Dark Shadows 2: The Salem Branch

by Lara Parker

  Carrying a flashlight, Willie labored towards the landing, breathing heavily. “Barnabas,” he said, “You seen anything yet?” His pale face appeared above the glare.

  “I am on my way to Julia’s room. Fetch Roger’s gun. Be careful not to wake the house.” Willie turned reluctantly, but Barnabas stopped him. “Wait. Bring—instead—a stake and a hammer.”

  “Why?”

  “We no longer seek a prowler, Willie. I should have warned you. Jason, the prowler you saw, is dead, and there—there is a vampire—”

  “Another one?”

  “There were deep punctures in Jason’s neck.”

  “Oh jeeze, Barnabas, this is crazy. What’s happenin’ around here?”

  Outside of David’s room, Barnabas hesitated, conscious of his failing strength, fearful of what he would find. With quivering fingers, he pushed against the door. The room was gleaming with candlelight, and shadows danced on the walls. There was a soft sound of crooning, and the faint odor of blood. Something inside Barnabas collapsed as all his hope gave way. David lay stretched out on his bed, his head hidden by a dark and shaggy hulk that rocked and keened. It was Jackie, leaning over him, her white arms wrapped around him, and her dark, luxurious hair falling forward and obscuring both their faces. She dipped her shoulders again and again, and sang in soft tones, the words unintelligible, as she rocked, encircling David, and pulled him to her.

  Barnabas staggered into the room, his labored breathing betraying his presence. She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes two stars, and just as he had feared, her lips were red with blood. With the boy lying over her lap she was like a painting of a Pieta, the folds of her robe flowing to the ground.

  “You,” he whispered. “My God. It was you all along.”

  “Why are you here?” she said in a voice that was more a growl.

  “Jacqueline, what have you done?”

  “I?”

  “Is he—is David dead?”

  She shook her head, and Barnabas saw in a flash the child beneath the demon he had imagined, her delicate face and flushed cheek, and her amazing eyes like minnows in a pool. She pulled David closer and answered in a meeker tone, gentle and innocent.

  “No, he is hurt. He has cuts. I am only kissing them.”

  His mind blurred. Was she a changeling, or something possessed? “Kissing them?”

  “To heal them,” she said simply, as if it were perfectly obvious. She was a demon and she had gone mad as well. Barnabas moved closer, ready to grab her and pull her away; then David moaned and shuddered slightly. There was dried blood on his neck, but he was alive.

  “What is this ghastly deed?” Barnabas asked her again, reaching for the table to lean on. He thought he might black out.

  “I told you. Jason cut him. I’m kissing them away.”

  He took another step, and her face grew dark. Her eyes flashed like knives. “What are you doing?”

  “He needs help—a doctor—Surely you will let me take him—Jackie—what have you done to him?”

  She drew up and placed her hand on David’s cheek. “I have saved his life,” she said. Then she looked hard at Barnabas. “And he is the only Collins worth saving.”

  “What—how? Who are you?”

  “You know who I am. I am Miranda du Val.”

  “And are you—my God—are you a vampire?”

  “No, Barnabas. I am a witch.”

  Candlelight warmed her face, and David’s as well, for the boy was sleeping peaceably again. Both were flushed as though they had just made love. They were so beautiful, the two of them, radiant in youth’s perfection, their childish features caressed by the flames, it was difficult to imagine any evil about them. He reached again, but the steel in her gaze stopped him.

  “Stay back,” she said, and her flinty eyes glittered. “Leave me here to care for him.”

  “I can’t leave him with you, Jacqueline. Don’t you know that?”

  “But he is in no danger. You were the one I came to destroy.”

  “To destroy me?”

  Her face grew hard, her voice bitter. “I hounded you. I trapped you with a phony carpet, and you took the bait. I bit you in my mother’s tent. Even a vampire’s bite is easy to fake. I followed you and I tormented you. Didn’t you know the leaves were meant to kill you? And they would have the next time.”

  “But, why?”

  “Because I carry the curse.”

  The room was tilting. The curse, the curse, the words buzzed in his brain like the inside of a hive. The curse had begun in Salem, and she was the witch who cursed them, the witch reborn as Angelique, and now Jacqueline. The sins of his ancestors were always to be his heritage, and he had only added to the legacy. He would never escape. He stared at her in astonishment, slowly shaking his head, and put his hand over his eyes to blot out her face.

  She spoke in a gentler tone. “But you needn’t worry any more, Barnabas. I have changed. You and my mother came to help me. She was willing to give her life for mine. I have been taught love. And so, you are free. I don’t want you any more.” The flames from the candles spun in dizzying circles and flared behind his eyeballs. “She came to save me, don’t you see? And now I have saved David. You can go free.”

  Free? Could he trust her? He should make a move, do something, but he felt helpless. From far away he heard her voice. “But you had better take care of what is wrong with you,” she said. “Because I think you are dying.”

  Julia! A doctor devoted to the Collins family. She would know what to do. He heaved down the corridor until he found her door, and now he knew for certain that the time he had remaining was nearly over. He could feel his strength draining away. His burst of vigor had been but a final flare in a dying fire. No wonder he was no threat to the witch girl. His days without blood had taken their toll. Like a fool, he had ignored his dependence on the elixir for too long. A gunshot injury he had thought was nothing was infecting his entire body. His heart was beating too slowly, too faintly, hovering on the edge of silence. The floor reeled, and the walls closed in on him, then sprang back. He had no control over his legs; his arms dangled at his sides. The only sound he could hear was his own panting, and the white light flashed and hissed like a revolving beacon inside his head.

  He found Julia’s door and fell into her room.

  A single bedside lamp cast an eerie glow on the rug and across her bed which lay smooth and unslept in. He looked around for her in desperation, and was about to run back out, then saw her medical case on the table in front of the window. It gaped open, and all the contents were spilled, the vials broken, the capsules of elixir drained, the hypodermic needles shattered. With a deep groan, he leaned against the table, and stared at the discarded instruments. All were ruined. Who could have done such a thing? Whatever wanted him dead had attacked Julia as well. Could the monster have killed her? Had Jason come before—or Jackie? He sagged with exhaustion. Outside the window, the oak branches hung thick and still. Barnabas stared into the dark and wept empty vampire tears.

  A thud from the hall outside dragged him to the doorway. He clung to the portal, praying it was Julia, that she would appear and save him; but it was only Willie tiptoeing down the corridor, a flashlight in one hand, a stake and hammer under his arm. The whites of his eyes shifted back and forth in the dark.

  Barnabas could barely speak. “Willie, have you seen Julia?”

  “Ain’t she in her room?”

  “No, I’m afraid something dreadful has happened to her.”

  “Well, I did see something, the vampire—whatever it is—Barnabas I don’t want to track down another—”

  “Where?”

  “Going down into the basement.” He jerked the light, and Barnabas felt its glare. “Jeeze, Barnabas. What happened to you? You look awful.”

  “I’ll be all right once I find Julia. Willie, all the medication has been destroyed—”

  “And that’s why you—well, maybe she has some more hidden away—”
>
  Willie’s face loomed like a Halloween mask. Barnabas closed his eyes and listened for his heart. It was slowing; he was growing weaker. There were long seconds between each beat, and each one shook his frame. What was happening to him? Julia would know. What if she were dead—killed by Jason—or the demon loose in the house? And all because of his blundering.

  “Willie, come here. Let me lean on you.” Willie eyed Barnabas suspiciously. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I need you.”

  They descended the stair to the foyer, Barnabas’s arm slung over Willie’s shoulders. Barnabas shuffled like a sleepwalker, staring out of unseeing eyes. The familiar corridors, the wallpaper, the pattern of the carpet shifted and crawled as if alive. Were worms already feeding be hind his eyes? When they reached the landing to the basement stairs, he swayed and nearly toppled into the gloom. Willie caught him and pulled him back.

  “Barnabas, you sure you want to go down there?”

  “We must.”

  “But what’ll we do if we find something?”

  Barnabas reached for the hammer and stake.

  The basement was cavernous and emitted the odor of damp concrete and earth. Beneath the huge hand-hewn joists on which the great house rested were dark caves where the beams lay on the stone foundation. Hidden cubicles were stuffed with cardboard boxes of clothes and books. Willie reached for the single bulb hanging from a cord, and pulled the string. The light, which swung slowly, altered the shadows, but failed to diminish them. Spiders’ webs hung from the plumbing pipes overhead, and conduit snaked up the walls. Old chests, a battered electric fan, an air conditioner turned on its side, a steel safe with the accusing eye of one combination dial, all stood like squat soldiers guarding their territory. In the center of the basement, posing as their general, a rectangular forced-air heater, covered with dust, towered ten feet high.

  Willie cast the beam of the flashlight into corners and behind crates, muttering, “There ain’t nothin’ here. Can’t we go back upstairs?” In truth, Barnabas could hear nothing, nor sniff the unmistakable odor of his breed.

  An area with a cement floor and a rusty drain served as the house laundry, and, beside an ironing board with a badly burnt cloth top stood a washing machine and dryer. They glimmered an almost ghostly white until Barnabas noticed a narrow window through which a pale light gleamed. It was dawn. Once more the vampire would escape with the day, flee to some cave of comfort, and slip from their grasp.

  The pilot light of the furnace clicked, and the gas jets exploded with a violent whoosh! Willie grabbed for Barnabas like a frightened child. “I got to get out of here. I got to take a leak.”

  “No, Willie, wait. Don’t leave me.”

  As it began to heat, the furnace pinged and hummed with a deep roar. Reluctantly Barnabas turned to the stair. He would search further, through all the first floor rooms. A wave of weariness washed over him. He must hold on. He must do this one last thing before the white light returned and seared his brain. He knew he was dying. Was that what had worried Julia? That he would grow weaker and weaker and one day—what fatal irony! To finally become human only to succumb so quickly to the final human destiny.

  Following Willie, he began his lethargic climb when he spotted, tucked beneath the stair, a door without a doorknob.

  “Wait, Willie—what is that?” There was only a keyhole and the door appeared latched from inside. “That door. Break it open.”

  “Barnabas, there ain’t nothin’ in there—”

  “Do as I say!”

  “Okay, okay, hold on—” Willie cast the beam about for some tool, but finding none for the purpose, he sighed and set the flashlight on the floor. He stepped back and threw his weight against the panel. The splintered portal gaped open, and a golden light spilled out.

  The room was a crypt. Tall iron candelabras hung with dripping tapers cast a honeyed light within the chamber. Bouquets of lilies—masses of snowy trumpets tinged with coral—emanated an exotic aroma. And there in the center of the room—there it lay—at last. The casket was large, wide enough for two. Barnabas noticed with a flicker of envy that his adversary’s choice was elegant indeed. It gleamed—a polished ebony—and its curves were sumptuous. “I think—we have found our vampire,” he said.

  “Who do you think it is?” Willie whispered.

  Determined to end his quest, summoning all his strength and fighting a wave of dizziness, he grasped the stake tightly in his left hand and hefted the mallet.

  “Open the casket. And stand back.”

  For once, Willie obeyed. Perhaps he was curious as well, eager to end the uncertainty. Barnabas poised, knees shaking, legs apart, and the shaft raised at the ready. Slowly, Willie lifted the lid. It did not creak as Banabas’s had always done—that old musical whine. Instead, it rose with a sigh.

  Willie jumped out of the way and Barnabas lunged forwards but he heard Willie’s footsteps slapping on the stair. “I can’t watch it! Not her!”

  When he saw what lay inside the coffin, he slowly lowered his tools.

  Julia lay on a bed of saffron satin, her hands crossed over her breast. A single lily caught between her fingers had drooped slightly and scattered its crimson pollen on her gown. Her face was carved ivory, with deep shadows, and her skin a translucent amber hue. Her hair was once again a vibrant auburn, and her high cheekbones flared beneath cinnamon lashes. He wondered at her body, every voluptuous curve visible beneath the silken robe. She was beautiful.

  He fumbled with the stake. He must release her. The vampire who had bitten her must not be allowed to damn her to the life he had known. He placed the point above her heart and pressed it into the flesh. He hesitated for an instant, then he raised the hammer, but his shaking hands could not perform the deed.

  He collapsed on her body, shuddering with guilt. He was a villain. She had sacrificed everything for him; and he had shunned her, treated her with contempt, and something even worse, indifference. If he had only stayed near her, protected her, and loved her, this would never have happened. Was there no atonement possible, no penance he could perform? He raised his head and gazed at her still face. He touched her cheek. Slowly he began to stroke her limbs. She was warm and pliable even in death. He leaned in, and kissed her, softly, as he should have done in life. He gathered her to him, pressing her close, and held her against him, his head on her heart.

  For many minutes he lay there, aware of a steady beat. She would rise again. He breathed words, his lips against her lips, “Julia, I am dying. Is that not punishment enough?”

  The flames of the candles flickered as he set the stake once more. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and, summoning resolve, raised the hammer. With all his power, he struck. At that moment, her brown eyes flared; and her hand swept up and caught his wrist on the downward blow.

  “Barnabas—” she whispered. He stared at her aghast and shrank away. She was beautiful no longer, but a terrifying apparition. The rims of her eyes and her inner nostrils leaked red, and her soft lips parted to reveal her fangs, sharp and descended. He jerked his hand from her grasp and heaved the mallet, jamming the stake between her ribs.

  “I must—forgive me, I must—I cannot let you—my God, how you must despise me!” He closed his eyes and struck.

  The next thing he knew, he was flying across the room. He slammed into the wall and fell in a broken heap on the floor. Rolling over with a groan, he swooned. When he opened his eyes she was standing before him, her face gleaming, her dress falling in amber folds. “I could never despise you, Barnabas,” she said.

  He could barely speak. “Julia . . . you . . . a vampire?”

  “You hadn’t guessed? The needles. I became contaminated when I mixed my blood with yours. I struggled so long, much too long, to keep you human—to keep us both human—” She took a step toward him. She was regal, her copper hair, her topaz eyes aflame.

  “But—you were always such a cautious physician—”

  “Yes. I became careless, I suppose. Or per
haps, all this time, I have had an unconscious desire to join you in your world.” She moved closer, and he was astonished again by her beauty. Her skin was luminous, her body fluid and rippling like the muscles of a cat. But something in her mood frightened him. He drew back against the wall.

  “Julia. David is hurt. Badly hurt. You are his doctor. That girl is possessed—mad—we have to help him.”

  She laughed, a guttural laugh that played the lower scales. “Why is it, Barnabas, you only think of others when you are in danger?” He tried to rise but fell back with a cry, pain shooting through his body.

  “But. . . David—”

  “The children have no need of us,” she said. “Jackie will save him, for, as you must know by now, that is her gift. She has astonishing powers. I was forced to fight her, as well, to keep you alive. It weakened me—”

  “And I was so ungrateful.” He sagged against the wall, then muttered, “Something terrible, Julia—the medicine—the vials are all broken—the elixir—”

  “There is no more elixir.”

  “Your great discovery?”

  “How could I make the formula, once I had become infected? My blood was tainted.”

  Realization flooded his brain. “Then it was you in the wood?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was like chimes. “The workman was my first victim. I knew nothing other than I needed blood. But when I saw that you were going to track the vampire, I tried to frighten you so that you would not find me out. I needed time. . ..”

  “But. . . your bite did not change me back. . ..”

  “No—” She floated above him, smiling.