Rose Cottage

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!”