swimmers, staring at his burned hands, and a girl lying in the

grass being consoled by two other women. He stopped breath-

ing until he saw that it was not Jackie. He tried to tell himself

that this was all in the past, that raids such as this one were part of the Prohibition era, but that did not prevent a feeling of helplessness.

Th

en David was shocked to see a fi gure in the doorway of

the pool house, someone who had not escaped the fl ames, and

he knew he must do something. It was a woman whose dress

had caught fi re. She was reaching out to him with her arms in a

beseeching manner, and all he could think was he must get close

enough to grab her and pull her free, but when he approached

the door, the heat inside the pool house was horrendous. Th

en he

saw her long golden hair and her wings of fl ame and his body

was shot through with terror.

She was beckoning to him and, unable to resist, he moved

closer until he could see her familiar face, the face he saw in his dreams, the face he had loved ever since he had been a child. Her

eyes were candle fl ames and fi re was fl ickering inside her moving lips. “Come, David,” he heard her say. “Come with me into the

fi re.”

He was mesmerized; she was beautiful and her hands reach-

ing out in front of her opened and closed, her fi ngers beckoning.

“Come, David. You can be with me always. We can die and be

born again. We can live forever.”

He cried out, “No!” and tried to fi ght the magnetic tug on

his body, but he felt himself growing weaker, as though he had

no will of his own. His limbs were like sand as the fl ames leapt

and crackled, and he walked toward them. His mother was

calling to him, and his longing for her grew thick in his chest.

“I was there with you in the beginning, and I will be with

you at the end. Come, my darling boy,” she pleaded. “Don’t be

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afraid.”

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He breathed in the smoke and it brought tears to his eyes.

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His lonely childhood had shadowed his life, but she had re-

turned for him at last. He could feel the heat on his face, envel-

oping him in a warm embrace as she drew his body to her, and

his heart swelled with love. He had waited for her for so long. A

feeling of profound relief washed through him. He would be

with her once more, a child enfolded in his mother’s arms.

Th

en he heard Jackie calling his name. “David? David!!”

She was running across the grass. “David, stop. Don’t go in