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A pale crescent moon sharpened the shadows on the lawn, and a gentle wind stirred the summer musk. Barnabas Collins paused to survey the estate, knowing already it was too late to call upon the occupants of the big house. It was a purposeless visit anyway -- he simply felt like conversation beyond that which Willie could offer.
He sighed, wondering about an alternative. The Blue Whale? But that meant the banality of exchange with some young woman of the street, and such was tolerable only when need forced him to harvest blood. No, he thought. Better to return to the silence of the Old House.
A night bird called, a lonely sound in the night. He looked in the direction of the sound and strained to see, but only darkness met his eyes. Finally, he started back, and the walk was made longer by the faint feeling of being watched.
The fire in the drawing room had burned down to glowing embers, indication that even Willie had abandoned him for Morpheus. Barnabas stirred the coals with a poker, eventually prodding a flame under the logs he'd added. Though the radiant heat of the fire was unable to warm away the chill unique to his 'peculiar metabolism' (Julia's recent euphemism) it helped illuminate the room and did provide a spot of animation in the otherwise somber house.
He selected a book by Victor Hugo (another reminder of Julia -- she'd selected most of his reading in an effort to bring him to date with two missing centuries) and sat with the intention of reading. But he found his thoughts wandering with the turn of each page. Why that sensation of being observed earlier? It hadn't been alarming, not at all like the feeling he had when he knew his existence was threatened. That was more like a mighty surge of adrenalin and keenly focused, as instinctive as his need for sustenance. This -- this was vague and puzzling, altogether different.
If only Julia hadn't gone to Boston for the week. Despite her foibles -- foremost of which was her ill-concealed affection for him -- she was an insightful reasoner. She would be able to assign a name to his recent feeling of unrest. Perhaps she would also have a theory about tonight's weird feeling.
He closed the book. No, he told himself, I'm glad she's away. Julia's devotion was touching but somewhat stultifying. Since her attempt at curing him failed, she had overcompensated by becoming his constant companion. Unspoken but evident was her willingness to offer her lifeblood to him; he couldn't allow that sacrifice. Even as a doctor, she was woefully ignorant of the plague with which she dealt.
This most recent failure had been the bitterest for him, to have been so close to normal human existence and then to see it slip away as he reverted to his former state. When Julia had proposed going to Boston to run tests on the sophisticated lab equipment at the university, he'd humored her. Give her hope, get her away before loneliness and despair so eroded his judgment that he might consider her vulnerable offer.
The dream of death faded and he pushed out of the confines of the satin-lined box. Another night --- it customarily meant repose, a graceful surrender to the natural world.
What an abomination I am, Barnabas thought as he closed the casket. Another night, opportunity to prey on innocent souls, deny peaceful repose to godly men, perpetuate an existence that was an affront to natural laws.
A light bobbed down the narrow stone walls of the cellar. Willie.
"Sorry I got here late, Barnabas."
"Fine, Willie," Barnabas said absently, unaware of the non sequiteur. Already the fog of hunger, a numbing chill, swept through him. "Must go out... get some air," he muttered by way of explanation as he pushed out of the damp cellar room.
Behind, Willie shook his head. Years now, and Barnabas still acted as if Willie didn't comprehend, couldn't see the signs of the necessity of existence for the vampire. Willie had seen that look growing up in the city, the pitiful pleading in the voice of an alley wino begging for a dollar for a bottle of wine, the desperate darting eyes of a junkie as he tied off his arm in search of an unpunctured vein. For those low-lifes of the streets, a search for oblivion. For Barnabas Collins, he mused glumly...
When opportunity denied and need compelled, a rape of spirit and body became necessary. But seduction was the best, because it made his partner a co-conspirator and fed a mental image of something holier. Then the blood was almost offered, gentle sips from a chalice of flesh.
He hardly felt the rain, but it ran down her face and, warmed by her body, mingled with the blood he suckled, a faint foreign odor in the heavy fluid. Her breath came in steamy, ragged gasps; his was steady, deep. She shifted and murmured something unintelligible; he maintained the relentless yet subtle attack, one of his hands clasping the woman's wrist behind her back, his other lightly cupping her plain face. Her pulse roared in his ears until he neared satiation, and then the hush of falling rain slowly segued in, rousing him to some alertness to his surroundings.
Warmth now coursed through his body. A dreamy feeling of contentment receded. He loosened his grasp on the woman and raised his head. The fog that had earlier clouded his senses was dissipated, and the night seemed crystalline in its clarity, despite the rain.
He looked dispassionately at the woman. Two centuries earlier, when he began his nocturnal sojourn, he despised his victims, transferring to them his revulsion and self-loathing. Time had intervened and changed that, however. He couldn't permit himself much agonizing on behalf of those on whom he fed, but he could no longer simply discard them either. Steadying the woman, he walked her down the brick-walled alley to a sheltered delivery area. It was a warm summer rain, and she would be all right in a few hours.
He set her down then straightened, looking around perfunctorily.
He froze. A woman stood at the entrance to the alley, watching intently. His first thought was one of wonder -- how could he not have detected her, felt her presence? Chagrin was of no use now; he had to find out how much she had seen. He began a measured pace toward her, reaching out with his mind to will her not to move.
And she didn't. As he grew closer, he took note of her features. Delicate, young; damp brown hair wreathing a placid, expressionless face. To his surprise, there was no fear in her eyes, no sign of alarm at his approach.
Completing his astonishment, she spoke first. "I have looked for you," she said softly.
He stopped before her unflinching figure. He was unable to sense her thoughts. "Who are you?"
"I am Christine."
As he stood there, momentarily nonplussed, she reached a hand toward him. "Come. We must talk."
She led him back to the street and they walked without a word for several blocks, finally reaching the seedy, abandoned buildings that demarked the edge of town. She turned suddenly to face him.
"What is your name?"
"Barnabas Collins."
"Barnabas. Collins," she repeated. "This place," she gestured behind them, "is named for you?"
He shook his head. "My family. Who are you?"
"I am as you are," she said simply. "I have looked for you."
He grasped her roughly by the arm. "You said that before. Why have you looked for me? What am I to you?"
She still remained calm. "We are the same, Barnabas Collins."
Realization. Was it possible? He studied her face in the darkness. She was young, lovely. But she didn't have the scent of the living. Her flesh under his fingers was soft. . . but not warm.
In his surprise, he released her. "I don't understand," he said, more to himself than to her. "How?..."
Christine smiled in acknowledgement of his confusion. "I felt your presence in the night. I had to find you. No one should be alone. Better that we should be together."
"Tell me how you knew I was here, how to find me," he paused, "what I am."
"I... felt you. Can you not sense others?"
"Only mortals."
"Oh, Barnabas Collins, you are young!" She laughed lightly. "You're not at all like I'd imagined."
"I didn't know --" he began.
"That there were others?" she asked with a slight tone of incredulity. "How did you come to be?" She noted his recoil and changed her tact. "I have walked at night for over forty years now. I was poor -- the times were bad. I lived in a dirty little camp with many others. One night, a man came -- he was different; clean, well-fed looking. He offered me a new life."
"This life -- have you liked this life?"
She stared at Barnabas then shrugged. "It is better than it was. Now I am not hurt by the things that hurt me before."
A silence passed between them, then Barnabas asked, "Why have you sought me?"
"It is lonely. Have you not found it so? I should think you would know better than I, since you've not had any contact with us."
"Who?" he growled, impatience getting the better of him.
"Those of us who walk through the darkness. We meet, from time to time, and it is easier knowing there are others. The loneliness would kill otherwise."
He said nothing though he knew well the truth of her statement. Alone through eternity was the cruelest of destinies. He'd tried to deny the enormity of it -- but the disaster of Julia's last experiment had reaffirmed the finality of his sentence. A life sentence, except that life would have no end.
He looked on the young woman. "Tell me more," he said.
Willie yawned and looked out the window. "Jeeze, Barnabas," he said to himself, "you're really pushin' it this mornin'."
True enough, a crimson streak edged the horizon, promising the brilliance of dawn. He watched the shape that was obviously Barnabas hurry across the tangle of the Old House's lawn and was surprised to see what could only be another figure moving in the opposite direction.
"I thought I saw someone with ya," he greeted Barnabas.
Barnabas lifted an eyebrow and handed his cane to the waiting Willie. "What did you see?"
"That's what I'm askin' you. Wasn't nobody I recognized." An idea occurred to him. "Say, you ain't been visitin' Maggie again...?"
"No," Barnabas said with confidence, walking to the cellar stairs and beginning a familiar descent.
Willie was at his heels, curious now. "You're not gonna say who it was?"
Barnabas opened the lid of his refuge. "Willie, as you know, I haven't the time for an inquisition." He sat on the edge of coffin, then turned and relaxed his gaunt frame. Through eyes narrowed with the onset of sleep and, in a somewhat gentler tone, he said, "I have met someone, Willie. Someone who promises to relieve the tedium of my existence." His eyes closed.
Willie looked away. He'd never liked this part, death at every sunrise. He closed the casket slowly. Who was this person Barnabas spoke of? The only person Willie could think of who had any effect on Barnabas' condition was Julia Hoffman -- but she was in Boston. So...who?
The next night she was waiting for him at the edge of the estate. She didn't speak but greeted him with her thoughts. Barnabas could detect feelings -- gratitude, relief, kinship. And desire.
She slipped her pale hand in his and whispered to him, "Tonight we will be as one." He felt ice like fire in her touch.
The breeze supported their gentle demands, shrinking the landscape to dimly lit geometric shapes. He saw each leaf tremble with the night, each star blaze its fire, the sea itself surge up to meet them.
And when she found one from whom to steal the bounty of life, he watched, with remote admiration, her swift beauty and gentle death.
At last, she came to him and stood before him, perfumed with the night. He reached for her, momentarily uncertain whether this dark vision might vanish at his touch. She yielded to his soft kisses. He heard the rush of warm blood in her veins and grew dizzy with want.
She arched her head to one side and he pierced her throat, tasting the sweet, hot blood. And as he drank, he could feel her stroking his arm.
"Mine," she murmured.
"Barnabas?" Julia looked in the drawing room, but it was empty.
"He ain't here." Willie stepped from behind the stairs.
Julia was startled at his sudden appearance, but said evenly, "Good evening, Willie. Has Barnabas gone out?"
"He's been out a lot lately."
She was too tired from the drive to endure Willie's truculence. "Did he say when he'd be back? I have some good news for him."
"Good news. Well, what mighta been good news two weeks ago might not be good news now."
"What are you talking about?"
"Nuthin'. I'm just sayin' that things has changed a little since you been gone. That's all." Then, sensing her growing exasperation, he added, "You can wait for him. He might be back early tonight." He doubted it.
She gave a thin smile. "I'll wait. This is important."
"You wanna cup a coffee?" She'd need it if she was planning to wait up for Barnabas.
Later, sipping the bitter, strong coffee, Julia extracted a small notebook from her purse and reviewed her notes. A breakthrough! The centrifuge at the lab in Boston had allowed her to isolate the malignant alpha cell that caused Barnabas' vampirism. She already knew how to treat the alpha cell -- it was the phantom bonding agent between it and normal cells that she'd been unable to neutralize. If she could "unglue" the alpha cell, then she would have a lasting cure for him. Most of her time in Boston had been spent trying various chemical reagents to dissolve the bond between the cells. Finally, she'd found it and now, she was certain, could effect a permanent cure. That was all that mattered.
She rubbed her eyes. The coffee wasn't strong enough to fight the fatigue of two long weeks.
She felt a presence in the room and her eyelids fluttered open. "Barnabas?"
He stood by the fireplace.
She looked at her watch. Three-fifteen. She'd been asleep for hours. "How long have you been here?"
"A little while. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so tired."
"It's been a long day," she admitted. "But I've found it, Barnabas. I've got the key now and it will work this time."
He turned to study the fire. "Yes?"
"I couldn't see the forest for the trees! The answer was right in front of me and I didn't see it. As soon as I can get to work, we can begin the treatments -- a week, perhaps less."
"There's no need to rush, Julia. Time is not an obstacle for me."
"Well, this is different. You've always been so anxious, impatient. Is something wrong?"
"No. . .nothing. . ."
"Something is wrong," she said, reading his response in the manner of one long accustomed to his moods.
He sat on the divan beside her, taking her hand in his. "Julia, I have thought a great deal on this matter. I am a displaced man. A cure for my body will not free me from my past, from memories of a life that I knew. How could I try to superimpose a new life over the old? I need... more time to decide how to proceed."
"I don't understand. We're so close -- you could have a normal life, be human again."
"Am I so much less than that now?" He dropped her hand and rose, his whole manner changed. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "I can see the whole panorama of time now -- why should I relinquish that for one brief flickering of life's light?"
Julia was stunned beyond speech. Barnabas was implying -- no, saying outright that he preferred his twilight existence to that of a normal man. This couldn't be true.
He must have read her expression because his voice softened to a familiar timbre. "Do not think me ungrateful. But I am uncertain now of the path I must take. I will not be coerced in my choice."
She ran a hand across her forehead. What now? What had happened in her absence to suddenly bring such doubt to his mind?
She awoke again, still on the divan. She blinked in the morning light, remembering with oppressing clarity the conversation of just a few hours earlier.
Yesterday, full of hope and enthusiasm; today, empty. She still didn't understand, and talking with Barnabas till the very edge of dawn had not made things clearer to her. His reluctance to discuss the rationale behind his late change of heart was mystifying as well. The choice was obvious to her; until recently, it had seemed obvious to him. What had occurred to change his mind?
She felt rebuffed, although he had been nothing less than his normal gracious self in behavior toward her. He had seemed glad to see her, genuinely concerned at her obvious exhaustion -- and yet he was different. What now? She had no firm place in his life except to offer a cure for his affliction; if he repudiated that cure, then he repudiated her as well.
She couldn't stay here as before, that was obvious.
Willie came in as she was getting ready to leave. He had brought fresh coffee, but she waved him off.
"You're not stayin'?"
"No."
"Oh. You talked to him."
"Yes. You were right, Willie. Things have changed." With a sad smile, she moved toward the door.
He stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Willie, I'm going home, my home. . .back to Wyndcliff. If he needs me, or if you need me, that's where I can be reached."
The doctor's departure was an ominous sign to Willie. Even in the beginning, when Barnabas viewed her more as an adversary than an ally, she'd never abandoned him. Now, she was going. What had he said last night to alienate her?
Barnabas hadn't been himself lately, that was for sure. He left promptly upon rising each night, returning only just before dawn. Sometimes Willie didn't even see him, so surreptitious were the comings and goings. Barnabas never confided much, even in his most expansive moments, but the secrets Willie shared had fostered a kind of intimacy with the master of the house. Even that seemed gone now.
Willie was confused, disturbed on a deeper level than even he realized. He tried to shake it off. Won't do no good to mope about it, he told himself. So Julia's gone, so what? She'll come back when Barnabas wants her to.
He took the pot of coffee back to the kitchen.
"You did not choose this existence," she said simply, the first words that had passed her lips all evening.
Barnabas said nothing, but continued walking up the worn path.
"You don't wish to speak of it?"
Finally, he stopped. He looked at her and then at the sky. "What has been for you a refuge from the horrors of life has been a black, black dream for me. An evil woman condemned me with this curse, after killing those dearest to me." He shut his eyes at the recollection.
Christine touched his arm. "I am sorry," she whispered. "I savor the night -- it never occurred to me that one of us would not."
He opened his eyes and forced a slight smile. "The nights have changed... They are better. The stars no longer look stale and cold. In my soul, I have hungered for you and I never knew..." His voice trailed off. "I cannot return to the emptiness..."
She stared into his eyes. "I will make you whole."
Julia eyed the pile of papers littering her desk. She'd just returned from early morning rounds -- the penance of a long-absent physician -- and was looking forward to a few hours sleep on the couch before her first appointment. But the papers would only increase, in the inimicable way of all paperwork, unless attended to. She decided to at least scan them before showering and changing.
She was still reading intently when the buzzer sounded to announce a call.
"Uh... It's me. Willie."
"Willie -- what is it? Is Barnabas all right?" She felt a momentary twinge at the eagerness with which she inquired as to his welfare; she hadn't heard from him in the three weeks since she'd been back at Wyndcliff.
"He's okay... and not, if you get my meaning," was Willie's hesitant response.
Irritated, Julia snapped, "I don't 'get' your meaning. Now what is going on?"
"Well, he's acting kinda crazy. He made me box up all your science stuff and told me it wasn't needed no more. He made me take down the pitcher of Josette and lock up her room. He's got me making excuses to the folks over at the big house for not comin' around anymore -- and lemme tell you, Roger Collins ain't got much patience with me anyways, so this ain't makin' me any friends over there." Willie sighed audibly. "Things is just different and I'm not liking it any. He never talks no more. I don't know what he's thinking. Hell, I don't even know where he goes anymore." He paused. "He told me he met someone."
"Who?"
"I dunno. I asked him but he wouldn't tell me. Just said it was somebody who was gonna help him somehow."
Julia thought quickly. Who could have such an influence on Barnabas? His silence had spoken volumes: he was no longer interested in a cure -- not from her hands, anyway. Why should she involve herself where she was obviously neither needed nor wanted? Was this person he'd met responsible for his sudden change in behavior? Could it be someone like Eric Lang -- someone who offered a cure?
No time for petulance, she chided herself. Was her friendship to be rationed on the basis of equitable return? She knew well her obligation.
"It's seven-thirty. I have patients till two, and it'll take me a couple of hours for the drive. I can be there by eight tonight -- is that okay?"
"It'll have to be. I gotta go to town this afternoon, but I'll meet you here around eight," he said. "Thanks, Julia. I knew you would come."
Julia hung up with a sense of foreboding. Perhaps she'd committed prematurely -- no single thing Willie had said was alarming. But the aggregate behavior was worth concern.
He'd taken down Josette's picture!
In earlier days, she might have welcomed the removal of that particular bit of memorabilia, something she'd always perceived as an obstacle to a different relationship between her and Barnabas. But, now, moving the portrait was only the last negligible step in a long series of peculiar actions.
He had a bad feeling about this.
Julia Hoffman's Buick was parked in front of the Old House, but the house itself was dark. Not like her. In fact, she routinely complained of eyestrain in the candlelight and would light three times the number of candles really needed.
As Willie entered, he noticed how quiet the house was. Even this house. Only the ticking of the clock on the drawing room mantel. Everything seemed in place. Except -- no visible sign of the doctor.
Maybe she had car trouble and left the car here while she walked to Collinwood. Willie knew that wasn't likely. Hers was a late model car, unlikely to fail, and even if it had, she would've waited for him. He was good with cars.
He went back to the kitchen. Julia's purse, a distinctively ugly shoulder bag, was on the table.
He looked at the cellar door. It was after dark and Barnabas would be gone by now, gone for hours already, if his recent behavior was any indication. No need to check down there.
Or was there?
A chill surged through him and he knew.
Willie opened the door and descended the steps slowly, quietly. There was a dim light ahead. He walked towards it.
A woman kneeled on the earthen floor. She was young, long-haired, and crouching over a shadow in the corner of the room. But it wasn't a shadow.
It was Julia Hoffman!
Willie put a knuckle to his mouth to choke back the bile that rose in his throat. The younger woman was making soft lapping sounds. There was a sound to his right and he whipped his head around. It was Barnabas, but Willie couldn't take much comfort from the sight. Barnabas was thrashing against the cold stone wall, his body conveying the image of one fighting to escape. But his face twisted with a look of longing. Willie wouldn't ever forget Barnabas' eyes, burning with anguish... and desire.
"Stop it," he exhorted Barnabas in a harsh, low voice. Barnabas didn't seem to hear him, but the woman looked up.
She beckoned to Barnabas, who seemed to will control into his body and stepped toward her.
Willie looked around for a weapon but there was none. "No!" he shouted.
Transfixed, Barnabas advanced without recognition of the sound.
The woman only looked briefly at Willie before turning her attention to Barnabas. She guided him to her position, kneeling beside the body, and whispered to him.
Willie was frantic in his helplessness. What was he going to do now? How to fight two of them? Maybe he should just run -- Julia was probably done for anyway, might as well save himself. But he couldn't. He owed her a try.
He rushed them, pushing the woman aside and locking his arms across Barnabas' shoulders. "No," he shouted again. "Not her, Barnabas -- not her! Get off!"
Barnabas yielded to the beating on his back by raising up and locking a hand on Willie's collar. "You," he said. "What do you want?"
Willie moaned, "Stop it, stop it, she never done nothing but good things for you. Better than you deserved, more than --." He stopped. A single drop of scarlet glistened in the corner of Barnabas' mouth. It silenced him with the force of a physical blow.
A mix of emotions seemed to cross Barnabas' face. Finally, he released Willie, then looked past him to the brown-haired woman and to the body on the floor.
"Get her out of here," he commanded Willie.
Willie carried Julia upstairs, frightened at how light she felt in his arms. He placed her on the bed as gently as he could and fumbled to light a candle.
She looked ashen in the eerie bouncing light. Still, she breathed. He cleaned the wounds on her neck and noticed a purple bruise on the side of her face. He piled blankets on her, having seen her treat shock before.
She slept deeply for an hour. When she awoke, she looked around with wide eyes before finally whispering his name with recognition.
"So lightheaded," she murmured.
"You're weak. Just lay there and rest."
She put a hand to her bruise. "A mirror. . ."
It seemed a peculiar request. He looked around and found an old hand vanity mirror.
Unsteadily, she rose on one elbow to examine her eyes in the mirror. Pupils dilated. Vision blurred. Difficulty in concentrating. Sharp pain.
She sank back on the pillow. "Willie, I need help. Concussion."
"What can I do?"
"A doctor..."
He gnawed his lip. How could he call in a doctor without explaining the wounds on her neck and her strange loss of blood? Even now he was reluctant to risk Barnabas to exposure. "I can't do that," he stammered. "Don't you remember? How would I explain this to anyone?"
Although she'd clearly heard his words, it took a moment for the meaning to register. How had she hit her head? She couldn't remember, she couldn't think. She remembered driving to the house to meet someone -- Willie? -- but he hadn't been there. Sensations came to her -- surprise, anger, fear. A dream of Barnabas. Was it real?
She felt herself slipping over the brink to darkness, and she fought to focus again. How long had she without medical attention? Depended on the severity of the injury -- a minor concussion would only need rest and observation; a severe one could cause her to lapse into coma.
She looked into Willie's anxious face. "Talk to me," she urged him. "Keep me awake." She was afraid to sleep.
"You're gonna be okay," he said with as much conviction as he could muster, given her pallor and her own diagnosis.
Despite his efforts, he couldn't prevent her from closing her eyes and giving in to sleep. He was, in fact, a bit relieved -- she looked peaceful enough and he couldn't believe that the rest wouldn't help her recover.
He had just begun to relax himself when some indefinable something made him sit up with a start. Barnabas was in the room. How did he get in here?
Willie moved protectively between Barnabas and Julia, not knowing what to expect, not knowing how to protect her with anything other than bravado.
Barnabas looked at Willie with dull, expressionless eyes. "She will recover."
"Yeah, well, maybe. No thanks to you in any case. Jeeze, how could you?"
There was a long silence. Then finally, "Do you think I don't realize?"
"She says she needs a doctor."
"Why haven't you taken her?" Barnabas asked sharply. "Were you afraid of me?"
"I was afraid for you," Willie said, swallowing.
Barnabas stepped to the window and put his hands on the panes. "You are a fool, Willie. You used to fear me; you should again. I've lost control. I have touched the limits of damnation and no redemption is possible now. Neither of you is safe." His shoulders sagged. "Take her and go."
Barnabas stood alone in the drawing room for a very long time.
He thought of Angelique and how exquisite her punishment. Consigned to an oblivion of uncontrollable lusts. He hadn't intended to harm Julia. But the actual event had seemed so much like other times with Christine; breathless wanting had clouded judgment, need obscured all.
He put his hands to his head. Why did he feel so torn between worlds? He'd made his decision not to risk another catastrophic 'cure' attempt, resigned himself to his fate as one of the living dead and found one of his own with whom to spend the long hours of the night.
Christine had been understanding when he voiced his belated horror at the attack on Julia; that is to say, she was sympathetic to his concern. But she obviously didn't perceive the taking of Julia's blood as intrinsically wrong or cruel. To her, it was the most basic fact of her existence.
"I'm sorry for wounding you," she had apologized. No emotion for the victim she'd smashed to the floor, no regret for the blood she'd stolen.
Barnabas shrank with shame at the memory of his brief enjoyment of the taste before Willie's interruption. Julia had been the font of his moral rebirth -- and now she had nourished him, albeit unknowingly, physically as well. Her previous willingness to do so did not mitigate the crime.
He could no longer exist in two worlds. He must sever connections with one or the other.
Abandoning his mortal friends meant leaving Collinwood -- as long as he was here he would have some feeling for the present day occupants of the estate. Leaving would be difficult. He'd grown close to his new family. He'd grown close, perhaps too close, to those not of his blood but those who protected him, who trustingly and knowingly welcomed the wolf into their fold.
Willie. Not particularly bright but intensely loyal and with the heart of a lion when circumstances required.
Julia. Unfailingly perceptive, almost intuitively so; also loyal, self-condemned by the love she bore one who could not return it.
Barnabas was pained with the recollection of his friends... and the realization that he would soon see them no more.
Not for the first time, Willie hadn't heeded Barnabas' advice. Where was he going to take Julia that wouldn't leave a trail right back to the Old House?
He sat tensely until dawn, when he allowed himself to sleep for a few hours. He bolted awake when the morning sun made him sweat.
Julia Hoffman still slept. He felt her forehead. Warmth had returned so he removed most of the blankets he'd covered her with. She'd be okay now, he told himself.
He left the room and returned shortly with a makeshift breakfast. Daylight or not, he hadn't wanted to tarry in the kitchen, since it led right to the cellar.
She still hadn't stirred. "Julia," he said with a gentle shake to her shoulder. "You gotta wake up. It's morning." He added, "It's safe."
Finally, she sighed and opened her eyes.
He stirred a generous spoonful of honey into a cup of tea and handed it to her. "Here. You'll feel better after you drink this."
She complied wordlessly.
"Barnabas came here last night," she said at last, breaking a silence that worried him.
"Yeah," he replied, a little warily. How much had she heard of the conversation?
"He wanted us to leave. Not safe... he said we weren't safe."
He nodded dumbly and leaned closer. "What else do you remember?"
Julia, in fact, didn't recall much, just flashes and impressions. She'd arrived early, and, not finding Willie, had manipulated her way into the house, hoping at least to confront Barnabas as he rose and make her own determination about his state. She remembered entering the cellar; she was chilled by the sensation of being observed but Barnabas was nowhere to be seen. An icy hand had flung her against the wall. Another blow had knocked her down. Before blacking out, she noticed a scent -- a soft fragrance of flowers.
"There was this girl when I came in. I never seen her before -- wait, maybe I have," Willie said, remembering the figure in the darkness a couple of weeks earlier. "She seemed to have some kind of a hold over Barnabas. He did what she wanted him to do."
"A vampire." Julia's tone made it obvious that it wasn't a question.
"How can a vampire have hold over another vampire?"
Ignoring him, she put the cup down. There was still a throb in her head, but some aspirin would probably work wonders. "We need to get away from here."
Willie nodded again and shivered, thinking of encountering two vampires.
For someone who invariably told the truth without hesitation, Julia Hoffman could tell a convincing lie when she had to, Willie marvelled. He'd driven her to Collinwood and watched in astonishment as she told Mrs. Stoddard how she'd fallen down the cellar stairs of the Old House -- the injury appeared slight, but she obviously couldn't drive herself back to Wyndcliff and Willie had errands to run for Barnabas. Could she prevail upon the hospitality of Collinwood for an evening?
Elizabeth was gracious and concerned, settling Julia into a quiet room in the east wing.
"Willie, you're going to be my hands and legs today," Julia said when they were finally alone. "I need you to look for something. Wisteria. It's a bush," she said, seeing his blank look, "usually with thick woody vines and arrow-shaped leaves. There might be purple and white flowers, though I'm not sure it keeps its blossoms all summer."
"You think this wisteria will help tonight, when they call you?"
"I don't think they will call, from what you've told me. This won't be like other times," she said, thinking of the battles against Tom Jennings and Roxanne Drew. "I think the wisteria is connected to where our mysterious woman sleeps. And I need you to find that place for me today."
"We gonna..." He swallowed with distaste and left the sentence unfinished.
"I want to be prepared for any contingency," she replied, a trace of confidence returning to her voice.
"Well, where am I gonna find this stuff, this wisteria?"
"I don't know, Willie." She closed her eyes and relaxed against the bed. The aspirin hadn't done as much for the pain as she'd hoped. "I'm depending on you to figure that out."
Despite Julia's car keys in his pocket, Willie set off on foot. It was one o'clock already. He didn't have much hope of ever finding this vine-thing that the doctor told him about, let alone finding it by nightfall.
He looked first at the old cemetery at Eagle Hill. It seemed pretty logical to go looking for dead people there. And, besides, that was where he'd found Barnabas, wasn't it? In broad daylight, it didn't look half spooky -- forlorn would have been a better word -- but it didn't feature anything resembling the kind of vegetation that the doctor was insistent upon.
When he next looked at his watch, it was close to five. The sun was still fairly high in the summer sky. He'd covered about seven miles in a meandering pattern that led toward town -- oddly, if he continued on this track, he would eventually run into the Blue Whale.
And a beer would taste pretty good...
I ain't no damn plant expert, Willie thought, kicking the ground in front of another false vine. They all look the same to me. He tramped back to the road with the intent of following it direct to the tavern, all those weirdos up at Collinwood be damned. But his gaze fell upon an overgrown foundation and he trudged over to check it out.
The foundation was old, evidenced by its stone construction, delipidated condition, and the weeds poking through every crevice. The house it outlined couldn't have been too large -- some little farmhouse, no doubt. Grabbing a stick, he began to poke around at the rocks.
Julia awoke in the late afternoon. The bruise on the side of her face was coloring and difficult to disguise. The pain in her head had subsided and her pupils were normal. Either she'd misdiagnosed herself last night or she was out of danger. In any event, she was relieved.
She went downstairs and encountered Roger Collins in the foyer.
"Ah. Liz told me you were here, that you'd had some kind of accident." He studied her face and frowned when he noticed the discoloration. "We've indulged Barnabas' little whims long enough. I'm going to lock up that death trap as soon as he leaves!" he exclaimed.
"He's leaving?"
"He didn't tell you? Well, I'm not surprised. I'm not sure he would have told me but for the fact that I happened to run into him late last night."
Roger turned toward the drawing room. "Cocktail, Julia?"
"I think not," she demurred. "My head is still a little fuzzy from my fall."
"Your fall. Well, yes, as I was saying, Barnabas told me he was going away for a bit. Wanted me to have the house kept up while he was gone." Roger sniffed and poured himself a generous scotch. "I asked him why that Loomis couldn't mind the place for him -- though I admit I don't much like having that man on the premises. Unreliable, highly unreliable! But evidently Loomis is to go away with Barnabas. Who would have imagined that hoodlum as a manservant?" He chuckled at the idea.
Suddenly oblivious to the remainder of Roger's chatter, Julia sat and considered. Where was Barnabas going and how soon? Most importantly, why was he going?
When she finished dinner, Mrs. Johnson advised her that Willie was waiting outside to see her. Willie didn't care to come in the house when Roger was at home.
The sun was beginning its accelerated slide down the last quarter of the sky. Within the hour, it would be well past the horizon.
"Did you find it?"
"I never did see no purple and white flowers. But," he brightened, "I found a place, a place that she might like, all dark and close to the ground like."
"Take me there."
"Now?" He craned his head to look at the sun's position. It was too late to go there with safety.
But Julia was already getting in the car. He ran to catch up. He drove as she told him about the conversation with Roger.
"This is the first I've heard about Barnabas goin' away," he said. "And me s'pposed to go with him? He never talked to me about it. Last night he just told me to get out, like he didn't want me around no more."
He drove to the outskirts of Collinsport and parked on the shoulder of the road. "We gotta walk from here," he said, getting a flashlight from the glovebox. "It's a couple hundred feet, past that thicket."
They moved quietly, both conscious of the growing twilight and the possibility of an encounter with -- well, someone they didn't want to meet suddenly or unannounced. Willie stopped at the edge of the clearing and pointed at the foundation for Julia. It was hard to see in the fading light.
They waited for a long time, straining to see in the shadows, but nothing moved. Finally, Julia tapped Willie's shoulder and started back to the car.
"I don't get it," he protested. "I was sure that was the place. It even had a little room of some kind...."
She stopped suddenly and looked around. "Do you feel it?" she whispered. "We're being watched."
He only knew that something was very wrong. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.
And there was the smell of something sweet in the air.
The last place Willie wanted to go was back to the Old House. But Julia had been insistent: If Barnabas was talking about leaving and taking Willie, she wanted to know those plans.
Barnabas was there. He stood in the corner of the drawing room, studying the room with the intensity of man trying to memorize it. He looked up when Willie entered. "You've returned," he said in a voice that betrayed neither surprise nor expectation.
Willie bobbed his head once and avoided Barnabas' gaze.
"Willie, I am going away -- for a little while. I shall need you to look after things here in my absence."
"You comin' back?"
In a quiet voice, Barnabas said, "I cannot say when. I want you to tell the family for me. I've written out what I want you to say." Several sheets of stationery, lined with his flowing hand, lay upon the secretary. "Mrs. Stoddard is holding a sum of money in trust for me; that is for your use in maintaining this house."
Willie felt resentful -- Barnabas wasn't even asking if he wanted to stay on, just assuming he would continue to carry out the vampire's bidding. Scratching his upper lip with his thumb, he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, "What if I don't wanna stay? Maybe I got other plans."
Barnabas raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"
Fixed suddenly with 'that look,' Willie shook his head. Damned coward, he cursed himself. Now would have been the time to stand up to Barnabas, establish himself as an equal and not just a servant to be ordered about. "Well, maybe Doctor Hoffman could find me some work," he began temorously. "At least that ways I'd be around people and not this dusty old. . ."
Barnabas wasn't listening; he was frowning. A look of surprise crossed his face. "Where's Julia?"
Willie shrank back against the wall. "She's at Collinwood, Barnabas. Whatsa matter?"
"Liar!" Barnabas' hands squeezed into fists of frustration. "I feel her... I must stop this." He seemed to fade away in the dim light.
Willie ran his hand through the space where Barnabas had been standing. Vanished, just vanished.
This never happened before.
"Why have you come?"
Involuntarily, Julia took a step backward, though it was obvious that she'd been seen and that the question was directed at her. The pale young woman before her stood and stared, no emotion on her face.
"Tell me why you are here."
With the different inflection, Julia felt compelled to answer. "Barnabas. I must stop Barnabas from..." Her voice faltered.
"Come to me."
The command reverberated in Julia's mind and, even as she sought to shriek a mental counter-order, her body obeyed. In the long seconds it took her to walk to the clearing, she realized her vulnerability in the face of this danger. Another rescue by Willie seemed remote; he didn't even know she was here. Her fate was now wholly in the hands of the woman she faced.
Christine appraised her rival without expression. After a few moments, she said, softly, "He belongs with me, one of his own kind. Life itself separates you from him, and you cannot span that gulf, no matter how badly you both wish it. Let him be.... and I will let you live."
Julia found it impossible to respond, but it made little difference; Christine seemed to know her thoughts.
"You don't want to live without him?" Christine made a mirthless sound that passed for laughter. "Very well. I can make death very easy. I can make it fill your soul, overwhelm you with its beauty. Would you want that? Would you willingly take the grave?" She stared into Julia's eyes.
"In life, you connect him to the living; in death, you would be but another link in his chain to the past -- and he would not forgive me your death, yours above all others. He doesn't want you to join us, but I can see no other way. He will understand. The night can embrace us all."
Julia felt the cold hand on her face. The dim light of the moon drained away; there was only blackness and cold. And she felt herself falling, falling down an ancient chasm, falling without end.
Barnabas tore Christine away, wrenching her greedy mouth from the throat of her victim.
Gently, he eased Julia to the ground. She still clung tenaciously to life; he could feel the rapid thunder of her heart. He stroked her cheek, willing her back from the abyss. "Not for you," he whispered, "stay."
"She was ready to join us..."
He whirled to look at Christine. "No."
"She was willing -- willing to be with you..."
"I will not have this contagion of death touch her."
Christine pointed to Julia. "You would allow her to hold dominion over you?" Her arm fell to her side again. "I will not be chained to mortals, Barnabas. I sought only to be merciful to her, as you would wish --"
"This existence is no mercy," he returned bitterly.
"Will it be any easier on you, watching the mortal you so cherish fall prey to the decay of life, seeing her sicken and wither with age? You belong with me, Barnabas -- one like you, one with whom you can share the night, exult in it."
"I can only share death with you, Christine."
"There is no future for you with her."
"Perhaps not," he averred, "but I owe any future there might be to her... and another. Without them, I would not have had even this --" he gestured around him. "They gave me hope... when hope was gone, restored a spark that had died nearly two centuries ago. If I must struggle through this darkness, I need that hope to light my way."
His voice softened with resignation and he extended a hand, despite the distance between them. "We are the same, yes -- but with no similarities beyond the fact of our existence. Leave me, Christine. Seek one of your own kind."
And in the indigo of the summer night, pale death faded from his view.
Returning to Julia, he found her gaze trained on him.
"It was so tempting, Barnabas. I wanted it," she whispered, stunning herself with the revelation. "So real, so intense..."
"Not for you, Julia -- this existence is not for you."
"But she--"
"-- Is gone," he finished.
"And you stayed behind?"
"My place is here," he said simply. "As is yours. The night will wait."
When Julia started to speak again, he stopped her. "Save your strength."
Her head still spun with the intrusions on mind and body. "But the things she said to me... "
"Shhhh," he insisted, laying a finger on her lips. "A dream, that's all. If you must think of this night, consider it a dream. One from which it was fortunate that we both awoke. And as with most dreams, when they end, accidental truths spill out."
Confused by his meaning but comforted by his presence, Julia finally allowed her eyes to close.
And if anyone watched from the darkness, she would have seen only a man holding a woman in his arms, unmindful of the night around them.