Wolf Moon Rising (55 page)

e tavern had come

up for sale at a fair price and he had grabbed it.

After the horrors of the war, Quentin remembered the

smell of the sea air at Collinsport, the shadowed dust of the

storage room, the cool shape of a bottle in his hand as he placed

it on the shelf— all had soothed him.

He looked up when he heard the bell ring announcing cus-

tomers, even though it was still early in the day, and Quentin

saw himself reach for his apron. He was tying the strings when

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he heard a coin dropped in the jukebox and a song began to play

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that fl ooded him with nostalgia.

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

Coming out to the barroom, Quentin was surprised to see a

couple sitting at a corner table in a shadowed part of the tavern.

Th

e woman wore a soft felt hat over her brunette curls and her face

was turned away, but she was familiar— in fact, too familiar. Th

e

shape of her shoulders, the tilt of her head were as lovely as ever, and he recognized her instantly although he had not seen her in

many years and had never expected to see her again. He knew she

was a movie star now, glamorous, rich and adored, her career on

the rise, and living in Hollywood. Of all the taverns in all the

towns in all the world, she had returned to Collinsport and walked

into his. She looked over at him and her dark eyes softened.

“Quentin . . .”

He stood dumbfounded, not knowing what to say, but Eliz-

abeth was more quietly gracious than he remembered, composed

and utterly charming. She smiled and reached for his hand.

“Quentin, this is my husband, Paul Stoddard, and Paul, this is

Quentin Collins, an . . . old friend, and”— how well he remem-

bered her mischievous smile—“a member of the family.”

As Quentin nodded to Stoddard, he struggled to reconnect

with Blair and move back out of this place and time. He knew it

was not where he wanted to be, but he could not take his eyes off

Liz, and how beautiful she had become. Her hair was dark now,

and it framed her heart- shaped face to perfection and shadowed

her ravishing eyes as though they were lit from within. But when

she lifted her lashes to look at him, he was sure he could see the

wistful melancholy behind her smile.

Quentin watched himself bring them Scotches, a double for

Stoddard, and he thought the glasses might slide off the tray,

his hands were shaking so. He and Paul made small talk about

the war but he had no memory an instant later of what they had

said, while he watched Liz sip her whiskey, a smile playing on

her lips. She wore a tailored suit of a fawn- colored wool, which

clung to the curves of her body, and silk stockings with a dark

seam up the back that revealed shapely ankles above her

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high- heeled shoes. Quentin tried to touch her with his mind.

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Lara Parker

Th

ey were gone as quickly as they had come, the song barely

fi nished, but Quentin had heard her say they were staying at the

Collinsport Inn and that Stoddard had business in town for a

few days. Th

e tavern was emptier than a tomb after their depar-

ture and she left him with the song, Crosby’s soothing tones

caressing the lyrics:
a memory of love’s refrain.

In a daze, Quentin cleared the table, hesitating a moment

before his cloth wiped away the water ring of her glass. Th

ere

was something strange, and he felt disoriented, his mind a blur;

he must get away; he was not supposed to be here. Damn Blair!

He thought it must still be a memory from the war and he tried

to shake off his anxiety, though it still persisted and his mind

was in a fog. But his body was still buzzing with the rush of see-

ing her, strange as it had been. He had never stopped loving her,

not even for a day, and thoughts of her had fi lled his fantasies all the years they had been apart.

He tried to claw his way out of the dream. Th

is was not the

time or the place. Why was he here? He was closing the tavern

for the eve ning, turning the sign in the window, when he heard

a soft knock on the outside door. His heart leapt. Could it be?

Liz stood in the moonlight, her gloved hands trembling,

and her warmth betraying her ner vous ness, but she maintained

her veneer of tranquillity. She had become a skilled actress.

“Hello, Quentin.”

He nearly stumbled as he stood back to watch her move past.

He was unable to speak, but managed to off er her a seat in the

darkened barroom, before he switched on a lamp. Th

e etchings

on the walls of old sailing vessels hung in the gloom. Smoke left

from the customers’ cigarettes that eve ning created a thin haze.

She sat with her hands resting on the table and looked into his

eyes.

“I— I wanted so much to see you again, and I don’t know

whether I will be able to get away tomorrow. Paul is insanely

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jealous.”

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Quentin could barely contain his joy at her words. “But where

is he now?” he asked.

“Passed out.” He remembered her laugh, like water falling

in a stream. “He’s a sop who drinks himself into a stupor every

night.”

“Oh, my dear . . .”

“It’s nothing. So many men drink. Especially in Holly-

wood.”

He took her hands and smiled. “Th

ey tried to stop all that,

but we didn’t let them, did we?”

She laughed softly, deliciously. “You mean the way we

fought the Bureau of Prohibition? It hadn’t a chance.”

“And so,” he said kindly, “your career goes well?”

“Actually, it’s not what everyone thinks. It’s rather hard to

make a living.”

“But I thought—”

“Th

at fame brought wealth?” She shook her head. “Sadly,

no. Only scrutiny. Notoriety. And worry.”

He hesitated to broach the subject, but he could not resist.

“And your marriage? I take it that you are happy? In spite of the

drinking . . .”

“Oh, Quentin . . .” Her eyes fl ooded and she lowered her

head. “What happened to us? We were so happy . . .”

“You didn’t know?” He was confused.

She looked at him accusingly. “Why did you leave so sud-

denly?” She seemed to fade, and her voice wavered in the air.

“. . . So suddenly . . .”

“Oh, but Elizabeth. It was your father, Jamison. He learned

my secret.”

“Secret?” Her eyes were searching his, exposing the pain of

years of feeling betrayed. “What secret? You loved another? I

always knew girls adored you, but I thought—”

“No. No. I had to go. Liz, you must believe me.” Her mouth

was so close.

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Lara Parker

“It doesn’t matter . . . it’s all in the past . . .”

He saw her fading again and struggled to bring her back in

the only way he knew. He reached for her and what had seemed

a dream suddenly became real. She was in his arms, her body

folded against him. When he looked at her, he was amazed. She

was a girl no longer but a full- blown rose, a woman whose

beauty was all curves and soft fl esh, her eyes luminous, a pearl of saliva on her red lips. Life had made her melancholy but deeply

aware, and she looked up at him in longing so profound he

thought he would break apart. Everywhere he touched her she

moved to him, fragrant, silky, and his body sang to hers. But

even as he was deep in a trance, his passion rising, he felt her

turn to smoke and something stabbed his heart, and he knew it

was not real after all, it was the séance, and he had come back to

a diff erent time, the time when it had all gone so wrong. Des-

perately he grabbed for Blair before the dream became a night-

mare, but he was still alone with her and she was lying by his

side. Reaching up to stroke his mouth with her fi ngertips, she

whispered, “I love you.”

Th

en they were both in the parking lot behind the Collins-

port Inn and Quentin had just loaded Liz’s suitcase into the

back of the green car. He was trembling with excitement; his

life was renewed. She had agreed to divorce her husband, and

they were going away together, this time forever, to fi nd what-

ever happiness they could. Nothing would stop them now.

Just as he was reaching for the car door, he heard her voice

catch in her throat and she cried out as if in pain to someone

approaching, “Get away from here and leave us alone!”

Startled, Quentin turned to see standing in the doorway of

the Inn, Paul Stoddard, swaying drunkenly, a .38 caliber pistol

in his grip, his legs spread in an awkward stance. He held the

gun in his quivering hands, tried to aim, but the barrel jerked in

circles before he fi red two shots. Th

e fi rst went wild, grazed

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Quentin’s pants leg and bounced off the fender of the Duesen-

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berg. But the second ricocheted off the pavement and struck

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him in the groin; he doubled over and rolled to the ground.

Elizabeth screamed, as Paul fell to his knees babbling for her

forgiveness, the gun sliding from his hand. She picked it up,

stared at it a moment, and threw it in the back seat of the car.

Th

e ambulance, the white gurney, and the searing pain

were all a blur. He was helpless, jostled by orderlies, while he

tried to lift up and see her above the crowd that gathered like a

pack of barking dogs. Paul Stoddard was in a drunken stupor

but leaned into the reporters and sneered to their scribbling

pencils: “Just shot the sonofabitch who tried to break up my

home.” Th

e police and newspaper men with their infernal fl ash-

ing cameras all questioned Elizabeth, who stood in a glowing

light and endured the storm of attention with perfect calm.

Quentin looked on in disbelief as she insisted in her sweet-

est voice that her husband “had been upset for many months

over bankruptcy proceedings,” and shaking her head, fi rmly

denied any romance between “a Mr. Collins and myself.” Being

wheeled into the hospital ban daged, unable to walk, bulbs fl ash-

ing, Quentin saw her look back at him one last time before she

drove away in the elegant car with the top folded back, her hair

fl ying in the wind, and her face ravaged with tears. Worse than

the pain of the bullet as he walched her go was the agony of

knowing he would never see her again.

And then, suddenly, the sounds and dark waves of the dream

folded into themselves, and he was back in the library at Collin-

wood. Th

e windows outside were dark except for a blue glow in

the sky as it delivered the moon. Quentin’s mind was reeling, his

vision distorted, and his head fell forward against the polished

wood of the table. Th

e room was ribboned with shadows, the

candles had all burned down, and Blair was saying, “Mr. Col-

lins. Wake up now. Mr. Collins, it’s over. Wake up.”

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T w e n t y - t h r e e

His quarry within his grasp, Barnabas moved stealthily to-

ward the library window where he could see the candlelight

burning on the table and Quentin and Blair hovering over it.

Anticipating the encounter, Barnabas could feel his chest ex-

panding and his breath growing ragged. Happily, he was strong

once again, his supernatural powers fl owing like liquid silver

through his veins; surprise was his ally as he moved over the

snow, his cape a broad wing, his dark head lowered, the cane

gripped in his hand.

Hesitating a moment by the window, he could hear the

murmuring of voices, and then he made out Blair’s fl at nasal

tones, shrill with excitement as if the man had inherited a

fortune and meant to spend it all in one night.

“Calm down, man. You have no reason to blame me! Th

ese

things are unpredictable, and a trip into the past is never a sure

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thing. However, you will be glad to learn that our bargain is no

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longer applicable. You need not reveal the identity of the

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vampire”— his voice was rising in pitch—“I have the vampire,

chained in my laboratory, and I plan to begin the dissection this

very eve ning!”

Barnabas reeled back from the window. Could he be seri-

ous? Blair had trapped a vampire. How? Th

e man must be in-

sane. Blair had neither the strength nor the ingenuity to perform