Wolf Moon Rising (50 page)

startled to see she was still standing in the room, her eyes afl ame.

He heaved a deep sigh and said, much against his will, “An-

gelique? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes . . .” Th

ere

were fl utterings of fi re around her. She

stood in a column of crimson that pulsed to a point then grew

dim. Th

ere was fl ickering in the hollow of her mouth and her

eyes fl ashed cobalt and then bronze.

“Why are you here?” he said helplessly.

Her answer was like the wind in a dark cavern. “I have tried

to come back— to spend eternity with you.” She laughed her

cruel and mirthless laugh, and her words were tinged with sar-

casm. “I gave up my life that you might continue to exist in this

form you so despise.”

He tried to move away but found his legs were leaden.

Somewhere in the room Jackie was sleeping.

“We have both made mistakes,” he said heavily.

“Yes. We have. But this is my chance, and you must not re-

fuse me. I was a witch in Salem, bound to the earth by my

Indian heritage. Th

at was before I knew you. Th

en I was a wor-

shipper of Erzulie, a girl who could breathe underwater. My

happiest days— the ones when we were together. You gave me

life, and love, but you abandoned me— so cruelly.”

He thought he must hear this complaint till the end of

time. He tried to move but his feet were encased in mud. “Were

you . . . Antoinette?”

“Antoinette never became conscious of who she was. I

couldn’t break through. I lived through her, but I could not

reach you. Now Jacqueline is my joy, but she is only the breath

of the storm, tiny fl akes that dance in the air, no shape but that which the wind gives her, no soul but that which the boy gives

her.”

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At last he understood what had been so familiar about the

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girl’s pleading. “Are you saying that Jackie is you again, come

back to haunt me?”

“I thought by now you would have guessed.”

“No, I never thought. I thought Antoinette, but never

Jackie.”

She sighed, as though irritated. “I am neither,” she said, be-

ginning to pace, her dress fl ickering. “I am both. I clawed my

way back as two beings, Antoinette and Jacqueline, mother and

daughter. Neither with all my strength or all my powers.”

“So that was it. How very sneaky of you.” Again he tried to

back away, but his limbs were like stone.

“Don’t laugh. Do you know what it is to be split in two?

Like the mermaid who longed to walk with her prince and al-

lowed her fi sh’s body to be sliced into legs. What pain it was for her to dance! I knew that pain and that blood. As for my master,

he found it intriguing. He knew that his Persephone would

grow content. I had to fi ght that apathy since even a tyrant can

turn a heart. He allowed me to come back to you as a twin

temptation— perhaps it was a game, entertainment for a bored

dev il who had tasted every plea sure and now enjoyed none.”

“I understand that boredom well.”

“He threw the dice to see which half, if either, you would

choose, who would win your love. Antoinette had beauty but it

bought her nothing— even though she had my courage— only

confusion, escape through drugs. Jacqueline has magical pow-

ers, but she is lost, don’t you see? Incomplete. You must turn

her, make her whole, make her yours.”

“I would never do that.”

“But you are a vampire.” She wavered in her column of

fl ame and her eyes blazed. “Don’t you want her?” It was her

challenge. She reached for him, her touch within inches, and he

tried to push her away, but his hands drifted into smoke.

He struggled for words. “I want her to grow up and live her

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life. I like her. She is talented and determined. And you can be

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happy because your little trick worked. I did love Antoinette, in

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

my fashion. And I will care for Jacqueline in what ever way I

can. But I will never harm her.”

“Not even to make her powerful and whole?”

“You should abandon this scheme.”

“Abandon? Th

en whom would I be left with?”

“Angelique! You fi ll me with despair! Look what you have

done! You are crippled now. Because you would not rest until you

had my love— which you will never have— you have destroyed

everything that you were. All your splendor! Because of this

never- ending obsession that has become all that you are made of,

you have sacrifi ced your brilliance. How many lives have you de-

stroyed? How many more to come? Let Jacqueline have her life.

Don’t use her this way.”

“Once again, I off er you an eternity of devotion, and you

refuse me?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I have always been faithful?”

“You ruined everything I loved.” He took a deep breath.

“But I would rather you returned as the magnifi cent rival I once

had than to torture this girl.”

Her fi re grew dim and she lowered her head. “Perhaps I

could have come back as Angelique. But I knew you would al-

ways despise me, and that you would never forgive me. I could

return again and again and you would never love me. Now An-

toinette is gone, and the only way I have to reach you is through

Jacqueline.” Th

e edge of desperation in her voice caused him to

look at her.

“So I must despise her as well!”

“But she does not know! Her motives are pure.”

“Th

en she is not you, Angelique.”

She was silent, fading, a small blue light. “Th

rough her I

could love you . . .”

He shook his head, and the fl ame fl ared a little, fl ickered,

and died.

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T w e n t y

David had stumbled away from the stairway and into the hall

reeling from what he had heard. He had thought she loved

him— even if not in the same way— that they were friends— he

had believed they would escape, go off together, that he could

save her, protect her. Instead, out of the blue, she was off ering

herself to someone else, someone old enough to be her father—

said she wanted to live with him! Told him she knew he was— of

all things— a vampire! How could she love a vampire?

As he dragged himself through the kitchen, he could only

think how he had planned for them to be together. Did this

mean she rejected him completely? Why? What was wrong with

him? He was prepared to make any sacrifi ce. He was a Collins,

in line to inherit the estate, the business, about to enter a prestigious college— he would be wealthy, and she would live in the

Great House. He could off er her anything, everything— most of

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all, his love forever. He was humbled to realize that this was not

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enough.

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He staggered through the drawing room, crashed into the

armchair, and tugged open the front door. Th

e icy air blasted

him in the face with sleet. Almost tripping on the threshold, he

stopped himself beside one of the tall columns, and he leaned

against it, closing his eyes. He was caught in a whirlwind of

swirling ice. His muscles felt weak, his breath was like a stone

lodged in his throat, and his heart ached as though it had fallen

to the bottom of the sea.

Th

e only thing that gave him hope was that Barnabas had

not accepted her off er. Still, she had pleaded. How could he have

believed so deeply— never questioned— that she would grow to

love him? Th

ey had shared so many things— how could she not?

He tried to swallow, but he could not dislodge the lump stop-

ping his breath.

He worshipped her— the shadows of her face, every move-

ment of her body, her fi ngers, her wrists, the way she twisted a

piece of her hair, her brightness, her melancholy— and he had

not realized until this moment that he had been lying to him-

self. He felt faint and his stomach heaved as if he would throw up.

Th

e pressure in his chest was making him choke, and he was sud-

denly aware of the cuts on his hand and his forehead radiating

pain, like burns from red- hot brands. He tried to walk but his

legs gave way, and with a cry he toppled over and fell in the snow.

He lay there with his face buried, smelling the frozen forest fl oor, and he dug his hand under the crust to ease the pain. Something

was drumming on his back; it was hail falling like stones.

She wanted Barnabas. Why? Barnabas was old, and not

even— what? Not even
alive
? What did that mean? He had

never really thought about it. He had sneered at Blair’s accusa-

tions, thinking only that he despised that man, a busybody who

was snooping and meddling in the family secrets. He had never

considered what a vampire really was. He sat up, his head clear-

ing for an instant. All around, freezing rain tumbled out of the

sky and the wind blew like daggers. Of course, Barnabas was

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immortal. Th

e supernatural. Th

e unexplained. She would have

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been swayed by enchantment. She was a witch— he was sure of

that now— and he loved that about her, but she had incompre-

hensible powers that left him in the dark. She was bizarre, other

worldly, and their minds would never meet and think as one—

they were completely diff erent, like fi re and water, and he would never really understand her because she was a mystery, and because of this he wanted her even more— a rare trea sure, only

once in a lifetime, beyond perfection. A fragile rose surrounded

by thorns.

He pulled himself to his feet and tried to get hold of him-

self. But he swayed as he walked back to the snowmobile and,

after starting it up and climbing on, he drove it slowly down the

road. He could not make himself press the throttle, and the sled

was hard to steer where the snow was still deep but heavy, sticky

in the freezing rain, not like it had been weeks ago when it had

been as soft as air.

Several times he stopped to rest, to catch his breath or to

simply hang his head aching from his wound, as every minute

took him farther away from her. He wanted to turn back, go to

her to tell her loved her, but there was still a spark of pride in-

side him that prevented him from making the eff ort. As he

sputtered through the splintered air, swerving the sled, he be-

gan to sweat under his clothes.

How does a vampire come to be? Had Barnabas died and

come back to life? But that didn’t make any sense. Barnabas

didn’t
seem
dead. At least he hadn’t a few months ago when they had taken a trip to Salem together, driven the whole way. Was he

immortal? Yes. But the thought was too confusing. Yet,
she
was a witch. He had not questioned it, admired it even, because he had

wanted her so much. He thought of the gypsy and the tarot cards,

the Jester standing on the precipice— but he could not accept los-

ing Jackie. Th

ey had stood together on the cliff ’s edge— they had

jumped, risked their lives— and they had fl own! How could he

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have done that without magical powers of his own?

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Again, as he had done so often, he thought of his mother.

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He could still see her standing in the burning shed. She had

beckoned, called him into the fl ames, promised him immortal-

ity. He would die, she said, and be born again. A Phoenix rising

out of the fi re, its golden wings spread in the air. But he had

been afraid. He had resisted her call. And he had lost her for-

ever. Had this been his greatest mistake?

Somewhere inside him was the determination to try again.

Th

ere had to be a way to win Jackie back. He began to feel better

and to steer with renewed confi dence. Th

e cut in his hand

throbbed, but he could see Th

eseus entering the labyrinth, go-

ing to face the Minotaur, and the golden thread given him by

Ariadne burning in his palm. He saw the monster, the giant

man with the head of a bull, and he wondered how Th

eseus had

been able to slay him. Great courage yielded great strength.

Th

ere was the call to action, the challenge and the journey. Th

e

hero responded with courage because that was who he was. He

didn’t surrender. Th

e hero was skilled and gifted and it was his

nature to be brave in the face of danger, and so he triumphed.

He pressed on the throttle, new plans stirring in his head.