Three years had passed since Barnabas Collins had passed away. Things were happier in the great house of Collinwood.

David and Hallie were actually getting along pretty well. Roger Collins decided to retire again, but not before he had sent his son and daughter-in-law on a cruise for a few weeks. Both had protested, but Roger wouldn’t be denied. He had decided that after they returned, it was time for some travel of his own and he flew off to Hawaii for a couple of months.

Hallie had tried to get the Old House for David, but David finally told her to stop. Instead, they decided it would go to Carolyn and Willie. If they wanted, after Willie’s and Hiro’s renovations were done, they could move in. Hiro was still there. Willie wanted to pay him for his work, but Hiro refused. Said he had his own funds and didn’t need the pay. The two of them worked on the old mansion together and continued to be the best of friends.

Night had fallen as Carolyn sat in the drawing room with her aching feet up. Mrs. Johnson had been through the room, dusting and cleaning. Carolyn was relieved when the woman left her alone and closed the door. She shut her eyes, not sleeping, but resting them and meditating deeply.

It was lonely in the old mansion. Mrs. Johnson and the other staff members weren’t much company. It was cold outside and though the fireplace was full of blazing wood, it was cold inside too. With her eyes closed, she shivered. An afghan lay to her left and she put her feet up on the sofa and covered herself. Soon, she drifted off into slumber.

Harry Johnson’s wife made her way out into the foyer to dust. She paused, as she always did, when she came to the old portrait of the original Barnabas Collins. It seemed to stare at her. It always made her feel uneasy. That old Barnabas, she had long-ago surmised, was not nearly the kind gentleman his descendant had been. The portrait showed such a dour man, whereas the Barnabas she had met was kind and happy.

She continued around the room, dusting the table and the old grandfather clock. It was getting late, ten o’clock about. She could stop anytime with her cleaning, but once she got going, it was hard to get her to stop. Harry would already be in bed, waiting for her, but she just couldn’t bring herself to quit until she had completed dusting–that much less to do the next day, she figured.

She was just about to enter the study to dust in there when someone lifted the large knocker on the front door and knocked four times.

“Who could be calling at this hour?” she thought to herself.

Putting her feather duster down on the table, she went over to the front door and opened it.

There, out in the dark, stood a large man, his features obscured by the shadows. Behind him stood a blonde-haired woman. The woman’s head was lowered.

“Is Mrs. Loomis at home?” came a question in an elegant, deep voice.

“Whom may I say is calling?” Mrs. Johnson asked.

“Tell her it is her Cousin Barnabas, from England, and his wife, Angelique. I would like to talk to her about my father’s estate.”

Here, the man stepped forward. Mrs. Johnson’s mouth dropped in surprise. The man that stood before her was just like the man in the portrait.

Barnabas’ lifeless body lay on the altar. The temple was a spiritual place, existing only on a plane barely intersecting with the world of the living. The temple had once stood in ancient Heliopolis, but through the workings of evil demons posing as gods, like Ra and Benu, the temple had been moved into this other dimension.

Here, Laura Murdoch and others of her kind had a place of refuge and a source of their power. Here was where Laura the phoenix traded places with Barnabas’ body to give her the advantage of surprise. She and her master had failed, leaving Barnabas in this place of limbo.

Though his body was dead, his spirit remained with him, trapped inside a vampire’s body. He was minimally aware of his surroundings, but had no power to open his eyes and look. It was much the same as when he had been locked inside his coffin for so many decades, asleep but aware.

He was unsure how he had been brought to this place and knew he was not protected by his coffin walls. Though there was no lack of light in the place, it was not sunlight.

From somewhere, as if from down a corridor, he heard footsteps, but not like hard shoe heels against a stone floor They sounded more bare or slippered feet, faint, and only perceptible to his vampire senses. Someone approached and he somehow discerned a woman.

Closer the woman came, and Barnabas feared. He could not cry out nor open his eyes to see. Some force held him still on this hard stone altar and he was helpless.

Soon, he was aware that the woman now stood behind the altar, poised over him.

Warm fingers touched his eyes and he was able to open them.

Above his face, looking down with love, was Josette. Her smile was so benevolent, so pure, and he exclaimed, “Josette!”

She beckoned him to sit up and he obeyed.

He turned to face her, his legs dangling over the side of the altar.

“Dearest Barnabas,” Josette uttered softly.

“Where are we?” Barnabas asked. “Heaven?”

Josette put her hand on his cheek and said softly, “No, not heaven. We are in an evil place.”

“Hell, then?” he queried.

“No, not hell either, unless you consider that everywhere that is not heaven is hell. This,” she explained, “is a place prepared where the evil murder of children is planned. We must leave here. I have come to give you a choice and show you the way to make it happen.”

“A choice?”

“Yes. Don’t you know that there is always a choice?”

“Yes,” Barnabas admitted, “I finally know that. No matter what excuses I’ve had in my long, long life, I now realize that I always had choices and I haven’t always chosen well.”

“You will only have to settle accounts on those things you could have chosen. The rest is inconsequential, but you have a choice to make right now.”

“Between?”

“Between resting in peace or returning to the world,” Josette told him.

“After all I’ve done, I may rest in peace?” Barnabas said incredulously.

“That is one choice,” she elucidated. “Your other choice is to return to mortality, but if you do, you return as a vampire, an immortal in a mortal world, filled with bloodlust.”

“Not much of a choice, my sweet Josette,” Barnabas said with anguish. “Why would I be given such a choice?”

“I may not influence you,” Josette said sweetly, “only tell you the consequences of your choices.”

“And if I choose to rest in peace?” Barnabas asked.

“Then you will have no more ability to influence or protect your family,” she said.

“How is it, then, that you walk the earth still, long after you said you were going to be at peace?”

“That was my choice,” she claimed.

“But not one of my choices?”

“No, Barnabas. That is not an option for you.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because that would mean that we would be together,” Josette lamented, “and I was not your wife, though we loved each other. We cannot be together now. Your choices do not include being a co-guardian of the Collins family with me. You must either rest or return and work in their dimension.”

Barnabas wept. “Then where is my wife, Angelique?” he asked Josette.

“She is returned to her master. He gave her no choice.” Josette’s melodic voice seemed more tortured now.

“But I thought you said there were always choices?” Barnabas questioned.

“There are,” Josette explained, “but you can’t expect that her master will tell her what her choices are. He will lie to her. He always lies. Because she chooses to believe him, that choice will eliminate all other choices.”

“Is there nothing I can do for her?” Barnabas pleaded.

Josette’s face beamed. “Oh, yes, Barnabas! There is something you can do for her, but I am not permitted to advise you.”

“What will happen to me if I choose to return to the world?” Barnabas asked.

“You will be shown the way back from here to the world. The way back takes you through Diabolos’ realm,” Josette explained.

In the distance, somewhere in the Temple of Benu, angry voices of a man and woman were heard.

Josette said urgently, “There is no more time, Barnabas. You must choose now!”

Barnabas stepped down onto his feet. He did not understand, but trusted Josette’s urgent tone of voice.

“I choose to live, Josette,” Barnabas decided. “Show me the way.”

Leaving the confines of the Temple of Benu, Barnabas and Josette entered a dark world, much like the one he had always known, but existing barely in twilight. He turned and looked at the edifice he had just left. He was standing at the base of a tall, pointed obelisk.

He followed sweet Josette across dunes of reddish sands. In this half-dark place, Josette shone like an angel. Adoration for her swelled in his bosom, but he recognized that the love he had always felt for her was more akin to worship than attraction. He finally preferred the passion he felt for Angelique to the veneration he had always paid to Josette.

Though Barnabas trudged through the sand underneath his feet, it seemed as if Josette walked effortlessly on the surface of the sand, like it was more solid for her than for him. She was always well ahead of him, and though he longed to talk to her, could not keep up.

“Where are we, Josette?” Barnabas called out to her after it seemed like they had been walking many days, or perhaps only hours. He wasn’t certain.

She returned to his side and answered, “The place between.”

“Between heaven and hell?” he wondered out loud.

“Between now and forever,” she answered inarticulately. “Before heaven or before hell.”

“Is this what mankind has to look forward to?” he asked.

Josette smiled, “Some.”

“It seems vast!” he noted.

“It is. And time passes imprecisely here. We may have been traveling days, months, or years and it would seem like a few moments, or it may seem like years and only a split second has passed.”

“Are we alone here?” Barnabas asked. “All we have seen is this reddish sand and no vegetation.”

“No, we’re not alone. There are more souls here than live on the earth. This is not a physical place, my darling,” Josette explained.

Barnabas asked, “If there are others here, why can’t I see them?”

“This is a place of thought and spirit. The matter you feel under your feet is different than what you feel in life. You don’t belong here, Barnabas. You’re not here as a spirit. You are here as flesh and blood. Happens to very few. You have the Murdochs to thank. They’ve done you a favor without even knowing it. I planted the idea in Laura’s mind. She hates me, but she doesn’t always recognize when I’m speaking to her.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why bring me here with my body?”

“Because what you want to do cannot be done without it.”

“You mean save Angelique from Diabolos?”

“Yes,” she said fearfully.

“The idea frightens you,” Barnabas said and put his hand on her arm. “Why?”

Josette looked deep into Barnabas’ eyes, her own eyes shining with a celestial glow. “Because there is the possibility of failure, and you and Angelique would both be lost.”

“What can you tell me to give me an advantage?” Barnabas pleaded desperately.

Josette smiled. “You already have the only advantage that will make a difference.”

“My love for Angelique?” Barnabas asked.

“No, Barnabas. Flesh and blood. That’s your advantage.”

“How is that an advantage?” Barnabas wondered.

“Because Diabolos will be jealous. It’s what he has always wanted, but cannot have. It gives you certain powers, powers of choice that he can’t override.”

“I don’t understand,” Barnabas said.

“Think about this, Barnabas. Have you ever smoked cigarettes?”

“No,” Barnabas admitted. “But I’ve smoked a pipe.”

“Did you quit?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “Julia insisted on it.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Very difficult. My body kept wanting it.” Barnabas revealed.

“But you subdued your body,” she explained. “Your spirit, which knew the danger of continuing to smoke, overruled your body and your body became cleansed. Your spirit no longer craved it. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Now, imagine that you didn’t quit smoking while you had a body, but instead, died and came here as a spirit. You would have to quit smoking, because tobacco doesn’t exist here. But the cravings for it are in the spirit. Without a body and without tobacco, it is very difficult for your spirit to rid itself of the cravings, because there is no body to influence. The time to quit smoking is while you still have a body, because that is when you have the greatest power to choose.”

“And that gives me an advantage over Diabolos?”

“Yes, because with a body, your power of choice is still yours. The power to choose is a gift best exercised with a body. Diabolos will try to frighten you, but remember that he cannot hurt your body, only your spirit. He will have to rely on Angelique to hurt you.”

“How can she hurt me?” Barnabas asked.

“She is in his presence, in the flesh, as it were,” Josette explained. “I saw to that with the help of Quentin’s medium friend, Miriam Rice. She is still a vampire, just like you. Diabolos, of course, has not told her that her possession of her body gives her the right of choice. He wants to torment both of you together, so you can watch each other suffer. He will try to do that in hell, but you have the choice, because of your flesh and blood, to live in the world. He can’t hurt you, but he will try to get her to hurt you, or at least reject you.”

“And if she rejects me?”

“Then the choice is yours to either stay in hell with her, or return to the world without her.”

Professor Stokes’ Cottage

Eliot and Julia Stokes sat quietly at the kitchen table sipping tea and reading the newspaper together. Julia smiled at her new husband. They had been married several weeks now. She missed Barnabas terribly, but was so grateful to Eliot for filling the void. He did not begrudge her the memories of Barnabas Collins.

She was settling into the idea that this quiet life that Eliot led was a good respite from the excitement of supernatural escapades with Barnabas. She had feared she would be bored, but was finding it not to be true. Peace and quiet was not something she had ever particularly yearned to have, but now that she had it, she rather enjoyed it.

Eliot’s friend, Sheriff Drew, dropped by frequently. He occasionally alluded to the White Lady troubles and was relieved that the legend and reports had all died out. Eliot remained outwardly ignorant and Julia was grateful he chose to be evasive, knowing how much Eliot really liked Randall.

Eliot looked up from the section of paper he was reading and said, “My dear, what would you say to a trip to England?”

Julia’s eyes opened wide. “But…”

He frowned. “You’ve grown accustomed to my way of life, I see,” he accused good-naturedly.

“It is nice to rest,” she admitted.

“Well, I’ll leave it up to you. I just figured that we don’t have a lot of time left together, you and I, so we ought to make the best of what is left.”

“You have a good point,” she smiled.

The Between Place

On and on, Josette glided and Barnabas trudged over the sand. The longer they were there, the more he started to see more than just endless dunes. In the distance, he thought he saw villages and the lights of cities. Occasionally, they passed some person, looking as confused as Barnabas felt. Because Josette shone so much, they would ask her directions, and she would lovingly advise each one while Barnabas waited impatiently.

He had asked Josette if the people he was seeing were also flesh and blood visitors to this world. She explained to him that they were spirits, but that his eyes were growing accustomed to seeing them.

Rose Cottage

Eleanor Collins sat in the library reading to Stephen and Katy. They were uncharacteristically attentive and Eleanor was enjoying the small children’s book. The two were enthralled and really starting to like their Auntie El. The house was quiet as fall arrived.

Alex and Amy had taken Damien for a boat ride out on the ocean, just for fun and a chance for Damien to have some individualized attention.

Except for moments with the children like this, Eleanor felt alone again. She had resumed her summer charitable work and her two children, Aaron and Melissa, had returned to school.

Trina had returned to her painting and seemed to have matured a bit. She was more moody than flitty and Eleanor wasn’t sure which she preferred.

The door to the library opened and Mrs. Hammond announced, “Mr. Quentin Collins to see you, Ma’am.”

Eleanor smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Hammond. Would you take the children up to the nursery?”

Mrs. Hammond nodded while Eleanor went out to the foyer. Mrs. Rice accompanied Quentin, along with Chris and Sabrina Jennings.

They all went into the drawing room after greeting each other.

“What brings you all here?” she asked.

Quentin smiled ruefully. “We came to say, ‘good-bye’.”

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” Quentin said. “I’ve got my business to run. I’m giving Chris a job and Sabrina is going to go back to school.”

“How nice for you!” Eleanor said to them. “Amy will be upset that you’re leaving. I’m afraid they’re not here right now. I don’t expect them back for another hour.”

Chris said, “We have at least that long. I think we’ll wait out on the lawn, if you don’t mind. It’s a beautiful evening. Should be a full moon tonight.”

“Not at all,” Eleanor answered.

After Chris and Sabrina were out of the room, Eleanor turned to Mrs. Rice. She took the woman in her arms and embraced her.

“Miriam,” Eleanor said, “I owe you so much! If I can ever do anything for you, please let me know. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Miriam smiled. “Thank you for the opportunity, Eleanor. It was my pleasure. I’m happy everything turned out for the best.”

Quentin came forward to Eleanor and lifted her hand up to his lips. She noticed on his hand the scarab ring.

“I will say a brief farewell to you, Cousin Eleanor, but I would especially like to spend some time with Stephen and Katy, if you don’t mind.”

Quentin had spent a lot of time at Rose Cottage in the weeks since the fire. He visited occasionally with Damien, but had really taken a liking to the younger children. Their mother, Amy, loved the idea, due to Quentin’s relationship to her side of the Collins family.

Eleanor smiled. “Of course. They’re in the nursery. You know the way.”

Quentin thanked her and bounded up the stairs.

The Between Place

The terrain had begun to change. Instead of dunes only, there were muddy and dreary rivers running through harder red dirt. Occasional bridges crossed over them, but sometimes they forded the streams. Barnabas always stepped onto the far bank with dry legs and feet. He didn’t really feel the wet while he was in the water.

Ahead of them appeared tall cliffs, rising towards the murky sky. They arrived at an opening and Josette stopped.

“I am not permitted past this point, Barnabas. You must go alone.”

“What is down there?” Barnabas asked fearfully.

“Hell,” Josette said pitifully.

“You said I could go from there back home,” he reminded her.

“Yes,” she said. “When you are ready to leave there, your heart will guide you. Don’t trust your senses. Everything there is false and not what it seems.”

Barnabas looked timidly into the opening and down a torch-lit trail plunging into darkness. He turned around, but Josette was no longer next to him.

She was far off in the distance, but he heard her whisper, “I will be ever near, my darling.”

Collinwood

Weeks had passed and things were returning to normal. David’s and Hallie’s children had returned to their schools. David spent most of the summer in Windcliffe under the care of Dr. Maggie Haskell, who was spending half-days there. Maggie also took care of Chad Jenkins, following Julia’s notes as a guide. She was even finding out things about the unholy blood cells that Julia had not noticed.

Hallie Stokes Collins was exhausted after seeing to her uncle’s wedding reception. She had learned a thing or two about hostessing as a result of the preparations and thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to cut back on her lawyer activities and play Mistress of Collinwood once in a while–once in a great while. Now, with Uncle Eliot and her new Aunt Julia traveling abroad and her children back at school, the old feeling of being out of place among all these Collinses was getting on her nerves.

Her father-in-law, Roger Collins, after recovering from injuries in the fire, had become quite active in the family business. He said he was only seeing to things while his son recovered. David, now home, was pensive and moody still, a normal condition for him.

Carolyn was in the drawing room.

Hallie entered.

“Carolyn,” she said, “I was talking to Roger and we’re wondering about what to do about the Old House now that Cousin Barnabas is dead. I don’t think he left a will.”

Carolyn said, “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer. All I know is that Mother intended for Cousin Barnabas to have the house, him and his heirs.”

“Well, it may very well be that you or David would be his heir. He doesn’t seem to have any other relatives. I’ll have to look into it.”

“Suit yourself,” Carolyn said. She was annoyed. Somehow, it seemed right to her that the Old House should just sit there. Somehow, it seemed like it was Barnabas’ house, alive or dead. If anyone was going to ‘own’ the place, she wanted it to be Willie. No one had more of a right to it and Carolyn was certain that Barnabas would want it that way. She’d hire her own lawyer if she had to.”

The Old House

Willie stood in the Old House drawing room with Hiro Ryokuma. Hiro had stayed on at the Old House at Willie’s invitation. When he mentioned returning to Japan, Willie zealously talked him into staying for a while.

Hiro liked Willie a lot and it almost seemed to others, like Carolyn, that there was some bond between them, something they understood about each other. Carolyn often commented that Hiro was like Willie’s long-lost Japanese brother.

Barnabas’ vintage car sat in the driveway and Hiro polished it every day and took it into town once in a while so it didn’t grow old just sitting there.

The two men were staring at the portrait of a young, modern Barnabas Collins.

Willie said, “I sure hope Barnabas is happy, wherever he is.”

Hiro put a hand on Willie’s shoulder and replied, “I also hope that, my friend, but happiness does not seem to be his destiny.”

“He’s been through so much and he’s helped so many people. It only seems right that he get some peace somewhere.”

Hiro spoke like an ancient sage, saying, “Patience is always rewarded. Sometimes the reward is something new with which to be patient.”

Hell

Angelique, looking as she did in her youth, stood before Diabolos’ evil throne, and hung her head.

“Master,” she pleaded. “I know I have failed you and I know what you’re going to do to me.”

“Yes, Miranda,” he snarled. “You will not escape punishment this time. It will be more exquisite this time than you have ever felt before because this time, not only will you suffer, but your Barnabas will suffer with you.”

Angelique lifted her head and looked at the piercing eyes of her accuser. “But I saved him!” she objected.

“You made a decent effort at it, Miranda,” he gloated, “but I’ve seen to it that he’ll be coming here instead of returning to life. That way, I can intensify your suffering a hundred fold as you watch him suffer too.”

“I beg of you, Master,” Angelique said. “I will do anything…”

“So you’ve said before, but this time I won’t listen to you.”

As he spoke, a horribly ugly demon entered and whispered in Diabolos’ ear.

“What?!” Diabolos shouted as he flung the demon aside.

Angelique looked puzzled while Diabolos composed himself. “Your beloved is here now.”

Angelique wondered at what appeared to be surprise in Diabolos’ countenance at what he had been told.

Soon, next to Angelique appeared Barnabas. He had descended from some crag behind her and was suddenly at her side.

“Angelique!” cried Barnabas. “At last!”

He was young once again, much like when she had known him after coming to Collinwood, but not so young as he had been when they had made love in Martinique.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She pushed him away, fearful of angering her master.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” Barnabas pleaded.

Angelique just looked away and at Diabolos. “I dare not,” she said weakly.

“But you must, Angelique! He can’t stop you!”

Angelique looked surprised. “You don’t know what he can do, Barnabas!”

Diabolos remained silent, staring with malevolence at Angelique.

“Perhaps not, my darling,” Barnabas said to her, “but I know what he can’t do.”

“I don’t understand, Barnabas,” Angelique wept.

Barnabas turned to the side and faced Diabolos but still spoke to Angelique. “He can’t separate you from my love for you and as long as my love for you is true, he can’t keep us apart. Most of all, he can’t keep us from making choices.”

“Fool!” shouted Diabolos. “I can keep you apart and I will!”

Barnabas hoped that Josette was right about Diabolos not being able to harm him. Barnabas felt the pure evil coming from the being on the throne before him, and sensed the power behind the evil. He had no choice but to trust what Josette had told him.

Angelique was astonished as Barnabas stood fully facing her master and accused, “Liar!”

Diabolos was taken aback.

Barnabas continued, “You are the author of all lies and you are lying now. You have always lied to Angelique and she has believed you. Through your lies to her, you have convinced her to hurt people and destroy whatever love others might have felt for her, because you knew that the only way for you to keep someone is if no one steps forward and claims them.”

“I will have Miranda, or Angelique if you must call her that!” Diabolos threatened. “Justice requires it!”

“What do you know about Justice?!” Barnabas accused.

“It has always been about Justice!” Diabolos cried. Though he growled and menaced, he did not strike out at Barnabas.

“For you it has been about Justice, but there’s something more powerful than Justice, something that Justice can’t exist without.”

“What is that?” Diabolos demanded.

“This!” Barnabas exlaimed.

Turning to Angelique, Barnabas said, “My dear Angelique, you have hurt me more than any man should ever have to bear. You have tormented me for centuries. You have tricked and connived and injured me. My family you have persecuted and killed. No one has more cause than I do to hate you and if Justice were my only choice, you would stay here and rot. But I come here not to claim my rights to have Justice, but to claim my rights to have Mercy. I forgive you, Angelique. I forgive you of all the pain and heartache, all the grief you have caused and for every foul deed perpetrated against me. I do this of my own free will.”

Here, he shot a glare at Diabolos. “I choose to forgive you. It is my right!”

Diabolos laughed. “Fool!” he gnashed. “That is not enough!”

“She is my wife!” Barnabas declared. “I’m taking her with me.”

“She cannot go and neither can you! If you try to take her, I will destroy you, body and soul. You will cease to exist.”

Barnabas turned to Angelique and said, “He’s lying, my darling. He can’t stop either one of us. Only one thing remains to free us…”

With that, Diabolos roared loudly and Angelique cowered to the ground.

Barnabas dropped down to the ground next to her and pleaded with her while holding both of her hands, “Don’t you see, Angelique!? I can save you.”

“But how?” Angelique asked.

“When someone loves you unconditionally and they are willing to even go through hell to save you,” Barnabas explained, “there is not anything your master can do to stop them. Feel my hands. We are not spirits like the other creatures here. We are flesh and blood. We have the choice, not him.”

“How can you love me?” Angelique said bitterly. “I can see how you declare that you forgive me, but I do not understand how you can love me.”

“I can’t understand it, either, Angelique. I just know that I do. He convinces people to do horrible things, so that no one will love them. I found it out because no matter what horrible things I did, Julia Hoffman loved me. Her love saved me and now, my love can save you, but only if your love for me is strong enough to save us both, because I will not leave this place without you. And so, my dearest Angelique, to free us both, you must stand up to him and claim me like I claimed you.”

“No, Barnabas,” Angelique protested. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t!”

“You must!” Barnabas said as he shook her.

Angelique looked up into his eyes. She had not noticed that while they knelt together, noxious, sulfuric flames had crept close to them both to surround them. She began to glance from side to side in fear, but something in Barnabas’ gaze caught her and she could not look away.

“Even the flames are lies,” Barnabas told her.

She stared for a long moment, searching for truth in those eyes she loved so deeply.

The look in his eyes prompted her to stand and say aloud, “Barnabas, you promised me things so long ago with your words and your body and then you betrayed me. You used me to satisfy your sexual desires and then tossed me aside. You tried to kill me. You have physically abused me. Yet, for all the things you did to me, I forgive you, of my own free will.”

Amid the inferno that gathered around her, she stood and faced Diabolos. “That is my choice!” she thundered. “He is my husband and I am going with him.”

“No!” Diabolos screamed.

The entire foundation of hell rocked with his protest and Angelique had a moment of doubt, but Barnabas grabbed her and said, “No, my beloved one. No doubts!”

She looked at her former master again and when his long lament ended, she laughed at him and continued to laugh.

Diabolos shouted back. “You may return to the world of the living, but you cannot escape the curse I have placed on both of you. Neither of you will ever rest and no one will be able to love you and you won’t be able to love anyone. You will live like that through all eternity!”

Barnabas put his arm around his wife and led her back to the place where he had climbed down. Taking her by the hand, he entered a different tunnel to the right and climbed up, pulling and helping her along the way.

Raymond Murdoch opened the door of his suite and reached down for the morning edition of the Collinsport Star. In the headline he saw a most welcome piece of news: “Barnabas Collins Dies, Collins Family Mourns.”

Reading on with anticipation, he read:

Barnabas Collins, British cousin to the Collins family, died at the old Collins mansion last night after a long bout with a rare blood disease, Mr. William Loomis of Collinsport reported. Mr. Loomis declined to answer further questions, stating that a private memorial service for the family only would be held at the Trask Memorial Chapel on Wednesday afternoon. Barnabas Collins first came to Collinsport 30 years ago and has long been the favorite distant cousin of the Collinwood Collins family and a good friend to the Rose Cottage branch of the family.

Mr. Collins has spent most of his life abroad since returning from England to his ancestral home at the Old Collins House, accompanied by his lifelong friend, Dr. Julia Hoffman. A descendant of the original Collinsport Barnabas Collins, Mr.Collins has followed a string of his namesakes as they have occupied the Old House at various times since the original Barnabas Collins went to England in 1795. It is unknown whether he has other living family, but is survived in Collinsport by only the Collins families of Collinwood and Rose Cottage, who consider him “family” in every sense of the word.

Neither Mrs. Loomis nor Mr. David Collins were available for comment. Dr. Hoffman volunteered that she had been Mr. Collins’ personal physician for many years. The blood disease which claimed his life is rare and required constant attention.

The disposition of the Old Collins House is unknown. It is said that Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, former owner of the upper Collins Estate, gave the Old House to Barnabas Collins in the 1960′s.

Whether it will pass back to the Collins family is unknown at this time.

Mr. Collins will be interred in the Eagle Hill Cemetery alongside his wife, Miranda Collins, who died in England but was buried in the family plot at Eagle Hill earlier this year.
Raymond Murdoch smiled widely and thought to himself, “Thank you, Miranda. Don’t expect any favors for this.”

Returning to his suite, he held up the paper for Laura to see.

“Good news, my dear,” he announced and showed her the headline.

Laura eyed the article with interest and then declared, “Things are looking up, but I’m very suspicious of a trap.”

Murdoch frowned. “I’m ready for them. I imagine they are preparing for us. This will not be easy. I prefer to get it over with now, rather than wait.”

The Old House

Julia slept while the others kept vigil in the Old House cellar where Barnabas had been placed in his coffin. Irwin Trask, who owned the local funeral home, had been asked to pick up the body the morning of the funeral. He had strenuously protested about how little time that left him to prepare the body.

The sunrise did not awaken Julia, yet her sleep was fitfully unsound. She did not know what would happen now and was plagued by dreams of Barnabas as he was when she first met him, callous, selfish, and merciless. She felt his iron grip on her throat as she had more than once before they became friends. It frightened her to think of him awakening from his current sleep to that old horrible state.

Past her usual time of arising, she flip-flopped in her bed, groaning here and there and occasionally uttering, “No!”

At around 10:00AM, she was awakened by a soft tapping on her door. She called out, “Who is it?”

Maggie’s feminine and light voice called back, “It’s Maggie, Julia. Professor Stokes is downstairs and would like to talk to you. I told him you might be asleep. Shall I ask him to come back later?”

“No, Maggie. I’ll see him. Will you make him comfortable while I dress?”

Julia dressed quickly and came down the stairs to meet her old, dear friend.

“My dear,” Stokes said, as he took Julia’s hand, “I’m very sorry to hear about the passing of our good friend, Barnabas.”

“Thank you, Eliot. I appreciate you coming,” Julia answered.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

Julia pondered and then said, “Do you remember several weeks ago that I said I had Barnabas’ permission to share some things about him that you’ve probably been wondering about?”

“Yes, I do. I apologize for not coming ’round earlier to talk, but if you’d like to talk about it now, I’m willing to listen.”

“Thank you, again, Eliot. Yes, I think now is the time.”

Julia began at the beginning, told Professor Stokes of Barnabas’ early life as a mortal, about his affair with Angelique and brief engagement to Josette DuPres. She recounted the evil deeds which led to his marriage to Angelique and of the vampire curse. She told him of how she and Barnabas met and of the adventures they had together.

Professor Stokes took in all the information, smiling widely at his friend throughout the story, and occasionally took her hand and patted it with his.

She portrayed for him the recent events and brought the Professor into the present dilemma.

When she finished her long story, her old friend was silent. She had felt his support coming through in his body language and countenance, but he spoke not a word.

“Aren’t you going to say something, Eliot?” Julia asked.

The old retiree answered, “Well, Julia, that certainly explains a lot. How hard it must’ve been for you all those years, being in love with Barnabas and him not being in love with you.”

Julia was surprised. “But Eliot, I’m not in love with Barnabas. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Eliot smiled, “It was always plain to me that you were, which is why I never told you that I had feelings for you that went beyond mere fondness.”

Again Julia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Eliot! I never realized.”

“Of course you didn’t, Julia. You only could see Barnabas.”

Julia was silent, pensive for several minutes.

“Perhaps,” Professor Stokes said, “this is not a good time to be talking about this.”

“No, it’s fine, Eliot. I’m glad we’re finally being plain. You see, Eliot, I’ve always been very fond of you too. My interest in Barnabas was definitely a blinder for me, but it has not been a romantic interest with much of a future for a very long time.”

“It almost seems foolish, Julia, for an ancient old relic like myself to be speaking of love, especially when you have so much on your mind. Does it offend you?”

This time Julia took Eliot’s weathered hand in hers. “Eliot, I need to hear that right now. I have decided that when this current crisis is over, if Barnabas returns to us at all, that I will leave him in the care of Maggie Haskell and finally, in the sunset of my own life, go off to find myself.”

“And in this journey of self-discovery, would you be interested in the companionship of an antiquated old bookworm that hasn’t got the slightest idea how to be a mate to a woman?”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Eliot?” Julia said with awe.

“I think I am, Julia,” Eliot said with equal astonishment.

“Yes, Eliot,” Julia answered. “For whatever time we have remaining, yes!”

He raised her age-spotted hand to his dried lips and kissed it fervently. “Thank you, Julia. I’m at a loss for what to do next.”

Julia smiled. “Eliot, I don’t know either, but perhaps I should focus on my current problems.”

“You should know, my dear, that Sheriff Drew suspects that a vampire is at work in Collinwood and that Barnabas is her victim.”

“I wondered about that,” Julia said, standing.

“I promised him I would come and assess the situation. What shall I tell him?” Professor Stokes asked.

“I don’t know, Eliot,” Julia replied. “I hesitate to ask you to lie, but this is extremely important.”

“I will tell him, then, that he has nothing to worry about from any vampires,” Eliot said. “I don’t think I will be lying, do you?”

“I hope not,” Julia said. “I sincerely hope not.”

Collinwood

Carolyn sat in the drawing room and sobbed. Ever since Willie had broken the news to her about Barnabas’ death, she had been an emotional wreck. She thought it odd, sometimes, how attached she felt to such a distant cousin who had spent so much of his time away from Collinsport, but something about the old gent had always intrigued her.

The recent strange events had also unnerved her. To think that she was the descendant of some supernatural being called a “phoenix” was a very difficult idea for her to get used to. Even worse was the fear she had that she was going to die.

Weeks before, she had been visited repeatedly by a strange spirit and she was honored to have been entrusted with the means of saving young Stephen and Katy Collins. She was rather excited back then to have been visited by a ghost from the Collins past.

But now, here, feeling the danger closing in around her, the shock of Barnabas Collins’ demise made death seem like all too familiar a visitor. Willie was gone helping Julia make arrangements.

“Poor Willie,” she thought. “He loved Barnabas so much. He must be devastated.”

She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief just as her younger cousin, David, entered the room.

“Carolyn,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, David,” she answered.”I’m just a little upset about Cousin Barnabas. Aren’t you?”

David seemed puzzled or at least distant, then said, “Oh, of course. I will miss him terribly.”

Hallie Stokes Collins, David’s wife, entered also and went immediately to the wet bar. To Carolyn she said, as she poured herself a drink, “I was very sorry to hear about Cousin Barnabas, Carolyn. He was the nicest person in the entire family, don’t you think?”

Carolyn agreed with some annoyance. “Yes, Hallie, by far.”

Hallie turned around and faced her husband and his cousin.

“I have another piece of news that I think is ill-timed, but I think you’ll both want to know about it,” Hallie said.

“Oh?” David asked. “What is it?”

“Well,” Hallie said. “I just got off the phone with my Uncle Eliot. He’s getting married.”

Carolyn’s eyes grew big in astonishment. “At his age?” she asked.

Hallie laughed. “Yes, and I think it’s rather sweet. I know he doesn’t mean any disrespect, getting engaged on the very morning that Cousin Barnabas died.”

“How could that be disrespectful?” Carolyn asked. “He didn’t know.”

“Oh,” Hallie disagreed, “but he did know. In fact, it’s very closely connected to Cousin Barnabas’ death. You see, the bride-to-be is our own Dr. Hoffman!”

Carolyn gasped. “I don’t believe it! Julia said ‘yes’ to a marriage proposal with Barnabas not even in the grave?”

Hallie said with some sarcasm, “Well, at their age, I guess they figured they shouldn’t waste any time.”

“That’s rather boorish, Hallie,” Carolyn accused. “I’m sure Julia had her reasons.”

“You seem put out about it, Carolyn,” David observed.

Carolyn answered, “I’m not put out about it, David. I just don’t understand how Julia can think about marriage so soon after Barnabas’ death.”

“Well,” Hallie said, “I know that Uncle Eliot has always been very fond of Julia, but she was so devoted to Barnabas he didn’t really think he had much of a chance with her. I know Julia has always been very close to Uncle Eliot too. She must’ve thought it was time.”

Hallie poured two other drinks and insisted that Carolyn and David drink a toast to Professor Stokes and Dr. Hoffman. David excused himself immediately after, saying he had an appointment with his grandfather.

As he left the house, Hallie called out to him, “Don’t be long! The children are coming home this evening!”

Carolyn picked up a book and started to read while Hallie leafed through magazines. They were both startled to hear a male voice standing at the door.

It was Roger Collins, standing on his own two feet, saying, “I just found out about Cousin Barnabas. Doesn’t anyone think to tell me anything anymore?!”

Carolyn stood quickly and ran over to him. “Uncle Roger, you’re standing! What happened?”

Roger looked surprised. “Well, I don’t know. For some reason, I just woke up this morning and felt good for the first time in months. I didn’t even think about calling for my nurse and wheelchair. I just got out of bed and came down here. I walked right past the ever-present Miss Sally West, who was dozing in a chair.”

Carolyn took him by the arm and said solicitously, “Now, Uncle Roger, you still must take it easy. Come sit down.”

“Nonsense, Kitten,” he said to her. “I plan on going out on the grounds for a walk. I feel marvelous.”

“Hallie,” Carolyn said, “Would you please call Dr. Hoffman and ask her to come right over?”

To Roger she said, “If Dr. Hoffman approves it, I won’t say another word, but until then, Uncle Roger, you sit right here and behave yourself.”

She plunked him down on the divan near the fireplace and sat next to him.

“All right, Kitten,” he said to Carolyn, “but I’m fine. I feel wonderful!”

They sat there together for a long time, talking lightheartedly about many things. Carolyn was astounded by his good humor, much more like his old self. Before long, Julia entered the drawing room with her medical bag.

“Well, Roger,” Dr. Hoffman said, “Looks like a miraculous recovery, but I want to check you over before we get too optimistic.”

“As you wish, Julia,” Roger said gleefully, “but I assure you I’m fine.”

“Good, Roger,” Julia said. “How about if you go into the study and get ready and I’ll be right in.”

“Certainly,” Roger said and he walked out of the drawing room.

When he was gone, Carolyn said, “What is going on, Julia?”

Julia furrowed her brow and said, “It stands to reason that Roger’s long illness would end today.”

“Why?” Carolyn asked.

“Because if he was too sick to attend Barnabas’ funeral…”

Carolyn thought a moment and then realized the horrible truth. “…then he wouldn’t be there when…”

“Exactly, Carolyn!”

“Then this illness that has kept Uncle Roger sick for so long was the handiwork of Laura and Raymond Murdoch?”

“I’m sure of it, Carolyn,” Julia said, “and I both hope and fear that this is further evidence that they plan to make their move tomorrow at the funeral to destroy the entire Collinwood branch of the family.”

“I’m frightened, Julia,” Carolyn said.

“I am too, Carolyn, but we’ll be ready for them. I promise you that.”

Rose Cottage

Eleanor slept fitfully. So much had happened and she was so exhausted. The day was well-advanced by the time she got out of bed.

She dressed slowly, then called Carolyn Loomis up at Collinwood and expressed how sorry she was that Cousin Barnabas had passed away. Carolyn told her about Roger’s recovery and what Julia thought it meant.

“Are you as frightened as I am?” Eleanor asked Carolyn.

Carolyn replied, “I sure am.”

“I wish I had told my children to stay away for a few days,” Eleanor said sadly.

“You could have, Eleanor,” Carolyn said. “I’d understand. The Murdochs aren’t interested in them. Just in David’s children. No need to place them in unnecessary danger.”

Eleanor sighed. “Thanks, Carolyn, but we’re in this together. I’m really trusting that Professor Broman and Mrs. Rice know what to do. I’ll be terrified right up until it’s over, but we’ve got to go through with this for everyone’s sake. Professor Broman feels that if too many of us bow out of going to the funeral, the Murdochs will be suspicious.”

“Have you heard from the Murdochs?” Carolyn asked.

“No,” Eleanor answered, “and I hope I don’t. We’ve invited family only, and even though Laura bears the Collins name, I hope she understands she’s not welcome at this funeral.”

Collinsport Station

The train arrived at Collinsport Station, on time as always, and carrying five members of the Collins clan: Burke, Harrison, and Sarah Collins, children of David and Hallie; and Aaron and Melissa Collins, Eleanor’s children. They had all agreed to meet in Bangor at the same time to catch the train and ride back together. The Collins youths of both families were predisposed to spend a lot of time with each other in the summer, mostly because the three from Collinwood preferred to spend time with Aaron and Melissa at Rose Cottage than with their moody father at Collinwood. Burke and Melissa were on-and-off romantically interested in each other and both families encouraged it, but overall the five of them were fairly good friends, old family rivalries notwithstanding.

While they waited for Harry Johnson to arrive, he not being nearly as punctual as the train from Bangor, Aaron said, “I understand from Mother that we’re all going to be attending a funeral tomorrow.”

Burke said, “Yes, I heard. Creepy old Cousin Barnabas died.”

Sarah said indignantly, “Burke! That’s not nice. Mother says he’s the nicest Collins around.”

“Well, that’s not hard for Mother to say,” Harrison advised. “Other than us, she doesn’t like any other Collins.”

“Especially Father,” Burke said. “But then I don’t like him much either.”

Aaron whispered to his sister, Melissa, “It’s going to be a long summer.”

Finally, Harry Johnson arrived in a nice new minivan and loaded up the baggage while the youths took various places in the minivan. Soon, they were on their way, stopping first at Rose Cottage to drop off Melissa and Aaron and then on up to Collinwood.

Reunions at both homes were happy. David had not returned from visiting Raymond Murdoch at the Blue Whale when his children arrived home, but he came later and officiously greeted them, much as his father would have done when he was young.

Roger fawned over each one of his three grandchildren, despite their maturity, and David scowled at how the old man had changed since David was a boy. He made no comment about his father’s recovery, either. Hallie thought it strange, but figured he was just being difficult, as usual.

Trask Memorial Chapel

Irwin Trask, the village’s mortician, was more like an old-fashioned undertaker than a modern mortician, but Collinsport seemed to call for someone of his temperament rather than his more businesslike colleagues in Bangor.

Irwin thought it most irregular that the family had requested none of his usual services. He was to prepare his chapel for the funeral, but was assured by Mr. Loomis that the family would take care of the deceased until the time of the funeral. There was no viewing or even touching up the body with make-up. All was secretive and the casket had remained closed from the moment Mr. Loomis and a large black fellow with an English accent had delivered it.

Flowers arrived and he saw to having them arranged throughout the chapel. Whenever a Collins died, virtually everyone in town sent flowers. He scowled at the thought. Irwin Trask had no affection for the town’s main family, even though his own great uncle, Gregory Trask, had once lived up at Collinwood and had been married to Judith Collins.

The family had arranged with him to have the use of the chapel for the entire day on Wednesday, from 4:00AM on. They had also peculiarly asked him to stay out of their way while they made funeral preparations. An out-of-town minister had been engaged to conduct the memorial service and Trask had been asked to not be present. He was offended by the suggestion, but the handsome offer of compensatory money was enough for him to acquiesce to the typically strange Collins behavior.

He was going to lock the front door of the chapel and go to bed when someone entered. He could not see in the darkness who it was and called out, “Who is there?”

An old gentleman in a dark suit came forward with a young woman next to him, dressed in black.

“Mr. Trask,” the man said, “I am Raymond Murdoch, and this is my granddaughter, Laura Murdoch Collins.”

The old man emphasized “Collins” enough for Trask to understand that this was a member of the Collins family. “We are going out of town this evening and wanted to pay our last respects to Mr. Collins.”

“I’m sorry,” Trask said, “but Mr. Loomis specifically instructed me that there was to be no viewing and that no one was to be admitted until tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Murdoch said. “Perhaps you could find it in your heart to allow my granddaughter to say ‘goodbye’ to her dear old relation.”

As Murdoch spoke, he reached in his suit coat pocket and produced a fifty-dollar bill, which he handed to the old mortician. It pleased Irwin to be bribed like this, pleased him to see some evidence of a rift among the Collins families, and to see them act so covertly. It confirmed for him his disdain for the grand old family.

“Of course,” he said as he took the cash and excused himself to the back of the room where he turned on the main lights to the chapel.

The odd pair went forward to where the coffin lay, surrounded by beautiful floral arrangements. Trask tried to watch, but they only seemed to stand at the coffin, the woman dabbing her eyes with a white handkerchief.

He wasn’t sure, but it seemed to Trask that the lid of the casket opened slightly enough for some thin object to be passed inside and then closed.

The man and woman eventually left by the same way they came and Trask locked the door behind them.

He turned out the lights, leaving a small spotlight on the lonely coffin at the front of the chapel. His curiosity was piqued and he moved forward to where the box lay.

Moving flowers aside, he lifted the upper part of the two-part coffin lid and looked beside the body of the old Collins corpse. There was an old piece of cloth inside and several symbols on it, Egyptian hieroglyphics as far as Trask could tell.

With disgust, he put the strange item into the pocket of the deceased man’s coat, closed the lid, and replaced the flowers.

“These Collins people are the devil’s own, that’s for certain!” he muttered and retired to his apartment in the back of the building.

Outside, through a window, peered a wickedly smiling Raymond Murdoch, who whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Trask. I knew I could count on you.”

Collinwood Cottage

A small group had gathered at the small cottage on the Collinwood estate. In addition to the cottage’s two occupants, the Bromans, there was Julia Hoffman, Quentin Collins, Joe and Maggie Haskell, Chris Jennings, Mrs. Miriam Rice, Willie Loomis, and Hiro Ryokuma.

Clive Broman was obviously in charge of the meeting and gave directions.

“Does everyone have their medallion?” the professor asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Dr. Hoffman, Dr. Haskell, and Hiro will go to the Trask chapel tonight and stay with Barnabas. Hiro will watch from the outside,” Clive instructed.

Hiro bowed and the other two nodded.

“Mrs. Rice and my wife will stay in Rose Cottage tonight to guard from the inside,” he announced next.

“Mr. Haskell and I will patrol the grounds at Rose Cottage,” Clive said, to which Joe nodded his head.

“Finally, Mr. Jennings and Quentin Collins will patrol the grounds at Collinwood while Mr. Loomis will see to the safety of the family inside. Any questions about our duties tonight?”

“What are we lookin’ for?” Willie asked.

“Inside Collinwood, you are looking for any strange behavior from any blood descendant of Edward and Laura Collins, including Hanscomb the butler, but more particularly from David Collins.”

Willie commented, “You mean stranger than usual. Should I try t’ keep them in the house?”

“No,” the professor said. “But if David tries to leave, notify Quentin immediately and Quentin will try to follow.”

Broman counseled, “Those of us patrolling outside will probably not encounter any problems. Do not challenge either Murdoch directly. Instead, stay out of sight and call Mrs. Rice, who will coordinate with me. Quentin has provided an operative to follow the Murdochs if they leave the Inn through the door and report to him regarding their movements. He says they haven’t come past him this evening, but we know that doesn’t mean they haven’t been out.”

The professor opened a trunk and produced three bows and a handful of arrows. The bows were beautifully carved and painted, though they seemed ancient.

Professor Broman reviewed, “When Mr. Ryokuma delivers our doctors to the chapel tonight, he will place these in the prearranged places for tomorrow’s services. Those of you I have chosen to wield them will be instructed in their use. At the first sign of fire of any kind, get an arrow ready. If Laura Murdoch appears, shoot her through the heart. There will come a time in her ceremony when her children will be mesmerized by her and she will call them to gather around her to protect her. Do not take any chances hitting any of them.”

To Willie, he said, “You will be responsible for your wife. Keep her from joining Laura at all costs. Do you understand?”

Willie nodded.

“I will have a talk with Eleanor Collins tonight. She will do everything she can to keep Damien next to her. Damien is Laura’s highest priority. David is next. My wife and Mrs. Rice will stand guard with Mrs. Collins over Damien. Quentin will concentrate on David. Drs. Hoffman and Haskell will stay close to Barnabas’ casket. These weapons,” he said, holding the bows and arrows up, “will be manned by Mr. Ryokuma, Mr. Haskell, and Mr. Jennings.”

“How will we keep the rest of them from going to her?” Maggie asked.

“I’m afraid there will not be enough of us. The Murdochs have already worked hard on Damien and David. Those two are the most likely to be affected by Laura’s summoning and they may help her to convince the others. When a fire begins somewhere, there will be an initial panic. It will be important at this stage for her to create an illusion that where she stands will be the safest place in the fire. I have no doubt that they will make it impossible for anyone to leave. This will likely be the old man’s task in their strategy. He is immensely powerful and will probably not actually be inside the chapel. After the doors and windows are tried, Laura will convice people to gather near her. She must be destroyed before that happens. When she gets her children close enough to her, she will then have her best opportunity at controlling them by psychic means. She will be hoping to take them all with her, but realistically will settle for any number with Damien being her minimum requirement.”

Julia interrupted. “Professor Broman, I really think Maggie, Hiro, and I should be going now. It is past dusk and there is a possiblity that Barnabas…”

“I understand,” Professor Broman said quickly. “Yes, go.”

The three left the cottage and Professor Broman continued his instructions to the rest. After he had told them everything he could think of to protect them all, the entire group dispersed to their various assignments to wait out the night.

Broman was certain that the night would bring very little noticeable mischief from the Murdochs. They would, instead, be clandestinely making preparations, just as he had. He was right. The night passed without incident or reports from the others in his alliance.

Julia had spent the night in the chapel, disappointed, yet partially relieved, that Barnabas had not arisen from his coffin.

When dawn arrived, preparations began for the funeral service for Barnabas.

The Temple of Benu

Laura Murdoch Collins and her accomplice and master, the demon Ra, also known as Raymond Murdoch, entered the Temple of Benu through her mystical portal. They were not dressed in modern garb, but in ceremonial robes of an Egyptian style.

A tight white wrap-around garment covered Laura’s shapely body, making it difficult to walk more than short steps. Silver-colored sandals adorned her feet. She wore a tall white crown that rounded to a knob at the top. Two large red feathers were attached to the crown at the base and rose upward to the top. This was the atef crown of Osiris, which the Benu bird, or phoenix, was permitted to wear in honor of Benu’s ability to die and be reborn.

Raymond wore a headdress that resembled a hawk. In one hand he held a large ankh scepter. He was regaled in rich ornaments and silk. The beak came down between his eyes.

A white marble altar was in the center of the temple and Ramaphos the god-pretender lifted his disciple, the phoenix, onto the altar and helped her lay out flat on her back. He took the small ben-ben and placed it on her chest.

He raised a staff with his right hand and began to chant, “Ubenek em Benben,” and the entire temple court soon filled with flames all around them. Neither of them flinched at the flames and he continued to chant.

As the fever of his cry ascended to the rafters of the temple, the flames increased in heat and fury. Finally, with a horrible cry, he dropped both hands. The flames around him disappeared. He looked down at the altar.

No longer did Laura the phoenix rest there. She had disappeared, and in her place on the altar lay the gentlemanly-dressed body of Barnabas Collins.

Ramaphos exited the temple the way he had entered, leaving Barnabas’ body on the altar.

Trask Memorial Chapel

Alex Collins, an accomplished organist, played a solemn and sad hymn as his family and relations from Collinwood gathered in the Trask Memorial Chapel. Reverend Wittingdon from Bangor stood at the pulpit above the coffin wherein lay a distant relative Alex had barely known. He was pleased to perform this service for the family. He enjoyed playing the organ and was grateful his mother had insisted on him learning.

Julia Hoffman was escorted by her old friend and now-fiance’, Professor T. Eliot Stokes. Hiro Ryokuma, Barnabas’ loyal friend and bodyguard, took his place in the rear-left of the chapel, wearing a white carnation as if he were an usher.

The front row, nearest the casket, was filled with the Loomises and Collinwood Collinses. Behind the Loomises sat Julia and Eliot. Quentin was next to them, directly behind David. Amy and her two children sat next to Quentin, then Damien and Eleanor. Eleanor’s children sat on her right, and finally Trina.

On the third row were Maggie, the Bromans, and Mrs. Rice, seated directly behind Eleanor and Damien. Sabrina sat next to Mrs. Rice.

The fourth row held the Collinwood staff, the Johnsons and Hanscomb the butler.

Chris Jennings and Joe Haskell also acted as ushers and stayed near their appointed posts.

Reverend Wittingdon did his best to conduct a service for a man he never had met. Julia had written out some notes for him, but had declined to deliver any eulogy.

Stephen and Katy Collins fidgeted, but so did many others. There was an air of nervousness and tension in the room uncharacteristic of any funeral Reverend Wittingdon had ever conducted.

Most nervous and tense of all was Ramona Broman. From the moment the minister had begun to speak, she felt alarmed at something. Finally, when she could no longer refrain, she leaned into her husband’s ear and whispered, “She is here and he is outside.”

“Are you certain?” he whispered back.

She was both annoyed and frightened that he questioned her. His question indicated that something was happening that he did not expect and that made her very nervous.

Instinctively, she opened her purse which sat on the floor in front of her pew. She reached inside and removed her ben-ben, the large conical object she had inherited from her ancestors. It glowed a white glow.

“Very certain,” she said, showing the thing to her husband.

Swiftly, Clive Broman turned around and stared right at Hiro Ryokuma and nodded his head. Like lightning, Hiro reached under a pew near the rear of the chapel and settled an arrow into the bow he found there.

Chris and Joe, seeing Professor Broman’s nod, did the same. Reverend Wittingdon, from his pulpit, cried out, “What is the meaning of this?” when he saw what the three men were doing.

Professor Broman stood and said, “Nothing to worry about, Reverend Wittingdon. It is a tribute Mr. Ryokuma has planned for his employer. Nothing is wrong. Please continue.”

Eleanor turned around and looked at Professor Broman pleadingly. He motioned to her to turn around and be alert. Eleanor put her arm around young Damien and pulled him closer to her.

“I don’t see her, my dear,” Broman said to Ramona. “Where could she be?”

“I’m frightened,” Ramona replied to her husband. “What shall I do?”

“Concentrate on the ben-ben,” he counseled. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

Just then, the podium where the minister stood burst into flames. The old gentleman stumbled backwards away from it and fell into his chair, hitting his head against the wall. He was out cold.

The women screamed and people began to rush for the doors. The three sentinels at the back of the room stepped out of their way and looked all around them for any sign of the phoenix appearing.

The doors held tight, as Professor Broman had predicted. Alex, who had joined the congregation after the minister had begun to speak, looked around vainly for something to throw against the high chapel windows. Quentin was at David’s side as David stood in silent confusion near the front of the chapel, down by the coffin. Julia and Maggie stood near the coffin also, while Eliot begged Julia to come with him.

Eleanor had just sat where she was, her arms tight around Damien who sat calmly next to her. Amy was at the back doors with the children huddled next to her, pounding on it with Trina and Eleanor’s children.

Roger Collins had fallen in the aisle and was being helped to his feet by Sabrina Jennings.

The fire was spreading to the entire stand above the coffin. Chris, Joe, and Hiro searched wildly for a glimpse of the phoenix, but she didn’t seem to be there.

Ramona had fallen into a trance as her ben-ben turned brilliant in her hands. Clive stood on their pew and was also searching eagerly for Laura Murdoch Collins.

“Where is she?” he cried out.

The fire that had begun at the podium had caught on the drapes on the side walls of the chapel and was spreading to the back of the room. Naturally, people were backing away from every place the flames sprung up.

David called out, “Everyone to the center of the room.”

“No!” Quentin contradicted. “That way!”

He was pointing to a doorway on the front left corner of the room, leading to some other part of the building. As soon as he had spoken the words, flames shot out from the doorway and people were suddenly listening to David. The smoke that began to fill the room was suffocating.

Damien had become irrational and wrestled himself away from Eleanor and had run up to join David.

The boy went right to the coffin where Barnabas Collins was supposed to repose and lifted the lid. In a white dress and adorned with the atef crown, there emerged from the coffin his mother, Laura Murdoch Collins.

Everyone in the room stopped and stared at her. David instantly placed himself directly in front of her so that the three bowmen couldn’t get a clear shot at her. Clive Broman climbed quickly over the pews to get at her but a spout of flames shot up in front of him and sent him reeling backwards. He fell between two pews behind his wife.

Laura began to call out into the room, “Come here, everyone. I can save you. There is a way out over here.”

David took up the call with her and others followed. Quentin tried to grab Laura, but she backhanded him and sent him flying across the chapel against the far wall.

Julia and Maggie fled away from the coffin while Eleanor ran down after Damien. David helped Laura out onto the floor in front of the coffin while she continued to call to her children.

Willie had a firm grip on Carolyn who was hysterically crying for him to let her go down to Laura. Roger was unable to walk after having been nearly trampled by his family when they first sought to escape. He wanted to go and was pleading with Sabrina to help him.

David’s children had joined him, though Melissa called out to Burke in a frenzy to stay near the doors. Trina placed herself on a rear pew, huddled in fetal position and cried.

Hanscomb, the butler, was also up front near the coffin now and many Collins family members had formed a circle around Laura Murdoch Collins. Glassy-eyed, they seemed to be unmoved by the frantic screaming and pleas of the others to come away from the center of the room. The flames had crawled along the ceiling and that area seemed to be most in danger of crashing down on people.

Ramona was in a trance, held immobile by the pulsating ben-ben she held in front of her on her lap. She felt she had to say something, but the words did not come to her mind. She strained and groaned until “Damien!” escaped her lips.

The boy had climbed on top of the coffin and was dancing around above the others. When Ramona shouted his name he stopped and looked right at her. The vacant expression on his face changed suddenly. His wits were returning and his eyes fixed right on Ramona’s. Ramona saw a flickering light inside his eyes and he saw the same in hers.

With a voice louder than his own, he shouted down at Laura, “Mother! No! Only me!”

Laura turned and looked up at him and was surprised at what she was hearing.

“Let them go, Mother! You can ONLY have me!” he shouted at her.

“No, Damien!” she shouted back. “They are all coming with us!”

He raised his small arms in the air and brought them down with a snap to his sides. As he did this, all of those gathered around the coffin where he stood seemed to become aware again of their surroundings. They ran panicked to the back of the room.

Only David and Damien remained with Laura.

David took Laura by the hand and said, “Mother, I didn’t go with you the last time. I’m going with you this time.”

Laura reached to his face and caressed his cheek. “Yes, David, you’re coming with us.”

From underneath David, strong arms lifted him off the floor and whisked him away. It was Clive Broman, who had crawled under the pews and waited for a moment when Laura was distracted to rescue David Collins.

“No!” David screamed. “Mother! Don’t leave me again! Mother!”

Now it was only Laura and Damien, standing surrounded by flames leaping up on all sides. Eleanor stood just outside the circle of flames, pleading with Damien.

Ramona stood on the bench where she had been sitting and turned to face the back of the chapel. She cried out a command in Ethiopian and the two doors on the left and right of the building burst suddenly open. Most of the trapped people poured out.

“Damien!” Ramona called. “You don’t have to go with her!”

Eleanor called out to him too. “Please, Damien! Don’t leave me! I need you!”

Damien was sobbing now. “But I need my mother, Auntie El! I want my mother!”

Clive had turned David over to Quentin, who held him fast. Clive rushed to go back into the chapel but was stopped just inside by Raymond Murdoch. The old man, with surprising agility, dealt a heavy blow with his fist to Clive Broman’s jaw, which sent the latter hard against the wall. The two ancient ones began to fight.

Eleanor cried again, “Damien! Please!”

“I want my mother!” he replied.

“I’m here, Damien!” came a woman’s voice from the back of the room, but it was not Eleanor’s.

Eleanor and Ramona turned to look. Amy had run back into the chapel and was coming down to the ring of fire.

“I’m here, Damien!” she called. Her voice was not urgent or panicked, just pleading and comforting. “I’m your mother now,” she besought him. “Won’t you let me show you how good a mother I can be?”

Damien was being held tightly by Laura, who looked at Amy with an evil, fiery glare. Amy looked away in fear but then returned the glare and shouted, “Let him go!”

Laura only laughed.

“I am not going with you, Laura Murdoch Collins Died-By-Fire,” Damien said and pushed his mother’s face away.

She screamed, “Ramophos!”

Damien dropped to the ground just as Raymond Murdoch turned to look. Amy dove through the flames and grabbed her new son, Damien. She held him close and ran quickly over the burning floorboards to the aisle. She stumbled and fell. Eleanor and Ramona helped her up and the four of them tried to exit the building.

Now, besides Laura, only Clive Broman and Raymond Murdoch remained. Murdoch was running along one of the pews trying to catch up with the women who were rescuing Damien. As he reached out desperately to catch them, he was grabbed from behind by his old enemy. Clive Broman picked him up and threw him into the center of the ring of fire just as a shower of burning wood crashed down upon the coffin. The Murdochs were gone, consumed in the pyre of their own making.

Sirens roared outside and Ramona immediately returned for her husband, whom she helped to leave the inferno.

Outside, a drunken Irwin Trask, returning from a visit to the Blue Whale, became hysterical at the sight of his burning livelihood. Members of the Collins family restrained him from going in after the firefighters while he cursed the Collins name.

Eleanor sat on the ground next to Amy and Damien and asked, “Amy, how did you know to come back in?”

Amy shook her head. Mrs. Rice came to me and told me I was the only one who could save Damien. She made me believe it. She said I had to search my heart and find out if I loved the boy and then go in and save him. She made me believe it.”

Julia desperately searched for Professor Broman. “Where is Barnabas?” she pleaded. “How did Laura get inside his coffin? He was there at dawn when I looked in on him. Where is he?!”

Professor Broman hung his head wearily. “He is wherever they left him, Julia. That’s all I know.”

Julia listened as Angelique finished her speech to Barnabas and then surmised that Angelique was doing the deed that Julia had urged her to do.

Julia wanted to burst in and interfere, but she knew she couldn’t back out now. She had bungled the job of saving Barnabas herself and knew that his only hope was in Angelique finishing the job of turning Barnabas back into a vampire so she could start over.

Remorse for her incompetence was not what was on her mind now, as she leaned her greyed head against the wall. The tears were not out of fear or sorrow, but for what she realized she herself was paying as a price by inviting Angelique here.

For thirty years, she had been the woman in Barnabas’ life. He had relied on her through every trial of the past three decades and before. Never once did Barnabas show any indication of loving her like she wanted him to love her, but she knew that he did love her, loved her in the way that made Angelique jealous.

Now, Julia Hoffman was the one to be jealous. Would Barnabas realize what she was sacrificing for him? Angelique was risking her existence, but the possible reward was a grateful Barnabas’ heart. No such reward awaited Julia. She knew it would be the end of their relationship as she had come to enjoy over thirty years of fierce loyalty. Another woman would be preeminent in Barnabas’ eyes and Julia knew it before she even suggested what Angelique should do.

If Barnabas survived, even if Angelique did not, foremost in his heart would be Angelique. That was Julia’s sacrifice and no one would notice it but her. For the past thirty years, Barnabas had thought about Angelique often, but his sense of duty to the work Barnabas and Julia had done together had put her first in his thoughts. Angelique was but a regret to him-a powerful regret, but out of sight and out of mind.

Supreme loneliness overwhelmed Dr. Julia Hoffman. It seemed there was not a soul, living or dead, that understood her pain or would recognize her sacrifice so that Barnabas could live.

She kept her sobs quiet. If she made noise, it might distract Angelique or prevent any cries for help from being heard. If she had been able to weep out loud, perhaps it would not hurt so much, but for Barnabas’ sake, she stifled herself.

Had her nose not been so stuffed from her crying, she would have immediately smelled the scent of jasmine filling the corridor outside of Barnabas’ room, but as the aroma increased in intensity, Julia became aware of it.

She stood and looked around and called quietly, “Josette! Is that you?”

Suddenly, a sensation enveloped her, a feeling that some unseen angel had wrapped giant protective wings around her entire body. The entity that had joined her in the hall began to weep loudly, but it seemed to Julia that the sound was contained inside the white aura she sensed around her.

Julia sobbed too, and knew she was being wrapped in the loving arms of some magnificent being that smelled of jasmine. It was Josette, not a restless spirit, but an angel of mercy and comfort, an angel who understood what it meant to offer the greater sacrifice for her beloved–to let another woman have him.

It seemed to last forever, but it was only a small instant. The presence left and Julia leaned against the wall outside of Barnabas’ room. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and brought out a handkerchief that she used to mop up the rivers running from her eyes.

Then the thought came, “Sometimes it is just as great a sacrifice to live for someone as it is to die for someone.”

Inside the room, Angelique dutifully performed her function. The blood that oozed from Barnabas’ neck was warm, but without her bloodlust to spur her on, it was a distasteful but necessary chore for her. All that motivated her was love and fear, fear that Julia was right about him dying without her intervention.

Something else was different this time. The blood should have been satisfying, but instead it was uncomfortable, and as it rushed into her mouth, it irritated her lips. It began as an itch and was swiftly becoming a burning sensation in her gums and throat. Still, she forged onward in her task.

A vampire, when drinking the blood of its victim, does not swallow the blood. It is a psychic draining and the blood disappears into the life force of the vampire after it enters the mouth. With each wave of blood Angelique siphoned from Barnabas, the pain in her mouth increased until it became a firestorm of anguish. Still, she pressed on, determined she would do this thing or perish in the attempt.

As the waves of blood emptied into her soul, she felt herself weaken. She did not fully comprehend what was happening to her until she took a momentary break to catch her breath and happened to look at her hand. Dark lines had formed down the backs of her fingers and age spots were forming.

She reached up and touched her face and felt the deepening crevices there. She pulled a lock of hair around to where she could see it and it had turned to silver. She was growing old, rapidly and irreversibly.

Her mouth still burned with a hot fever but she managed to croak out, “Julia! Help me!”

Without an instant’s hesitation, the door flung open and Julia was at Angelique’s side. The old crone that Angelique had become dropped to emaciated knees.

“I can do no more,” she gasped. “How is Barnabas?”

Julia lifted Angelique’s weak head and allowed her to look at Barnabas. He still looked like a seventy-year-old man. Though his condition showed him to be near death, a transformation had come over him. Instead of the tortured look he had worn since Angelique’s previous attack, his countenance was full of peace.

“Did I succeed, Julia?” Angelique asked feebly.

“Yes, Angelique, but I’m afraid you won’t survive.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear friend,” Angelique said. “I die happy.”

With that she slumped over onto the floor.

Julia grabbed a sheet off of a nearby shelf and laid it over the corpse on the floor. She then hastened to the door and called out for Quentin and Maggie to come up.

Returning to the bed, she felt Barnabas’ pulse and checked his other vitals.

“What’s happened?” Maggie said as she entered the room, followed by Quentin and Joe.

“Angelique is dead,” Julia answered as she pointed to the heap under the sheet. “I will want to examine the body later, but for the moment I want Joe and Quentin to lay her out for me in the laboratory downstairs.”

Quentin bent over and lifted up the sheet. A tear formed in his eye and he asked, “What happened to her?”

Julia turned to him and said, “I’ll explain everything later. She sacrificed herself to save Barnabas.”

Joe looked under the sheet as well then quickly turned away in revulsion.

“Help me, Joe,” Quentin commanded and the two of them lifted the body in the sheet and carried it out of the room.

Maggie, who had been checking Barnabas, said to Julia, “He’s slipping away, Doctor. What do we do?”

“Let him go, Maggie,” Julia replied. “There’s nothing we can do for him until he is clinically dead.”

“We could possibly revive him, Julia!” Maggie protested.

“Possibly,” Julia answered, “but to what end? He needs to revert to being a vampire so we can begin treatments anew. It’s the only way.”

Maggie stepped back fearfully. “Is he going to revert tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Julia said. “This is unfamiliar territory for me. I suspect he will die first. We will put him in his coffin and see what happens. For all I know, his death may be permanent this time. If it is, I know he’ll at least be at rest.”

“What about Angelique?” Maggie asked.

Julia choked up. “I think she has ceased to exist. She deliberately allowed herself to take in the serum in Barnabas’ blood in order to hopefully save him.”

“Seems out of character for her,” Maggie observed.

“Not when you understand how much she has always loved him,” Julia said with emotion.

Before long, Quentin joined them.

“Where is Joe?” Maggie asked.

Quentin frowned, “He decided to guard Angelique’s body. He doesn’t seem to trust her to stay dead.”

“He must understand that I don’t want her body mutilated in any way until I’ve had a chance to examine her. You don’t think he’ll…?” Julia stopped.

“No, Julia,” Quentin reasssured her. “I made it clear that her body was not to be tampered with.”

“We’ve got to decide what to do, Quentin,” Julia said. “I need your help.”

“What do we have to decide?” Maggie asked.

Julia said, “For starters, after I examine Angelique’s body, we will bury her again in her grave. For Joe’s peace of mind, we will chain the coffin closed and put a crucifix on it. Agreed?”

Maggie and Quentin nodded.

“Now,” Julia said, “I told Sheriff Drew that we were going to transfer Barnabas to Windcliffe. I have a feeling he’ll check it out for himself.”

“What do you need to do for Barnabas?” Quentin asked.

“For the moment, wait for him to expire,” Julia said painfully. “He is near death now, but I can’t hurry that process.”

“Then what?”

“Well,” Julia explained. “We can either let the world know he has died or pretend to take him to Windcliffe as a living patient.”

“Which do you suggest, Julia?” Quentin asked.

“I’m not certain, Quentin,” Julia replied. “How can I be certain what he’ll look like when he returns as a vampire? Will he look aged as he is now or will he revert to a more youthful version of himself? If we tell everyone that he has died and he returns at his current physical age, how would we explain his death and resurrection? If we tell everyone he was ill for a while and he returns looking more youthful, how will we explain that?”

Quentin said, “If we tell everyone he has died and he returns as a younger man, he will need a new identity. If we tell everyone that he was ill and he returns as an older man, there will not need to be any explanations.”

“Why not tell everyone he left on an extended trip and decide after he has returned what we will tell them?” Maggie asked.

“That would normally be my preference, Maggie,” Julia explained, “But I doubt Sheriff Drew would be happy with that explanation. In fact, since Barnabas was somehow mixed up in Damien’s disappearance, Sheriff Drew may conclude Barnabas has something to hide if he leaves abruptly.”

“There is another problem you may not have considered, Julia,” Quentin said.

“What is that?” Julia asked.

“Eleanor Collins was attacked by Laura Collins through psychic means. Laura tried to kill her.”

“What does that have to do with Barnabas?” Julia wondered.

“Professor Broman believes that the Murdochs want a Collins dead so that the whole family will have to be together under one roof for a funeral. If we tell everyone that Barnabas is dead, there will have to be a funeral. Even if you kept it private for the immediate family, you’d still have enough phoenix descendants gathered together under one roof to provide an irresistible temptation for Laura.”

Julia considered. “Then it seems my only real choice is to take Barnabas to Windcliffe as I told Sheriff Drew and hope that the sheriff leaves us alone for a while.”

Quentin frowned.

“Do you not agree, Quentin?” Julia asked.

Quentin thought a moment then replied, “I agree, Julia, if I were thinking for you, but if I were thinking for Barnabas–what Barnabas would want if he were able to tell us–I would probably make a different choice.”

“What do you mean, Quentin?” Maggie asked.

“If Barnabas’ death does not provide the excuse the Murdochs need, what will they do instead?”

Julia nodded knowingly. “They will kill someone else.”

“Barnabas would not want that, would he?” Quentin asked.

“No,” Julia admitted. “If Barnabas could speak, he’d want us to use him as bait for the Murdochs and devise a plan to destroy them when they make the attempt.”

“Exactly,” Quentin said.

“Well, Quentin,” Julia replied defiantly, “Barnabas is not here to offer himself like that and I won’t permit it.”

As she spoke the words, the room filled with the scent of jasmine as it had in the hall moments before.

“Must save David. Must save Damien,” came a faint feminine voice. “I will protect.”

“Did you hear that?” Julia asked the other two.

“No, I didn’t hear anything, Julia,” Maggie answered.

“It’s the voice of Josette. She wants me to agree to use Barnabas’ death as an opportunity to help Damien and David. I won’t do it,” Julia insisted. To the air, she cried, “No, Josette! No! I won’t!”

Quentin pleaded, “Julia, think. Barnabas won’t be at risk. It will only be the rest of the family. They’re already at risk and isn’t it better to control the conditions and the battlefield? Barnabas will be safe and we’ll save the life of some unfortunate at Rose Cottage. It could even be one of the children or poor Trina that the Murdochs attack to have their family funeral.”

Julia thought long and hard. She hated what was being proposed but knew that it was the right thing to do, the thing Barnabas would want to do if he could speak for himself.

Behind her, Barnabas stirred.

“Julia!” he called.

She rushed to his side. “Don’t speak, Barnabas,” she urged him.

“Is Damien safe?” he asked in a tortured whisper.

“Yes,” Julia cried.

“Where is Angelique?” Barnabas murmured.

“I don’t know,” Julia lied.

Barnabas closed his eyes and ceased to breathe.

Julia cried for a long time, her head buried on Barnabas’ motionless chest. Quentin knelt beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.

Then, she lifted herself from the bedside and turned to Quentin, “Maggie and I will make out a death certificate and call Sheriff Drew. You and Joe bury Angelique as we discussed, but first, call Willie and tell him to get over here.”

Rose Cottage

Professor Clive Broman walked around and around the perimeter of the Rose Cottage estate, keeping his senses alert as he looked for any sign of danger to the house. He had done this so many times without the inhabitants being aware, but now he was doing it as a promised duty. Nevertheless, he felt no more responsible to guard well than the heavy burden he felt before.

Despite his wife’s suggestion that the Murdochs might try to employ a more conventional method for bringing about the demise of a Collins, Clive did not feel inclined to worry about that possibility. He more realistically expected them to regroup for a day or two and then retry Laura’s powers.

Passing across the driveway, he saw the front door of the house had open and a figure started to come towards him. He recognized it as Mrs. Miriam Rice, the parapsychologist medium he had just met an hour or two before.

He stopped and waited for her. “Mrs. Rice,” he questioned when she reached him, “I thought you were going to watch over the children.”

She nodded and replied, “The children are quite safe, Professor Broman. I left them in the care of Mrs. Hammond. I wanted to come and talk to you.”

“All right,” he agreed, “but let’s keep moving.”

The hearty woman agreed and walked by his side as he continued his vigilant march.

“While I was with the children, Professor Broman, I sensed that they were more well-protected from harm by the phoenix than anyone I’ve ever seen. I sensed that she was completely powerless over them. I was hoping you could explain that to me, Professor.”

Clive smiled knowingly. He had not thought of it and was impressed with this woman’s abilities.

“Well, Mrs. Rice, I am not certain I should tell you. It involves your client,” he explained.

“I understand, Professor. Perhaps I should wait and ask him about it.”

Clive thought a moment as he walked. “Well, Mrs. Rice, I think I’ll trust you. We have to trust someone and I am becoming more and more in awe of your skills and talents.”

“Why, thank you, Professor Broman. Coming from you, I’m quite honored,” the woman answered.

Clive hesitated, then asked, “You are familiar with the legendary scarab ring of the Phoenix cult?”

“Yes, the one that supposedly has the power to protect the wearer and his descendants from evil spells and curses?”

“Yes, the very one,” Broman declared. “Your employer wears it upon his finger.”

“Interesting,” Miriam said. “But I’m not sure how that protects these children. They are the children of Alex and Amy Collins, not of Quentin Collins.”

“Not his children, Mrs. Rice, but his descendants. Your employer is much older than he appears.”

Mrs. Rice looked thoughtful and downward, as if searching inside herself for understanding. “Ah!” she exlaimed, “a couple of pieces of the puzzle now fit. Thank you, Professor Broman.”

“Of course, I will need to mention this to Mr. Collins so that he knows you are aware of his secret.”

“Naturally, Professor,” she said. “I will bring it up with him also.”

They walked for a few moments in silence, near the rear of the house, where Mrs. Rice excused herself to return inside.

Once inside, she waited near the rear door until she was certain Professor Broman would be around the front of the house again, then slipped back out the door and to an opening in the rear hedge she had noticed while walking with the Professor. Some kind of intuition told her that this path would lead her to Quentin Collins. Though she was quite tired after a long trip and very little rest, she wanted now more than ever to meet with this strange client who looked young enough to be in his early twenties but was an ancestor of two children. It was not lost on her that Clive Broman had chosen the word “ancestor” instead of “grandfather.” She could conceive of the man being very youthful-looking but old enough to have a grown daughter or son that had children of their own. She had known men like that, who never looked a day over twenty-five until after they turned fifty. But, Professor Broman had said, “ancestor.”

Something else drove her to want to meet her patron face-to-face again, some premonition that she was supposed to see something. Luckily, she had remembered a flashlight when she first purposed to visit the professor on his prowl around the house. The path she found through the opening in the laurels was dark and tangled.

She wondered if the Professor had detected her passing. She had employed a method of clearing her mind as she departed the estate that should have protected her from his extra-sensory perceptions. Besides, he would be hoping to detect someone entering the estate, not leaving it.

No matter, though. If he detected her, it merely meant he knew she was leaving. He would not leave his post for that and it was important that she not be a distraction to him. She trusted him and hoped he would continue to trust her.

The night was cold and she pulled her coat so that the lapels were high around her neck and buttoned it in that position. Noises in the woods occasionally distracted her, but she was reasonably unafraid. She had the ability to sense real danger and detected none as yet. Her largest concern was to avoid tripping on the occasional root or rock on the trail, so she kept her light trained downward.

After some time she arrived at a clearing and quickly recognized that she was in a cemetery. Something was drawing her here and it became clearer to her that it was not just her own second sight, but a friendly spirit guiding her ideas and thoughts. Some restless but benevolent spirit from the past wanted her to see something occurring tonight in this cemetery.

Following the guidance she was receiving, she felt impressed to turn her light off and proceed in the dark. This took no small amount of trust on her part, as there were many more things to trip over in a cemetery than on a forest path, but she did as she was led to do.

Walking slowly, she heard a sound as of two men talking and the distinct sound of spades entering the ground, lifting dirt, and throwing it onto a box.

“Grave robbers?” she wondered. She dismissed the idea, because she doubted the spirit would lead her to danger.

Approaching the sound, she began to see two men doing what she suspected. They were burying someone in a coffin.

One of the men, Joe Haskell, turned and noticed her dark figure standing there.

“Who are you?” he called out as the other man turned to look at her too. She was close enough to recognize Quentin Collins.

“Miriam Rice,” she answered.

“Mrs. Rice,” Quentin questioned as he put down his shovel and walked towards her, “what are you doing here?”

“I was brought here, Mr. Collins,” the woman explained.

“By whom?” Quentin asked.

“A spirit of some kind,” the woman replied.

Quentin looked knowingly at her. “Then you are supposed to witness this, I think.”

“Witness what?” the woman asked.

“We are burying or rather re-burying this woman,” he pointed at the headstone of a Miranda Collins, the wife of Barnabas Collins.

“Who is this?” Joe asked Quentin.

Quentin apologized for not having introduced the two and explained to Joe that Mrs. Rice was a medium in his employ.

Mrs. Rice said to Quentin, “I sincerely doubt that I was brought here merely to observe. It doesn’t seem like you are doing anything that needs a witness.”

“Then why?” Quentin asked curtly.

“Most likely to advise or to speak for the spirit that brought me to you,” Miriam said.

“Is the spirit’s name Josette?” Quentin asked.

Miriam thought a moment then confirmed, “Yes, that is her name.”

“What does she want?” Joe asked skeptically.

“I don’t know yet,” Miriam said. “Let me see this Miranda Collins, whom I suspect has another name.”

“But we’ve already begun to bury her,” Joe protested loudly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haskell,” Miriam apologized, “but this is extremely important for some reason. I must see her.”

Quentin took charge. “Joe, I’ve trusted this woman with my very existence and I believe what she says. Let’s give her a look.”

Joe remonstrated even more vehemently. “I won’t be around when you open that lid.” Turning to Miriam he exclaimed, “You don’t know what she is!”

“What is she, sir?” Miriam asked.

“A vampire!” Joe declared.

Miriam shuddered. “Then we are all in grave danger. I am not prepared to face a vampire.”

Quentin intervened. “I assure you, Mrs. Rice, this vampire is in no position to harm anyone.”

“If it were not the middle of the night, Mr. Collins, I’d tend to agree with you,” Miriam avowed, “but the sun is not up and it is perilous to even be in the vicinity when a vampire is nearby, even in her coffin. I won’t take the risk to…” Miriam was stopped short in her excuse by a strong rush of jasmine-scented breeze. “It seems,” she continued, “that Josette urges me to look anyway and promises me it will be safe.”

Joe declared, “Well, I will not stay and watch you do it,” and hurried off into the night.

“Open the coffin, if you please, Mr. Collins,” Miriam requested.

Quentin knocked some of the dirt away from the lid of the coffin with his shovel, then lay on the edge of the grave to reach down inside and open the coffin.

Miriam retrieved her flashlight from her pocket and shone it into the dark grave and the box inside. Miriam saw there an emaciated corpse of a woman and felt a wave of compassion flow from the haunting spirit that accompanied her. She thought it singularly interesting that this spirit would take such pains to bring her here and see this sight.

“Mr. Collins,” Miriam said, “If this woman is a vampire, then something has happened to her that I can’t explain. Can you?”

“Not easily,” he said. “Suffice it to say, we know more about vampires around here than most and this one is not going to rise again.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Collins,” Miriam acquiesced, “but this spirit of Josette does not want us to bury this woman in the ground.”

“What does she want, then?” Quentin asked.

“She wants her left above ground, hidden inside her coffin, but not under the earth,” Miriam said.

“I can’t do that if there is even the slightest chance she might rise again and prey on the locals as she did,” Quentin insisted.

“We can take precautions, Mr. Collins. Do you have a place where we can hide her?”

“Yes, but not without help,” Quentin said. “What do I need?”

“A strong chain, a heavy-duty lock, and a large crucifix,” Miriam said.

Pulling out his cellular phone, Quentin called Hiro and asked him to bring the items.

The Old House

Willie Loomis stood next to Julia as she held Barnabas’ hand. Willie put his arm around his old friend and tried to comfort her.

“You did what you had t’do,” Willie consoled. “I sure hate to see him like that again. You don’t think he’ll come out of it cruel like he did before, do you?”

“I don’t know, Willie,” Julia shook her head. “I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Well, as I understand it, Julia, we’re doin’ what Barnabas would want, at least as far as protecting his family is concerned.”

“Yes, I suppose we are, especially since the ones at Rose Cottage are his own flesh and blood. He’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“What can I do?” Willie asked.

“Well,” Julia said, “get Barnabas’ coffin from wherever you’ve hidden it and get it ready for him in the cellar. After I convince Sheriff Drew to accept my diagnosis and cause of death, we’ll put Barnabas in his coffin. I want you to inform the family at both houses and start to make funeral arrangements with Carolyn. He’d want you the two of you to do it if he were normally dead. Also, call the local newspaper. We need news of Barnabas’ death to be tomorrow’s headline.”

Willie hung his head. “I almost wish he was dead like normal people. I’m afraid of what he’ll have become when he arises.”

“If he arises, Willie. If…”

“You think he might be permanently dead?”

“It’s possible, Willie, and part of me hopes so. The more selfish part of me wants him back, though.”

Just then, the door opened and Sheriff Randall Drew entered followed by Maggie.

Randall addressed Willie first, “Mr. Loomis, my condolences to you and your family up at Collinwood. I understand Mr. Collins was the favorite Collins relation.”

“Thanks, Randall. Carolyn will appreciate it,” Willie answered. “I’ll go see to calling the rest of the family now.”

Willie left the room.

“I’m sorry about your patient, Dr. Hoffman,” Randall said. “I know he was also your friend.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Julia said. “It’s customary to notify the authorities of a death. Dr. Haskell and I agree on the cause of death and we’ve prepared a death certificate.”

Julia handed the paper to the Sheriff, who examined it and then looked at Barnabas’ body. He felt the head and looked at the wound on the neck.

“All right, Doctor,” Randall said. “Given Mr. Collins’ age and general condition, I would not dispute your identification of natural causes arising out of this blood condition you mentioned earlier. It concerns me about the animal attack. I’d hate to think that there was an animal out there carrying a virus that could put the town at risk. Can you assure me that the animal bite was not the cause of death, I mean, give me your word as a physician? I’d be more convinced by that than a piece of paper.” He pushed the certificate back at Julia.

“I promise you, Sheriff Drew,” Julia said confidently, “that whatever animal attacked Mr. Collins is not a carrier of any disease that could threaten the town.”

Turning to Maggie, he said, “And what about you, Dr. Haskell? Do you agree with Dr. Hoffman’s assessment of the situation?”

Maggie nodded and said, “I do, Sheriff. Mr. Collins died from the blood condition. His condition was merely aggravated by the animal attack.”

“What perplexes me the most,” Sheriff Drew said to both women, “is that I still have no answers as to how Damien Collins ended up being with Barnabas Collins on the beach. I would dearly love to have that answer.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you with that,” Julia said. “May we proceed with funeral arrangements?”

Sheriff Drew answered, “I don’t see why not. I’ll pass this death certificate on to the coroner and if he has any questions, he’ll be in touch.”

“Very well,” Julia said.

Professor Stokes’ Cottage

Being the perennial night owl, Professor T. Eliot Stokes was sitting reading one of his many rare books, comfortably resting in his easy chair. He was surrounded by elegant antiques of an early colonial period. He loved this setting for reading. Occasionally, he would nod off into a nap. Retirement suited him well, but his interest in the occult never waned, even when he was no longer teaching it at the university.

The telephone on the table next to him rang and he answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Professor Stokes,” came Sheriff Drew’s voice over the line, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all, Randall. I was just reading here in my parlor. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news, along with a concern,” Randall said. “May I pay you a visit?”

“Certainly, Randall,” Professor Stokes said.

“I’m on the old Collins Road now,” Randall explained. “I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Very well, Randall. I’ll see you then.”

Professor Stokes slowly lifted himself out of his easy chair and went into his kitchen. He rarely drank coffee, but kept some on hand for visitors. He pulled out the old coffee maker from where he pushed it when not in use and started a batch brewing.

He had it ready and hot by the time his former student arrived.

After both of them sat down with a cup of coffee, Professor Stokes asked, “Well, Randall, is this bad news for me, or just bad news in general.”

“I’m afraid, sir, it’s bad news for you,” the sheriff said. He sipped a drink of his coffee and broke the news. “I’ve just come from the Old Collins House where Mr. Barnabas Collins has died. I know you and he were friends.”

Professor Stokes looked surprised, “Yes, Randall, we were very good friends. Thank you for coming to tell me in person. How is Julia taking it?”

“The poor woman looks like she hasn’t slept in days,” Randall said. “I don’t suppose she’s doing very well, though she seemed quite clinical when I was there.”

Professor Stokes looked down into his coffee. “Julia is a woman of deep feelings and intelligence, Randall. And she was utterly devoted to Barnabas.”

“I could tell,” Randall agreed.

“You said you also had a concern, Randall,” the professor reminded him. “What was it?”

“Do you recall when I came to you about the problems with these White Lady sightings?”

“Indeed,” the professor said.

“The other night, Mr. Collins was attacked by some kind of animal. Immediately after, I saw a woman in white running from the scene. When she saw me, she vanished or at least it appeared as if she did. I am concerned about a possible connection with this White Lady creature and Mr. Collins’ death.”

“Most distressing,” Eliot agreed. “What do you suspect?”

“Well, Professor Stokes,” Randall continued, “Of all the things I learned from you in college, I was never more fascinated than by your belief in the existence of vampires.”

Professor Stokes hid his discomfort. “Are you saying that you think the White Lady is a vampire?”

“I am considering the possibility, and if she is, that Mr. Barnabas Collins was her victim, and that his death is more than just attributable to some rare blood disease Dr. Hoffman says he suffered from.”

“And if that is true, you are anxious that Mr. Collins may rise as the undead and prey upon Collinsport citizens?” Stokes asked without sounding incredulous.

“Exactly, Professor. Do you think I’m being stupid?” Randall asked.

“You know me better than that, my boy,” the old professor croaked. “I’m proud to see you employing an open mind in your work. I will tell you what, though. I will pay a call on Julia Hoffman tomorrow and see what I can do to ease your mind about it.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sheriff Drew said as he finished his coffee.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Hiro waited until Quentin and Miriam Rice came out of the secret room in the Collins Mausoleum and then pulled the ring in the lion’s mouth to shut the door. Inside was a coffin containing Angelique Collins, heavily chained, locked, and guarded with a crucifix.

“May I trouble you for a ride back to Rose Cottage?” Miriam asked Hiro, who bowed his assent.

Quentin and Hiro had refilled the grave of Miranda prior to finishing the job in the mausoleum.

After delivering Mrs. Rice to the front door of Rose Cottage, Quentin and Hiro returned to the Old House.

Miriam entered the house, surprised to find Professor Broman inside with his wife and Eleanor Collins.

“We’ve just had some bad news,” Eleanor told Miriam.

“Yes, I know,” Miriam replied. “Barnabas Collins has died. I was just with Quentin and Mr. Collins’ chauffeur.”

“This changes things,” Professor Broman said. “As soon as the Murdochs hear of this, they’ll hopefully be satisfied with that one death and make their plans around it. It is sad to say, but the death of Barnabas Collins may have saved the life of someone in this house.”

“But,” Eleanor asked, “Doesn’t it mean that the Murdochs will make their move at the funeral for Mr. Collins?”

“Yes,” Broman admitted, “but we’ll be ready for them.”

“How?!” Eleanor demanded. “I will not send Damien to that funeral, no matter how inappropriate it may seem to the rest of the family. Carolyn and Willie will understand.”

Professor Broman spoke. “Dear Mrs. Collins, I hope I can convince you to change your mind. If Damien doesn’t attend the funeral, they will not give up on him. I’m sure Mrs. Rice will agree with me when I tell you that they would like to have all of the Collinses perish by fire with Laura, but given a choice, they will go after Damien first. He is her highest priority, David next, and the others after that. By keeping Damien away from the funeral, you will force them to concentrate their efforts on him. By having the entire family at the funeral for Barnabas Collins, we will not only force their hand, but force them to do battle on a battlefield we can control. Even if they realize we have guessed their plans, they will have to come on our terms.”

Miriam added, “I agree with Professor Broman, Mrs. Collins. We must make a stand and present a united front.”

Eleanor said defiantly, “I will take Damien and go into hiding with him. Fight the Murdochs without him!”

“Mrs. Collins…Eleanor,” Clive said, “You felt Laura’s power tonight. Do you really think you can hide from her? Damien himself will be like a beacon. She will find him wherever he goes. You can’t hide or run away. You must face her. You will either run away and face her alone or you will stand with the rest of us against her. Remember also that your good friend Carolyn Loomis is in danger as well. The best thing for all concerned, and for Damien, is to stay and fight.”

Eleanor wept and acquiesced. “All right, Professor. I’ll do it your way.”

Miriam put her arm around Eleanor and said, “You should sleep now. We will make plans first thing in the morning.”

Mrs. Hammond was called for to help the mistress of Rose Cottage up to bed, while the Bromans and Mrs. Rice met in Eleanor’s study to plan their strategy.

Collinsport Inn

Laura Murdoch Collins once again stared into the flames of the fireplace in her suite in the Collinsport Inn. Raymond Murdoch stood by, watching, an evil grin playing on his face.

Laura’s eyes widened and filled with red light as she sought the aid of the fire. She slumped over and said, “I will need more time to regain my strength. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Raymond advanced as she stood up to face him. His leathered hand reached out and struck her across the face.

“While you recover from your bumbling, recover from that!” he shouted.

Her red-filled eyes flashed at him in contempt, but she made no move against him. She was powerless to harm him, but that didn’t stop her from hating him.

She thought to herself, “If I achieve this next level, I will be more powerful than he is, and then I will have my revenge on him.”

Ramona Broman sat quietly next to her husband as he slowly navigated the old worn road back towards Collinwood. Eventually they came to the better-maintained asphalt driveways of Collinwood and approached their home, the lovely little Collins cottage.

They were still dressed in their ceremonial garb, a fact that once again made Ramona self-conscious, even on these mostly abandoned car paths. As they neared their home, Ramona’s fears were realized. There was a car parked next to the cottage and someone was standing next to it. Someone was going to see her dressed like this after all, someone in addition to the strange wife of Barnabas Collins.

“Who is that?” Ramona asked.

“It looks like a policeman,” Clive replied.

“Oh, fine!” she exclaimed. “How will we explain these clothes?”

“Let me do the talking,” Clive insisted.

“Don’t worry,” she said.

Clive parked their car and got out to greet the policeman.

“Good evening, Officer. I am Professor Clive Broman of Oxford,” Clive said.

The policeman was Sheriff Randall Drew, who introduced himself to Clive while eying the leopard skin outfit the professor wore.

Clive laughed. “I imagine you’re wondering about our attire.”

“Well, yes, sir. I am wondering about that, but it’s not really any of my business.”

Clive ignored Randall’s “out” for not giving an excuse and said, “We were on our way to a costume party in Bangor, but my wife got a headache so we decided to come back home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Professor. Please, don’t let me stop you from making your wife comfortable. I’d like to talk to you, but I can wait a few minutes.”

“Most considerate of you, Sheriff,” Clive responded.

Clive went around to Ramona’s side of the car and helped her out and into the cottage. Ramona had heard the excuse her husband had given and did her best to play the part of the headache sufferer.

Clive invited Sheriff Drew into the house. Randall followed the two.

Ramona went into the bedroom to change while her husband entertained the sheriff. Still, she listened to their conversation.

“Your wife seems familiar to me, Professor Broman,” Sheriff Drew said.

Clive answered, “Perhaps you met her at Collinwood. She used to be Roger Collins’ nurse.”

“Ah, yes! Miss Herndon!” Randall remembered.

“Now Mrs. Broman,” Clive corrected.

“Of course,” Randall said.

“Tell me, Sheriff,” Clive questioned. “How may I be of service to the Collinsport Police Department?”

“I need some expert advice, Professor, and my old instructor, Professor T. Elliot Stokes, highly recommended you to me as someone who might be able to help me.”

“How is my old colleague and friend?” the professor exclaimed.

“Quite well, Professor,” Randall said with a smile. “Still researching and studying, his retirement notwithstanding.”

Clive laughed. “I don’t suppose he’ll ever stop.”

“I don’t either,” Randall surmised, “and I’d love to have his help right now, but I’d rather not bother him too much, if you understand.”

“I do indeed, and if helping you will give my dear friend some much-deserved rest, then I’ll do my utmost.”

“Good,” Randall sighed. “Now, what do you know about vampires?”

Clive put his head back and lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m afraid that vampires are not my specialty, but I can tell you a little. Vampires are the legendary undead who prey upon the living by stealing their blood. That is the classic vampire of literature. There are other variations of the legend in other cultures.”

Randall asked, “How does this blood-stealing happen, Professor?”

“Rumored to be through the vampire puncturing the victim in the neck or wrist. Are you investigating any specific cases?”

Randall evaded, “I can’t really discuss my reasons for asking at this time. Tell me. If I were to meet up with a vampire, how would I know?”

Clive now sidestepped the question, “As I said, Sheriff, vampirism is not an interest of mine. If you’d like, I could do some research for you.”

“No,” Randall said. “But, Professor Broman, just what is your specialty?”

“Egyptology,” the professor quickly replied.

Rose Cottage

Miriam Rice had met Damien and was quite impressed with his powers.

“A most remarkable boy!” she had said to Eleanor after they had left his room where they found him sitting quietly playing. “His intuition and inner knowledge far surpass anyone his age I’ve ever met.”

“Is that the influence of his mother?” Eleanor asked.

“Partially, by inheritance from his mother. Children of a phoenix are often highly sensitive and intuitive, always precocious, but there is something more with that boy. He has inherited something more from someone else in your family line?”

“Not being a Collins by blood,” Eleanor said, “I can’t give you much insight there. Both the Rose Cottage and Collinwood branches of the Collins family have a long reputation for being odd. I’ve always chalked it up to mistrust of the wealthiest family in the area by the locals, but lately I can see that strange and supernatural things do exist and the Collins name seems to attract them.”

“Yes, Mrs. Collins, there is a great deal under heaven that people generally do not accept or understand.”

“What can we do for Damien, Mrs. Rice?” Eleanor asked.

“I do not know yet, Mrs. Collins. There is much more that I need to know, but I will have to wait until tomorrow. I have been engaged by Mr. Quentin Collins and until he can brief me on why he brought me here, I’m unable to know how to proceed. I was told he would not be available until morning, so we will just have to wait. In the meantime, we will have to be very, very careful.”

Collinsport Inn

Laura dryly laughed in her unemotional way, amused by the plan her master had just laid out. She would enjoy the task that lay before her now. Despite the danger, none of her children would dare miss a funeral for her intended victim. While they would all be gathered there in some church, she would enter and burn the place to the ground and claim the lives and life forces of all her children that would be assembled to mourn. The time was quickly advancing when she would have to do something.

Raymond had gone out to visit David Collins at the cannery. David, her long lost little son was a man now and almost ready to come willingly. That thought delighted her. She almost had him once, but that meddling Victoria Winters had interfered. She was not able to interfere again. He would knowingly help destroy his whole family, even his own children, because Raymond would convince him of the promise of eternal life if he did.

Already David’s pliable mind had been conditioned to think he had somehow been cheated out of going with his mother by his meddling father. Psychic waves from Raymond’s powerful mind were planting the idea now in his mind that he could somehow find her, not knowing that she was here again and had come for him and for young Damien.

It was time for other business now, and she brought her thoughts back to her more immediate task. The fireplace in her suite shot out gas flames now. Wood or gas, it mattered little to her. She sat on a chair near the fireplace and began to peer deeply into the flames.

Rose Cottage

Eleanor Collins and Miriam Rice sat in Eleanor’s study, discussing Damien. Mrs. Rice had been taking comprehensive notes while Eleanor told everything she could think of.

The room was cool and the house was quiet. The children were either in bed or playing with their mother. Eleanor was answering all of the older woman’s questions. She disliked talking about these things. It made her more than uneasy to think like this, but she forced herself for Damien’s sake.

Mrs. Rice asked a question about where Damien liked to play but Eleanor did not comprehend it. She looked at Mrs. Rice, whose face showed concern, and saw the woman’s lips moving but could only hear muffled noises coming out of her mouth.

Eleanor felt the room grow hot and felt as if she were going to faint. It seemed as if the room were spinning and had become hot like a dry sauna.

Mrs. Rice arose in an instant and was facing Eleanor, shouting something to Eleanor. Reaching into Eleanor’s blouse, Mrs. Rice pulled out the strange talisman and noted that it was glowing. The parapsychologist ran to the door and called out for help.

In an instant, Mrs. Hammond, the housekeeper, responded. Mrs. Rice noticed a small crucifix hanging from the housekeeper’s neck.

“Get Mrs. Collins some very cold water.”

The housekeeper disappeared, then returned in a couple of minutes with the water.

“Are you a religious person?” Mrs. Rice asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hammond replied. “Catholic.”

“Good,” the spiritualist said. “Come in here and pray over Mrs. Collins. Don’t stop no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

The housekeeper nodded fearfully and began to pray, while Mrs. Rice went to work on Eleanor.

She kept trying to get Eleanor to sip the cool water, but Eleanor was unresponsive.

To Mrs. Hammond, Miriam said, “Stay here and keep praying. Remember, no matter what happens, keep praying!”

Then she rushed out of the room.

The Old House

Quentin arrived at the Old House but without Angelique. He went straight up to Barnabas’ room where Julia and Maggie worked feverishly on the poor old man.

“Where is Angelique?” Julia demanded.

“She wouldn’t come. Said she was sure it was a trap.”

“Quentin,” Julia said nervously, “I need Angelique here if I have to go get her myself. Where is she?”

“Probably on her way here, but on her own terms,” Quentin speculated.

“I certainly hope so, Quentin.”

“Why?” he asked. “What do you want from her?”

“Yes, Julia,” came a voice from behind her. “What do you want from me?”

Julia turned around. It was Angelique, who had just materialized in the room. Maggie had shrunk back into the corner when she heard Angelique’s voice.

Angelique smiled wickedly at Maggie for a moment, then turned to face Julia.

Julia looked at Maggie and commanded, “Leave us.” Turning to Quentin, she said, “You too.”

Maggie had already begun to walk cautiously around Angelique, her hand poised on the small cross she was wearing, when Quentin responded to Julia’s instructions, “I’m not going to leave you alone with her.”

“I’ll be fine, Quentin. Now do as I say!” Julia’s voice was even more determined.

Quentin reluctantly left, hoping that the good feelings that occasionally existed between the two women would protect Julia.

After he left, Angelique advanced somewhat menacingly towards the old doctor.

“Now, Julia, maybe I should even up the score with you, after I’ve finished what I intend to do to Barnabas.”

“Good, Angelique,” Julia said. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Rose Cottage

Miriam Rice returned to Eleanor’s study with some strange artifacts and a hammer and nails. Standing on a chair, while Mrs. Hammond continued to pray, she attached one odd talisman to the top of the doorway on the inside and then two others above the windows in the room. As soon as she completed nailing the final item, the room grew suddenly cooler, as if some cold wind had sucked all the warmth out through the door.

“You can stop praying, now, Mrs. Hammond,” Miriam said.

Eleanor sat up, still dizzy and weak. “What happened to me?”

“More water, please,” Miriam commanded the housekeeper.

“You were attacked by the phoenix, I’d say,” Mrs. Rice revealed.

“Attacked? Why?”

“I’d need to know more before I can say for sure, but she seems to have either decided you are a threat to her plans, or she has some other strategic purpose.”

“What do we do?” Eleanor pleaded.

“You are safe for the time being, but I recommend you sleep in this room tonight. We’ll make it comfortable.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Rice,” Eleanor surrendered.

“I think I should call Mr. Collins. I know he said he wasn’t available tonight, but this is an emergency. I will step out and call him now. When Mrs. Hammond returns, have her make you comfortable in here. Don’t leave the room unless I am here to escort you. Is that understood?”

Eleanor nodded. Her house guest had become the mistress of the house, but Eleanor relieved rather than annoyed.

Miriam Rice stepped out into the hall and looked for the nearest phone. She dialed Quentin Collins’ cellular phone number.

He answered.

“Mr. Collins, this is Miriam Rice. I know you were not going to be available, but this is an emergency. Mrs. Eleanor Collins has been attacked.”

“Attacked? How?” Quentin asked with concern.

“Psychically. Probably by the phoenix.”

“I’m glad you called, Mrs. Rice,” Quentin said. “I’m going to give you a telephone number and I want you to call Professor Clive Broman and tell him everything that happened.”

“Very well,” Miriam agreed.

After she hung up, she thought to herself. “Professor Broman! Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. I finally get to meet the man. Good!”

Collinsport Inn

Laura sighed loudly and slumped over for a moment. Her mind was hot with anger.

“So, Clive Broman thinks he can interfere with my plans! I will get my revenge on him and on his precious little wife too.”

The door opened and her master, Raymond Murdoch, entered. “Is it done?” he asked anxiously.

“No it isn’t,” she said with annoyance.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Someone interfered. I’m sure you know who I mean.”

“Most likely our old enemy. We might have to resort to more earthly means, if you get my meaning,” the old man said.

“Perhaps. I’ll make another attempt later when I’ve regained my strength,” she said. “Did you see David?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And?”

“He’s coming around, slowly, but unavoidably.”

The Old House

Angelique laughed at Julia. “Which do you mean? Even the score with you or finish off Barnabas? Or perhaps both?”

Julia stopped her retreat and found her courage. “What you do about me is not important, Angelique. I want you to go ahead and do what you wanted to do to Barnabas.”

“Is this supposed to be some kind of reverse psychology, Doctor?” Angelique mocked.

“I’m completely serious and sincere, Angelique.”

“It’s some sort of trap then,” Angelique speculated.

“It’s no trap, Angelique. You trusted me once. We trusted each other,” Julia reminded her.

Angelique thought a moment. “Yes, for Barnabas’ sake, we did.”

“You can trust me again, Angelique,” Julia assured the vampire.

“For Barnabas’ sake?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you’re also going to try to tell me that Barnabas loves me, just like Quentin said,” Angelique said derisively.

Julia walked to Barnabas and checked the I.V. in his arm. “I would not bother to tell you something I’m sure you already know.”

“If Barnabas loves me, he sure has a shoddy way of showing it.”

“You don’t make it easy,” Julia quipped.

Angelique laughed cruelly. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

“Let me tell you something that Barnabas told me twenty-some years ago, when we returned up the stairway through time from 1840. Barnabas thought you were dead forever and he said that despite it all, he has always loved you.”

Angelique frowned. “Of course he said that, Julia. It’s easy for him to say that with me dead because he doesn’t have to be responsible for it. He’s so romantic that he can’t help but love a dead woman who died helping him, but I’ve come to realize that such expressions of love are only good for as long as it takes to say them.”

“I told myself that same thing, Angelique,” Julia said, facing her. “I wanted to believe it, that somehow he’d forget about you and look to me. It never happened and it never will.”

Angelique placed her icy hand on the side of Julia’s face and jibed, “Poor unfulfilled Julia. We both wanted Barnabas to love us, but he couldn’t take his mind off of Josette long enough to notice either one of us.”

Julia was repulsed by the clammy flesh of Angelique’s palm but knew her well enough to know not to show fear.

“Yes, Angelique. Barnabas loved Josette, but he loved you first. He doesn’t regret the other women he has loved too, but one thing is certain. He loves us both in our own ways, but for that one person he wants to be with, he would choose you over me.”

Angelique lowered her hand. “Must be terrible for you, Julia,” she mocked. “Playing second to someone that Barnabas hates can’t feel good.”

“I’m telling you, Angelique. Barnabas loves you!”

“If that is true, Dr. Hoffman,” Angelique said, “Why do you want me to do this thing?”

“To save him,” Julia said.

“You’re confused, poor old dear,” Angelique ridiculed. “What you’re asking me to do will not save Barnabas. It will return him to being that thing he hates, to be like me and to be with me. That hardly constitutes salvation. If he loves either of us now, he’ll hate us both if I do that and you let me.”

“It is the only answer left to me, Angelique,” Julia pleaded.

Angelique was taken aback by Julia’s show of emotion. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious, Angelique.”

“Why?”

“You helped me once to cure Barnabas. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do. I’ve been thinking about getting you to do the same thing for me…as soon as I’m done with what I want to accomplish in this state.”

“I’ve found more powerful drugs, something that does the job a little more thoroughly than the herbs and such that we used in 1897. With these, I’ve kept Barnabas’ condition at bay by regular injections. These injections keep the unholy blood cells that cause vampirism inert and impotent, while allowing Barnabas to age and be like other men. That has been the fondest desire of his heart and I was glad to be the one making his dream stay true.”

“Then why do you want me to end it?” Angelique demanded.

“Because my treatment never took into account the introduction of another vampire’s blood cells. Ever since you attacked him down on the beach early this morning, Barnabas has hovered between both states while his blood cells turn into an entirely new strain. I am afraid that rather than stabilize and be as I have made him, or even become as you want him to be, that he’ll die…permanently.”

“And you want me to make him a vampire rather than have that happen? Don’t you know he’d rather be dead than that?”

“I know,” Julia said sadly. “But at least I can buy some time to figure out what to do.”

“My dear Julia,” Angelique said seriously. “You forget that when he awakens after I finish him off, he’ll cease to be the kind man you’ve become so fond of and will become a monster. With time, he may regain control, but those first few days…well, it isn’t pretty.”

“I thought it is what you wanted,” Julia pointed out.

“It is. I just wanted you to realize what you’re asking. Don’t blame me if you’re one of his first victims. And, how responsible will you feel if someone else is?”

“It isn’t believable, Angelique, for you to pretend you care about how I feel. I’m willing to take the risk. I know Barnabas better than you do. I’m prepared to deal with him.”

Angelique eyed Julia carefully, then announced, “I don’t think I’ll do it, Julia, just because you want me to. I still think it’s some kind of a trap, or that at least there’s something you’re not telling me.”

This time it was Julia who laughed mockingly. “You’re afraid, Angelique. You’re afraid that he’ll reject you, or worse yet that he’ll try to destroy you. He could do it and we both know it.”

“Nonsense, Julia,” Angelique defended. “I’m not the least afraid of Barnabas Collins.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Come on, Julia. You’re still holding something back.”

“All right, Angelique. I’ll tell you,” Julia said. “Theoretically, there’s a risk. Most of the transfer of blood in a vampire attack is from the victim to the vampire. You know about that. There’s also that small amount of blood full of unholy blood cells that passes into the victim’s bloodstream. You think of the blood you drain from your victims as nourishment, but in Barnabas’ case, there’s more to it. His blood right now is filled with an agent that could harm you if you were to partake of it more than you already have. It is a mutation based on his old unholy blood cells, your new unholy blood cells, and the serum I’ve given him regularly. You could easily be saturated with this agent and you could both die instead of just him.”

Angelique’s eyes widened in a frightfully menacing stare. “So this was a trap!”

“No Angelique. I meant every word. I want to save Barnabas, but I can’t. Only you can do it, and you have to risk your own existence trying.”

“And you were going to let me do it without telling me,” Angelique accused.

“No, I would have told you before you did it, but I hoped you’d agree before I told you,” Julia explained. “Do you love Barnabas? Do you really love him?”

Angelique turned away from Julia and began to pace. It was not the slow pacing of a woman faced with a decision, but reminiscent of a caged leopard.

While Angelique paced, a soft knock came to the door. Angelique stopped her gait and frowned at Julia.

“Who is it?” Julia called.

“Sheriff Drew,” came the answer.

“One moment please,” Julia called to the door.

She walked over to Angelique and whispered, “This must be done before dawn or not at all. I will talk to the sheriff.”

Angelique nodded and vanished.

Julia opened the door and invited the sheriff in.

“How is Mr. Collins, Doctor?” Randall asked.

“Not well, Sheriff,” Julia answered.

“Is he conscious?”

“No,” Julia said firmly.

“But you were just talking to someone,” the Sheriff observed.

Julia reached in the pocket of her lab coat and produced a small cassette recorder. Showing it to Randall, she said, “Just making a few notes. You’re interrupting.”

“I apologize for that. I was hoping Mr. Collins could answer a few questions. Obviously, he cannot.”

“Obviously,” Julia echoed. She was nervous that Barnabas might go through one of the transformations while the Sheriff was present, so she said quickly, “Let’s step out into the hall if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, Doctor,” the sheriff agreed as he stepped towards the door.

In the hall, they continued their conversation after Julia closed the door. She started walking down the stairs and the sheriff followed.

“It seems that Mr. Collins is in fairly serious condition. Are you sure he shouldn’t be in a hospital?” Sheriff Drew asked.

“I’m certain he should be in a hospital, but Collinsport Hospital is not set up for Mr. Collins’ special needs. I’ve called for an ambulance to transport him to my own facility, Windcliffe. We are set up for him there. I have everything I need there. I hope to have Mr. Collins there by morning. I wouldn’t expect to be able to question him for quite some time,” the old doctor said.

“He’s that ill?”

“In his condition, it could be many days before he regains consciousness. I’ve dealt with this before, Sheriff. It’s a rare disease.”

“What’s it called?” the sheriff grilled.

“Collins-Bouchard Disease,” Julia lied.

“Never heard of it. Don’t they name diseases after the first reported case?”

“Yes, they do. Mr. Collins is the only known living case.”

“Living?” Randall asked.

“Yes. The original Barnabas Collins had it as did a woman in Martinique around the same time. An ancestor of mine did the original research and treatment. It has been my life’s work to carry on where my ancestor left off.”

“I see,” the sheriff said. “Will you let me know when Mr. Collins is able to talk again?”

Julia smiled and said, “Of course. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to my patient.”

Randall nodded and left the house. Julia looked into the drawing room and was surprised to see Maggie, Joe, and Quentin dozing. It was a wise thing for them to do and she could probably waken them if she needed them, but it made her feel dreadfully alone.

Rose Cottage

Professor Broman arrived with his beautiful wife Ramona and was greeted by Mrs. Rice.

“A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Professor Broman,” the woman remarked as she shook the professor’s hand.

He looked at her questioningly.

“I have read your books and I’m quite a fan of yours,” she said with a smile.

The Professor bowed and thanked her. “Believe it or not, I have heard of you as well. You are quite the practitioner, though I seem to recall that you mainly operate in the Great Lakes area.”

Mrs. Rice bowed this time and said with no little amazement, “You are quite right! Mr. Collins employed me to come here to help with our little problem.”

Turning to Ramona, Mrs. Rice said, “Forgive me, my dear. I did not mean to be rude.”

Clive interjected, “This is my wife, Mrs. Rice–Ramona Broman.”

Mrs. Rice extended her hand. Ramona took the hand and shook it. Miriam Rice cocked her head to one side, looked at Ramona and then at the professor and exclaimed, “It is a very great pleasure to meet you.”

Clive looked at the older woman warily, wondering if she had detected something about Ramona psychically.

“Where is Mrs. Collins?” he asked abruptly.

“Follow me,” Mrs. Rice instructed.

They all went to Eleanor’s study where Eleanor reclined in her easy chair, looking pale and fatigued.

“Professor Broman!” she said weakly.

“Don’t try to get up,” he commanded.

To his wife, Professor Broman said, “My dear, would you check Mrs. Collins’ vitals and do a quick physical assessment.”

To Mrs. Rice he said, “My wife is a registered nurse.”

“I see,” Miriam answered.

After a few moments, Ramona answered, “I think she’ll be fine, Clive, but I think she may need to see a doctor.”

“Only if you think it is urgent, Ramona. We have other more pressing matters if she is not injured or badly traumatized.”

“It can wait, but I’d feel better if Dr. Hoffman or Dr. Haskell looked her over.”

“From what I understand, both of them are unavoidably detained at the Old House with Barnabas Collins.”

“What is wrong with Mr. Collins?” Eleanor asked feebly.

“He is suffering from the wound he received while helping your nephew,” Clive explained. “He’s in good hands, though, so don’t worry.”

The Old House

Julia returned to Barnabas’ room and reached for the door knob. The knob turned but the catch did not release. She had not locked it when she left, so she tried harder.

She knocked loudly and said, “Is someone in there?”

A faint voice returned and said, “Keep your voice down, Julia. It is I, Angelique. I’ve decided to go along with your plan.”

“Let me in!” Julia insisted.

“No!” Angelique replied adamantly. “This time, you are going to have to trust me.”

“But I need to be there in case either of you are in any distress.”

There was a short pause and then, “Not on your life, Julia. I will release the door if you will promise to only enter if Barnabas or I call out to you. Is that agreed?”

Julia pursed her lips and thought. “I agree.”

“Good,” Angelique replied. “We will have to trust each other now.”

There was no sound of a lock being turned. It had not been a physical lock that had held the door. Julia listened intently at the door but heard no sound.

Rose Cottage

After asking many questions, Clive Broman faced Eleanor. Mrs. Rice stood behind her and Ramona was at her husband’s side.

“Mrs. Rice’s suspicions were correct. You have been psychically attacked by your former sister-in-law. I believe it was her intention to kill you, but due to precautions I have taken and the skill of Mrs. Rice, you were spared.”

“But why?” Eleanor asked.

“Do you remember that we postulated that the Murdochs would need to get all of the Collinwood Collinses and Damien together in order to destroy them all by fire at once?”

Eleanor shivered. “Yes,” she answered.

“Well, if you were to die, what Collins would not attend the funeral?”

Eleanor replied knowingly, “I see your point. My death was supposed to ensure their success.”

Ramona interjected, “No doubt the funeral would have been in a church. Would they attack holy ground like that?”

“They would indeed,” Mrs. Rice said.

Clive said, “Our problem is that because they failed, they will still need to have someone to sacrifice to the same end. They will either try again with you or choose someone else.”

“But who?”

“Let’s think about that. It would probably be a member of either family, though of the Collins family at Collinwood, since they need their own blood descendants, it would have to be a member of the family by marriage. That would include Mr. Loomis and Mrs. Hallie Collins. In your family, besides yourself it could be anyone, including the children.”

“No!” Eleanor cried out. “Let them take me!”

She writhed to get out of her chair but was too weak.

Clive knelt by Eleanor and took her hand in his. “My dear Mrs. Collins, I am going to do my utmost to protect you, the children, and every living Collins from the phoenix and her master. For the moment, we must do what we can for you and then decide what to do for the others.”

“But the children may be in danger now,” Eleanor protested.

“Not from the phoenix, at least not by psychic means,” Mrs. Rice explained. “She is likely exhausted from her attempt against you right now. We have a few hours at least.”

“But there is the possibility they will resort to more conventional means, isn’t there?” Ramona asked.

“Good thinking, my dear,” Clive replied.

“We could send the children away for a while, get them out of harm’s way” Eleanor suggested.

“I’m afraid, Mrs. Collins,” Clive explained, “That if you try to send Damien away, you’ll force their hand. I imagine they’d take Damien alone and lose the rest rather than lose him and gain the others. As for the other children, the phoenix powers are far-reaching. We need a way to protect without sending them away.”

“I agree,” Mrs. Rice commented.

Clive continued. “The danger by conventional means is tonight. As soon as we’ve taken care of you, Mrs. Collins, I will patrol the grounds until morning. My wife will stay with you and Mrs. Rice will check on the children.”

Both Miriam and Ramona nodded.

The Old House

Inside Barnabas’ room, Angelique knelt by her long-estranged husband. He looked so old there on the bed and so tortured. Though she kept her hands at her side, she reached out to him with her heart.

“Oh Barnabas,” she whispered. “I’ve done so many things because I loved you that were foolish and destructive to not only you but myself. I hope I am not being foolish once more. Where you are concerned, I can’t seem to help myself. I have searched my heart and found it to be full of greed, ambition, hatred, and many other evils. These things I’ve set great store by because they have always served me…”

Barnabas groaned but did not awaken.

“…but the one thing in my heart more powerful than any other thing is my love for you. I am about to give myself to you willingly but in doing so I am once again forcing you to give yourself to me. If I could only be certain you will appreciate it, it would be so much easier.”

A long groan came from deep within him and he seemed to be in pain.

Instantly, Julia began to pound on the door and call out, “Angelique! What is going on?”

“Nothing, Julia. Stay out there!” Angelique commanded.

Continuing, Angelique said, “I should have been more like Julia to you, my beloved. She always put you first, risked her life over and over again to save you. I was too selfish. As much as I hated her, I always respected her. I was jealous that you trusted her so much but could never trust me. I was too blind to see that I deserved your mistrust.

“You love her, I know. You never would marry her, I’m sure, but you love her nevertheless. I was jealous of that too. It seemed to me that the only love you ever expressed to me was in the throes of sexual passion so very long ago in Martinique. I clung to that much too much, but deep down inside I wanted more for you to love me like you loved Josette and Roxanne and Julia. I thought my claim to you was more important, more valid because we had consummated our love, but I am only now getting a glimpse of how much more satisfying is that love which you showered upon others and always withheld from me.”

An icy tear trickled down her pale cheek and splashed onto her breast. She looked at it as it spotted her dress and marveled that she could cry in her current state as a vampire. Not in her multi-century life had she shed a tear since she was a little girl in Salem. She had bellowed, lamented, whined, and shouted and to others may have seemed to be crying, but no tears had fallen from those eyes in nearly three-hundred tragic years.

“Can the undead weep?” she wondered to herself. “Apparently they can.”

Lifting her hand to the bed, she rested it on the still hand of Barnabas. He showed no reaction on his unconscious face.

“I’m feeling something new, Barnabas,” she said. “All these decades and centuries, I’ve sworn that I love you, but I’m suddenly seeing that what I felt was no more valuable a love than the love you swore to me in my bed. Here, faced with the choice of risking my very existence to save you and with the distinct possibility we will both be destroyed in the process, I feel no reluctance, no fear for my own life. Yours is what is important. I only worry that I will not succeed. Is this what love really is? I’ve been such a fool to have chased after something that is not real.

“Quentin says you love me. Julia says so too. Is this love I’m feeling right now for you the same kind of love you told them you feel for me? If you had only told me yourself, things may have been different.”

Here, she bowed her head and let fall a few more tears.

“That is not true, Barnabas. I would still have been the same evil, wicked woman I ever was. I can’t justify myself that way anymore. I have to make my decision without knowing how you really feel.”

Outside the door, Julia sat on a chair nearby, her head leaning against the wall. Angelique had forgotten to keep her voice to a whisper and Julia was taking in every word. Tears streamed down her cheeks, too.

Angelique stood a moment and paced. After an anguished minute, she returned to kneel by the side of the bed.

“Two-hundred years ago, I set a curse on you that whoever loves you shall die. I thought I had fallen victim to my own curse when you first arose from the grave and throttled me into oblivion, but I did not really love you so my death was not really due to my own curse and I returned to life.

“Then, in 1840 when I saved you, I was shot, killed, and buried and that was not in fulfillment of the curse, so I was raised again.

“Now, to perform the ultimate act of love and lay down my life for yours, I submit myself finally to my own curse that I cannot lift. One or both of us will perish this very night. I pray it will be only me.”

She laughed a nervous laugh. “Seems odd for me to use that word. I’ve never ‘prayed’ to anyone but my master, not sincerely. Oh, I put on a good show for Reverend Trask, but I had no desire for God to hear me. Now, in this moment of decision, when my heart is filled with a deep and abiding love, I turn to the Author of love and ask Him to punish me with death and grant you life, my beloved Barnabas. When I die, my eternal soul will be turned over to the master I followed so fanatically in life to do with me as he sees fit. There will be no rest for me and I choose my fate willingly; no, zealously.”

She raised herself onto her feet and knelt over the comatose body of her cherished husband. She turned his head so his neck was exposed and bared her long white fangs. No bloodlust consumed her. No hatred spurred her on to this violence. She turned away in revulsion at what she had become and what she must do. Though she was still a vampire in body, her vampire heart had given way for a woman’s heart, a woman who knew finally how to love.

Looking back at his neck, she punctured the skin with her teeth and began to drink.

Eleanor and Amy Collins sat in the drawing room of Rose Cottage, having recovered from the previous night’s ordeal by sleeping most of the day. Except for the earlier visit of Laura, things had been fairly quiet for them. Now, they had some unexpected houseguests. Amy’s brother Chris and his wife Sabrina seemed like a natural choice as houseguests, but this strange middle-aged woman, Mrs. Miriam Rice was unexpected. Quentin Collins had arranged it and hinted that Mrs. Rice, was there to help with their problem.

Eleanor was not quite sure how to approach her about it, so she decided to remain silent about the danger posed by the Murdochs. Carolyn had gone home to Collinwood and Eleanor felt somewhat alone, being the only person in the house to understand what danger they were all in. Perhaps this was a wise thing, having Mrs. Rice there. If the woman was indeed there to help, Eleanor might find that she wasn’t so alone after all.

Amy and Eleanor sat alone in the library, Eleanor doing some needlework and Amy reading. Soon they were joined by Mrs. Rice. She was an older woman, probably in her late fifties or early sixties. Her hair was not completely silver, but had dark streaks. It was arranged up in a nice coif that added an air of dignity and authority.

The woman’s nose was long and prominent and highlighted a handsome face and good fair complexion. Her eyes were brown and somewhat stark, giving the impression of being someone with sight beyond the average person.

She wore a dark purple dress and matching shoes.

“Good evening,” she said as she entered the library.

Eleanor stood to welcome her. “Good evening, Mrs. Rice. I hope you had a good rest. Have you recovered from your trip?”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Collins,” the woman said in her fluid voice. There was a hint of stuffiness in her voice, betraying a woman of some education. She had one of those American accents that many mistake for being English, but is more particularly revealing of well-trained elocution.

“I don’t think you had a chance to meet my sister-in-law, Amy Collins,” Eleanor said, opening her hand in Amy’s direction.

Amy stood and offered her hand to the woman. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rice. I’m very excited to meet a friend of my Cousin Quentin.”

The woman answered, “Forgive me, Mrs. Collins. I wasn’t aware that Quentin Collins was your cousin.”

Amy explained, “Well, I’m a Collins by marriage and by birth. Quentin and I share a common ancestor by the name of Quentin Collins.”

“I see,” Mrs. Rice said.

“Yes, our modern Quentin Collins is the spitting image of our ancestor,” Amy revealed. “I have a picture of the original there on the far wall. Do you see the resemblance?”

“I do indeed, Mrs. Collins,” Miriam answered. She realized she dared not reveal that she knew her client by another name, Grant Douglas, though he once explained that his real name was Quentin Collins.

Just then, Stephen and Katy burst into the room, followed by their teenage nanny. Amy excused herself and took the children with her, leaving Eleanor and Mrs. Rice alone in the library.

“Spirited children,” the older woman remarked.

Eleanor sighed, “Yes.”

“The one I’d most like to meet is your nephew, Damien,” Mrs. Rice said with directness.

Eleanor sighed again, this time with relief. She was not sure how she was going to approach this woman about her problems. Quentin had said she would be helpful and was knowledgeable, but Eleanor was finding herself lacking in trust.

“In a moment, we’ll go up and see if he is awake yet. He had a difficult night last night and he’s been asleep all day. Quentin told me over the phone that we could trust you, but I’d like to know a little more about you.”

Mrs. Rice smiled. “Just as it should be, my dear. Come, let us sit down and I’ll tell you about myself and then let you ask any questions you may have.”

The two women sat across from each other and Mrs. Rice began. “I am a psychic, Mrs. Collins. Now, I’m sure you’ll have some reservations about someone like me, but I assure you I’m not like one of those people that prostitute themselves on pay phone lines. I take my work very seriously. I specialize in missing children and helping the police. I also have a great interest in methods for protecting people from evil. I can’t tell you more, but Mr. Collins contracts with me to protect some items for him. Now, what questions do you have for me?”

“I assume that Quentin sent for you because Damien was missing, but now that he’s found, what can we hope for from you?” Eleanor queried.

“To be honest with you, Mrs. Collins, I’m not sure yet I will help you. To go up against a phoenix is a risk of my life, a risk I’m not certain I want to take for you or anyone.”

“But what about Damien, Mrs. Rice? He’s just a child.”

“And a precocious one at that, from what I understand,” the woman replied. “I don’t mean to seem callous, Mrs. Collins, but you must understand that a phoenix has psychic powers that are most formidable. My own psychic sensitivity puts me at great risk even being here. The phoenix will stop at nothing to have her children perish with her in fire. You must also understand, Mrs. Collins, that you are in as great danger as your nephew, especially you.”

“Why do you say that?” Eleanor pleaded.

“Because from what I can tell, having met both you and the boy’s stepmother, the phoenix will likely consider you to be more of a threat than her. Does she love the boy?”

“I think she does, more so now that before, but it isn’t something she has felt for long, so it isn’t developed.”

“A most intuitive observation, Mrs. Collins,” Miriam Rice said.

“There’s something else you should know, Mrs. Rice, something perhaps you haven’t been told yet by Mr. Collins.”

“What is that?”

“Laura, the phoenix, has more children here than just Damien. We suspect that she is here to destroy the entire Collins family, at least the Collins family up at Collinwood where the other branch of the family lives. They are all descendants of a former child of a phoenix that she failed to take with her a hundred years ago. Then, thirty years ago she was here and failed to take another son, David Collins. We are afraid she will cause some great calamity and we are pledged to stop her.”

Mrs. Rice sat quietly a moment and then said, “Very well, Mrs. Collins. With so many lives in the balance, I will stay and do what I can, but I will protect myself above all. You, also, must be on your guard. I sense you are protected already to some degree, but that protection will not aid you much when the time of burning comes. You must take further precautions. Tell me, what protects you now?”

Eleanor tentatively removed the talisman she wore around her neck and showed it to the medium.

The woman’s eyes grew large. “This is indeed a powerful item. Where did you get it?”

Eleanor thought a moment and then said, “I’m not permitted to say, but we have another ally. If Quentin feels it is important to tell you, I’m sure he will.”

“Very well, my dear,” the woman said. “Now, let’s go meet your nephew.”

Collinwood Cottage

Ramona Broman stood gazing at the painting of the phoenix, her mind in turmoil over the idea of what she was seeing. She felt somewhat of fear mixed with hatred. It frightened her because she was not accustomed to such feelings of hatred towards another creature, even an evil one such as Laura Murdoch Collins. It occurred to her that her feelings were part of her training, that some instinct had been instilled in her to hate the phoenix, or maybe more accurately, some old genetic hatred had been stirred up in her.

Whatever it was caused her emotional pain, because she could also remember growing up being taught to love her fellow man and of the evils of slavery and racial hatred. Of course, no one had ever taught her about the race known as the Phoenix.

Something in her bristled into an urgent feeling of alertness and she felt herself assuming a protective stance in front of the painting.

“My dear!” exclaimed her husband. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said cautiously. “I suddenly felt like I had to be ready for some attack, as if an enemy were approaching and I could hear it, but I can’t hear it, just sense it.”

Clive reached up to his chest and felt for the amulet hanging there. There was no warmth coming from it.

“Does it feel urgent?”

Ramona contemplated, but did not relax her posture. “No, I don’t think it is urgent.”

“It’s this painting, Ramona dear,” Clive said. “It carries a spirit with it and can amplify and extend the power of the phoenix.”

He took her by the shoulders and she eased her stance.

“There is no immediate danger, my dear,” he said soothingly.

“These feelings of hatred for it are so intense,” Ramona noted. “I don’t like them. I was always taught to not hate.”

“Those were good teachings, but in this case, the feelings are justified.”

“Perhaps, but where did they come from? Was it part of my training?”

Clive averted his eyes from hers and walked back to the table where he had been sitting. “No. They come naturally to you.”

“Because of what I’ve become? Because of what Raymond Murdoch did to me?”

“No, not that either.”

“Must I drag it out of you?” she said impatiently.

“I don’t think I should tell everything now, dear Ramona,” the professor eluded, “and we have more important things to do than to talk about this.”

“I won’t forget,” she promised. “When this business is over, you’ll explain it, won’t you?”

“Yes, dearest, I will,” Clive Broman promised his wife. “Now, dusk fast approaches and we have much work to do.”

The Old House

Quentin paced in circles in the drawing room of the Old House. Joe Haskell stood by the fireplace sipping a drink while Julia sat in a chair, her eyes closed, trying to rest.

“I don’t see how we can just stand around here like this when the sun is setting right now and She is out there somewhere. We should be trying to find her and destroy her.”

Without opening her eyes, Julia said, “That would be a fruitless pursuit, Joe, and you know it. She won’t be found unless she wants to be.”

“At least we can try!” he said with exasperation.

“Joe, I haven’t wanted to mention this to you, but the chances are we won’t have to find her,” Julia said.

“What do you mean?”

“She means, Joe,” Quentin interjected, “that we have who she wants and she’ll likely come here to try to get him.”

Joe looked up the stairs with fear.

“Maggie’s up there with him!” he exclaimed and bounded up the stairs.

“Well,” Julia said, opening here eyes and smiling ruefully, “It looks like my very brief respite is over. I’d better go up there with them. Will you be all right here?”

“Yes,” Quentin replied. “Angelique can’t do much to me and I doubt she’d try.”

“Well, be careful anyway, will you?”

“As always, Julia.”

Julia bowed her head and climbed the stairs to Barnabas’ room.

Quentin sat in the comfortable chair that Julia had occupied a moment before. He wanted to close his eyes too, but decided it was better to remain alert.

As he sat there, fighting to stay awake, he noticed what felt like a cool draft coming into the room. In an instant he was on his feet, moving like a youth of twenty-two. Looking at the window, he half-expected to see Angelique standing there with her cruel and mocking smile, but there was no one.

The window was closed. Moving into the entryway, he checked the front door. It was securely bolted from the inside.

There was no real movement of air with the drafty feeling, simply a sensation of the room growing cold.

“Angelique!” he called out but there was no answer.

Going back to the window, he looked to the west. The sun was low in the sky behind the trees but had not yet descended below the horizon. The darkness outside was caused by an overcast sky and the tall pine trees shading the house.

Whatever entity had invaded the room was not the wicked Angelique Collins.

“Who is here?” he demanded.

No answer.

“Now, I know someone is here. You must have a reason for being here. Show yourself or let me know what you want.”

Almost imperceptibly, a flowery scent grew which he eventually recognized as the smell of jasmine.

“Josette Collins?” he whispered.

Without warning, the door that Quentin had just checked and found bolted flew open with a crash against the wall. He didn’t question the sign he was being given, but went out into the gloominess. There across the driveway near a clearing floated a spectral woman in a white flowing gown. He followed.

Collinwood Cottage

Clive and Ramona Broman loaded the painting of their enemy, Laura Murdoch Collins, in the trunk of their car. Clive also carefully placed two strange headdresses in the trunk along with the ben-ben. Their manner of dress was strange indeed, consisting of carefully sewn leopard pelts and gold waistbands. Their feet were bare.

“I feel ridiculous dressed like this, Clive, and what will we say if we get pulled over dressed like this?” Ramona protested, her self-consciousness making her feel foolish.

“We’ll tell them we’re going to a masquerade party down in Bangor.” He laughed at her. “To tell the truth, Ramona, where we are going, we are not likely to be seen by anyone.”

She looked at him as they took their places in the car. He sat there in the faint glow of the overhead light. As silly as the costume seemed, there was something majestic about her strange new husband. Both outfits had a single shoulder strap on the right side, a ceremonial touch she surmised, or did she remember?

The costume was strange, for certain, but it also was elegant and Clive’s very large frame and muscular build, along with his sleek black skin, made him an august personage in this odd garment.

“Where are we going that no one will see us?”

“Into the forest.”

“Why must we go into the forest to do this? Why not dispose of it here in the fireplace?” she asked sincerely, hoping to find a way to return to the house before anyone saw her.

“This lovely cottage, our temporary home, would burn to the ground if we performed the ceremony in there,” he explained. “No, it must be done outdoors. I know of a clearing a mile into the forest behind Collinwood. Hardly anyone goes up there, since the road’s entrance is within the Collins estate.”

“If the fire is going to be as big as you say, surely we’ll attract some attention.”

“Possibly, but by the time anyone arrives, we’ll be gone.”

She had run out of objections, so she just settled back and waited while Clive drove them over the bumpy earthen road that was barely more than a wide footpath. Her fears were soon allayed as she realized no one would possibly be out in this trackless woodland. When Ramona had been a nurse to Roger Collins, Carolyn Loomis had warned her to stay away from this part of the estate. It was very easy to get lost back here and Ramona could now see why.

The sun had not set yet, but was very near doing so. She felt chilled here in the car, even though her husband had the heater on its hottest setting. Her skimpy garb no doubt contributed to her shivering, but she also realized it was largely fear that she was feeling.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of Ramona being jostled, Clive brought the car up into a clearing and stopped. The trees were far enough away from the center of the clearing that the ground was dry and powdery. A large rock was in the center of the clearing, uneven and pointed on one side. Clive removed the painting from the trunk of the car and leaned it on this rock so that it was at an angle and facing mostly forward but partially up. Above the painting at the highest point on the rock, he placed the ben-ben.

Clive returned to the car after positioning the portrait and coaxed his wife out into the clearing. “We must purify the ground now,” he told her. He reached down and attached a gold bracelet to his wife’s right ankle. As he touched it, she felt a thrill go through her, an almost sexual feeling.

He bent over and attached a large anklet to his own right leg.

He attached one of the feathered headdresses to his own head and then the other to hers. If he had looked important before, here in the dusk with the ostentatious feather crown, the leopard-skin garment, and the gold, he looked nearly divine, like some ancient African god. She felt her own self-consciousness melting away, felt some deep sense of self-worth welling up in her. Was it self-worth or was it power? It felt like both, a confidence she had never felt before, and she had always been capable and confident.

“Come,” he said in a low voice.

He led her out into the clearing, holding her hand and almost dancing in slow movements with her. Oddly, she knew how to do this too, and everywhere his foot or hers touched, the dust below them became dimly illuminated for several inches around each footfall. Their dance increased in tempo until a ring of luminous dirt surrounded the makeshift altar upon which lay the accursed painting.

Then, standing to the right of his wife, Clive Broman crossed his right arm across the front of his body and took Ramona by the right hand.

They were facing the painting, standing just inside their holy circle.

“Repeat what I say,” he said in a commanding tone.

She did not even nod, but instead waited to hear her husband speak.

He began to speak, but not in English and not in the Egyptian he had been teaching her. The language was much different than either, African in nature, or so it seemed to Ramona.

The sun was now setting and the last rays of daylight were leaving the sky. The painting glowed white and then suddenly burst into flame.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Quentin had followed the lovely apparition to the cemetery on Eagle Hill. Dusk had almost come and he was growing nervous.

Ahead of him, the ghost emerged from behind a distant headstone, came and stood on a grave several yards away, and then disappeared in a flash of light.

He hastened over to where Josette had last stood.

There were the twin graves of Valerie and Miranda Collins and Josette had been standing on Miranda’s.

From so high up on Eagle Hill, Quentin could see the sun set as a thinning orange line on the dark horizon behind distant trees. When the glowing line disappeared, he turned back to the grave of Miranda and saw the dirt move.

First a hand, then an entire body appeared above the dirt. It was Angelique, soiled and disheveled in her once-white dress. Dirt intermingled with her golden hair and she was a sorry sight.

“Well, my dear,” Quentin said mockingly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look lovelier.”

She was startled to see him.

“Quentin!” she said menacingly. “You said you would not interfere and now I’ll find a way to punish you.”

He laughed. “Punish me? If I had not interefered, you’d be dust right now. At the moment, you’re dusty enough as it is.”

“Why did you bring Barnabas down to the beach?”

“I didn’t. Damien did. I just happened to be there right then because I had something to tell you.”

“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with Barnabas coming down to the beach, that little brat Damien Collins brought him?”

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not. Despite your threats, you can’t harm me and you know it.”

“Let’s not put that conjecture to the test, shall we?” she said derisively. “And you didn’t bring Joe Haskell with you to try to destroy me?”

“Would I have pulled him off you like that if I had wanted him to destroy you? Really, Angelique, you’re not nearly as clever as everyone thinks.”

She ignored his remark. “Then why was he there?”

“I don’t know. I figured you summoned him.”

“Perhaps I did, though not consciously. How is Barnabas?”

“Julia is fighting for him.”

“Ever faithful Julia,” she said sarcastically. “Always the physician and never the beloved.”

Quentin now became more than mildly annoyed. “Julia Hoffman is not only the best friend Barnabas ever had, but also the best friend any of us have ever had. Don’t forget that.”

“All I can remember is that Barnabas never showed me the kind of loyalty he’s shown her. She’s my rival and that’s a very dangerous thing to be.”

“I want you to leave her alone to do what she can for Barnabas, Angelique,” Quentin commanded.

She laughed that cold chuckle of hers and said, “Let her undo what I’ve been wanting to do for a very, very long time? You don’t really expect me to do that, do you?”

“Yes, I do, and if you’ll get yourself cleaned up, I’ll tell you why.”

“Well, I’ll clean myself up, just so I can be presentable when I visit Barnabas tonight, but you’ll get no assurance out of me. I’m not interested in your talebearing.”

“We shall see,” he said.

Forest Clearing

In their regalia, Ramona and Clive Broman continued their chant as flames danced in and out of the painting. Though much flame had already ascended from the painting, it was still completely intact. Ramona felt panicked that the painting was not being consumed, but she knew she dared not cease her strange mantra.

Louder and faster she incanted, faster and higher pitched, higher pitched and louder. She looked at her husband with anxiety, hoping he would reassure her with his handsome gaze, but instead she peered into glassy eyes that were looking at nothing in particular. She suddenly felt ashamed, angry at herself that whatever power he was mustering was so great in him to distract him from the world, but that her power seemed not as great, since she was still overcome by dread.

“I must concentrate,” she thought to herself.

Still, the fearful thoughts kept coming and she was still present in this plane, unlike Clive, who look transfixed.

Louder and faster, faster and louder. Still unfocused. Higher pitched and louder. Nothing.

Flames still tickled the painting without devouring it and she knew she was failing.

Just at the moment she was about to quit, something new happened. Around the altar she saw dancers, began to hear their chants too. Men and women, encircling the alter, black like her but like people who lived their lives as hunters and warriors. All were dressed similarly, in skins and feathered headdresses, majestic in their physiques, but none as majestic as her husband. She now knew what it was that his vacant eyes saw, an entire congregation joining them in the task of destroying the evil thing they encircled.

Now the flames consumed and leapt high into the sky above them. The chorus of chanting was joined by drum beating and she saw outside the circle they had drawn with their feet even more people dancing and chanting, some beating drums and others blowing into strange reed instruments.

The pitch, tempo, and volume of the collective chanting had reached its pinnacle and she knew the ritual was ending. With one loud, unanimous shout, it was finished and everyone but she and her husband disappeared.

On the rock that served as their altar was a pile of ashes and glowing embers left over from the frame of the painting. No sign of the hated thing remained.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

As Angelique and Quentin walked away from the graves, she looked off into the distance from their vantage point atop Eagle Hill.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing at a column of flame ascending into the sky.

“I don’t know, and we don’t have time to look right now,” Quentin said, but knew it would not be heard.

“Nonsense,” she said. “With the Murdochs around, a sight like that must not be ignored. Do you agree?”

“Yes, Angelique,” he said teasingly, “but it would do my gentlemanly reputation no good to be seen with a woman who looks like she just got dug up from being buried alive.”

She stopped and faced him in the moonlight. “No problem, Quentin.”

As he watched, the dirt on her face and dress absorbed into her body. Her hair, matted with clods and dead grass, arranged itself and expelled the debris. Before him stood Angelique as he had first met her decades before in Evan Hanley’s cottage, perfect and captivatingly beautiful.

“Happy now?” she mocked.

He closed his eyes in delighted resignation. If he wasn’t so sure she loved Barnabas too much to be serious about him, he’d want her. He did want her, but knew he could never have her. Besides, she was too dangerous. What was more, he knew he loved Barnabas too much to take her away from him.

She began a dead run towards the forest from whence she had seen the fire. It was downhill and the fire was quickly gone from their sight. Whether it had been quenched or they were just now not at an angle where they could see it, Quentin could not tell.

“Angelique,” he called after her. “I can’t keep up with you like that.”

“You are just slowing me down, Quentin,” she said with annoyance. “Wait here and I’ll return.”

Without waiting for a reply, he saw her transform into a large black bat that winged its way into the distant forest.

He sat on the edge of Eagle Hill Cemetery, exasperated that he had not been able to tell her what he so desperately wanted her to know.

Collinsport Inn

Laura Murdoch Collins lay passed out on the sofa in the suite she shared with her master, the evil demon who posed as her grandfather, Raymond Murdoch.

He knelt next to her, roughly trying to revive her, but there was very little response. Her hand was hot, as if scorched by some white hot flame. He feared she would combust right there and start a fire, which would destroy her before he was ready for that to happen.

Again, he shook her aggressively and called out her Egyptian name. She finally responded with a moan.

“What happened?” she asked, her breath hot like an oven.

Murdoch helped her sit up and said, “We were talking when you gasped and fell over.”

“It’s so cold in here,” she complained.

“The temperature here is average. You are hot. You’re losing control.”

“I can’t!” she protested weakly. “It’s too early.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

“Put the painting over here next to me,” she requested.

The old man did as she asked and set the painting next to her on the sofa.

As soon as he set it there, waves of heat moved from Laura’s body to the painting. He held her hand and felt it cooling off as she transferred the heat from her body into the painting of herself. With each falling degree, she regained her vitality.

“Why do you suppose this happened now?” he asked.

“Someone must have destroyed the other painting,” Laura surmised.

“Them!” Murdoch gnashed.

“Yes, them,” Laura agreed.

“Our time is running short, my dear. We must act quickly if we are to succeed.”

“I think we’ve set our goals too high,” Laura suggested.

Murdoch’s heavy brow creased. “I’ll decide what our goals are.”

“Couldn’t I just take David and Damien right now? Let the others go another generation and there’ll be more of them.”

“And give the good professor more opportunities to thwart us? Wait for the power I need? No, I won’t wait another generation.”

She protested, “But it’s too hard to get them all together under one roof, especially now that some of them know about me.”

“You mean Barnabas Collins? Well, Angelique is taking care of him.”

“You can’t trust her,” Laura insisted. “And there are probably others, like Quentin, who will try to stop us.”

“What we need is something to bring them all together under one roof, something that not one of the Collinwood Collinses will dare miss and one that Damien will also attend,” Murdoch supposed.

“Like what?” Laura asked.

“Like a funeral,” Murdoch answered.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Quentin sat and pondered what he should do next. He figured it would be a good idea to check in with Julia, so he pulled out his cellular phone and called her.

“Hello, Julia,” he said when she answered her phone.

“Quentin. Where are you?”

“Eagle Hill Cemetery.”

“Why on earth would you be there?”

“I was led here by Josette’s ghost,” Quentin said.

“Really?” she said with surprise. “Why?”

“She brought me to Angelique.”

“Then you know where Angelique is?” Julia asked hopefully.

“Not anymore. She just ditched me a few minutes ago.”

With some fear and agitation, Julia asked, “Do you think she’s coming here?”

“I don’t think so, but be alert anyway. She saw a fire off in the forest and thought it might be the Murdochs. I think her desire for revenge right now outweighs her desire for Barnabas, at least for the moment.”

“Classic Angelique!” Julia remarked.

“How is Barnabas?” Quentin inquired.

“I’m worried, Quentin. He keeps phasing between states, undead, near dead, alive, young, old. The only constant is that he seems to be in some agony I can’t medicate. Whatever else happens seems to be out of my hands. My old treatments only seem to aggravate the instability of his condition.”

“Should I come back there?” Quentin asked sincerely.

“No, I think it would be good if you could do what you can to keep Angelique occupied.”

“I think so too,” he agreed.

“Do you think you can find her again?”

“I hope I won’t have to. She said she’d come back here. Never know when you can believe her, though.”

“Well, I know you’ll do your best, Quentin. Keep in touch. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Julia.”

Forest Clearing

Clive removed his headdress and then removed his wife’s. He placed them in the back seat of the car and rejoined Ramona near the rock, where she stood staring at the pile of ashes.

“That is, by far, the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced,” Ramona said. “Who were all those people?”

“Your ancestors, my dear,” he told her.

“They didn’t seem Egyptian, Clive,” she said.

“They weren’t, Ramona. They were Ehtiopian. We are Ethiopian.”

“But the phoenix is an Egyptian legend, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but not only Egyptian. Your ancestors came from Egypt only because they were slaves in Egypt. But they were Ethiopians.”

“I see,” she said with interest.

“And those headdresses and these outfits?” she said, pointing at her dress.

“Royal ceremonial clothing.”

“Royal?”

“Yes, my dear. Royal. How well do you know your Bible?”

“Never missed a week of Sunday School. Mamma wouldn’t allow it.”

“Do you recall a scene where Moses’ brother and sister take him to task for marrying an Ethiopian woman?”

“Sure. They got leprosy or some other punishment. Mamma always drilled it into me that I should never criticize a man of God.”

“Well, Moses definitely did marry an Ethiopian princess, while he was still a general in Pharoah’s army. You, my dear, are her descendant.”

“I’m a descendant of Moses and some Ethiopian princess?” she said with amazement.

“You certainly are,” he said smiling. Pulling her close he said, “And the unchallenged queen of my heart.”

She let him kiss her before she asked, “And what about you? Are you also a descendant of this Ethiopian princess?”

He hung his head and it almost seemed to her as if he were going to cry. He answered, “No, dearest, I’m not. I am Ethiopian, but not a descendant of that illustrious pair. I am simply Clive Broman, Englishman, and Oxford professor on sabbatical.”

She wanted to ask more but they were interrupted by strange laughter coming from behind her.

She turned to see a pretty white woman with long yellow hair dressed in a white dress.

“Don’t you both look ridiculous in those clothes?” the woman said.

“Who are you?” Ramona asked.

Her husband answered, “If I’m not mistaken, my dear, this is Angelique Bouchard Collins, wife of our friend, Barnabas Collins.”

Angelique replied, “Sir, you have me at an disadvantage.”

“I am Professor Clive Broman of Oxford and this is my wife, Ramona.”

“Ah, yes,” Angelique recognized the name. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Indeed?” he asked.

“Well, at least in my circles,” Angelique said slyly.

“I imagine so,” the professor replied.

“The night is so cold,” Angelique said melodically. “Aren’t we a little under-dressed?”

Ramona felt self-conscious. She had worried she would be seen dressed like this.

“We had a ceremony to perform,” Clive explained. Ramona was surprised at his candor with this strange woman.

“What kind of ceremony, Professor?” Angelique pried.

“A ceremony to destroy a certain item that needed special handling.”

The vampire’s interest was piqued even more. “Really? What kind of object needs to be destroyed by fire and a special rite?”

“A painting,” he told her.

“I must say, Professor,” Angelique said, “that you’re being awfully cooperative in your answers. Why?”

“Because I hope we can be friends, or at least allies,” Clive told her.

“Why should we be allies?” Angelique demanded.

“A common enemy, perhaps?”

“And who might that be?” Angelique wondered.

“Ramaphos! Ra! Raymond Murdoch!”

Angelique’s eyes flashed her hatred. “If he is your enemy, then perhaps we can be friends.”

“Good,” Broman said. “Now, we have much work to do, so if you’ll excuse us…”

Angelique nodded and smiled somewhat wickedly. She was satisfied with this new development, an ally in the war she was planning to start.

She stood and watched as the couple drove away. Then she walked over and lightly touched the ashes she found on the rock. Again, her wicked smile played on her lips.

In the car, Ramona turned to her husband and said, “Mrs. Collins is rather strange, isn’t she?”

“And dangerous, my dear. Don’t forget that.”

Eagle Hill Cemetery

A cold night breeze whipped through Quentin’s hair as he sat on the edge of Eagle Hill Cemetery. Quentin began to wonder if Angelique was going to return to him or whether he should go searching for her.

“Did you miss me?” came her voice from behind him.

He didn’t turn around immediately, wouldn’t give her that pleasure of thinking she had startled him.

“Not in the slightest, Angelique,” he said before turning to look at her. “Just anxious to get this over with.”

“Get what over with? This mysterious reason for not visiting Barnabas tonight?” she said with a chuckle.

“Yes, but first tell me what you found out there in the forest?”

“Oh, that. It was some Professor Broman and his beautiful wife playing with fire.”

“You didn’t bother them, did you?” Quentin asked.

She laughed out loud. “Oh, Quentin. I’m hungry, as usual, but I’m not a fool. I know more about that man than you do. He’s older than you are. In fact, he’s older than I am.”

Quentin was intrigued by this assertion, but decided to not get sidetracked just then.

“So tell me, Quentin,” Angelique said, “Why shouldn’t I go visit Barnabas tonight and finish what I started earlier?”

“Bear with me while I try to explain, all right?”

“You’re stalling, Quentin,” she accused.

“Angelique, this is going to take some explaining, so you’ll just have to be patient,” Quentin said with agitation.

“I don’t have to be patient, but I choose to be, for now,” she insisted.

“Have it your way. Just listen, please.”

“As you wish, Quentin,” she relented.

Quentin held out his hand and pointed out the scarab ring she had given him. “Why did you give this to me?”

“I told you when I gave it to you–to save Chris Jennings from the werewolf curse,” she said.

“Why would you want to save Chris Jennings from the werewolf curse? You had been using him?”

“I thought you were going to give me a reason for leaving Barnabas alone,” she said as she started to leave.

“Wait, Angelique! There’s a purpose in my wanting you to answer these questions. Please. I promise you’ll be glad you did,” he pleaded.

Angelique turned and sat down again. “All right, Quentin. I wanted to save someone else too and put the ring somewhere it would be safe, with you.”

“Who did you want to save other than Chris?”

“Why is it important?”

“It just is, Angelique. Tell me,” he insisted.

“Very well, Quentin. It was to save Stephen and Katy Collins from a curse I put them under.”

“What kind of curse?”

“Werewolf.”

“I thought so,” Quentin said as he grabbed her roughly. “I ought to…”

“Ought to what, Quentin?” she said as she tore away from him. “You can’t hurt me!”

“Not at night, I can’t, but during the day…”

“Is this what you came here for?” she said angrily.

Quentin paused a moment, then resigned, “No. I came here to save Barnabas.”

“Then you’re telling me that I’d better finish the job tonight or you’ll stop me in the morning?”

“I’m trying to tell you something else, but I lost my temper. I’m sorry.”

“Fine, Quentin. Continue,” she commanded.

“Why would you want to save the children if you yourself had put the curse on them?”

“I changed my mind. Besides, my curse didn’t work.”

He grabbed Angelique again, but this time seductively. “You’re wicked, Angelique, evil through and through, except for one or two small spots of something in you that’s a little good.”

“Nonsense, Quentin. I’ve never done anything but serve myself and I’m not about to change.”

“Not so, Angelique. Love is good and you definitely have the ability to love. You love Barnabas and…”

“And what?”

“You love your children,” Quentin accused.

She laughed obstinately. “Children? I have no children.”

“Not anymore, perhaps, but you had at least one, didn’t you?”

She extricated herself from his embrace. “One, but she is long gone.”

“Yet you suspected that Katy and Stephen were her descendants, didn’t you?”

“All right, Quentin. Yes, I suspected but wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure until I found out that during that brief moment when the ring passed from me to you, my curse started to go into effect. So, my dear Quentin, you and I have mutual posterity after all.”

“Why do you think that?” Quentin asked.

“Well, obviously, Stephen and Katy are my descendants, and yours.”

“How do you explain them being your descendants?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I figured some descendant of mine married into your precious Jennings line.”

“Why did you go to Rose Cottage and curse the children in the first place?”

She became somber. “My master, Diabolos, gave me an errand to destroy the entire family at Rose Cottage. When I found out that Stephen and Katy were my descendants, I saved them and this is my punishment.”

“Then you care nothing for the rest of them?”

“Nothing,” she assured him.

“Do you remember last night on the beach, young Damien Collins grabbing at you?”

“Yes, the little grub. The Murdochs will deal with him. I couldn’t care less what happens to him.”

“What was he saying to you when he was trying to get your attention?”

“I wasn’t listening to him! I had more important things to think about.”

“Think, Angelique. Try to remember. You heard him, I’m sure.”

She thought seriously a moment, then a look of realization came across her face. “He called me ‘Grandmother’.”

“But he is not a Jennings,” Quentin reminded her. “You’ve noticed that he has some highly intuitive powers, much more than the usual child of a phoenix?”

“I figured he was just more precocious than most,” she postulated.

“Yes, he is more precocious than any child of a phoenix, because there are other elements in his ancestry beyond the phoenix.”

“What are you saying, Quentin?”

“I’m saying that you have no descendants that married a Jennings. I’m saying that the Rose Cottage Collinses are your descendants. Yours and Barnabas’.”

Angelique was silent and hung her head in thought.

“It changes nothing, Quentin. I already knew that Barnabas and I had descendants.”

“Then it doesn’t bother you that Diabolos was trying to get you to destroy your own family?”

“Of course it bothers me, Quentin, but how does that change my plans for Barnabas?”

Quentin smiled and said, “Because Barnabas knows.”

Though Angelique pretended not to care, Quentin could see the turmoil she was feeling.

“What does Barnabas know?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

“More than you do,” Quentin taunted. “He knows how the Rose Cottage Collinses became your descendants and his.”

“And you think,” Angelique asked, “that if I know that Barnabas knows information I don’t, I’ll stay from my purpose?”

“Do you remember that I told you that Barnabas loves you?” Quentin asked.

“Yes. You said it when you were conniving to get out of my cellar.”

“I wasn’t being deceptive, Angelique. Barnabas has been wanting to find you for a long time. When he thought you were dead in 1841, he told Julia that he realized that he loved you all along, but that his foolish Collins pride kept him from accepting you. Then, when you reappeared you wouldn’t even stop and talk to him. When he thought you were dead, he was in such heavy grief. Then, Julia found out about descendants of Barnabas and assumed they were somehow Josette’s descendants, but the truth is, Barnabas and Josette were never together, only betrothed. Barnabas knew that the only possibility he had of having descendants was with you. He loves you. I know it and you should know it too. You don’t have to bring the vampire curse back on him to have his heart. You already have it.”

Quentin finished his speech and looked at Angelique’s face. Her face was tormented and filled with doubt.

“If I could only believe it, Quentin, it would change everything,” she said, “But I don’t think I can believe it.”

“You have to, Angelique. If you don’t, you might do something you will regret. How will you ever know what it is like to be loved by Barnabas again, voluntarily?”

“It’s too late, Quentin. He’s already in my power. Remember? I took care of that last night?”

“But if you leave him alone, Julia will correct that. She’s already trying. Leave them alone and it won’t be long before you and Barnabas are reunited.”

“I don’t think I can trust you, Quentin. You’d do anything for Barnabas, even lie.”

He was about to respond when his cellular phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

“Quentin,” said Julia on the other end of the line. “Did you find Angelique?”

“Yes, I did,” he answered, trying to be oblique.

“Good. Get back here right away, and bring her.”

“Are you insane, Julia?!” Quentin demanded. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s not only a good idea, Quentin,” Julia said anxiously. “It’s a matter of Barnabas’ survival. Whatever it takes, get back here right away, and with Angelique!”

Plunging headlong, Quentin managed to tackle Joe Haskell, just as he struck out with the wooden stake aimed at Angelique’s breast. They wrestled momentarily in the sand, but Joe’s middle-aged body was no match for Quentin’s youthful agility.

Angelique tore away from young Damien’s grasp and in an instant had flung Quentin off of Joe and was malevolently menacing him with bared fangs. He had dropped the stake in brawling with Quentin and was searching fearfully for it.

“Angelique!” Barnabas called out, having reached within six feet of the scene. “No!”

Angelique paid Barnabas no heed, her own mind being driven beyond all hearing by the bloodlust she had been combatting throughout the night.

Quentin recovered quickly and was back upon Angelique, knocking her into the sand from the side. Joe scrambled to his feet and searched again for the stake while Quentin grappled with the vampiress.

“Damien! Come here!” Barnabas commanded the boy to prevent him from getting between the combatants.

Damien obeyed.

Joe located the stick in the moonlight and rushed up behind Angelique with it. She was locked hand to hand facing Quentin, who was holding on to her with all his might, not much of a match, but adequate to keep her fangs from plunging into his own neck.

As Joe lifted the stake once again to attack Angelique from behind, Quentin cried out, “Not in front of the boy, Joe!”

For an instant, Joe glanced over at Damien and Barnabas. His hesitation was enough for Angelique to whip around and bear down on him again.

Joe tried to drive the stake home, but Angelique grabbed his arm with her powerful arm and dug sharp fingernails through his coat into his flesh. He cried out in pain and let the stake drop.

Quentin tried to jump her from behind, but she was prepared this time and hurled him with her other arm backwards into the sand.

The Beach House

Randall Drew pulled his cruiser in behind the two other cars already parked next to the Collins beach house where Chad Jenkins was supposedly staying. Alex Collins got out of the passenger side as Randall left his place behind the wheel.

The beach and ocean was still veiled somewhat in darkness. Randall saw people out on the beach, but figured they were searchers convocating. Dawn had almost arrived.

The lights in the house were still lit, but had they been dark, Sheriff Drew would still not have hesitated to knock.

They waited a moment and then he knocked a second time.

Eventually, a drawn and pale man answered the door-Chad Jenkins.

“Good evening, Chad,” Randall said. He was a bit shocked at the man’s appearance, though he didn’t show it. “May we come in?”

Chad glanced weakly at Alex who apologized with his eyes.

Sheriff Drew made a mental note of how easily the two men communicated without words, hardly indicative of a casual friendship.

Chad stood back and allowed the two men to enter. He was frightened and didn’t know where his mistress had gone.

“Who owns the Rolls Royce?” Sheriff Drew asked.

“What Rolls Royce?” Chad answered feebly.

“The one parked out next to the house,” Randall remarked.

Alex answered, “It looks like the one belonging to Barnabas Collins.”

“Is Mr. Collins here?” Sheriff Drew asked Chad.

“I don’t know Mr. Collins,” Chad said, “and you woke me up, so I don’t know who is here.”

“Where is Miss DuVal?” the sheriff asked. “That is her name, isn’t it, Mr. Collins?

Alex nodded.

Chad said, “I don’t know. Like I said, I was sleeping. I’ve been very ill lately.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Shouldn’t you be out searching for Damien Collins?” Chad asked after flopping down in a chair.

“I have plenty of people out doing that for me. I’m making inquiries that I think may be related,” Randall affirmed.

“And you think I have something to do with Damien’s disappearance?” Chad asked.

“Not directly, but I find it odd that you’ve been here this whole time while your mother has been frantic with worry about you and all the while, Damien’s father knew you were here. It stands to reason that two disappearances in the same small town are somehow related, wouldn’t you think?”

“I came to work for Miss DuVal, got very sick and asked her to call Mother. She forgot. That’s all.”

“When was the last time you saw Damien Collins?” Randall pressed.

“Why do you ask me that? I don’t even know the boy.”

“You and the boy’s father are friends, aren’t you?”

Chad looked up at Alex, who nodded to him. “Yes, but I’ve never met his son.”

“I don’t understand what Damien’s disappearance has to do with me,” Chad protested.

Randall said accusingly, “How many times have you been arrested and cited with public indecency or lewd conduct out at the highway rest area?”

“Oh,” Chad said with some animation, “So that’s it! A boy disappears and you look at the town homosexual! Well, Sheriff Drew, I may be gay, but I’m not a pedophile. There IS a difference, you know.”

“Oh,” the sheriff menaced, “I know there’s a difference, but your activities out at the rest area have nothing to do with you being gay. Yours are the actions of a hard-core sex addict. You’ve been with minors before, though I admit you may not have known they were minors. We’ve been easy on you, but I promise you that if you had anything to do with the disappearance of Damien Collins, you’ll rot in jail for the rest of your life.”

Alex spoke up, “Chad is not like that, Sheriff Drew!”

Randall turned towards Alex. “How would you know?”

Alex hung his head, not having been prepared to answer once he’d let loose with his comment. “You guessed right, Sheriff. Chad and I are more than just friends, but we’re not lovers. I’m gay too and Chad and I are very close. He’s got a lot of problems. We’ve got a lot of problems, but he had nothing to do with Damien’s disappearance. I’m sure of that.”

Finally, having the truth from both men, Randall was convinced he was not following a fresh lead.

“All right, Chad. I’m finished with you for now. Remember what I said.”

Chad slumped backwards into his chair.

“Mr. Collins,” Randall said to Alex, “May I drop you off at home?”

“Yes, please,” Alex said.

Collinsport Beach

Angelique opened wide her mouth and drew her prey towards her lips and protruding fangs. She moved to attack Joe’s neck but was stopped when a searing pain went through her right shoulder. She wheeled around, dropping Joe, and saw standing there, poised and frightened, Maggie Haskell, brandishing a small crucifix.

Quentin had climbed to his feet and was trying to interject some calm into the situation. Barnabas had fully arrived at the scene also.

Angelique was surrounded, Maggie on one side with her tiny crucifix, Quentin advancing slowly, Barnabas and Damien pleading on another side, and Joe Haskell looking again for his weapon of destruction. Thus cornered, her animal instincts took over and she rushed for the weakest link in the human chain that proposed to capture her-Barnabas.

Before anyone could react, she had knocked him to the ground and attacked him, burying her fangs briefly into his neck, and took a small but satisfying drink. Then she darted up the beach, blood staining her lips.

Maggie was on Barnabas in an instant, applying pressure to his bleeding neck.

Damien began to cry, “Grandmother! Come back!” As he started to run towards the house where Angelique had headed, Quentin grabbed him and held him.

Joe also took off in that direction, so Quentin released Damien after commanding him to stay, and tackled Joe again.

“Let me go, Quentin. I have to destroy her before she finds another victim,” Joe pleaded.

“It’s almost dawn, Joe. There’s plenty of time for that now. I need you to help your wife care for Barnabas while I keep Damien from following Angelique.”

Damien was already moving in that direction again and calling out to Angelique. The house was still a long way away, and his cries were lost in the wind.

Joe nodded, the back of his head brushing the wet sand under him. Quentin released him and caught Damien again.

Angelique ran up the beach towards her house, her mouth covered in Barnabas’ blood. Her visage was contorted into an evil delightedness, so that her once lovely features were completely gone. Her flowing white gown rippled in the wind and the flow of air as she ran. With superhuman strength, she tore through the dunes of sand and towards her house.

Fear soon replaced the satiated feeling as she realized how close the dawn was and how unsafe her coffin would be throughout the day. Was there time for an alternative? The world was becoming lighter and lighter by the minute and soon the sun itself would be a tiny arc in the eastern sky. She had only a few minutes to decide.

Ahead of her, coming down from the house were two men. Her night vision told her that it was Alex Collins and a policeman. They had no doubt been round to see Chad again. She knew she could not go forward without being followed into the house.

“Stop right there!” she heard the policeman call out as he raised his weapon at her.

She knew the gun could not hurt her, but did not want to be seen any closer by him. Her decision was made for her. She could not return to her coffin. Standing still, she summoned her immense willpower to her and vanished from the sight of the advancing men.

“Did you see that?” Alex said fearfully.

“Yes, I did,” answered Randall. “The White Lady! And she disappeared right before our eyes.”

“I always thought the White Lady was one of those stories people tell to scare children,” Alex said.

“Obviously she’s real,” the sheriff answered.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

In front of the grave of Valerie and Miranda Collins, the vampire Angelique appeared. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed and Angelique knew the sun was appearing over the water in the distant eastern horizon. She bent over her own grave and dug with fervent and superhuman haste until she had a shallow grave dug in the dirt. Lying down in it, she pulled the dirt back over her and covered herself, then wiggled her arms under the surface of the ground so that she was completely covered. Here she would stay until dusk.

Collinsport Beach

Barnabas groaned. Quentin released Damien, who had ceased to struggle, and came over to where Maggie and Joe were trying to help Barnabas.

Barnabas was conscious and Maggie had stopped the bleeding. Joe had helped Barnabas to sit up in the sand.

“Father!” cried out Damien and he ran towards two men coming from the house.

Joe turned to watch Damien go. Quentin did not pursue this time.

“Quentin, Maggie, Joe,” Barnabas said, “Do not tell them about Angelique!”

Joe protested. “You can’t ask me to do that, Barnabas. I will not be her victim again and I won’t let anyone else. She must be destroyed.”

“Joe,” Quentin said, “Listen to me.”

“It’s no use talking me out of it, Quentin. I’m going to do whatever I have to do to destroy that vampire.”

“Think back, Joe,” Maggie said. “What do you know about her? What is in your heart about Angelique? It’s been suppressed by drugs, but you have some memories of things that are not your own memories. I know, because the same thing happened to me with Barnabas. In the exchange of blood, I somehow gained memories of Barnabas’ life. I forgot them for a while because of Julia’s treatment, the same treatment she gave you, but if you try, you’ll remember.”

Joe thought for only a brief moment. He could remember no such thing, but he relented when he saw that Maggie appeared to be against him.

“All right, Maggie,” Joe said. “I’ll wait for now. She’s going to be up there in her coffin all day, so like Quentin said, there’s plenty of time.”

Barnabas sighed a “thank you” and then passed out.

Soon, the four were joined by Sheriff Drew and Alex Collins to whom clung Damien, his son.

“What is going on here?” Randall demanded.

Maggie spoke, “Mr. Collins here was attacked by an animal, probably a large bat.”

Sheriff Drew knelt down and examined Barnabas’ neck.

“I see,” the sheriff said suspiciously. “How is it that you come to have Damien Collins with you when the entire town is out looking for him?”

Quentin answered, “Only Barnabas can answer that, and he’s passed out. Damien was here with him.”

“Damien?” Alex asked. “Where have you been?”

“With Grandfather,” Damien said, “Pointing at Barnabas.”

Alex replied to the little boy, “But Damien, Mr. Collins isn’t your grandfather. Your grandfather was my father, Ambrose Collins.”

“I know, Father,” Damien said, “But Barnabas is like my great-great-great-something-grandfather.”

“Did he tell you that?” the sheriff asked the boy.

“No,” Damien said. “Josette did.”

“Who is Josette?” Randall Drew asked everyone.

Quentin answered, “The only Josette I know of is the Collins ancestor who is said to haunt these parts.”

“Ah,” Randall said, recalling the Collinsport legend. “Damien,” he addressed the boy again, “Are you talking about Josette Collins?”

“I don’t know. It’s just this lady that comes into my room and plays with me in the woods. She’s always dressed in an old white dress and she’s very pretty.”

Sheriff Drew looked at Alex, who acknowledged the thought that passed between them.

“A lady dressed in white?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, Josette, my friend,” Damien answered.

“Why did Mr. Collins bring you down here to the beach?”

“We were looking for Grandmother, his wife,” Damien said. “Josette told me to do that.”

“Who is your grandmother?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know her name, but she was here. She’s the one who bit Grandfather. She must’ve been really angry.”

Maggie hated to do it, but she had to disrupt this questioning to throw the sheriff off. “Sheriff Drew, I am not the boy’s doctor, but I am a psychiatrist and I really don’t think you should press the boy for any more details. I’ll tell you anything I know. The boy is exhausted and his father should take him home. I need to get Barnabas Collins off this cold sand and back to his home.”

“Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?” the sheriff asked.

“I don’t think so. Mr. Collins is aged and has a rare blood condition. His personal physician, Dr. Hoffman, is at the Old House and best equipped to care for him. She has everything she needs there.”

Randall Drew was not pleased with the idea of all of his witnesses dispersing, but realized that Damien was probably in bad need of rest.

“All right, Dr. Haskell, I’ll let you take Mr. Collins home. Before I send Damien home instead of to the hospital, if you’ll check him over and certify that he’s not suffering from exposure or anything but the need for a lot of sleep, I’ll let him go home too.”

Turning to Quentin, Sheriff Drew said, “And you, Mr. Quentin Collins, I would like very much to talk to you about all this. You seem to be the only one here not needed for anything else.”

“I’d be happy to talk to you, Sheriff, and tell you anything I can. Will you allow me to help my cousin home and then I’ll come right to your office?” Quentin asked.

“Thank you. I think instead that you should go ahead and help get your cousin home. I’ll come ’round in a little while after I get a few things taken care of. Perhaps then Barnabas Collins will be able to answer some questions for me too.”

Using his radio, Sheriff Drew spoke to his deputy and called off the search. He drove Alex and Damien Collins to Rose Cottage while Quentin, Joe, and Maggie went with Barnabas to the Old House. Quentin led the way in his car, followed by the other three in the Rolls being driven by Joe.

Collinsport Inn

“Thank you, Sheriff Drew,” Laura Collins said into the telephone. “Yes, I’ll come and see him this afternoon, after he’s had a chance to rest…Good-bye.”

Turning to Raymond Murdoch, she said, “They found him. He was with Barnabas Collins.”

“What?! Why was he with Barnabas Collins?” Murdoch asked.

“The sheriff didn’t know. Barnabas could not be questioned. He had passed out, bitten by some wild animal.”

Murdoch smiled cruelly. “I must remember to thank Miranda for her assistance.”

Laura frowned. “Don’t be too grateful. She still may be a threat to us. I wish you had just left her in the grave.”

“Not possible, my dear. The Master wanted her punished.”

“If he weren’t always so vindictive, we’d have a much easier time doing our work,” Laura grumbled.

“Careful, Laura,” he cautioned. “Now, tell me about Damien.”

“He’s resting at home. Alex plans to let him sleep all day and I doubt they’d let us see him right now.”

“I don’t really care to see him right now. I just want to know where the painting is. Did he have it with him when they found him?”

“I don’t think so. I couldn’t come right out and ask Sheriff Drew, but he didn’t mention it. At least we have this one,” she said, pointing at the older painting done by Sam Evans.

“This one will help us with David, but not with Damien,” he reminded her. “We must find the other, or have another one painted.”

“Such a nuisance!” Laura complained. “That Pansy Faye spirit is difficult to control, especially with that other Faye spirit always interfering. Couldn’t we get someone other than Trina Collins to do it? The village is full of artists.”

“Yes, but we don’t know enough about them to know whom we could get to possess them. We could do it, but it would take time and we have very little time left,” Murdoch said.

Collinwood Cottage

“Well done, Mr. Loomis,” Clive Broman congratulated Willie. “Our possession of this painting will surely be a thorn in the side of the phoenix. ”

“I hope it isn’t dangerous for you t’ have it, Professor Broman,” Willie said.

“To be honest, Mr. Loomis, it is dangerous, but not as dangerous for me to have it as it is for Damien to have it.”

“Do you want me to stay here then?” Willie offered. “Or should I go out and help with the search for Damien?”

“Oh,” said Ramona Broman, “you haven’t heard that Damien has been found.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Willie said.

“Yes. Your wife called and told us. She’s still down at Rose Cottage with Mrs. Collins,” Mrs. Broman said.

“I-I’m happy about that,” Willie said. “I think I’ll go down over to Rose Cottage and see what I can do.” Glancing sidelong at the painting he said, “Unless you need me to stay here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Loomis,” Broman said. “That won’t be necessary. I assure you we’ll be very careful.”

The Old House

Julia awakened. It had been a late night at the Bromans, though she did not yet realize she had gotten more sleep than most residents of Collinsport. It was just after dawn and the sun was lighting her Old House bedroom.

Barnabas would be awake already. He loved to get up early and watch the sunrise. It had become a daily task for him, and no matter how poorly he felt, he always beat the sun in rising.

As she sat up, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

“Yes?” she called out.

The door opened slowly. It was Hiro.

He bowed and said, “Dr. Hoffman, please forgive the intrusion, but Barnabas is not in the house and the Rolls Royce is gone.”

Julia sat straight up and threw back the covers. “While I get dressed, awaken Chris and Sabrina and see if they know anything.”

Hiro bowed and left.

Julia had just finished dressing when she heard a commotion downstairs. Quickly, she grabbed her medical bag and went down to the drawing room. There, Maggie, Joe, and Quentin were hovering over Barnabas, who slumped unconscious in his easy chair. Hiro was there also.

“What has happened?” Julia demanded as she pushed through the crowd.

Immediately, she saw the two puncture wounds in Barnabas’ neck. “No!” she cried. “Who was it? Who did this to Barnabas?”

Quentin put a hand on her shoulder. “It was Angelique, Julia. Angelique is not dead, at least not completely dead.”

“I must act quickly,” Julia said as she knelt down next to Barnabas. “Hiro, where are Sabrina and Chris?”

“They must be out walking, Dr. Hoffman. They aren’t in their room.”

“Good. It’s best that they aren’t here right now,” Julia said.

“Why the urgency, Julia?” Maggie asked. “I’ve stopped the bleeding.”

“Remember, Maggie,” Julia explained as she fumbled in her medical bag, “That not only does a vampire draw blood from its victim, but also deposits some unholy blood cells. Barnabas’ blood is completely like that, but I keep the tendencies dormant through regular injections. Those injections are specifically suited to Barnabas’ exact blood character. With the introduction of blood cells from another vampire, I can’t be certain the serum will continue to be effective. Unchecked, Angelique’s blood could cause Barnabas to revert at any time, and much more quickly than a normal vampire’s victim.”

Maggie understood. “How can I help?”

“Draw me a blood sample and then Joe and Quentin can carry him up to his room. I’ll be down in my lab. Bring me the sample as soon as you have it.”

Maggie nodded.

To Joe and Quentin, Julia said, “Barnabas must not be left alone for even a moment. One of you two, or Hiro or Chris, must be with him at all times. Do you understand?”

Quentin agreed, but Joe said, “I think I should go and try to destroy Angelique.”

“Listen to me,” Julia said to Joe firmly. “Forget about that for now. This is more important. I’ll deal with Angelique when the time comes. If we don’t keep a very close eye on Barnabas over the next twenty-four hours, we’ll have two vampires on our hands. Do you understand?”

Joe assented, but without conviction.

“You take the first shift, Joe,” Julia said. “I need Quentin to fill me in on what happened.”

Maggie began to draw blood from Barnabas’ arm while Julia headed for the basement.

The Old House Basement

After helping to carry Barnabas upstairs, Quentin joined Julia and Maggie in the laboratory.

“I wasn’t sure I could really trust Joe to stay with Barnabas,” Quentin said, looking apologetically at Maggie, “So I waited until Chris came back from his walk with Sabrina.”

“How much does Chris know?” Julia asked while she continued to work.

“Only that it is important that Barnabas be watched closely and not left alone, even for a moment.”

“So Angelique is still with us?” Julia asked.

“Yes, and as a vampire. She claims that Raymond Murdoch did it.”

“How long have you known?” Julia demanded.

“Not long, and I’ve been her prisoner in the basement of the Collins Beach House for most of that time.”

“So, that’s where you’ve been,” Julia said.

“Yes. I think I have figured something else out. Do you want to hear it?”

Quentin continued, “I have a hunch that Angelique is somehow an ancestor of Damien.”

“Your hunch is right, Quentin, as Barnabas and I discovered in Louisiana,” Julia affirmed.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “But tell me what you know first.”

“All right, Julia,” Quentin agreed. “Damien displays a set of gifts and supernatural powers uncommon even for the son of a phoenix. I wondered about this. I also know that Stephen and Katy Collins were safe from the werewolf curse Angelique renewed on them as long as she herself wore the scarab ring I am now wearing. That meant that she was their ancestor. We assumed she was somehow involved with the Jennings line, but what if she were the ancestor of Alex Collins instead of a co-ancestor of the Jennings family with me?”

“Then Damien would have somehow inherited some talents from Angelique as well as from Laura,” Maggie interjected.

Julia replied, “Yes. Barnabas and I found out that Angelique is likely the ancestor of the entire Rose Cottage family.”

“But how?” Quentin asked. “By whom?”

Julia swallowed and turned from her work to face Quentin. “By Barnabas.”

“Then that is why Damien kept referring to Barnabas as ‘Grandfather’ and Angelique as ‘Grandmother.’ How much does Barnabas know?”

“As you know,” Julia said, returning to her work, “Barnabas and Angelique had an affair in Martinique before Barnabas fell in love with Josette. What he didn’t know was that when he sailed for home, he left behind a pregnant mistress.”

“Angelique,” Quentin deduced.

“Somehow, it seems, the child born to Angelique became part of the DuPres family in Louisiana, relatives of the family in Martinique. One of their descendants married a Collins of Rose Cottage and now all living descendants of the Rose Cottage Collinses are probably descendants of Barnabas and Angelique.”

“Seems more than probable at this point, given the evidence here,” Quentin said.

“Yes, I agree,” Julia replied.

Rose Cottage

“I promise not to wake him up, Eleanor,” Laura Collins assured her former sister-in-law. “I just want to assure my mother’s heart that my boy is all right. Surely you can understand that?”

With outward confidence, Eleanor said, “Yes, I do understand that. I’m just concerned about what the doctor said. He told us to keep Damien isolated until he woke up and could talk to the doctor. He didn’t want anyone questioning the boy and confusing him.”

Exasperated, but still contrite, Laura said, “As I said, I won’t wake him up. I just want to look at him a moment. I know it sounds silly to you, but if it were one of your children, you’d want to see him, wouldn’t you?”

Carolyn, who sat in a nearby chair, listened drowsily as the two other women negotiated. She herself was torn about what to do and could imagine Eleanor’s difficulty. Eleanor reminded Carolyn so much of her own mother, Elizabeth Stoddard, calm and majestic, even when presented with difficult decisions to make. Thinking of her mother, Carolyn recalled when Laura Collins troubled the Collins family before and the extended illness her mother suffered when she opposed Laura.

“I think it will be all right to let Laura see Damien, Eleanor,” Carolyn said, almost in a panicked voice.

The two women looked at Carolyn.

“I think Laura understands the importance of not waking him after such an ordeal. On the other hand, even though I’m not a mother, I know that if I were, I’d want to see my son after he’d been missing like that.”

Eleanor almost said something back to Carolyn that might have revealed to Laura that she knew about her, but instead relented in her objection.

“Very well,” Eleanor said. “I understand how you feel, but just for a moment, please.”

“Thanks, Eleanor,” Laura said. “You were always a decent human being.”

The three women ascended the stairs together and made their way to Damien’s room. As they approached, Laura whispered, “You’re not going inside with me, are you?”

Eleanor had considered it, but decided against it.

“We’ll wait here,” Carolyn said.

Eleanor was about to object when Laura outpaced them and arrived at the little boy’s door.

Eleanor and Carolyn waited down the hall, but within sight of the door.

After Laura entered the room, Eleanor said to Carolyn, “Why did you do that?”

“I suddenly remembered how immediately ill mother became right after crossing Laura thirty years ago. I doubt she’ll do anything to Damien right now. She’s just curious and wants to satisfy herself that we haven’t taken any steps to stop her or haven’t discovered her secret.”

“You’re right, of course. I’m just so exhausted,” Eleanor admitted.

“Me too,” Carolyn said. “When she comes out, we should probably get some sleep.”

“Do you want someone to drive you home?” Eleanor asked.

“If you’ve got a spare room, I think I’ll sleep here. I don’t want to leave you,” Carolyn offered.

“Thanks, Carolyn,” Eleanor said. “I appreciate it.”

“Looks like we’re going to be on the graveyard shift for a few days,” Carolyn said, morosely.

 The Old House

Chris Jennings sat quietly in a chair in Barnabas’ bedroom, reading a book to keep himself from getting bored. Barnabas lay in a heap on the bed, under a white sheet and blanket. His back was turned to Chris, but Chris noted how fitfully he slept.

Soon, Dr. Julia Hoffman entered, followed by Dr. Maggie Haskell carrying a tray with some serum and a hypodermic needle.

“Has he moved?” Julia asked.

“Only to flop around now and then,” Chris answered. “He must be very sick.”

“I’m afraid he is, Chris,” Julia said somberly.

“Where is Joe?” Maggie asked.

“He said something about someone named Angelique and then left,” Chris informed.

Maggie gasped.

Julia said to Chris, “Why don’t you take a break for a while? Dr. Haskell and I will tend to him. Quentin is downstairs in the drawing room. Tell him what Joe said for me. Come back in about an hour.”

Chris nodded and left the room.

Maggie said, “Shouldn’t I go out and look for Joe?”

“Quentin will handle that, Maggie. I need you here.”

Maggie reluctantly agreed.

Julia set down her medical bag next to the bed on the nightstand and said, “Help me get him over on his back so I can examine him. Let’s try not to wake him.”

Maggie went over to the side of the bed where Barnabas faced and reached down to take his shoulder in her hand. As she touched him and looked down, her hand went up to her mouth and she exclaimed, “Julia! Come look!”

Julia rushed around to the other side of the bed and looked down at Barnabas. “No!” she exlaimed.

There on the bed lay Barnabas, his eyes closed, but his hair had turned from white back to dark brown. The wrinkles in his face had smoothed out and he looked the same as when she had first met him thirty years before.

Finally composing herself, she said, “We’ve got to work quickly. Inject him with the serum now.”

Maggie obeyed while Julia opened wide the closed drapes, letting the sun stream in.

Barnabas moaned and tried to pull blankets over his eyes.

“Why did you do that?” Maggie asked.

“The sunlight will stimulate the serum to work faster,” Julia explained. “In another hour, we’ll give him another dose.”

“What now?”

“I’ll stay with Barnabas. I want you to go find Chris and tell him to get Sabrina and go down to Rose Cottage to stay the night. I don’t want her in the house after dark. Do you still have the crucifix you used earlier on the beach?”

“Yes,” Maggie said frightened. “I’ve kept it with me ever since…”

“I know,” Julia sensed what Maggie was going to say. “After you talk to Chris, go to my room and bring me my crucifix. It’s in my top right-hand dresser drawer.”

“You’re talking like Barnabas is going to revert to being a vampire and attack us,” Maggie said.

“I think it is likely,” Julia speculated.

“But he knows we’re his friends,” Maggie objected.

“When he first wakes up, the bloodlust will be strong. He won’t be able to control himself. We must be prepared. Understand?”

Maggie nodded and left on her errand.

Collinsport Station

It was late afternoon. Hiro Ryokuma stood waiting for the train from Boston to arrive. He had been sent there by Quentin Collins with the Rolls Royce to pick up a Mrs. Rice, who was due to arrive soon.

While he waited, his cell phone rang. He answered it.

It was Quentin Collins.

“Has my guest arrived?” Quentin asked.

“No,” the Japanese man answered.

“I just got a call from Dr. Hoffman. Barnabas’ condition has worsened. Waste no time getting back to the Old House after the train arrives, but don’t take Mrs. Rice back there with you. I’ve arranged with Eleanor Collins to put her up at Rose Cottage.”

“Understood, Quentin,” Hiro replied.

“And Hiro…”

“Yes?”

“We need to keep everyone away from the Old House after dark. Know what I mean?”

“I do indeed.”

The Beach House

One more time, Quentin found himself at the Collins beach house through a back window, only this time he was going to go through the front door. He now realized that if Chad Jenkins were on guard, he’d be too weak to oppose the youthfully-bodied Quentin.

He was not surprised to find that Chad was nowhere to be seen, probably up in some room passed out. Angelique had kept him sufficiently weak to satisfy her urges without bringing him to death’s door.

Quentin was not there to find Angelique as much as to find Joe and stop him from what he seemed determined to do. He knew right where to go and hoped that Joe would have to search the sizable main floor and basement before climbing the stairs.

He quickly bounded up the stairs to the room where he had previously discovered Angelique’s coffin. He was too late. Joe was already there, hanging his head and sobbing.

Quentin grabbed Joe’s shoulders and pushed him aside. Looking down into the coffin, he was astonished to see it empty.

“Where is she?” he asked a dazed Joe.

“I don’t know. She’s not here,” Joe bawled.

The Old House

Hiro had returned from the errand Quentin had sent him on. Chris and Sabrina were down at Rose Cottage.

Quentin returned eventually with Joe, who would not hear of being taken home. He was going to be with Maggie, especially as dusk approached.

“You need to get some sleep, Joe,” Maggie insisted as they spoke together in the drawing room.

“I can’t sleep knowing that she is going to rise somewhere and terrorize this town, maybe even attack me or even you,” Joe demanded.

“You’ve been up more than twenty-four hours now, Joe,” Maggie said. “We’re safer here than anywhere else, with people who know how to deal with a vampire. She won’t try to come here.”

“You don’t know her like I do, Maggie,” Joe contended. “She’ll do anything to get at Barnabas and she’ll deal cruelly with anyone who tries to stop her. I think we’re the least safe here.”

“OK, Joe,” Maggie yielded. “Maybe you’re right, but I can’t leave. I have to stay and help Julia with Barnabas. If you won’t leave me, at least you can get some sleep.”

“I couldn’t sleep, exhausted as I am.”

“You could if I gave you a sedative,” Maggie offered.

“Forget about it, Maggie,” Joe resolved. “I’m staying here and I’m staying awake.”

“Have it your way, Joe,” she capitulated. “I’ve got to get back up to Barnabas’ room. What are you going to do?”

“Maybe I’ll patrol the grounds with Hiro,” he said.

“Not when you’re dead on your feet like this, Joe! If you nodded off out there somewhere, she’d have you for sure.”

“Then I’ll stay down here and read,” he maintained.

“Promise me you won’t go out of the house,” Maggie insisted.

“I promise, Maggie.”

Mostly assured he intended to keep his word, Maggie went upstairs and rejoined Dr. Hoffman. The room had been altered since she had been there earlier in the day. Now, it was looking more like a hospital room, with an IV drip and some monitoring device Julia had installed.

The older doctor was keeping Barnabas heavily sedated. Maggie looked at him and was startled to note he was looking old again.

“Julia!” she exclaimed. “Is this what you expected?”

Dr. Hoffman answered, “Yes, pretty much. To be honest, I’m travelling unfamiliar territory here. The unholy blood cells of Angelique are somewhat different than the ones I fought so effectively in Barnabas. They are not responding similarly to the serum. However, I seem to have halted his reversion to being a vampire and restored him almost back to where he was before she attacked him.”

“Almost?”

“Well, the temporal effects of the unholy blood cells in his bloodstream are under control, but the psychic properties of the cells are something I can’t deal with entirely through the treatment. While the sun is out, I think we’ve got him under control, but when the sun sets and Angelique arises somewhere, I can’t guarantee he won’t respond. With you, the treatment affected the psychic ‘memories’ you shared with Barnabas.”

“That’s frightening, Julia. How will we restrain him?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. He’s so frail in this condition. Our real worry will be if she tries to get to him. No matter how well-prepared we are, outsmarting a thirsty vampire is going up against insurmountable odds.”

Barnabas’ Dreams

Barnabas’ sleep was fitful, full of images he could not decipher. When he was first bitten by the bat in 1795, he had nightmares. They were more terrifying back then because they were filled with black dread, shrieks of dead and undead, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. These new nightmares were of confused images that seemed like memories, but they were not his own memories.

He was seeing Martinique and the DuPres family plantation as it was when he visited in his youth, but he was not seeing it through his own eyes. He was seeing it as someone looking at himself in a mirror. He remembered himself and how his reflection appeared, but now he was seeing himself more clearly. He was young, flourishing into manhood. His youthful face appeared directly in front of him and moved forward to kiss him, but it was only a dream. He felt his own lips press up against him, but he was not himself.

He was seeing through Angelique’s eyes and suddenly knew. He was having a dream that was one of Angelique’ s memories. Not only was he remembering what she saw, but how she felt, how desperately she loved the young Barnabas he was seeing.

He was remembering how they tore at each other’s clothes. What an odd sensation it was to look at himself as a young swain and be so thoroughly infatuated, to be excited by the shape of his own body and want to draw it to himself.

He remembered the lovemaking, but now from Angelique’s perspective. To him, as a young boy of fifteen, her shapeliness and melodic voice had bewitched him, even though he knew his family would never approve of her as a wife. Still he had wanted her enough to promise her anything. Only now, filled with the memories from her perspective of that night did he realize how earnestly she believed his expressions of undying love.

As their lovemaking climaxed, he knew as surely as she had known at the time, that their physical union would bear fruit.

Now, his dreams were interrupted as he was propelled forward in her consciousness to a time when she was handing a sweetly dressed infant girl to the Countess Natalie DuPres, felt the pang of regret and sadness at giving up the tiny beauty, having held her for the last time. Barnabas, in his dream, looked down at that sweet little face and also felt the despair of the young unwed mother.

Now, again his mind was moved forward as he heard through Angelique’s memory, the betraying news that Barnabas Collins was to take Josette DuPres as a wife. He felt the resolve of Angelique to do anything to go to America with her mistress to win back her lover, certain that if they could only be together again, she could awaken in him the passion he had so richly displayed before.

He experienced through her the rage and anger upon being rebuffed at the Old House and felt the rage turn into malevolent determination. He watched and felt the rage through her, that was unassuaged despite the grief it caused.

Finally, he dropped to the floor and felt his blood-soaked breast and cried out, “I set a curse on you, Barnabas Collins…whoever loves you…will die!”

With that, the nightmare ended and he sat up in bed and cried out, “Angelique!”

It was nearing dawn. Angelique paced back and forth, her bloodlust growing, but her intelligence telling her it was too late to go out and find someone and that it was unwise to finish off Chad. If she could only white-knuckle until dawn, she could enter her coffin and have some respite from the horrible urges. When she had first awakened from her grave, cursed to be a vampire by the demon Ra, the bloodlust had driven her like an animal. She hated being like that and was glad to have regained some measure of composure. Still, it was terrifying even to her to crave to drink the blood of human beings.

“Hello, Miranda,” came a voice from behind her.

She wheeled around with catlike speed, poised ready to pounce. It would not have paid to attack the being that stood before her. It was Raymond Murdoch, the demon Ra in human form.

“Isn’t it enough that you’ve done our master’s bidding in cursing me like this?” she accused. “Must you also torment me with your foul presence?”

“Dear Sister,” Murdoch said condescendingly. “You hurt me with your insults.”

“I wish I could truly hurt you, Dear Brother,” she mocked.

“It is nothing personal, my dear,” Murdoch whined. “I was only doing what our master ordered me to do.”

“You know that neither one of us always does exactly what we are told. Diabolos expects a little chaos from us,” Angelique said angrily.

“How true, dear Miranda! I admit it! I enjoyed what I did and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Then you came here to gloat.” she reproved.

“Yes, and to warn you,” he said menacingly. “I don’t think you’ve done anything to steal Damien away from us, but you’d better not interfere. We know how to make your kind suffer, Miranda. I will not tolerate any interference from you. Is that understood?”

“I care nothing for your petty little plans, Ramaphos,” she taunted.

“Don’t call me that, Miranda!” he blustered.

She laughed. “I see you’re still sensitive about your past blundering.” With menace to equal his own, she said, “You’ve given me powers and protection that you have no means of guarding against. I can’t undo what you’ve done to me, but I am not yours to command. I never will be. I will not interfere with your plans, but I will not tolerate your interference in mine. I had my revenge on Nicholas Blair and I will have my revenge on you as well.”

Murdoch smiled widely. “Still the same spirited Miranda, I see. I hope you are not foolish enough to go against our master’s plan to destroy the Collins families.”

“I may not be able to stop that plan, but now that I know I have children, I will not destroy them.”

“You mean the little Collins kiddies? Well, the master was not aware that the Jennings line came through your daughter. He doesn’t keep track of such things.”

“Then you don’t know in what way Stephen and Katy are descended from me?”

“No, I don’t. Neither does the master,” Murdoch said.

“It’s perfectly logical that you are too inept to know that, but I find it hard to believe our master didn’t know. I’m sure he knew, but didn’t care. He’s not known as the Father of Lies without cause.”

“Careful, Miranda. You may not be answerable to me, but you’re still answerable to the master.”

Again she laughed. “Very true, and he’s more flattered by what I just said than anything. Now leave me alone.”

“I will leave you, Miranda, but repeat my warning. Do not interfere.”

With that, the old demon disappeared in a flash of fire.

Collinsport Sheriff’s Office

Sheriff Drew sat behind his desk with the telephone receiver next to his ear. Several officers and volunteers were scurrying around the rooms in the police station, making it hard to hear the conversation he was having.

“Thanks, Joe,” Randall was saying. “I know it’s been combed a few times before, but would you and the men you’re with check the beach again. It’s unthinkable, but sometimes in this town, when someone is that lost, we find their body washed up on the shore at some point.”

On the other end of the conversation Joe answered, “That’s a gruesome thought, Randall, but we’ll check.”

“Thanks again, Joe.”

Sheriff drew hung up the phone and rubbed his sore eyes. It had been a long night for the entire town.

As expected, the phone rang again. It had not stopped ringing all night. Some of the volunteers were screening his calls, but even with the flakes weeded out, there were still people lining up to talk to the sheriff.

He answered it, “Sheriff Drew.”

The voice of David Collins was on the other end. “Hello, Sheriff. Sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy.”

“What can I do for you Mr. Collins?”

“Well, Chris Jennings and I were with Alex Collins searching up by Eagle Hill Cemetery a while ago. He jumped up and ran off like he had some idea of where he was going and we haven’t seen or heard from him since,” David said.

“I imagine he’s pretty distraught. Bound to be acting a little odd,” the sheriff reassured.

“I know, Sheriff, but we’ve called over at Rose Cottage and they haven’t heard from him in some time and he isn’t answering his phone,” David said.

“That is odd, Mr. Collins, but parents do get that way in a crisis like this. Still, I’ll see what I can find out. Did he give any clue at all where he was going?”

“Well,” David said, “Chris and I have been discussing that. We had just mentioned about Chad Jenkins missing and speculated about there being some kind of connection. We had hardly finished the thought when Chad had run off into the darkness.”

“I see,” Randall said. “You know, somewhere here on my desk I saw a note when I came back from checking a few things out, a message from Chad Jenkins’ mother.”

He rummaged through the piles of papers on his desk and found a yellow-sticky with a note that said, “Mrs. Jenkins called. Chad is alive and working for some woman down at the Collins beach house.”

To David, Randall said, “Mr. Collins, I’m going to go check a few things out. I might have a lead.”

David said, “May we help?”

“I’ll be in touch. For the time being, just keep searching. Call if you see or hear anything from Alex,” Randall instructed and then hung up.

He called his deputy in as he stood and grabbed his hat and gloves. “Tell the phone volunteers to ask every party that checks in if they’ve seen Alex Collins and try to get a message to him to call me. Patch his call in to me as soon as he calls or if anyone can tell me his whereabouts. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” the deputy acknowledged. “Dr. Haskell called a minute ago and said she wanted to help, in case a doctor was needed.”

“Call her back and tell her ‘thanks’,” Randall ordered. He considered leaving it at that, but reconsidered. “Send her down to the beach to join her husband in searching down there. I hate to think about it, but we may have a drowning and that would be a good place to have a doctor on-hand.”

The deputy nodded and Randall hastened out to his car, intending to first go to Rose Cottage and talk to Eleanor Collins and Carolyn Loomis.

Evans Cottage

Dr. Maggie Haskell hung up her phone and quickly got dressed and donned her coat. Grabbing her medical bag and a flashlight, she headed out into the night. The strange visit by Laura Murdoch had been on her mind and she could not sleep thinking about poor lost Damien and her husband out searching for him. She preferred to be part of the action rather than wait.

She drove to the public parking area near Collinsport beach and started on foot north along the shore. This route was becoming much too familiar to her again. She had walked it many times growing up in Collinsport, but the most recent memories of it had not been at all pleasant. Her mind went back to when she had so recently found Joe here, once in fear and once in calmness. She remembered the cave and the secret tunnel that led into the murky blackness and on up to the Old House.

Suddenly an idea came to her that she perhaps should look there. No one else would know to look there. She stopped where she was and noted the waterline. The tide was in and the cave would not be reachable now. Earlier in the evening, though, it would probably have been accessible to young Damien, so she still felt she should check it out.

Turning back around, she returned to her car and headed towards the Old House.

Collinsport Village

Quentin had arrived in the village proper intending to report to the sheriff and volunteer to help with the search. He had offered to drop Alex off at Rose Cottage, but Alex instead preferred to be dropped off at Collinsport Inn.

It was weighing on Quentin’s mind that he had promised Angelique to not warn Barnabas about her. Could he really keep that promise? He wondered.

For the time being, it was in his best interests. It was nearing dawn anyway, and Angelique would not have enough time to move against Barnabas yet. As he had left the beach house where Angelique was, she had given him the belongings that had been removed, his planner and his cellular phone. He opened the planner and turned to the directory to the ‘R’ page. Scanning down with his finger, he located an entry for “Mrs. Miriam Rice–Chicago, Illinois.”

He dialed the number and a drowsy woman answered with a timid, “Good morning.”

“Mrs. Rice?” Quentin asked.

“Yes,” the woman responded.

“This is Grant Douglas, Mrs. Rice.”

“Oh, Mr. Douglas, I’m glad you called. Mr. Kittle said he could not reach you,” she said.

“I’ve been out of reach for a couple of days,” he said. “Did you accomplish what I paid you to do?”

“Certainly, Mr. Douglas. Your property is safe from further meddling by dark forces.”

“Good,” Quentin said, relieved. “Now, Mrs. Rice, I have another task for you, if you have experience in it.”

“What is that, Mr. Douglas?”

“Missing children.”

“Ah! Yes, I’ve located a few of them, mostly dead, sad to say,” the woman grimly boasted. “Who is the child and what are the circumstances of his disappearance?”

“The child is Damien Collins of Collinsport, Maine. That’s where I am now. He has been missing since last evening. Can you help?”

“I could fly out this morning, Mr. Douglas, if that would help.”

“It would help, Mrs. Rice, but unfortunately, I’m afraid it is more urgent than that. Can you recommend someone nearby?”

“The closest would be in Boston. I could be there almost as quickly as someone from Boston,” the woman offered.

“Is there something you can do from there?”

“You’ll need to tell me more, sir,” she explained.

“It is a long story, Mrs. Rice. Evil powers are at work and the boy is the focus. Do you know what a phoenix is, Mrs. Rice?” Quentin asked.

There was nothing but silence at the other end. Finally, a very timid voice uttered, “I don’t think I can help you, Mr. Douglas. That is far beyond my powers to deal with. The boy is the child of a phoenix, then?”

“Yes,” Quentin replied.

“Then the phoenix likely has possession of the boy,” she surmised.

“I don’t think so,” Quentin replied, but it is possible.

“Has there been a painting done of the boy’s mother?” she asked.

“I believe there has.”

“That usually means the boy is under the influence of the phoenix. If he is not with her, he is certainly doing her bidding.”

“This boy is special, Mrs. Rice. I don’t know why, but he has a reputation for insights that are far beyond even simple clairvoyance. His stepmother was telling me that he often will state things as fact that no one could possibly know and always turns out to be right.”

“The boy has a stepmother?” Mrs. Rice asked with interest.

“Yes,” Quentin said.

“What is the quality of their relationship?”

“She is slightly immature and has her hands full with her own children,” Quentin observed. “Is it important?”

“It could be. Often, if the child of the phoenix has developed an attachment to another woman, she can influence him. Of course, she would also be in grave danger if she openly opposes the phoenix.”

“I’ll remember that if it gets to that point. What about the clairvoyance?”

“The offspring of a phoenix is often latently gifted, but rarely has the opportunity to cultivate those powers. I’ve never heard of a case where one was as endowed with talent as this Damien seems to be. What is the father’s family like?”

Quentin smirked to himself. “Definitely odd, Mrs. Rice.”

“Any history of supernatural disturbances?”

“Disturbances galore!” Quentin assured her.

“It is possible, Mr. Douglas,” Mrs. Rice informed, “that the boy carries the blood of some other supernatural, corporeal being through the father’s line and that this combination of powers combines in the boy to produce these talents, where they remain dormant in the rest of his family.”

Quentin thought for a long moment. “Mrs. Rice,” he said, “If the boy were the son of a phoenix and the descendant of a high-level witch on his father’s side, would that account for this anomaly?”

“Most definitely, Mr. Douglas.”

“You’ve been most helpful, Mrs. Rice. I will be in touch. Call Mr. Kittle and arrange to fly out here as soon as possible. Goodbye,” Quentin said hastily and then hung up.

He got back in his car and turned back towards the beach, urgently wanting to arrive before dawn.

Collinsport Inn

Alex knocked on the suite door and called out, “Laura! Are you in there?”

There was no answer. He knocked again louder. “Laura! It’s me, Alex. Open the door! I want to talk to you.”

After a few moments and just as Alex was about ready to give up, someone came from down the corridor to his left. It was his ex-wife’s grandfather, Raymond Murdoch.

Upon seeing Alex, Raymond said, “Mr. Collins, my granddaughter is not here. What do you want?”

Alex was rude. “If it’s any of your business, I wanted to talk to her about our son.”

The old man ignored the ill manners. “Well, she isn’t here. I imagine she’s out searching for Damien, as you should be.”

“I have been out searching,” Alex insisted.

“Then I suggest you continue until you have found my great-grandson,” Murdoch said.

“Well, sir, it’s none of your business,” Alex said rudely, “but I just want to satisfy myself that you and your granddaughter had nothing to do with my son’s disappearance.”

If the old attorney had been ruffled by the near-accusation, he didn’t show it. “I’m quite aware, Mr. Collins, as an attorney, that non-custodial parents often abduct their children, but it is not generally like them to hang around town and wait.”

From inside another suite, someone shouted, “Could you please take your conversation somewhere else?!”

“Let’s go inside,” the old lawyer invited.

Alex was wary, but agreed.

After they entered the suite and closed the door, Alex said, “It is not outside the realm of possibilities, sir, that you have sent Damien away and are staying around to deflect suspicion.”

“True, Mr. Collins,” the old gent said. “I can do no more than assure you that we have nothing to do with Damien’s disappearance and are just as concerned about him as you are.”

It galled the old demon to be telling truth to a mortal. He always preferred to lie whenever possible.

Just then, Alex noticed standing on a table a painting that looked like his ex-wife. Going over to it, he said, “I’ve never seen this painting of Laura. It looks old, too old to her.”

“The paint is indeed old, and therefore so is the painting. It is not of my granddaughter, Laura, but of my daughter, Laura, your ex-wife’s aunt,” Murdoch explained. He was satisfied. Here was the lie he had been aching to tell.

“The one that was the mother of my distant cousin, David?” Alex inquired.

“One and the same,” he answered.

Losing interest in the painting again, Alex turned back to the old man and said, “I suppose I have no choice other than to accept your word about Damien. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll resume my search.”

“Not at all,” the old man said and let the young man out.

Collinsport Beach

Joe Haskell walked alongside two other villagers, close to the surf as the waves came rolling in from the ocean. Each held aloft a lantern. Unlike most other searchers this night, Joe hoped he didn’t find young Damien, at least not while fulfilling this morbid assignment for Sheriff Drew. He would much rather be searching places like the woods, where Damien might be found cold and scared, but alive.

His two companions decided they should fan out a little, and the three of them take different strips of beach, remaining close enough to not miss anything between them, but far enough to cover any place the boy’s body might have washed up.

Joe was given the highest ground, farthest from the water. He trudged through drier and therefore more difficult sand. As he looked back and forth in his strip of beach, he noticed the houses lined up there. Naturally, after a few minutes of walking, he was parallel with the hated house, the Collins beach house where he had once been a slave to the evil vampire, Angelique, and who only recently had held such influence over him. A cold chill passed through him. The sea breeze howled past his ears and he imagined hearing a light female voice calling his name.

“Joe!” it called. Then there was laughter. It was just the wind, he was sure, the wind and his fear of that house playing tricks on his hearing.

Despite thusly reassuring himself, he shuddered again and looked up at the house.

A light burned in the front room, something he thought was odd. Perhaps the Collins family had rented it out again. As he looked, the fear gripped him again and he stumbled, his lantern falling into the soft sand.

“Are you all right, Joe?” one of his co-searchers called out.

“Yes, fine,” Joe called back. “I have something I need to check out. You two go ahead without me.”

“OK, Joe. We’ll look for you on the way back down the beach.”

Joe looked again at what he had seen that had horrified him, just to make sure it was real. There she was, pacing back and forth in the front room of the house, visible through the window. It was Angelique!

Looking intently with his lantern, Joe located a long piece of driftwood. With his strong hands, he broke off a sharp end, doused his lantern light, and stealthily headed towards the beach house.

Collinwood Cottage

Clive Broman sat in a chair, looking at his wife’s sleeping face with concern. They had not gone to bed, but instead had spent most of the night trying various powers Ramona had acquired to help in the search for Damien Collins. She had fallen asleep while taking a break, her face leaning against a soft cushion on her chair.

Her husband was concerned because of her extensive use of phoenix powers, something that would not for long go unnoticed by his ancient adversary, Ramaphos, also known as Ra, also known as Raymond Murdoch.

He wondered when the right time would be to tell his wife who she really was. He kept the truth from her, as he had done so many times before with her ancestors, women he had met, enhanced their powers, and then unleashed them against his old foe. Generation after generation he had done this, always having to find the right woman with the right genes. He kept an extensive genealogy which he would one day show his beloved Ramona, but for now felt it was safer for her to not know what she had inherited from scores of generations of ancestors.

What was more, she had something none of them before her had. None of her predecessors had the advantage of having been changed into a being like a phoenix by the demon Ra like she had been. Ra had blundered with that move and probably knew it by now. Another thing that was different about Ramona from her ancestors was that Clive had fallen in love with her. After millennia of having lived, he was finally and completely in love. It frightened him, frightened him for her sake, because he knew his judgment was impaired by the love.

He looked at her face again, eyes closed. Her beautiful black skin pushed up against the pillow made him smile with a deep reverence. He reminisced about how much Ramona looked like her ancestor, Eugenie. He remembered the former slave so well, full of fight and self-respect. What a formidable woman she had become in her new American homeland.

On the brief trip from Martinique, she had already learned some English. She was a fast learner, as Clive would have guessed. All women of that bloodline were fast learners. Barnabas Collins had sent her and her brawny husband to Boston, with letters to rich relations there to please see to their welfare. Barnabas had dismissed the idea of sending the couple to Collinwood, where father Joshua would treat them like slaves. Joshua was firmly anti-slavery, but not in the least reserved about treating freemen like slaves. Indeed, to Joshua Collins, people, including his family members, were often little more than part of the estate. If Eugenie were to succeed in America, Collinwood was not the right place for her.

Ten years later, when Clive Broman met Eugenie, she was a well-respected member of the black community of Boston, which in late eighteenth century America, was not much, but better than most women in her position enjoyed. Her husband was not highly accomplished, but he made for a good genetic match for Eugenie, producing five good sons, which sons produced daughters, one of whom, Alexandra, Clive taught some of the ancient Egyptian ways. The poor woman had not been strong enough, or well-trained enough, to thwart Luara and Ra, then posing as a wealthy Boston attorney. Eugenie DuPres’ granddaughter had perished in a fight with Laura Murdoch Harrison, as she was called in the mid-1800′s.

Clive winced at that memory. He had done his best to train young Alexandra, but perhaps should not have allowed her to match herself against the phoenix and her demonic master. The thought made him again doubt his competency and returned his focus back to his wife. He feared for her.

All at once, his heart started to pound. He felt heat. The medallion he wore around his neck had started to heat up. Something was happening and he woke Ramona.

“My dear,” he said urgently. “Are you wearing your medallion?”

“Yes, Clive,” Ramona said groggily. “What is wrong?”

“I don’t know, but I think we have been discovered.”

“By whom?” she asked fearfully.

“Probably by Laura or Raymond,” he answered.

“What shall we do?”

“Take the ben-ben in your hands and repeat after me,” he ordered.

She complied and repeated strange Egyptian words, over and over again as he urged.

The Old House

Maggie pulled up into the driveway near the Old House. She thought it odd that the Rolls Royce was gone at this hour, but went to the door. She did not want to waken anyone, so she tried to turn the knob. It turned and the door opened. She made her way to the cellar and down into the cell which held such frightening memories for her. She shook the memories away and reminded herself that a child’s life hung in the balance.

Finding the right brick, she opened the secret door and cautiously and nervously entered the catacombed underground passages. Making her way to the tunnel that led to the shore, she called out Damien’s name as she went. Suddenly she realized how stupid it had been of her to think he would be down here. She and Barnabas were the only souls who knew about this route. How could a little boy possibly be down here?

Because of the tide, she couldn’t exit this way anyway and if he had been down here, he would have answered her calls. Then she remembered that the last time she had come through here, several weeks before, something about the place had seemed strangely cared for, as if someone had been maintaining the passages. It surely had not been Barnabas, since he had been away for many years. Then who?

The thought frightened her and she turned to go back up to the Old House. She had only taken a few steps when she heard, “Hello, Maggie,” from behind her. It was a child’s voice, and she wheeled around, and said, “Damien?”

“Who’s Damien?” asked the little girl who stood before her.

“Sarah!” Maggie exclaimed.

“What are you doing down here?” the girl asked.

“Sarah! I’m so happy to see you,” Maggie said excitedly. Even though it was disconcerting to think she was seeing the little ghost girl that had been out of her life for nearly thirty years, Maggie’s fondness for the little spirit was as powerful as ever.

“I’m looking for someone, Sarah. It’s a boy, about your age, named Damien.”

“Oh, him,” Sarah said knowingly. “He’s not down here anymore. We were playing and then he said he had to leave.”

“Do you know where he went?” Maggie asked.

“No, but I can help you look for him,” Sarah offered. “I’ve been away so long and I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“Who are you talking to, Maggie?” came a man’s voice from behind her.

Wheeling around, Maggie’s flashlight shone right into Willie Loomis’ face. He blinked and held up his hand to shield his eyes from the blaring light.

“Lower the light, please!” Willie asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Willie,” Maggie said. “I was talking to Sarah.”

“Sarah?!’ Willie said incredulously.

Maggie turned around, but the girl had gone. “Sarah!” she called out, but her voice only echoed in the passages.

Maggie turned back to Willie and said in exasperation, “I swear to you, Willie, Sarah was standing right there talking to me.”

“What are you doin’ down here, Maggie?” Willie asked, “and how did you know this place exists?”

“You forget, Willie,” Maggie said, “that I once escaped from the Old House this way.”

Willie looked surprised. “You remember that?!”

“Yes, Willie,” Maggie told him. “I remember everything, especially how you tried to help me.”

She put her hand on his now drooping shoulder.

“I’m so ashamed of everything I helped Barnabas do to you.”

“Willie!” Maggie exclaimed, “If it weren’t for you placing yourself in danger time and time again, I’d probably be dead or worse.”

“You don’t hate Barnabas, do you?” Willie asked pleadingly.

“No, strangely enough, I have a lot of empathy for him,” Maggie revealed.

“So do I. You know he did the same thing to me before he did it to you, you know, with the blood and all.”

“Yes, and Julia believes that it is why we feel the way we do about Barnabas, that we still share some kind of psychic connection with him.”

“It’s more than that, Maggie,” Willie said. “I remember some things that only Barnabas should be able to remember.”

“I do too, Willie. I do too.” She stopped a moment and decided to change the subject. It was hard on her and she was sure it was hard on Willie. “So you’re the one who keeps this place maintained?” she asked.

“I sure am,” Willie said. “It just seems like it’s part of the house to me, and keeping the Old House in good shape is my passion.”

“Then what are you doing down here?” Maggie asked.

“It’s a long-shot, but I was wondering if maybe young Damien Collins somehow got in here.”

“That’s why I’m here too,” Maggie admitted.

“Well, did you find anythin’?” Willie asked hopefully.

“No, not even a trace, but then I got frightened and didn’t go all the way down to the cave. Tide’s in anyway. Sarah said that Damien was down here earlier, that they were playing together.”

“Honestly, Maggie,” Willie observed, “I think you seein’ Sarah was more on account of the dark and bein’ nervous and all.”

She half-believed him.

“Well,” Willie ordered, “I’m going to satisfy myself about the rest of the tunnel and you can go right back up to the Old House.”

“I think I’ll go with you, Willie,” Maggie said. “I’d rather go farther with you than go back or wait here alone.”

“Suit yourself, Maggie,” Willie said. “I’ll be grateful for the company, especially after you sayin’ you saw that ghost.”

“Sarah’s not frightening, Willie,” Maggie said as they began to descend again.

“Maybe not,” Willie granted, “but it is kinda confusin’ to think she’s hauntin’ the place again. I mean, we thought she had found peace after savin’ you. I don’t think I’ll tell Barnabas what you saw. It’ll break his heart to think that little Sarah is still roaming around instead of sleepin’ in her grave.”

Maggie realized that Willie was right, and it made her sad to think about the poor little restless spirit.

Willie said, “I thought it was odd that the Rolls Royce was gone from the driveway. When I saw your car, I figured you were in the house too, but when I checked around I couldn’t see you nor Barnabas anywhere in the house. I thought maybe you went somewhere with him. I woke Hiro up and told him Barnabas was gone. He’s out looking for him now.”

“Where would Barnabas go at this time of the night?” Maggie wondered.

“Maybe he’s out searching for Damien, too,” Willie concluded. “Hear that?”

“Hear what?” Maggie asked.

“Water up ahead. We’ve almost come to the end of the line. We’d better not go any farther, since the tide is in. Even though the cave entrance is blocked, water still comes into the lowest part of the tunnel through cracks in the walls.”

“All right, Willie. Shall we turn around here?”

Willie was in front of Maggie and said, “Wait a minute. I see something up ahead.”

“Damien?” Maggie asked hopefully.

“No, something flat leaning up against the tunnel wall.”

“Well, we’d better check it out, Willie,” Maggie said.

They arrived at the object. Willie lifted it up and pointed the flashlight on it.

Willie said, “Why, it’s a painting of a woman, being burnt!”

“Let me see that!” Maggie insisted.

After looking it over, Maggie said, “Willie, it’s a painting of Laura Collins, almost exactly like the one she found at my place tonight and took with her.”

This must be the one we were trying to get away from Damien. Willie explained to Maggie everything he had learned earlier at Professor Broman’s place.

“Then Damien was down here, Willie, but where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Maggie, but I think we’d better get out of here and go tell the others.”

Satisfied that Damien was no longer down in the tunnels, they returned to the Old House. Willie headed for the cottage and Maggie decided to return to the beach in search of Joe.

She thought about Sarah as she drove. Here, in her car, surrounded by the panel lights, street lights, and other modern surroundings, she began to doubt whether she had actually seen her old friend, Sarah Collins, the ghost. It must have been the atmosphere in that old rock tunnel and the memories of her first trip through there. A small part of her mind still believed that she had actually seen and spoken to Sarah, especially since the little apparition had been right about Damien having been in the tunnel, but she preferred to believe it was her imagination. She favored the thought that little Sarah Collins, sweet and gentle, had found peace and was no longer roaming the region searching for her family. She uttered a small prayer to that effect and felt better.

Arriving again at the public parking lot near Collinsport beach, she headed back north along the shore.

Rose Cottage

The telephone rang and everyone in Eleanor’s study jumped. Most had been dozing and catching short naps while they waited for news of the missing child.

Eleanor answered.

“Oh, Alex,” she said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

On the other end of the conversation, Alex said, “I know. I’m sorry. My cellular phone seems to be out of order. I’m calling from a pay phone near the hotel.”

“Sheriff Drew has been trying to get in touch with you,” she informed him. “He just left here.”

“Do you know where he was going?” Alex asked.

“No, I don’t, but he said that if we heard from you we were to have you contact him through his deputy right away. David has also been asking about you.”

“Any word about Damien?” Alex asked.

“No, Alex. I’m sorry. Would you like to talk to Amy? She’s upstairs with the children.”

“No, Eleanor,” Alex said. “I’d better check in with Randall. I’ll be in touch.”

“All right, Alex,” Eleanor said. “I’ll send someone up to tell Amy we heard from you. She’ll be relieved.”

Collinsport Village

Alex hung up the phone and called the police station. The deputy immediately patched him through to the Sheriff’s car.

“Mr. Collins,” the sheriff said, “Where have you been? We’ve been thinking of organizing a search party for you.”

“I’ve been over at the inn talking to Raymond Murdoch,” Alex volunteered.

“What did you hope to accomplish by that?” the sheriff asked.

“Just wanted to satisfy myself that they don’t have Damien,” Alex admitted.

“I could have saved you the trouble, Mr. Collins,” the sheriff chided. “That was the first place I looked.”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but that’s something I needed to know for myself.”

“I understand,” Randall said. “Where are you now?”

“I’m at a pay phone near Collinsport Inn,” Alex told him.

The sheriff ordered, “I’ll swing by and pick you up. Wait for me. I’ll be there in about five.”

Alex assented and hung the receiver up.

After a few minutes, Sheriff Drew’s police cruiser pulled up next to the curb and Alex climbed inside on the passenger side.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked.

Without answering the question, Sheriff Drew interrogated, “How long have you known the whereabouts of Chad Jenkins?”

Alex was startled. “For a few days now,” he said nervously.

“Didn’t you know that his mother thought he was missing?” Randall demanded.

Alex stuttered, “I…I…I did, but he asked me not to say anything to anyone about where he was.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Collins,” Sheriff Drew said. “You should have let me know. We’ve been looking for him for a while and you knew it. What is your relationship with Chad Jenkins?”

“Just friends, Randall,” Alex said with a little annoyance. He felt guilty about not having told what had happened, but he was a Collins after all, and didn’t feel he should be treated with suspicion by the local constable. The questioning was getting too personal.

“Well, Alex,” Randall said, being deliberately informal, “there is more here than you are willing to talk about, but with your son’s life potentially at stake, I’m going to have to make any inquiries I see fit. Is that clear?”

“Not only clear, Sheriff, but appreciated,” Alex said.

“Good,” the sheriff replied.

“Now, are you going to tell me where we are going?” Alex insisted.

“To talk to Chad Jenkins, of course,” Randall answered.

Collinsport Beach

Joe crept closer and closer to the beach house. He was delaying intentionally, wanting to get to the rear of the house and wait for dawn. He was determined, but not foolish enough to face Angelique while she was up and active.

She had walked away from the window where he had first seen her and it made him nervous to not know exactly where she was. The eastern sky gave no hint of sunlight about to appear. Instead, it was thickly overcast. He wondered whether an overcast sky would extend a vampire’s ability to stay out of the coffin. He looked at his watch. He wasn’t sure when sunrise was supposed to be, but was disappointed to estimate that it was more than thirty minutes away.

He suddenly felt exposed out on the beach. He had expected sunrise to be closer, but now, realizing the time was far enough off that Angelique could reach him, he panicked.

Quickly, he dropped to the sand and hoped to hide, dropping his lantern and stake. Behind him came the familiar mocking laughter of the woman he hated with all his heart. He flipped over onto his back to see Angelique standing over him, her cruel smile playing on her face and her eyes piercing him. She was dressed in a white flowing dressing gown and looked like an angel, but for the evil countenance.

“Oh, Joe Haskell,” she said, “how sweet of you to come to me without me even calling, seeing how I am very short on time and in great need.”

He tried to scream but couldn’t. Her eyes had already engaged his and he was in her thrall again. He reached up and grabbed his coat collar and pulled it down.

“Get up, you fool,” she said contemptuously. “Do you expect me to come down there and wallow in the sand with you?”

Collinsport Inn

Raymond Murdoch sat impatiently in his hotel suite, his wrath brewing inside him. He was not one to enjoy waiting. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Laura, trying to communicate with her. He would certainly punish her when she returned for not responding to his telepathic messages.

The painting of modern Laura on the table stared at him defiantly. He stared back at it, looking into those widened eyes. Standing and approaching it, his malicious spirit began to take control and he determined he would destroy the painting and lock Laura into that fiery being she had become. That would serve her right for trying his patience this way.

His mind began to formulate the Egyptian chant that would accomplish his revenge, but before he began to utter the spell with his lips, he saw the winged and burning woman float into the room through the wall.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

Again she ignored him and placed herself between him and the painting. Reaching out and touching it, she again traded places and found herself standing before a painting of herself ablaze. She slumped to the floor.

Raymond Murdoch did not bend over to help her. Instead, he angrily returned to where he had been sitting and waited for her to regain her strength.

She eventually found the strength to pull herself to the sofa and sit on it.

“Now, answer me!” he commanded. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for Damien,” she said weakly.

“And did you find him?” he interrogated.

“No,” she began to explain.

“Fool!” he said as he stood menacingly.

“But I found her!” she proclaimed.

Collinsport Beach

Joe stood and faced his undead mistress. She still had control over him. He had been too often in her power for him to resist her now.

She moved slowly closer. She could easily take him at any moment, but she seemed to be cruelly savoring his terror and submissiveness.

He removed his coat and let it drop to the sand, granting more access to his solidly muscled neck.

Angelique shuddered at the beauty of that neck. Though he was now middle-aged, he was every bit as handsome as he had been thirty years before when she had savored his blood and the feel of his flesh in her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer to her, moving her face to the side of his. She opened her mouth, revealing gleaming white fangs, and poised herself to sink them into the artery.

Just as she was about to plunge her canines into him, a light shone on them from near the beach house, the headlights of a car pulling up next to her home.

She quickly backed away. She could not ascertain what kind of vehicle it was, could only see the two blaring headlights, now placed on high-beam.

Someone opened the car door and got out and stood by the car, facing the ocean. She could not see who it was.

“Who is out there?” a masculine voice called.

She instantly recognized the voice. It was Barnabas. Her heart leapt and she softly cried out in anguish.

“No, Damien!” she heard Barnabas call out as the passenger door opened.

“Grandmother!” a boy’s voice cried out as the little boy began running out onto the beach, followed slowly by the nearly invalid old man who kept calling, “Damien! Come back!”

Angelique wondered why the boy had referred to her as grandmother. In an instant, she tried to decide what to do. She could vanish right then and there and almost did, considering that she did not want Barnabas to see her. At the same time, she wanted him to see her, to come to her and become hers.

The boy continued to run towards her, calling out, “Grandmother! Grandmother!”

It was that fervent and innocent cry that made her hesitate. In hesitating, she lost her concentration on Joe Haskell, who had dropped back down to the ground and was desperately searching the sand for something he had lost.

Behind the car next to the house, another car had just arrived. Quentin emerged and raced towards the scene playing out on the beach.

Angelique was confused. Now Barnabas was crying out, “Angelique! My darling Angelique!”

He had seen her and she screamed, “No, Barnabas! Stay away from me!”

Damien reached her first and grabbed at her arms. “Grandmother!” he shouted.

She looked down at him, perplexed but angry. With a menacing growl, she frightened the poor boy into loosening his grip. He began to cry, but Angelique knew no compassion for the boy.

Quentin passed Barnabas, who was unable to navigate his weak legs through the sand.

Joe found what he was searching for, the wooden stake he had broken off the piece of driftwood earlier. In the confusion of Damien clawing at her and Barnabas’ incessant cries, Angelique did not notice Joe raising his weapon against her. He held it aloft in both hands, poised to drive it with all his might into Angelique’s evil breast.

Eleanor, Amy, and Trina Collins, along with Carolyn Loomis sat in the library waiting for word from the police. There were search parties out looking for young Damien, joined by Alex and Willie.

By the time Sheriff Drew had arrived, he had already started his men and some state troopers canvassing the neighborhoods. Eleanor had suggested that Sheriff Drew also question the Murdochs, which he already had planned on doing.

Mrs. Hammond and the maids had been searching the house. Damien had a few hiding places she knew about.

As they waited, Amy blustered. “If anything has happened to that boy…”

Eleanor didn’t speak. She just sat in numbed silence. Carolyn took charge for her and kept things moving. Though it was still the middle of the night, the entire household was awake.

Carolyn insisted that Eleanor come to the study and rest. Amy looked at Carolyn as if it were a horrible thing to suggest, that someone rest while Damien was out somewhere in the cold.

Carolyn ignored her. Eleanor complied and went with her friend. Carolyn knew that Eleanor would not rest, but at least she’d get rest from Amy’s dramatics.

Collinsport Inn

Sheriff Randall Drew knocked on the door to the room where the Murdochs were staying.

Presently, a very lovely young blonde woman answered the door. She was fully dressed, which the Sheriff noted as odd, due to the late hour. Behind the woman stood an elderly gentleman of swarthy complexion, also fully dressed.

“Yes?” the woman asked.

“Mrs. Collins?” Randall guessed.

“Yes,” the woman replied.

“I am Sheriff Randall Drew. May I come in?”

The woman looked concerned. “Of course, Sheriff. Is something wrong?”

After he entered, he stuck out his hand to the old man and said, “You must be Raymond Murdoch.”

The old gentleman shook hands with the policeman and nodded affirmatively.

“Tell us why you’re here, Sheriff,” the old attorney insisted.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” Randall informed them.

“What is it?” Mrs. Collins asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid that your son, Damien, is missing,” Drew said cautiously.

“Missing!” Laura Collins exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“His aunt Eleanor went into his room to check on him and he was gone. They have searched the house and cannot find him.”

“And you have come here to find out if he is with us?” the old gentleman interrogated.

“If you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you?” Randall asked.

“Of course, Sheriff,” Murdoch replied. “In fact, I’d want to search the whole suite. And as the boy’s great-grandfather, if it had been me that had lost him from here and you were searching Rose Cottage for him, I’d want you to search thoroughly.”

“I appreciate your understanding, sir,” Randall said.

He looked in the two or three adjoining rooms and saw nothing that would indicate to him that the boy had been there.

When he returned to the main room, Laura came forward to him and pleaded, “Sheriff, now that you’ve satisfied yourself that he’s not here, I want you to get out there and find him.”

She began to cry convincingly.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Collins,” he said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“How can I help, Sheriff?” the old gentleman offered.

“We have search parties all over the area. I’d prefer it if you both just wait here by the phone. You will be called the moment we find him.”

Laura touched his arm. It seemed to shock him a moment, as if a small hot spark had issued from her fingers. He ignored it.

She said to him, “I will be waiting. Please hurry.”

He thanked them, convinced they did not have the boy, but wondering why he felt uneasy with them the entire time he had been in their presence.

After they closed the door, they looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and alarm.

“You stay here,” Murdoch said to Laura.

He reached in the closet for an overcoat and left.

Collinsport Beach

Alex walked along the beach with a propane lantern held high, with a couple of men from the Rose Cottage staff along side him. He carried with him a cellular phone so he could get word if anyone found his son.

From the beach, looking up the hills he could see other lights of men searching. Despite the late hour, lights were on in houses along the beach and in the village. All of Collinsport was awake to look for his son.

Down the beach he could see another light coming towards him. After a few minutes, the two parties were in sight of each other. Alex recognized his distant cousin and business rival, David Collins, accompanied by the butler Hanscomb and handyman Harry Johnson.

“David?” Alex questioned.

“Cousin Alex,” David greeted. “I heard about Damien and decided to volunteer for a search party.

Alex hid his emotions. He was touched by this display of Collins solidarity. He and David rarely talked about anything but business, as they had at the recent reception at Collinwood for Barnabas and Quentin Collins. Such talk had always been competitive. As boys, they had not had much in common. Roger and Ambrose Collins never got along. Now, being joined by David in the search for Damien, Alex was grateful.

“Thank you,” he choked out in a husky voice.

“Alex,” David said, “I have an idea about a place to look, but I think we should send our companions on to continue in our assigned areas.”

“OK,” Alex agreed.

Both men nodded to their helpers, who continued as they had been going.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Alex said.

David said, “Do you remember when we were boys, I was lost for a couple of days?”

“Yes,” Alex recalled. “My father had joined the search parties then.”

“Do you know where I was?” David asked.

“No. They just told us you showed up again.”

“Well, come on,” David said. “I’ll show you.”

David led him up a rocky hill along a path that switch-backed up to a crest and a grassy, wooded area beyond. The place was known as Eagle Hill and atop it was a cemetery.

“You are taking me to Eagle Hill Cemetery?” Alex queried.

“Yes,” David said. “I know a place there where I used to hide. Damien, I hear, is quite a bit like I was. You remember my reputation?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, my father said you were a little sneak and always getting into places you didn’t belong.”

“I hear Damien is like that?” David said, ignoring the annoyance of old Ambrose Collins’ opinionated gossip about Collinwood Collinses.

Occasionally one or the other would call Damien’s name. Near the top, Alex turned and looked back down at the village below. He looked at the wharf, the beach, the streets full of shops, and the houses. Nestled close to the hills was his home, Rose Cottage. He whispered a silent prayer that his son was even then entering the house through one of his secret entrances instead of being out here on this cold and windy night. He checked his cell phone to make sure it was still on and decided not to call Amy, knowing that by ringing the phone at the house, he’d stir everyone up. “Better to wait till I have some news,” he thought.

“You coming?” David said from several yards ahead on the trail.

Alex nodded.

Collinwood Cottage

Clive and Ramona Broman sat at their small table with the ben-ben in front of them. They had received word that Damien was missing, along with the painting of his mother.

After Ramona had suggested to Clive that he join the search parties, he had said, “We will search for him in our own way.”

He had built a fire in the fireplace. Now they sat facing the fire at the table, with the ben-ben positioned so that Ramona could look at the ben-ben and see it as if it were in the blaze itself.

He whispered words to her in an ancient tongue that he urged her to repeat.

As she whispered the words, ancient Egyptian with a Philly accent that was a sincere mocking of her husband’s English accent, the ben-ben became translucent, as if she could see through it into the fire.

“Now,” Clive was saying softly, “Concentrate on Damien Collins.”

“But I’ve never met him,” she protested.

“Do your best to just think about the name and his family and tell me what you see,” he instructed.

She stared more intently into the object and saw fiery images swirling around, so fast that she couldn’t distinguish what they were.

“It moves too fast,” she said desperately.

“Move your consciousness into the fire, my dear,” the professor urged her.

Her eyes opened wide and she felt her mind drawn into the tiny inferno raging inside the object. Soon, she was standing engulfed in flames but felt no pain, only a comfortable warmth that surged through her.

She wasn’t sure where she was, but it was vast. Columns and stones were arranged like an ancient Egyptian temple, but flames licked around everything.

Suddenly, she heard a voice, a woman’s desperate cry calling out, “Damien! Damien! Where are you?”

Through a pair of pillars, some distance away, she saw a brightly clothed woman with golden hair running from place to place in this hellish place, calling for Damien. She immediately surmised it was Laura, the phoenix.

Suddenly, the woman turned and came in her direction. Fear took hold of Ramona and she felt herself whipped backwards out of the strange dream and back to the table where she sat gazing at the ben-ben. Inside it, the face of Laura Collins moved near to the surface and looked as if it were peering out, searching.

“She’s looking for me, now,” Ramona gasped.

“Look away, my dear, before she sees you,” Clive shouted.

Ramona tried, but could not avert her eyes. Clive stood and shook her until she looked away.

“Did your eyes meet hers?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t think so,” she said, gasping for air. “What happened to me?”

“You were in the phoenix temple. The ben-ben took you there. Tell me what you saw.”

Ramona sighed. “I saw her in there, searching for Damien…”

“Then she doesn’t know where he is!” Clive exclaimed. “We must inform the others.”

“Why did I see her face there looking for me?” Ramona asked.

“She probably sensed someone watching her and was trying to figure out who it was. She knows someone has used the ben-ben but she doesn’t yet know who.”

“How did she get in there?” Ramona demanded.

“Through fire,” he answered. “The ben-ben amplifies the power, but the real source is the fire. You are stronger than she is right now, my dear, because you have the ben-ben.”

Rose Cottage

“Thank you, Professor Broman,” Eleanor said before she hung up the phone.

To Carolyn, who was waiting with her in her study, she said, “Professor Broman says they are fairly certain that the Murdochs do not have Damien.”

“How can they possibly know that?” Carolyn said.

“I don’t know, but I trust him,” Eleanor replied.

The door burst open and Amy came in. “Who was on the phone?” she demanded.

“It was just someone calling to see if they could help, Amy. No news. Sorry,” Carolyn placated her.

“Oh, I see,” Amy said dejectedly. “Trina has gone to bed and so has Mrs. Hammond and the staff. They scoured the whole house and couldn’t find him.”

“I just feel so helpless, sitting here like this,” Carolyn said.

“But what else can we do?” Eleanor asked rhetorically.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

David and Alex held their lanterns high as they maneuvered past gravestones and gnarled shrubbery.

“Where are we going, David?” Alex asked.

“To the Collins Mausoleum,” David told him.

“Why would Damien go there?”

“Because…”

David’s sentence was cut off as he jumped with a start at the sight of someone a few yards away in the dark.

“Who are you?” David insisted.

“Chris Jennings,” the man announced as he moved forward into the influence of the lanterns.

“Chris,” David sighed his relief. “What are you doing out here?”

“Barnabas asked me to check the cemetery for young Damien,” Chris said.

“Chris,” Alex said coming forward, “I’m your brother-in-law, Alex.”

Chris looked surprised. “Good to finally meet you, Alex. Sorry I didn’t come down and introduce myself before this.”

“No problem, Chris,” Alex explained. “Amy told me about your problems with amnesia.”

“You haven’t seen any sign of Damien, then?” David asked Chris.

“No, sorry,” Chris answered.

“Would you have known him if you had? And why look here?” Alex asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Chris admitted, “I have met Damien before, right up here while I was paying my respects to some of my dear departed. He seems to like this place a lot.”

Alex felt encouraged about the chances of David being right about where Damien was.

“Why are the two of you looking up here?” Chris queried.

David explained, “I know a hiding place here that Damien might also know about, a place I once hid.”

Chris did not register any interest in what David was saying, though secretly he was nervous.

“Are you with us?” Alex asked.

“Sure,” Chris volunteered reluctantly.

Chris grew more nervous as he realized that they were heading for the mausoleum. Once there, David opened the grating and remarked that there had once been a lock there, but that some vandals had destroyed it.

Inside, the two other men stood while David reached up into the lion’s mouth and pulled the ring. The door swung open.

The three men went inside. There was no sign of Damien and Alex sat down in disappointment.

“This is odd,” David said.

“How so?” Chris asked.

“The place is clean,” David observed.

“It’s empty,” Chris pointed out.

“Yes, but it should be dusty and dank,” David posited. “Instead, it’s swept clean like someone has used it recently and then cleaned it out.”

“Who else would know about it?” Chris asked.

“I always thought it was a big secret and that I was one of the few that knew,” David said. “I’m obviously wrong. I’m definitely going to have that lock replaced and hire someone to keep an eye on this place.”

“I’ve got to get back out searching,” Alex declared dejectedly.

“Come on, David,” Chris said. “Let’s keep looking for Damien.”

“I thought for sure he’d be in here,” David said.

Evans Cottage

Maggie paced back and forth across the small studio floor. Earlier, a state trooper had knocked on their door and asked if they had seen Damien Collins. Joe had gone with the officer to join the search parties, leaving Maggie alone to worry. She was not only worried about Damien, but about Joe, still nervous about him being out of her sight.

Her first impression had been to go with them and join a search party. Why not? Being a woman shouldn’t have precluded her from helping. Also, if the boy were found injured, she could be on-hand to help.

Joe had insisted she stay at the cottage. The White Lady legend and the stories of missing people made him scared for her safety and he didn’t want her out at night. Of course, that was precisely why she didn’t want him out at night.

Before she had gone to bed earlier, she had made a resolution to clean out the storage room where some of her father’s old paintings had been stored. She intended to sell anything that was completed, not that she needed the money. She had thought to herself that her Pop would be tickled to have someone buy his work, living or dead. He painted them for that very reason. After he died, she wanted to keep them forever, but more and more came to feel that he would’ve wanted them sold. She was just proud enough of her father’s work to want to share it.

She decided it would be a good distraction while she waited for Joe and it was certainly better than pacing.

She went to where her father had always kept the key hanging by the stove in the kitchen. When she saw it wasn’t there, she remembered that she had taken it from there when she rented the cottage out, having locked the little storage room so that the tenants would not get into it.

It had to be somewhere in her purse. She hoped it wasn’t back at Windcliffe in her desk.

She rummaged through the handbag and eventually found it.

Unlocking the door, she started pulling out the paintings and sorting them. Most were finished, but many were mere sketches. Sam Evans’ work had not become famous, but there were still collectors out there who remembered him. The unfinished ones she set in a pile to put back into the closet, while the saleable ones she kept stacked upright in a corner.

As she lifted a landscape out of the closet, the wire attached to the back of the frame caught on the next painting, which caused the second painting to come tumbling out, end over end. It was a painting she had forgotten about, Laura Collins with wings, engulfed in flames. It had been one he had worked obsessively over. This one was not the final product. That he had given to the Collins family at Collinwood. This was one he was dissatisfied with.

Maggie thought about the significance of this painting, now knowing what she knew about phoenixes and such. She remembered some of the things Julia told her about the phoenix and the phoenix’s purpose. Thirty-some years before, Maggie had first met Laura Collins on the fateful day she returned to Collinwood after having been committed to some sanitarium somewhere. Until recently, she had not realized that the first Laura Collins she had met was the same one she treated at Windcliffe twenty-some years later.

As she thought that, there came a knock to the door. She set the strange portrait down with the other unfinished works and answered the door.

She was shocked to see an anxious Laura Collins standing there at her door.

“Laura!” Maggie exclaimed in surprise.

The beautiful woman apologized, “Dr. Haskell, I know it’s late, but I couldn’t just sit at home by the phone anymore. I’ve asked the hotel to call me here if they receive any news. I don’t want to be alone. Could I come in and talk to you for a while? I know I’m not your patient anymore, but please…”

Maggie concealed her fear. “Of course, Laura. I’m glad you came. I could use some company too.”

“Sheriff Drew hasn’t called, has he?” Laura asked as she entered the cottage.

“No, I’m sorry,” Maggie said sympathetically, closing the door.

“Can I get you some tea?” Maggie offered.

“Yes, please,” Laura accepted.

Maggie went off to the kitchen and made the tea. When she returned with a tray and tea service, Laura was standing looking at the paintings Maggie had set out.

“Oh, Dr. Haskell,” Laura said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. These are beautiful. Are you a collector?”

“No,” Maggie answered. “My father was an artist.”

“I see,” Laura replied.

Maggie wondered what this creature’s real purpose was in coming. Was it possible she was truly distraught? Maggie considered that it was truly distress, but likely because she didn’t know where the boy was and was conducting her own investigation. But why come here?

Laura Collins returned to looking at the paintings. Maggie became nervous when she realized it would only take a glance to the side for Laura to see the painting of herself in her former incarnation.

As a distraction, Maggie said, “Perhaps we should call the sheriff’s office to see if there is any word about Damien.”

Laura wheeled around suddenly and looked directly at Maggie, who suddenly felt a surge of heat go through her body and then extreme dizziness. She steadied herself by placing a hand against the wall.

“Dr. Haskell?” Laura said with concern in her voice.

“I’m all right,” Maggie said. “Probably just a little tired.”

“I should be going,” Laura suggested.

“Oh, no,” Maggie said, feeling a little guilty. “I think I should just sit down. Please, have some tea.”

Laura smiled and sat across from where Maggie sat.

They sipped their tea and remained silent for a few minutes.

Maggie noticed the painting off to the side, almost standing there staring at the two of them. Her father was certainly gifted. The eyes in the painting were just like those fixed on her from across the coffee table.

Slowly, the other woman’s eyes turned to the side where Maggie had caught herself looking and beheld the painting.

“What is this?” she exclaimed. “A portrait of me?”

Maggie stood. “Oh, no,” she said. “That’s a portrait of your aunt that my father started a long time ago.”

The phoenix play-acted, “My grandfather always told me I looked just like her, but I never realized…”

Maggie was surprised at what she offered next. “My father never finished this one. He started over a few times, before he arrived at the one that pleased him, which he gave to your cousin David. If you would like to have this one, I’d be willing to give it to you. Perhaps you could commission someone to finish it.”

“How kind you are, Dr. Haskell,” Laura commended Maggie.

After the tea was consumed, Laura made an excuse about getting back to the inn and left with the painting. Maggie was astonished at how easily she had parted with the painting, despite knowing it could only be ill-advised to give the thing to the phoenix.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Alex, David, and Chris finished searching the cemetery, although they had little hope of finding Damien there.

Alex sat dejectedly on a marble bench and was silent. The two other men sat next to him on either side.

David put his arm around his distant cousin and said, “I’m sure Damien is fine. He’ll be found.”

At the touch of David’s arm on his shoulders, Alex felt a twinge of arousal. He had always found David Collins attractive, but this was hardly the time to be experiencing feelings towards another man. He had already committed to his wife that he was going to put that life behind him, and here his oldest son was frightened and alone somewhere and he was getting turned on by a simple act of compassion. How much he hated himself for that!

David unwisely commented, “First, Chad Jenkins, and now Damien. I wonder if there is a connection.”

Chris was about to chide David for unnecessarily worrying Alex with talk like that when Alex stood suddenly and declared, “You two keep searching. I’ve got to go somewhere.”

Before he could hear their protests, he bounded off into the darkness with his lantern.

The Beach House

Quentin sat next to Angelique, urging her to try harder as she attempted to call upon her former powers of insight to find the boy. She only saw images of Damien, blurred and uncertain.

“It’s no use, Quentin,” she said. “My other powers were taken away from me. I can only summon people under my control now.”

“What else can we do?” Quentin insisted.

As they sat pondering that question, someone outside began to loudly knock at the door.

“Who would be visiting this late at night?” Angelique pondered.

“Probably more searchers,” Quentin postulated.

Again the knocking came, more urgently this time.

Angelique arose and went over and opened the door. It was Alex Collins. He, of course, did not recognize her as Dolores Spicker. She was much younger now than Dolores had been.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I want to see Chad Jenkins,” he demanded.

Quentin came and stood at the door with Angelique.

“Come in, Alex,” he invited. Angelique glared at Quentin.

“Quentin Collins?” Alex looked puzzled.

“Yes, Cousin Alex,” Quentin said reassuringly. “This is…”

“Miranda DuVal,” Angelique interrupted. She stuck out her hand in a very business-like manner.

Alex ignored it and came in uninvited. “Where is Chad?”

Angelique kept her composure. “Chad is sleeping, Mr. Collins,” she informed the intruder.

“Shouldn’t you be out looking for Damien?” Quentin inquired.

Alex declared, “I am looking for Damien and I think Chad might know where he is.”

Angelique’s eyes flashed angrily at Quentin, though Alex had his back to her.

Quentin put his arm around Alex and led him into the front room where he and Angelique had been sitting.

“Miranda,” Quentin said to Angelique. “This is important. Why don’t you go wake Chad up and bring him in here?”

Angelique paused a long moment then decided to comply. She still could overcome them all if anything happened she didn’t like.

While she was gone, Quentin asked Alex, “What makes you think that Chad would know what happened to Damien?”

Alex suddenly felt foolish and a little intimidated by the handsome young Quentin Collins.

“It’s just that the rest of Collinsport thinks that Chad has disappeared and are speculating that Chad’s disappearance is linked to Damien’s. I have to find out for myself.”

“Of course you do,” Quentin said sympathetically.

“What are you doing here, Quentin?” Alex asked.

“Miranda DuVal and I are old friends,” Quentin explained.

“Do you have any idea why Chad is so devoted to her and why he stays here in hiding, not even telling his mother where he is?”

“No idea at all,” Quentin sidestepped.

After a few moments of silence, Quentin offered, “After you talk to Chad, if you don’t mind, I’ll join you in the search.”

“Thanks,” Alex said.

The woman returned in a few minutes being trailed by Chad Jenkins. Chad looked nervous and very ill.

“I must insist, Mr. Collins,” Miranda said, “that you ask your questions and then let Chad get back to bed. He’s very ill.”

“Hello, Chad,” Alex said quietly. He glanced around, hoping that the other two people would leave them alone.

“Hi, Alex. Miranda told me about your son. I’m sorry I can’t go out and help you look for him,” Chad said with slow and slurred speech.

“No problem, Chad. I was hoping you could shed some light on his disappearance, since you sort of disappeared the same way.”

“I didn’t disappear. I came here to take a job with Miss DuVal and then I got sick.”

Alex didn’t believe the story, but he didn’t want to grill Chad with a lot of questions unless he felt they would reveal answers relevant to Damien’s disappearance.

“But your mother doesn’t even know where you are?” Alex said incredulously.

“She doesn’t?” Chad feigned surprise.

“No,” Alex said. “The police have been looking for you.”

Chad seemed frightened and looked at Angelique, who said to him, “I’m so sorry. That’s my fault. I was supposed to get a message to your mother and it slipped my mind.”

Turning to Alex, she explained, “Our phone is out of order.”

Alex pulled out the cellular phone he had brought with him and offered, “Please, use mine. At least we can have one less worried mother in Collinsport.”

Chad looked at Angelique, who nodded her head very slightly in assent.

He took the phone from Alex’s hand, briefly letting the flesh in both hands touch each other. Alex wanted to cry. He had sat holding that hand so many times, but now its touch seemed like frozen meat.

Chad dialed his mother’s number and they heard him explaining to his obviously distraught mother about his whereabouts and why he was there, at least the Miranda-approved story. Chad explained to his mother that he had taken a job with Miss DuVal as an agent and bookkeeper. His new employer had insisted on the utmost confidentiality regarding the arrangement and that’s why he hadn’t notified anyone of where he had been. He apologized to his mother for not having called her, but explained that he had a bad case of the flu. After promising to come home for a visit in the next couple of days, he returned the cell phone to Alex.

“Any other questions, Mr. Collins?” the woman asked.

Alex thought carefully.

“No,” he replied.

Chad stumbled back off towards his bed.

Quentin announced, “Well, Miranda. Lovely to see you again. I’m going to join the search party now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind, Quentin,” she said. Her eyes flashed a warning which he immediately understood.

“Do you know where I laid my belongings?” Quentin asked with a wry smile.

“I had Chad put them in the drawer over there,” Angelique said, pointing to a desk.

Quentin retrieved his car keys and wallet, then offered Alex a ride. Alex accepted.

Collinsport Inn

Laura Murdoch Collins returned to her suite at Collinsport Inn. Waiting there for her was Raymond Murdoch.

“Where have you been?” he demanded sternly.

“Retrieving this,” she said as she turned the portrait done by Sam Evans towards him.

“Why did you need that?”

“I need this to focus my power. I am looking for something,” she said smiling widely. “IT has been used.”

“The ben-ben?!”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I was searching in the fire for Damien when I felt eyes upon me in the temple. Someone was watching me, so I ran to the temple’s ben-ben and looked into it.”

“What did you see?” he said, and grabbed her arm roughly.

She leaned back in fear. “Only the rough image of a face, a dark face.”

“Her!” he cried out knowingly, releasing Laura’s arm..

“Yes,” she said. “Ramona Herndon. You did not dispose of her as you promised. Now, she knows the secrets of the ben-ben.”

“But how?”

“Either someone has taught her, or she knows who she is,” Laura posited.

“There is only one who can teach her the use of the ben-ben,” Murdoch said.

“He must be nearby,” she speculated. “Do you think he has Damien?”

“No, else why would she be searching with the ben-ben?”

“We must act quickly if we are to find them before they find Damien,” she said hurriedly. “Help me.”

Raymond took the portrait from Laura and stood it on the table against a wall, so that it was at about her height.

She faced the painting and stared into the image’s eyes. A small flame began to flicker in each eye of the painting, as well as in Laura’s own eyes. Soon, the Laura in the painting, dressed in white like an angel, was not only engulfed in painted flames, but also in spirit flames with no heat.

The corporeal Laura, dressed in a modern dress, stood straight and rigid. She reached forward with one finger and touched the hand of the woman in the picture. In an instant, the painting changed to be of modern Laura standing against a plain background while the Laura standing before it was dressed in white and on fire. Her body had been consumed by the painting, but her spirit was the one in the flames.

To the rest of the world, she was no longer visible, but Raymond Murdoch could see her, and he watched as she passed through the wall of the suite and out into the world.

Rose Cottage

In Eleanor’s study, Carolyn and Eleanor sat impatiently in chairs. Occasionally one or the other would doze off, but did not remain asleep long.

Eleanor said, “Thanks for waiting with me, Carolyn.”

“Oh, I just couldn’t leave you right now, El. I keep praying they will find him soon.”

“I do too,” Eleanor said.

“Is it hot in here?” Carolyn asked as she removed her sweater, and hung it on the back of the chair.

“Yes,” Eleanor answered. “I wonder if Mrs. Drummond set the thermostat too high for this room.”

Eleanor looked at the device on the wall and it registered an even 70 degrees, although the thermometer on the device registered 84.

“That’s odd,” Eleanor commented. “It’s cold outside, but it’s much warmer in here than the thermostat is set for.”

The Old House

Barnabas paced back and forth in the Old House drawing room. Julia would be angry at him for being up so late and for pacing so much. He knew he should at least sit down in his easy chair, but he couldn’t bring himself to settle down. His anxiety over the young boy he only recently discovered was his own descendant kept him on his feet, walking back and forth from the window to the mantle.

“I should be out there searching,” he thought to himself. He cursed his old age and weakening legs. The news he had learned in Louisiana that the Rose Cottage Collinses were his own descendants had been working on his mind ever since. To think that he had actually had a child by Angelique and that there were now descendants of the child in the world today was both exciting and poignant to Barnabas Collins, who thought he would never have the pleasure of fatherhood.

It pleased him to think about it, but he felt a sense of loss not having known each and every descendant. Now, his mind was on one particular descendant, the missing little boy, Damien.

He was at the window now, peering out into the darkness, hoping against hope that he would catch a glimpse of a small boy out in the pre-dawn darkness. Nothing.

“Hello, Grandfather,” he heard a small voice from behind him.

Barnabas turned and there before him stood the very boy he pined for.

“Damien!” Barnabas exclaimed with excitement.

The boy stepped back quickly in alarm.

Barnabas realized he had startled the little boy. “I’m sorry to have frightened you, Damien. It’s just that we’ve all been so worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry to have run away, but I had to,” the boy said.

“Why did you call me ‘grandfather’?” Barnabas asked.

Damien paused a moment. “Well, you’re not my grandfather exactly, but you’re back there in my family tree somewhere, aren’t you?”

Barnabas ignored the question, though he was intrigued by how the boy might know such things.

“We should call your Aunt Eleanor,” Barnabas suggested.

“No!” the boy insisted.

“But she is very worried about you,” Barnabas said.

“I can’t go back there. She’s in danger as long as I’m around.”

“What kind of danger?”

“From my mother,” Damien said sheepishly.

“I understand,” Barnabas said, as he slowly put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. This time Damien did not pull away.

“Why did you come here?” Barnabas questioned. “We hardly know each other.”

“Josette told me to come. She said, ‘Go to Grandfather Barnabas,’ and I asked her who that was, so she led me here.”

Barnabas felt his heart race and moved over to his chair to sit down.

“You are my grandfather, aren’t you?” Damien asked.

“Yes, Damien, something like that, only much farther back than a grandfather.”

“I know,” the boy said. “Josette said that I have a grandmother too. Where is she?”

Barnabas tried to wipe away the tears. “She’s gone, Damien. I’m sorry.”

“But,” the boy protested, “Josette said she’s not gone. I’m supposed to help you find her so the two of you can protect me from my mother.”

Barnabas sat forward towards the young boy, who did not retreat. “Josette told you that Angelique is still alive?”

“Yes, and I think she’ll show me where she is,” Damien said. Looking up into the air, he said, “Won’t you, Josette?”

The scent of jasmine filled the room and a chilly breeze wafted through.

“Josette!” Barnabas cried out.

“You wait right here, Damien, and I’ll get my driver and we’ll go find Grandmother Angelique.”

“No!” Damien said. “We must go alone.”

“But Damien,” Barnabas said, “I’m old and I can’t walk that far and I’m a terrible driver.”

“I don’t care. No one else must come!” Damien insisted.