Chapter 54: Unraveling
by Nicky
(Voiceover by Don Briscoe): “The majestic house of
Collinwood stands in 1897
much as it will seventy years in the future, and
through a curious trick of
time, four people within its walls find themselves
alive in the past and their
own future. Plotting and scheming has always been an
inherent way of life for
the Collins family, and their counterparts in the
dwindling years of the
nineteenth century are no different. But an end is
already nearing for several
unfortunates lingering on the great estate, and a wave
of new darkness will
come crashing down around them.”
1
The change had happened again that night, sucking his
soul out of his body,
dragging him down a long, twisted corridor of
nightmare as his flesh and bone
underwent a hellish transformation. Quentin Collins technically
did not exist
under the light of that night’s full moon, the last,
until next month; the
beast that caught a young deputy out on his beat by
the docks and tore him to
pieces that fell and floated and then sank beneath the
brine was nothing human,
nothing of this earth. And when he awoke that morning,
disheveled and covered
in a sticky crimson paste that stained his fingers and
his mouth, he thought he
might go insane. He truly thought he might.
My son, Quentin thought now, as he made his way through
the woods towards a
house where the key to his probable salvation dwelled;
I am doing this for my
son. I have to go to here, to this house, to find this
man that I don’t even
known, overcoming any differences we may have had,
swallowing my pride ...
He grinned now, humorlessly, and his teeth glinted in
the early morning sun,
fresh and white and brushed. I have no pride left, he
thought. It’s been torn
out of me by the silver light of the full moon.
Beth had wept again, even as she helped him into the
bath, washing away the
traces of blood and gore, and god help him — god help
them both — she had
kissed him, and he had allowed her to do it, had even
kissed her back. But it
was wrong, because it wasn’t Beth he saw when his eyes
were closed and her
mouth pressed tightly against his.
Instead he saw his brother’s future bride.
He saw Victoria Winters.
A groan escaped his lips. You are truly a fool, he
thought, a vain, stupid
fool. Look at the destruction you have wrought, and
you know you can’t blame
Magda. You left your wife a drooling lunatic, saw that
children you didn’t even
know you had were doomed before they left their
diapers, allowed Beth to
believe that you love her, and now intend on stealing
another of your brother’s
wives. Why don’t you end it now, Quentin? Why don’t
you just kill yourself?
And the horror was simple. He didn’t want to die. He
wanted to live. Miranda
DuVal’s spell had brought him back from the endless
depths of eternity, and
there had been a fearsome price ... but he still
wanted to live. He was Quentin
Collins, by god, and he wasn’t a coward.
His grin resurfaced. I guess that old Collins pride
isn’t gone after all. Or at
least a trace remains, enough that I have to come
crawling to an enemy for
sanctuary, for the possibility of a cure. Barnabas
Collins isn’t human, and he
may be able to help me. He may know something about my
curse.
Or he may tear my throat out with his teeth. I think
it’s a win-win situation.
He was still grinning when he knocked briskly on the
front door of the Old
House three times. The house seemed less foreboding in
the crystalline light of
day, and for a moment he could almost imagine it as it
must have been when it
was built a century ago: a white, glittering
masterpiece of architectural
design, now sadly plunged into ruin. He might cry for
it if he had any tears
left.
The front door opened a suspicious crack, and Magda
Rakosi’s dark face peered
out at him sullenly. “Get out of here, Quentin,” she
snarled. “I already took
the trash out for today.”
He said nothing, merely pushed past her and breezed
into the house, then looked
around. Whatever else Barnabas might be, he had
excellent taste. Magda and
Sandor had restored the house to a pristine condition.
The furniture was new
and spotless, and new rugs of bright blue and green
sat on the hardwood floor.
The portrait of a woman with dark hair and wide,
suffering eyes dominated the
wall above the fireplace, and Quentin found himself
entranced by her beauty.
She reminded him of someone, and after awhile he
realized who. Victoria, he
thought; she has Victoria’s innocence, and a great
deal of her charm. But her
eyes are haunted. By what? Something that was done to
her, something that was
to come? I wonder who she was. I wonder how she died.
“Get out of here, Quentin,” Magda said from behind
him, dangerously.
“I’m here to see your master,” he said, and turned to
face her. Her eyes were
black and furious, like hard flecks of obsidian.
“Though it just occurred to me
that he isn’t in yet. That’s all right, Magda; I’ll
wait.”
“Mr. Barnabas has gone into town,” Magda said.
“I doubt that.”
Her brow furrowed. “Don’t mock me, Quentin. You know
what I done to you, but
you don’t know what I still can do. I ain’t a witch
like that blonde chiovanni
with skin like a fish you’re so hungry for, but I got
powers. Oh yes. Never
forget that. Magda Rakosi got powers.”
“I am acquainted with your powers, Madam Gypsy,”
Quentin said, “but the fact
remains that I’m going to wait for your master until
he ... returns.” He smiled
enigmatically, and knew it infuriated her.
Magda squinted at him. “What you smiling ‘bout, eh?
What you look so smug for?”
“Because I know that Barnabas Collins isn’t in town at
all. He’s right here.
Right here with us.”
“You’re a fool.”
“So I’ve told myself already,” he said. “Repeatedly.
But Magda, I know the
Secret. I know all about Barnabas Collins.”
Her face paled if that was possible, and she began to
pluck nervously at the
garish jewelry that dangled from her neck. “What do
you mean? What do you know
‘bout any ‘secret’?”
“I know that Barnabas isn’t just a secret,” Quentin
said. “He’s the Secret,
Magda. Grandmama’s Secret that nearly died with her.
Everyone comments on the
portrait of the original cousin Barnabas that glowers
so dour in the foyer at
Collinwood. Only we both know that there is no
‘original cousin Barnabas’,
don’t we Magda.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed.
“Barnabas Collins never sailed for England. He stayed
right here, in
Collinsport. Chained in his coffin in the secret room
for all eternity. Except
it wasn’t eternity. That’s what the Secret meant. In
case he ever got out, we
were to be told. And he did get out. Do you know how
he was able to survive the
past century in a coffin, Magda? I’ll bet you do, you
clever Gypsy lady. It’s
because Barnabas Collins is a vampire, isn’t he.” His
smile disappeared, and
his voice grew into a roar. “Isn’t he?” he screamed,
and Magda recoiled.
“Get out of this house, Quentin Collins,” she spat.
“You’re insane.”
“I’m not leaving, Magda, I told you,” Quentin said.
“He’s the only one who can
help me. He has powers too, I know he does. He must.
And he will help me.”
Magda laughed. “Help you? What makes you think Mr.
Barnabas can help? What
makes you think he will?” Her face darkened. “What
makes you think I’ll let
him?”
“Oh, I think you’ll reconsider,” Quentin said, and his
voice was soft and
purring. “It seems there’s a few things about your
sister you didn’t know
either. Judith kept the truth hidden well, damn her.”
“What truth?”
Quentin threw back his head and laughed. “What a witch
you are, Magda. What an
all-knowing sorceress. And you called me a fool?” His
laughter grew louder and
more mocking, and echoed about the room, tinged with
despair. “Do you know what
you’ve done? Do you have any concept?”
“Don’t you laugh at me,” she cried, panic beating her
voice like the wings of a
bird.
“You’ve doomed them, Magda, just like you doomed me,
with your curse, your
nasty, selfish blood-curse.”
Magda’s eyes were very wide, and she froze. When she
spoke, her voice was
hushed, a whisper. “Who are you talking about,
Quentin? Who have I doomed?”
“Don’t you know?” he hissed. “Don’t you see? Your
sister had children, Magda.
Twins. A boy and a girl.” Magda’s mouth opened and
closed, and she drew her
hands to her mouth in horror. “You’ve cursed your own
niece and nephew, Magda,
do you hear me? You’ve cursed us all!” He gripped her
by the arm and pulled her
into his face, and she stared up at him in terror, and
tears burned in her
eyes. “Now you will let me see Barnabas, do you
understand?”
“Yes, Quentin,” she cried, defeated, and he allowed
her to press her face
against his chest and sob, “oh dear god, I’m so sorry
... so very sorry ...
god, god, god —”
“Don’t cry to god,” Quentin whispered, moved beyond
any power he could ever
imagine, and a voice inside him whispered, You earned
her rage, you know; you
earned her wrath and her enmity; you’ve earned your
curse, and if she is
capable of removing it, realize that she wouldn’t
remove it for you. Realize
that ... and forgive her anyway. Can you do that,
Quentin?
He thought he could.
She drew back, her eyes streaming and red, and
snuffled a little. “I will fix
this,” she said, and her voice was fierce and proud.
“See if I don’t.
Everything will be all right again. I swear it. I
swear it on my very own
name.”
“I’m afraid,” he said, and his own voice was husky,
“that may not be enough
this time.”
2
“You’re not going away!” Nora Collins voice was high
and shrill with
indignation, and her little hands were balled into
fists and planted firmly on
her hips. Her rosebud mouth quivered and her eyes were
round and wet with fury.
“You just got back! How can you leave me again?”
Laura Collins sank onto the bed in the indecently tiny
bed of the caretaker’s
cottage she had occupied since the unfortunate
disappearance of Dirk Wilkins.
She placed a weary, trembling hand against her
forehead and closed her eyes.
She swallowed, and took a deep breath. The pains had
begun after midnight, as
she sat before the fireplace and stared fixedly into
the flickering tongues of
flame. She never slept anymore because her body was
dead, and it would return
to death again soon, very soon. And she would never
have the chance to live
again if her body died before she could take it into
the fire — and bring her
children with her.
“No darling,” she said at last, and wouldn’t allow
herself to gasp. Nora
mustn't know anything was wrong. She might mention it
to Edward ... and she
couldn’t afford his questions. Not that he’d ever have
the consideration to
send for a doctor, she thought sourly, then decided it
might be in her best
interest that a doctor not see her. He wouldn’t find a
pulse, after all, and
her flesh was cold. Always so cold, and she, a
creature of the sun! “No,” she
said again, “I’m not going away.” She patted the bed.
“Come to me. Sit beside
your mother.”
Nora obeyed, but a frown still marred her cherubic
features. “I was in my room
at Collinwood,” she said petulantly, “playing with the
doll you got me for
Christmas before you went away —” Laura nodded,
surprised by the depth of
feeling that this casual, unconscious accusation
sparked within her. “— and I
just had this feeling that something was going to
happen to you ... something
... something bad.” Her lip began to tremble again,
and her voice quavered.
“And I thought you were going to go away without
telling us, just like you did
before, and I came to stop you!”
Laura enfolded her daughter in her arms, soothing her
and shushing her until
finally Nora’s sobs subsided. “Oh, my darling, my
darling,” she cooed, “I’m not
going to leave you. Not ever again. Mummy’s going to
stay right here until the
time is right ...” Her voice faded away, and Nora drew
back and peered up at
her mother with wide eyes.
“Til the time is right for what?” she asked.
Laura nearly smiled. Nora was so inquisitive, so
forthright. Her smile faded.
Just like her father. No matter. Soon, very soon, all
of this would cease to
matter, and she could sleep. For eternity.
“You were right, Nora,” Laura said, and her voice was
even and maintained and
honey-sweet, just as it always was when she dealt with
one of her children.
“I’m not going to leave you ... but I am going away.” Nora’s
eyes widened, and
her mouth began to pucker with fear. “And you’re
coming with me.”
“Where are we going, Mummy?” Nora whispered.
“To a far off place,” Laura replied, and her voice was
even more hushed and
singsong. “To a land many miles away from here, Nora.”
“Are we going by ourselves? Just you and me?”
“No, my darling. Jamison will come with us.” Her lips
quirked into a smile.
“And maybe someone else ... someone special. He just
doesn’t know it yet.”
“Who?”
“You’ll find out in time.”
“Can you tell me where we’ll go?”
“Yes, darling, but you must swear not to tell anyone.”
Nora nodded wordlessly.
“That scarab I sent to you was a promise, Nora, and it
will be kept. We’ll go
to a land where it’s sunny and warm all the time,
where there are tall, tall
trees that reach into the flawless blue sky and bear
the sweetest fruit you’ve
ever tasted. It melts on your tongue, and you never go
hungry, but you always
want more, and there will always be more for you to
eat. Your skin will bronze,
and you’ll run barefoot in the sand and collect
shells, and you’ll dance in
golden finery ...” Her voice trailed away into a sigh,
and Nora laid her head
on her mother’s shoulder.
“I love you, Mummy,” she said.
“I love you too, my darling.” Quentin, Laura thought,
and stroked her
daughter’s hair. Why do I feel this way for you? Why,
after all this time, do I
have these useless, human emotions? The pain stabbed
at her again, vicious
needles darting in and out of her breast, between her
eyes, in the soles of her
feet. Her mouth felt full of broken glass and wet
autumn leaves.
Ignore the pain, she told herself fiercely. Ignore it.
Ignore it. And,
“Darling,” Laura said carefully, “have I ever told you
the legend of the
Phoenix?”
3
The sun vanished beneath the horizon. The last
lingering golden rays traced
their way lovingly along the cold gray stones of the
lighthouse wall, stroking
them almost tenderly, and then vanished completely.
The body of Tim Shaw sat in a corner. His eyes stared
forward blankly; his arms
were wrapped around his knees. The fabric of the fine
clothes Miss Judith
Collins had bestowed upon him were now torn and
muddied. His face was pale and
hectic, and his eyes were too wide and too white, and
the pockets beneath them
looked bruised and purple. The twin wounds on his
throat stood out starkly
against the too-white flesh, spotted with black specks
of stubble.
And inside of him, the spirit of Edith Collins raved.
A fine witch was she, all right; wasn’t that the
pretty truth? Bound, trapped
in this meatsack, this treacherous bag of flesh and
bone, unable to leave of
her own volition, to find another body or even to just
throw up her spirit
hands in defeat and return to the darkness that was
her ultimate reward. She
had fallen under the spell of the creature that had
appeared to her so
unexpectedly (and so familiar she was, and for the
life of her Edith wasn’t
sure why), and it had all been too easy, damn it all
to hell, too blasted easy!
And to make matters worse, the vampire she was now
slave to had summoned her,
and Edith was certain that the witch “controlling” the
former Miss Trask had no
idea. Edith had awakened on Tim’s bed; she felt weak,
and when she tried to
stand Tim’s muscles betrayed her and dropped her
unceremoniously on the floor.
She had crawled back to the foot of the bed, and after
a half hour had managed
to reach the summit and flopped, slick with sweat and
nauseated with her head
spinning in looping circles, back onto the flat and
rather austere mattress.
She had lain that way all day, and had sent away
anyone (including Judith) who
had come to check on Tim, and was annoyed with herself
when she found herself
stroking the marks on her neck and wishing for
nightfall.
Then, a half hour before, she heard Charity summoning
her, heard the hunger and
greed in her mind’s voice, and heard also the fear
should she be caught by
Miranda and punished.
This gave Edith pause. Perhaps she could allow the
other witch to know that her
pet vampire was being disobedient. Perhaps —
A shadow fell over her, and she groaned. Charity Trask
was beautiful now in the
rays of the rising moon, two days past full. Her red
lips were stretched into a
grin, and her sharp teeth lay curved over them like
porcelain. Her eyes were
red and depthless, and Edith was helpless to look
away.
“You can do nothing to fight me,” Charity said. Her
breasts beneath the
billowing white nightgown she wore did not heave, nor
did they rise or fall;
Edith was horrified to find that Charity didn’t
breathe at all. Her hair fell
unfettered down her back in a shimmering golden tide.
“You are mine, Timothy,
completely and utterly mine.”
“I am not ... Timothy,” Edith managed to wheeze.
Charity shrugged. “Perhaps not right now. But someday
you will be again. I know
there is a demon inside of you — an insect that does
not belong — and I’ll rid
myself of it soon. Crush it beneath my heel. Then
Timothy will be free. We’re
going to be in a world very different from the one we
live in now. A world
without end.” She opened her arms, and Edith was on
his feet before she
realized that she was even bending his knees. She
closed her eyes and
swallowed, loathing that dreadful sense of
anticipation that shivered in her
stomach, loathing the erection that pressed into her
host’s tattered knickers,
and loathing herself most of all, for allowing this
most humbling humiliation
to come to pass.
She felt Charity’s teeth sink into the familiar wounds
on Tim’s throat, and
then everything was lost in a red whirling haze that
led her down into a deeper
darkness.
4
Barnabas’ face was gaunt in the light cast by the
flickering blue candles that
rose like ghostly fingers from the ancient candelabra.
Quentin watched him with
impatience and fear and awe all mingling together on
his face. Barnabas
steepled his fingers and drew in a sharp breath.
Behind them, Magda leaned
against the wall, her face blank and unreadable.
“Oh for god’s sakes,” Quentin exploded at last, “isn’t
someone going to say
anything?”
Barnabas didn’t move. “I’m a fool,” Barnabas said at
last.
Quentin dropped his head. “You’ve said that already,”
he murmured. “Barnabas,
please. If anyone is a fool in this game, shouldn’t it
be me? Shouldn’t I have
been the one to confide in you more, to let you know
how this monstrousness all
began?” Barnabas’ admission that he came from a time
seventy years in the
future had proven quite a shock, but not as shocking
as if he’d revealed it,
say, two days before. “I could’ve told you the events
that led up to ...” His
voice trailed off. He still found it very difficult to
say the words aloud.
“Yes, but I knew that Magda was responsible somehow,”
Barnabas said, and the
Gypsy flinched behind him, but neither of them
noticed. “I was going to wait,
and watch, and try to do as little to change these
events as possible.” He
wheeled around, and the skin of his face was like
paper and his eyes glowed a
savage, lupine red. “I should’ve strangled you the
moment I heard your wretched
name!” he roared, and Magda wrapped her arms around
herself protectively, but
she did not look away. Her eyes were black and
miserable and defiant.
“No, Barnabas,” Quentin said, and laid a hand on his
cousin’s trembling arm.
“There is only one person to blame in all this mess.
Me. Magda’s vengeance was
deserved.”
“But has she the right to doom all your descendants to
the same madness?”
Quentin shook his head. “The sin of ignorance. She
didn’t know, just as I
didn’t know about Jenny, and in my stupidity, my
foolish lust for revenge, I
slit her throat.” Magda ground her teeth together, but
said nothing. “Besides,
you wouldn’t want to change what happened.” He smiled.
“I rather like the idea
of immortality.”
“But we don’t know at what price,” Barnabas said. “You
— the future you —
didn’t elaborate much. We know that a Count Petofi
engineered a cure for you,
but you never told us why, or who he was, or what his
price was.”
“Suppose my absence in the future undoes everything
you’re trying to save?”
Quentin asked. “What if I have to be there? Changing
the past is a tricky
business, Barnabas, but you and ... and your amazing
companion seem bound and
determined to save us all, god knows why.”
Barnabas bowed his head. “I owe this family a great
debt, Quentin,” he said.
“You have no idea.”
“I think maybe I’m beginning to.” He threw back his
head and laughed. Barnabas
and Magda blinked at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, and
wiped a tiny tear from the
corner of his eye, “but this is very amusing. Here I
thought you’d have the
mystical, magical solution to my problem, and you’re
as in the dark as I am.
Even seventy years from now, you’ll still be in the
dark.” The laughter dried
up almost immediately. “Come to think of it,” he said,
“that’s rather
depressing.”
“I may be unable to help you,” Barnabas said, “but I
may know someone who can.”
He walked slowly to the ivy-covered window that peered
out into the black,
starless night. Ghostly illumination began to glow
emerald around his face, and
he called in a soft, halting voce, “Angelique! Hear my
call ... hear my summons
... and appear to us ... we have need of you,
Angelique ... desperate need ...
appear to me ... now!”
Quentin frowned, and exchanged confused glances.
“Angelique?” he mouthed
silently, but Magda only shrugged.
His questions were answered a moment later.
Crystalline, shattering laughter began to echo
mockingly around the room, until
all three pressed their fingers against their ears.
Darkness coalesced in the
center of the room, and within a green phosphorescence
flared, and a woman’s shape
began to take form. A moment later a beautiful blonde
woman stepped into
reality. The mauve and blue dress she wore clung
snugly to her figure, and the
high collar gave her a stately, almost regal
appearance. Her eyes flashed a
wicked blue. “You have summoned me, Barnabas,” she
said, and her voice was rife
with fury, “and you are very fortunate that I have
consented to appear.”
“Angelique —”
“Miranda,” she hissed, and cast a hooded glance to
Quentin and Magda. “How many
times must I tell you, Barnabas? My name is Miranda
here, and you will call me
that. You understand what I can do if —”
Barnabas sighed. “Miranda, then,” he said, and she
relaxed. Her smile
reappeared, and she brushed her golden ringlets back
over one shoulder, and
batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at Quentin. “I must
ask a favor of you,
Miranda. A very great favor indeed.”
“Of course, Barnabas,” she purred. “Why else would you
summon me? Surely it
couldn’t be because you want to spend time with me.”
“You two know each other?” Quentin asked, startled.
“For several generations,” Miranda said. “Barnabas and
I go way, way back.” She
turned back to Barnabas, and folded her arms
expectantly across her breasts.
“All right then, Barnabas, what is it? What is of such
great importance that
you have to make me such an impassioned plea to
appear?”
“It is not for myself that I have summoned you,”
Barnabas growled. Miranda
raised her eyebrows, then turned, following his gaze.
“Quentin?” she asked. “Again? Surely not. It seems
like only a few days ago
that I last helped him.”
“It was a few days ago,” Quentin said, his voice testy
indeed, “and I’m not
sure I would call what you did ‘help’.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” she asked, bored, and
examined one immaculately
shaped fingernail. “What more can you ask?”
“A lot more,” Quentin said, and explained the events
of the past few days. When
he finished, Miranda eyed him with one raised eyebrow
and a mocking smile
curled on her lips.
“My,” she said, and her eyes flashed from Quentin to
Magda, “you two have been
busy, haven’t you.” She tossed her curls. “What makes
you think I can do
anything to help you?”
“Because I think you’re responsible for part of what
has happened here,” Magda
said, startling them all. Her sparkling dark eyes
never left Miranda’s, and her
lined mouth curled into a sneer. “You did something to
him, didn’t you,
sorceress? There was a stain on your magic, and it
left a trace ... and
something else.”
Miranda’s eyes had narrowed dangerously. “I don’t know
what you mean,” she said
firmly, but her lips quivered ever-so-slightly, and
Barnabas and Quentin
noticed, and exchanged knowing glances. “I doubt you
do either. Amateurs,” she
said, disgusted, and shook her head.
“Something came back with me,” Quentin said icily. “A
demon, a ghost, I don’t
know what it was. It wanted something. Demanded
something. A price. It said a
die for a die wasn’t enough.”
“Oh, is that all?” Miranda said, and laughed
musically. “Quentin, you needn’t
look so apprehensive. It’s common enough. The magic I
performed was difficult
to say the very least, never to be attempted by
amateurs, and is ever only
successfully worked by the most powerful of practitioners.” She smoothed the
hem of her skirts delicately and smiled a tiny cat
smile to herself. Magda
rolled her eyes. “It required that a sacrifice be
made, which I was more than
willing to make. Ordinarily it must be hand-picked by
he who will be
resurrected, but your dearly departed wife didn’t give
you much of an
opportunity, did she.”
“Why, you —” Magda snarled, but Barnabas silenced her
with a glare.
“So you’ve become a werewolf,” Miranda said. “That’s a
particularly ironic
curse, don’t you agree, Magda?”
“I wasn’t that specific,” she spat.
Miranda raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I say. I didn’t ask for Quentin to become
a werewolf. I used the
Vessel of Anubis to punish him, to bring out what was
inside.”
“Fascinating,” Miranda said. She stroked her chin, and
stared at Quentin
fixedly until at last he dropped his eyes and shuffled
his feet. She glided
towards him, and he flinched away as she reached out
one pale hand towards him.
She laughed coldly. “I need you to hold very still,
Quentin, if I’m to help you
at all. You must do everything I tell you.”
“What are you going to do to him?” Barnabas’ voice was
sharp and grated with
barely constrained fear.
“I’m going to look inside,” Miranda whispered. Her
fingertips brushed against
Quentin’s forehead, and both closed their eyes. Their
mouths dropped open in
silent screams of what could be agony or ecstasy as
white light bloomed around
them in twining, swirling streams.
*She was in the forest, in a glade, but she wasn’t
alone. She looked to her
right and Quentin was there, and he saw her, and was
afraid. The moon rode
through the sky above them, full and white like bone.
They both turned, and
found that they were facing a clearing. A man stood in
the center, his eyes
closed, his face raised to the mother moon. He had
just finished disrobing, and
his clothes were piled in the center of the clearing
in a tidy pile. As the
moonlight splashed over his skin, it erupted with
burst and springs of shaggy
black hair. He dropped his head, and a tortured scream
fell from his lips, and
they both saw through the bestial mask his face had
become the features of the
man who had once been Dirk Wilkins. Teeth the size of
piano keys pressed at
crooked angles from his jaw, and his nose and mouth
twisted and were forced out
into a wet, snuffling snout. He raised his hands to
the blackened sky, and they
were hooked and snaggled paws. The monster tried to
scream again, but only a
howl emerged, a tortured cry of a creature that was
damned. She turned to
Quentin —*
— and released him. They both fell apart, gasping, and
Miranda wiped the sheen
of sweat from her forehead. Her cheeks were ruddy, and
her eyes glowed a fierce
blue.
“What did you see?” Barnabas demanded.
“Of course,” Miranda breathed, still winded. “Of
course!”
“I don’t understand,” Quentin said. “What ... what was
that?”
“Wilkins was a werewolf,” Miranda said. “I should’ve
guessed.”
“Wilkins?” Barnabas asked.
“No, it makes sense,” Quentin said. “The night of the
moon ... he always
disappeared. Grandmama always assumed he went off into
town to get drunk, and
Judith didn’t seem to care at all. Edward never gave
him the time of day. And
there was a girl a few years ago — she was found on
the rocks at Widow’s Hill.
Everyone thought she jumped, but her throat was torn
in such a way ...” He
pounded his hand into his fist. “Of course! That was
the around the time
Wilkins came to work for us.”
“A werewolf is unable to be killed by natural means,”
Miranda said. “The spell
I used to bring Quentin back to life killed Wilkins’
mortal body, but the
werewolf spirit lived on.”
“Inside of me,” Quentin said, and glowered at her
darkly.
“That was what the demon meant,” Barnabas said. “It
wasn’t enough. He — it —
wanted to torture you.”
“Either I accept the wolf completely,” Quentin said
slowly, “or I would have
had to go back with it.”
“And Magda’s curse released it,” Miranda said, and
almost sounded delighted.
“It left your subconscious where it would’ve continued
to torture you with
Dirk’s thoughts, Dirk’s savage wolfen desires, and set
up shop in your body.
Congratulations, Gypsy. Perhaps I was wrong in calling
you an amateur.” Magda
turned away, her head low.
“So this is your fault after all,” Barnabas said, and
Miranda spun to glare at
him. “You fool. Your magics have destroyed another
member of this family. Well
I won’t have it, do you hear me?” He raised his cane
threateningly. “I won’t
have it!”
Miranda’s hand flashed out, quicksilver, and the cane
trembled in Barnabas’
hand, then clattered to the floor. He stared at it,
his mouth fixed and grim,
then glared at her. His nostrils flared. But he said
nothing. Her eyes burned
into him. “You will never raise your hand to me again,
Barnabas Collins. Not
unless you want everyone in this family to die,
because that is what will
happen if I will it to be so.”
“You don’t have that kind of power.”
“Don’t I?” Her smile was beatific, her words smug.
Both stung him like hornets.
“Shall we ask dear Josette? I could conjure her up for
you right now. It would
be dreadfully easy, you know. How would you like to
see her now, mon amour? Her
rotten, black flesh, the wedding dress tattered and
filthy, her face shattered
and torn?”
“Witch,” Barnabas snarled, and turned away, shaking
uncontrollably.
“Besides,” Miranda continued brightly, “it isn’t my
fault at all. Magda’s curse
is the true culprit. I could’ve dispelled the demon
easily, and Quentin would
be free.”
Quentin’s eyes shone with hope. “Is it that simple?”
he said, and took her
hand. “Could you release me from this curse?”
Miranda hesitated. “No,” she said softly. “It won’t be
easy, Quentin. It’s
inside of you now. A part of you.” Her eyes darted to
Magda. “And not just you.
Your son and daughter both carry the curse, and will
pass it on to all their
male heirs. I will have to free you and free them, and
I don’t know exactly how
to do that.” She smiled. “But have faith in me,
Quentin. My powers are vast. I
will find a way to cure you of this beast, I promise
you that.”
5
The big man adjusted his glasses and sipped gingerly
from the tea cup he had
been handed, then set it carefully back into its
saucer and dabbed at his mouth
with the embroidered linen napkin with a hand hidden
behind a black glove. Dear
me, he thought, how extremely bourgeois. How in the world
have I managed to
stoop so low?
Evan Hanley rubbed his palms together briskly and
grinned his nervous,
weasel-toothed grin. “There is a great deal of
mystical energy in Collinsport,
as you may know,” he said. “It draws a certain type of
... individual to our
little part of the coast. I myself am the head of
Collinsport’s only coven.”
“Indeed,” the big man said in his husky voice. “How
charming.”
Evan’s smile faltered. His eyes glanced to the
sandy-haired man in the blue
smock leaning against his mantle, but that man’s eyes
were fixed on the flames
flickering like snake tongues in the fireplace. “We
are honored to have you
here, Excellency,” he said. “Honored. We’ve never
known anyone so esteemed, so
... so powerful.” His tongue flickered out and skated
across his lips quickly
before it disappeared. The movement was not lost on
the big man, and he rolled
his eyes, huge and swimming beneath the thick polished
lenses of his
spectacles.
“I trust I have not been summoned here for foolish
reasons,” he said. “Your
flattery is most unbecoming, my dear Evan. I know very
well that I am the most
powerful man you have ever met; I don’t need another
lapdog to tell me that.”
He paused, and his eyes rested briefly on the nervous
man by the fireplace, and
his huge fleshy lips split into a grin. “Or perhaps I
do. Charles is not so
forthright with his compliments.”
“Forthright,” the man by the fireplace chuckled. The
big man thought it might
be a chuckle, though it sounded suspiciously like a
sob. “Compliment,” he
added, and shook his head. His wet eyes never left the
fire.
“Your Excellency,” Evan began, struggling to sound
humble, “I promise you, you
have not been summoned without great accord. I know
what you are seeking, and I
think I may be able to help you.”
The big man was on his feet in an instant, and the
ungloved hand seized the
lawyer’s collar and drew him close against the swell
of his belly. His foul
breath seared Evan’s nostrils, and his grin was huge
and leering. “You’ve found
the Hand, Evan? Is that it? Found it and not told me
until now?”
“No,” Evan gurgled, and tried to bat the big man’s
hand away. “Not ... not the
Hand. Something ... something else —”
The big man released him, and Evan sagged, gagging,
against the fireplace. He
rubbed his throat and glared at the big man. “There is
nothing else,” the big
man said dismissively. His smile vanished. “I shall
have to kill you now, you
know. I do so hate to be disappointed.”
“It isn’t nothing!” Evan squeaked. His cheeks were
very pale, and his mustache
twitched above his upper lip like something alive. “I
swear to you, Excellency
—”
“Don’t swear to him,” the sandy-haired man said. His
eyes were huge and round,
like blue marbles. “Swear on your own name, but never
his.”
“That’ll be quite enough, Charles,” the big man said.
“Dear Evan’s rantings
begin to intrigue me. Tell me, friend lawyer, what
could you possibly have that
would help me?” He grinned humorlessly, and his teeth
below the wool of his
mustache were square and stained.
“The Vessel of Anubis,” Evan managed. His forehead
shone with sweat, and he
mopped his face vigorously with his handkerchief.
The big man’s eyes lit up. “Really? How exquisite.
Yes, I do believe that could
help me, Evan. I believe it could help me very much.”
He waved a hand
imperiously. “Go fetch it, that’s a laddie.”
Evan paled. “I don’t have it just at the moment,” he
said. The big man’s brow
began to crease, and Evan added hastily, “But I know
who has it, and I think I
can get it from her.”
“Her?” the big man asked, and his voice was low and
purring and dangerous.
“Whom do you mean?”
“The woman’s name is Magda,” Evan replied. “She’s a
Gypsy who lives at the —”
The big man was on his feet in a moment. “A Gypsy?” he
said, his eyes wide with
incredulous horror, and when Evan didn’t answer, he
roared, “A Gypsy? There are
Gypsies in this place?” He thrust out a hand, and Evan
was sent sprawling by a
bolt of energy. The big man towered above him, his
face working like a nest of
snakes lay beneath it. “Answer me,” he said in a voice
of thunder. “Answer me
now, boy. I grow impatient. And when I grow impatient,
people have a nasty
tendency to die.”
“Two that I know,” Evan wheezed. His voice trembled.
“They live on the Collins
estate, in the Old House. I think they’re the servants
of a man named Barnabas
Collins.”
The big man stroked his chin. “Barnabas Collins,” he
said, as if tasting the
name. In a moment he had seized his coat and hat, and
gestured towards his
companion. The other man stared at him as though
waking from a dream. “Come
along, Charles,” he said. “We have a long walk ahead
of us.”
“Where are you going?” Evan cried as he rose to his
feet.
“Why, to Collinwood of course,” the big man said. “I
don’t believe I can trust
you to procure for me what I desire very much, what I
need, what I must have to
survive. No, I shall have to find it myself, and wrest
it from the hands of
this ... Gypsy woman.” His mouth wrinkled up with
distaste. “The Vessel of
Anubis will lead me to the Hand, I know it. And once I
have the Hand ...” His
voice trailed off, and his eyes gleaming wickedly, he
and his companion
disappeared into the night.
His laughter haunted Evan’s dreams long after he
slept.
And dreamed of a man with one hand and all the power
in the world.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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