Authors: Lara Parker
closing its body in his massive jaws, shook it until it collapsed
into a lifeless sack. Th
en, tossing it aside, he pawed at a second,
pausing to snatch a morsel of fl esh and swallow it before return-
ing to the fray. Blood and entrails littered the snow, and Jackie’s eyes fi lled with tears when she saw her feral friends who had
come to protect her slaughtered.
Th
e beacon moon shone down on the carnage, and the gray
bodies were strewn about, some still whimpering, some unable
to crawl more than a few feet into the trees, until Jackie could
watch no longer, but took off again, the barking still ringing
through the forest, and she ran through the woods, heaving and
gasping for breath.
How she wished she could shake herself free and release the
earth, fl y above the trees, and skim the tops of the cedars, a dark bird in the moonlit clouds. Th
e wind once whistled by her ears,
her hair streaming out behind her, as she fl oated on currents of
air, embracing a power that she knew now had deserted her. She
remembered her time in Salem and how the great Sachem had
told her,
When you fl y through the trees, Sisika, you fl y among the
souls of your ancestors.
But it was not to be. She had shed her heritage, her other
lifetimes, her spells and curses, and now she wondered what this
lifetime would bring— now that she was no longer a witch.
She saw the spires and slate roof of Collinwood, crossed the
yard, then, breathing hard, stumbled up the steps, lunged for
the portal, and thrust her body into the quiet safety of the Great
House.
She was greeted by the sleepy face of Carolyn Stoddard,
who had come downstairs for a glass of milk and was holding it
in her hand when she saw Jackie scramble through the door.
“A werewolf,” was all Jackie could muster before she collapsed
on the fl oor.
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When she woke, she was looking up at what she thought
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must be an angel, china blue eyes and long golden hair framing
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a heart- shaped face. Carolyn had placed a pillow beneath her
head and was off ering her a glass of water— except no, it was
whiskey, she realized the moment she took a whiff .
“Here, drink this,” Carolyn said kindly. “You’ll feel better.”
Jackie looked around in wonder at the dark entrance hall
with its grand staircase and leaded windows. “Where am I?”
“On the fl oor. You came in the door and fainted.” She placed
the rim of the glass against her lips. “Just take a sip.”
Jackie tried to oblige but only sputtered when the whiskey
hit her throat. Still in a daze, she sat up and stared into the
drawing room where the moonlight streamed in the casements.
She recognized the room from her journey back to the Twenties,
but more dimly from another time when she had longed with all
her heart to be wed to Barnabas and become the mistress of this
mansion.
“You’re Jackie, aren’t you?” said Carolyn. “You’re the girl
who’s been bewitching my little cousin David.” She laughed
lightly. “Do you have any idea how much you have made him
suff er?”
Jackie spoke in a low voice, “I— I think we should bolt the
doors.”
“What . . . ?”
Just then a dark shadow moved past the closest panes and
Jackie sat up. “We should pull the curtains over the windows.”
“Why?”
“To keep it out.”
“To keep what out?” Carolyn’s eyes were suddenly huge.
“Th
e werewolf.”
“I’m sorry. Th
e what?” But then Carolyn glanced at the
window, saw a blurred shape, and caught a glimpse of crimson
eyes. “Oh, my God, what’s that?”
Jackie grabbed Carolyn’s hand and dragged her to the door.
“Hurry!”
She was jarred to see a portrait of Barnabas hanging beside
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the portal, and she was attacked by a swarm of memories.
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Frantically, she fi xed the bolt, then turned and raced across the
drawing room and dragged the heavy curtain over the glass.
Running, she struck the table and a lamp fell to the fl oor.
“Careful,” whispered Carolyn as she followed on Jackie’s
heels, “we mustn’t wake Mother. She’s been ill. Of course, noth-
ing ever bothers Roger.”
Jackie looked around her, stunned by images of her recent
journey, and of another much more painful period in her life
when she had cast the spells that had destroyed two lives
. If you
want your Josette so much, then you shall have her. But not in the way
you imagined.
Th
en, shaking off her dizzying visions, she whis-
pered, “Carolyn, listen. Th
ere’s something out there.”
Th
e girl nodded, her face fl ushed. “Should we lock up the
kitchen? And the door to the hallway?”
“Yes. Hurry.”
Carolyn raced with Jackie toward the back of the house.
Behind the sink they saw through the window a dark shape
again, and something glistened. Carolyn jerked the curtain
down, then turned, her chest heaving. “I’ve always wanted some
excitement around here,” she cried, “but this is ridiculous.”
“Where else?”
“What about the ballroom? It’s never used, and the walls
are all French doors!” Th
e grand chamber with its huge var-
nished fl oor and marble statues shrouded with sheets greeted
the girls with a silence that seemed uncanny to Jackie, who had
seen it lit with a thousand candles only a few days earlier, over-
fl owing with bright couples gyrating to jazzy music. Th
en Caro-
lyn cried, “Oh, no! Look! Th
ere it is!”
Shuffl
ing outside the mullioned windows was a huge bearlike
creature bashing against the glass. Carolyn ran to bolt the two
doors to the drawing room, but when the werewolf caught the
moon’s gleam and Carolyn fi nally saw the grim visage clearly
through the pane, she cried out, “Jackie, it’s the wolf! Th
e one
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that’s been attacking people around here.” She ran back to the
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foyer and closed and locked the double doors, and drew the French
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bolt, then said breathlessly, “It’s the one that got in the basement and mauled the exterminator’s son. We have to kill it!”
Jackie gasped, “Oh, no, it’s too dangerous.”
“Are you kidding? It’s just a wild animal. Although it’s a
pretty big one.” She grinned and grabbed Jackie’s hand. “Come
on. We’ll get Uncle Roger’s gun. Th
e one he keeps in the secre-
tary. I know where he hides the key.”
Th
ere was an air of recklessness in Carolyn that reminded
Jackie of Liz, Carolyn’s mother, at the same age. She remembered
her clinging to the running board of the car, the gun raised to her shoulder. Her slender body was afi re with the same energy, and
her face beneath her golden hair was fl ushed with excitement.
As Jackie raced behind her into the drawing room, her mind
whirled in panic. Th
e werewolf was Quentin. Th
ey couldn’t kill
him. Somehow she had to stop it. But how?
David bolted out of Rose Cottage and soon the snow- covered
earth was fl ying beneath his feet. His shoes crunched
through the crust and his chest ached from breathing the frozen
air. His body was sluggish from the drugs, and the path was
farther from the house than he remembered, too far for his
screams to have been heard. His thoughts were spinning. He
had been in Rose Cottage! He remembered now, Elizabeth had
off ered Dr. Blair Rose Cottage for his laboratory. Damn Aunt
Elizabeth! Th
at guy was a maniac.
Far off the howls of the werewolf echoed across the snow,
and running, his throat raw, the cut on his chest oozing blood,
David kept his hand on his heart— not too bad, only a surface
wound, and Jackie would heal it with her tears, if only— Oh,
God, he must hurry! Ahead Collinwood rose against the dark
sky, its turrets, chimneys, long slate roof, and arched windows
all painted in silver. He stopped a moment and turned back to
see the source of the light.
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And there she was! Artemis, goddess of the moon, driving
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her chariot across the sky. David could feel her breathing down
on him. Th
e wolf howled again, closer now, a sound so high-
pitched it ripped his nerve endings. Had something caught it to
make it scream in such agony? David ran, stumbled, his breath
a hoarse wheeze. Up ahead was the Great House, for over a cen-
tury the refuge of secrets. He could see the tower where he
had slept ever since he was a boy— the same tower where he had
found the painting— and the windows where he had looked out
at the sea.
Th e stone walls were as impenetrable as a medieval castle’s
.
Th
ere his family had lived out their lives haunted by memories of
unthinkable deeds. Th
is was all to be his: this land, this man-
sion, the Collins name, and an inheritance of denial and shame.
As he ran he thought of what an odd childhood he had
known after his mother’s death, so many hours alone, wandering
through closed-
off deserted rooms, encountering melancholy
ghosts, stealing into secret passages, and one, just one, that must still be intact— in the library— tucked behind the dusty books
never read. If it were still there, he promised himself he would
read them all.
How close he had been to death! Barnabas had appeared out
of nowhere, the vampire he had thought was his rival had come
to save him, unlocked his shackles, and given him his blessing—
laid no claim on Jackie, none what ever, he had insisted with a
rueful smile.
“Do you really love her?” he had asked.
“Yes,” David had answered, “more than all the world.”
“Th
en you must go to her. You must not let anything stand
in your way.” No, nothing, unless— Th
e mournful howl sounded
farther away, as if from across the sea, but David thought it was
from the Old House, and if she were there— his body spasmed
with shudders— he imagined Perseus riding the waves to free
Andromeda, the Gorgon’s head beneath his arm, his sword
ready to slay the sea dragon who had chained the maiden to the
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rocks. Th
e waves buff eting her body, the monster’s huge jaws—
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Th
e wolf howled again as though it would tear the moon
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out of the sky, an echo reverberating, and then another, and
David thought he saw the creature gamboling through the
snow, a rude beast hunched over and huge, lifting its snout to
sniff the air, its eyes glinting. He looked back over his shoulder certain he heard footsteps not his own and then he reached the
pavers silvered in the blue light, the tiles of the portico, the
kitchen door, and grasped the handle— only to fi nd it locked!
Backing up he looked to the window and called out. “Help!
Somebody help! Open the door!” Th
ere was no answer, only the
wind sighing in the trees like a giant’s breathing.
Desperately he ran to the kitchen door and rattled the lock.
“Carolyn! Aunt Elizabeth? Somebody?” He sped around the
house and across the fl agstones of the terrace. All the doors
were bolted and the curtains closed. Th
ere was barely a glimpse
of light from within. He rapped on the glass and cried out
again, with no response. He was growing hysterical, banging
harder. “Father? Carolyn? Hurry. Please. Somebody!” Th
en he
was certain he heard the beast— a rumbling growl— on the
ballroom side of the house where there were so many windows.
Looking up, David could see three stories above his head,
his own room in the tower. Th
e vines snaked up the stones all
the way to his window, which was always left open. He was
fond of the sea air and couldn’t sleep without its caress on his
face. He backed up to gauge the distance. He had shinnied up
those vines many times when he was a boy, and they still looked
strong enough. In the glare of the moon, he could easily see his
old handholds. Grasping one of the thickest branches and hoist-
ing himself up, he began to climb.
Th
e vines were old and some branches were brittle and de-
cayed; others were broken and stabbed his hands. He struggled
to fi nd a foothold, slipped, and caught himself swaying. When
he was looking down at the fl agged porch along the terrace, and
the wide expanse of snow- covered lawn that fell to the sea, he
saw— there! Moving close to the ballroom windows the were-