"Graveyards are such lonely places." Maggie Evans gazed at the rows of ancient headstones. They were gloomy, even in the bright August sun.

"Not really, Maggie." Dr. Julia Hoffman walked with her through the oldest section of the Collins' family cemetery.

"They're full of old memories."

"...Dead memories."

They walked on in silence until Julia spoke again. "Do you like being the governess at Collinwood, Maggie?"

Maggie gave a short laugh. "Julia, what a strange question."

"Do you?"

"Of course I like it. Why?"

"Just curiosity," Julia said thoughtfully. "So many things have happened there."

Maggie scanned the age-worn epitaphs. "And so much of it ended here," she said pensively. She slowed, pausing before a modest grey marker that had recently been graced by a long, red rose.

Julia was at once uneasy. "I think we should go on," she said. "Roger will be expecting us back."

Maggie pretended not to hear her. "Valerie Collins," she read the faint inscription. "Died March, 1840...That's odd."

Julia fidgeted. "What is?"

"That someone should put flowers here. And there's no date of birth."

"It wasn't unusual not to list dates of birth. And why should it seem strange that someone would want to put flowers on an ancestor's grave?"

Maggie smiled down at the carefully placed rose. "I wonder who put it there?"

Julia glanced at her secretly and said nothing. A light breeze rustled the trees overhead as they continued on toward the great house at Collinwood.

* * *

It was dusk when Julia Hoffman left Collinwood and walked swiftly to the old house -- the original Collinwood obscured by dense trees at the rear of the estate.

Willie Loomis admitted her to the dim entry hall. Candle light flickered in the shadowed drawing room. The old house had no electricity; a charming but often inconvenient concession to historical accuracy.

Willie closed the door behind her, muttering, "Barnabas ain't here."

"Where is he, then?" Julia stepped into the drawing room.

"There," he nodded in the direction of the cemetery. "At Valerie's grave."

"Is that what we're to call her now? Valerie? Angelique was a witch, Willie. Do you honestly believe she could die?"

Willie frowned at her, then nodded to the portrait of Angelique hanging over the mantel. Barnabas -- he says you know she's dead. He says you saw..."

"I saw Valerie-Angelique 'dead' in 1840. But I've seen her 'die' before, Willie. She was never really destroyed then, and I don't believe she's dead now."

"Barnabas thinks so."

"Barnabas could be mistaken." Julia shook her head, angry at her own argument. "I hope I'm wrong, Willie. If Angelique is really dead then we're all better off for it."

"...I'm sorry you feel that way, Julia."

The intrusion of a third voice startled them. Barnabas Collins was standing in the foyer, cane and folded cape in hand, watching them both intently.

Julia smiled weakly.

"Hello, Barnabas. How long were you there?" She tried to laugh, unconvincingly.

Barnabas was not amused. "Long enough," he answered curtly.

"Leave us alone, Willie."

His servant made a hasty withdrawal and Barnabas followed Julia deeper into the austerely furnished drawing room.

"Why did you come here, Julia?"

"There's something I thought you should be told."

He stared at her with an expression of distrust that she found more than mildly upsetting.

"I spoke to Roger this afternoon," she said. "He's rented the house by the sea again."

Barnabas continued to stare at her silently. Annoyed, Julia said sharply, "Nicholas Blair is back in Collinsport!"

Barnabas' expression altered at once to one of alarm. "But Nicholas was dead! Destroyed! How could he return?"

"I don't know how or why, Barnabas. But I do know that Maggie Evans isn't safe as long as he is here."

The name seemed to disturb Barnabas. "Maggie," he repeated.

"There's something else I have to say, Barnabas. Frankly."

He looked at her again, almost icily now. "Please do."

"I don't think you should spend so much time at that grave. I was there today with Maggie. She asked questions. And she isn't the first. People are curious as to why you're so interested in a woman who 'died' 130 years ago!"

Barnabas glared at her briefly and caught his breath. "Of what possible concern could that be to you?" he said coldly.

Julia blinked, taken aback. "I happen to have certain concerns about the protection of your secret."

"Spare me the charade, Julia! Angelique was my wife. Kindly permit me to remember her in whatever way I may choose."

"Angelique," said Julia bitterly, "was responsible for making you what you are."

"I wish to discuss this no further." Barnabas moved to the door and opened it. He gazed out at the night, stiffening when a dog howled eerily from the wood nearby. Then, quickly, he was gone.

* * *

The house by the sea stood silhouetted in the darkness with the deafening roar of the ocean just beyond it. Willie Loomis crouched in the confining brush, watching the building patiently. Hours had passed before he was roused by the sound of a door closing and looked up to see the shadowed form of Nicholas Blair leave the house and start off down the path to the village. Willie waited until he was out of sight, then crept from his lair and started toward the house.

The door was unlocked. He ventured into the front room, where a fire still burned comfortably in the fireplace. He stood still a moment, listening for any sounds of movement. Satisfied that there were none, he took a single lighted candle from the mantel and began his search, room by room.

Overhearing Julia's news had disturbed him greatly. Nicholas Blair's demonic attachment to Maggie Evans was a little-known affair, and Maggie herself had no apparent memory of the black arts ceremony in which Nicholas had allegedly made her his Satanic bride. Willie gave such a 'wedding' neither merit nor validity. His concern for Maggie arose from a long-standing affection. He did not intend to allow Nicholas to reclaim his 'bride'.

He made his way to the basement level, where he found a cavernous stone room spreading the length of the house and bristling with heavy support posts. His candle held high, Willie traveled slowly along the wall, the far end of which revealed three oak doors, some distance apart, set deep into the granite. The first opened into a storage room piled high with old trunks, reeking with the musty stench of rotted leather. The second door, he found, was securely locked. But the third revealed a room lit by tiers of slender black candles arising from grotesque wrought iron holders. These loomed above a table placed squarely in the center of the vault, draped with plush, black velvet and strewn with crumbling volumes, incense, and various other instruments of sorcery.

He backed out of the room, thinking he should return to Barnabas and report of his find. If it hadn't been for that second door...

He tried again to open it. The lock resisted firmly. Willie rattled the handle uselessly and the noise it made echoed in the stone cellar like a burst of gunfire. He never heard the footstep that fell on the landing above him.

"Lose your way, Loomis?" Willie jumped. The candle fell from his hand and sputtered, the flame dying.

"Nicholas!" he said weakly. "Where are you?"

"Here, Loomis." But only the darkness was answering. "You can't see. But you can feel, can't you, Loomis?"

Something struck him. Willie cried out in pain and fell against the wall. Nicholas Blair's laughter, mocking and oddly disembodied, resounded throughout the dank cellar.

Willie cried out a second time, the laughter died away, and the blackness was pervaded by silence once again...

* * *

Professor Eliot Stokes disliked social calls. His privacy was the most valued in Collinsport. He did not, however; object to visiting Collinwood when situations permitted. It was a house with a fascinating past and a great many intriguing peculiarities.

On this particular evening he had set out for the Old House bearing news which he did not find at all pleasant.

It was Julia who responded to his knock. He nodded his greeting, then came inside and said casually, "What brings you to the Old House this evening, Julia?"

"Nothing in particular," she said carefully. "Barnabas isn't here yet, but he will be shortly."

Stokes peered at her oddly. "Is something wrong, Julia?" Without waiting for her answer, he said. "Where's Willie?"

Julia paled. "I wish I knew. "He's been missing since last night."

Barnabas came discreetly in the door. Stokes looked up. "Barnabas," he said immediately, "Have you been out?"

Barnabas glanced at Julia. "I was...occupied."

"Forgive my being forward, "Stokes said flatly. "But am I correct in assuming that you've not been to the cemetery today?"

Barnabas tensed. "As a matter of fact, I haven't. Is that so unusual?"

"In an ironic way, yes," Stokes nodded. "Barnabas, the grave of Valerie Collins was opened last night."

Barnabas stared at him, horror stricken.

"I won't attempt to guess why you continue to hold an interest in her," Stokes went on. "But the body is missing. And now I'm to understand that Willie Loomis is unaccounted for."

"Nicholas," Julia breathed.

"Very possibly," the professor said.

Barnabas winced. "What would Nicholas want with the corpse of Ang... Valerie Collins?"

Stokes shook his head. "Not Valerie Collins. Angelique, who also had occasion to call herself Cassandra and a host of other names, no doubt. It is slowly beginning to make sense to me, though I'm certain there's a great deal more I know nothing about whatsoever. The fact--"

He was interrupted by a frantic knocking at the door, which Barnabas opened to admit a shaken Elizabeth Stoddard. "Barnabas," she said immediately. "Has Maggie been here?"

Barnabas started to answer her, looked quickly at Julia for confirmation, then said, "No, she hasn't. What's wrong?"

Elizabeth stared at him, bewildered. "Maggie has been missing since early this morning."

* * *

Willie Loomis opened his eyes slowly and blinked at the intense light. The first thing he saw in the brightly lit room was a lifeless, white form of Angelique on the table before him. She was stunningly beautiful in spite of the aura of death, her features as perfectly flawless as they had been in life. Her hands, slender and ivory white, were clasped at her waist, where the folds of cloth in her burial gown, rotted and yellow, were the only things about that betrayed her long years of repose in the grave.

Strapped to a similar table nearby was the unconscious figure of Maggie Evans.

Willie felt a sudden and severe revival of his hatred for Nicholas Blair. He called Maggie's

name, but she remained as unmoving on the table as was the long-dead Angelique.

He turned his attention to the rest of the room, lined on every wall with banks of equipment: mirrors, scanners, scopes, and huge surgical lights, panel bristling with dials and electrical wiring. With an immediate sense of regret, Willie realized that he recognized the instruments. There part of an apparatus developed by an associate of Julia's for the purpose of transferring the "force of life" from one being -- living -- to another -- deceased.

He stared at the motionless form of Angelique and shuddered. Here was the woman who had long ago cursed Barnabas Collins to his twilight existence of the living dead.. Here was the witch...Angelique.

The door opened. "Awake at last, Loomis?" Nicholas Blair said mockingly.

Through the door Willie could see the walls of the cell. They were inside the second room which had earlier been locked.

"I see you've been observing my little laboratory," Nicholas grinned. "Do you remember what it's for, Loomis?"

Willie glared at him. "I know."

Nicholas came to stand over Angelique, and the look of admiration on his face was somehow mixed with one of hatred. "Ah, how utterly lovely you are, my 'dear' Angelique."

He turned to face the other table upon which Maggie rested, unaware of her surroundings. "And Maggie...my most undeserving wife." He looked back to Willie. "I have long been attempting, Loomis, to resurrect our dear departed Angelique, just as I've also been searching for a way to reclaim my wife. I never thought I'd find the solution to both these problems in one simple, mortal invention." He frowned, then went on brokenly, "Angelique died a human death. Do you know what that means?"

Willie stared at him mutely.

"A witch who dies a mortal..." Nicholas smiled down at Angelique, "cannot be recalled to the depths of Hell anymore than she can gain entrance to the Gates of Heaven."

He stroked the cold, slender hands. "The soul of Angelique is imprisoned here...trapped in its own deathless limbo. Unreachable, except...he indicated the equipment, with this."

"And this time," he addressed both tables, "neither of you will escape me."

"Maggie I shall claim in death...And Angelique... This time, Angelique, you will belong to me. Mine, to control in any way I please. Something of a 'slave eternal,' you might say. Weak, mortal, altogether powerless. My perfect revenge against you both. And all with this...It's unfortunate, Loomis, that you've neither the education nor the intelligence to operate this mechanism properly. But you'll be of use, nonetheless. You can bring me someone who is capable of making it function...Dr. Julia Hoffman."

Willie rose from the chair indignantly, tried to shout a reply and immediately, inexplicably, lost his voice. Nicholas was glaring at him savagely. Willie gasped and turned away, shaking uncontrollably.

"Don't resist me, Loomis."

Willie took three steps and fell against a panel, fighting for breath. He felt suffocated, unable to get air, his lungs growing painfully tighter by the moment. He strained against the cold metal of the panel, coughing violently, scarcely aware that he was clutching the rough edge of a large control dial. He tried to remember its function and could not. Willie closed both eyes tightly, grasped the dial and twisted it sharply to the right.

Electricity crackled. The wiring above Nicholas' hand came to life and a spark shot to the coil over Angelique, where it arced and sizzled, striking the table.

Nicholas screamed once, and was immediately set alight by the charge. His hand, still clutching the table where Angelique lay, jerked spasmodically.

On the other table, Maggie's eyes came open and she tried to sit up, screaming wildly.

The breathlessness gone, Willie straightened and wrenched the dial to "off.' The electric current ceased abruptly and Nicholas collapsed, folding over the table like a child's discarded rag doll.

Maggie screamed again. Willie went to her, unbuckling the straps as fast as he could and grabbing both her hands in the same instant. "Let's go, Maggie," he breathed.

She began whimpering hysterically, fighting his hold, but Willie dragged her off the table and pulled her after him out the door.

Moments later, Nicholas stirred, and awoke to the peaceful expression dominating Angelique's lovely face. Nicholas gazed down at her, swore a reviling oath under his breath, and hurried out the door in pursuit of his prisoners.

* * *

Stokes, Barnabas, and Julia entered the house by the sea through a side door, giving no thought to the possibility that Nicholas would not be there.

Barnabas was at once uneasy, regretting that his pleas to confront Nicholas alone had fallen on deaf ears. Perhaps Stokes was unaware of Blair's supernatural nature. Julia, however, had no doubt been overcome by her sense of undefeatable courageous obstinance. It was Stokes who first discovered the basement room, and Angelique within it.

"Damnably strange; there are no signs of deterioration," Stokes marveled.

Barnabas, standing over his long-dead wife, offered no reply; could do nothing but stare down at her with speechless, uncomprehending awe.

"The equipment, the tables, everything," Julia said. "It all makes sense, Eliot. He intended to transfer the life force from Maggie to ...to Angelique."

Stokes nodded in agreement. "But why? And where are they now?"

Julia shook her head.

"One thing is certain," Stokes went on. "Nicholas will be back, and shortly, I've no doubt. Before then, everything in this room must be destroyed -- utterly." He stepped closer to the table and repeated to Barnabas. "Everything!"

Broken from his trance-like study of Angelique's face, Barnabas looked up at Stokes in horror. "No," he said faintly, and then almost pleadingly, "You can't!"

Stokes was blunt, deathly serious. "We must."

"No!"

"Julia grasped him by the arm. "Barnabas, be reasonable."

"Not Angelique..."

"She's dead, Barnabas."

"No!"

"Barnabas-"

"You can't. I won't permit... Angelique!" His last word was like the cry of a grave side mourner pleading for the dead to arise; a plea that Angelique should come forth from her sleep of death and return once again to the world of the living.

Julia fell silent. Stokes muttered something about the next room and stepped out the door.

Barnabas reached out to grasp Angelique's stiffened hand and held it tightly, his own hand trembling.

From the other room, Stoke's voice called out. Julia tugged at Barnabas in desperation. "Come away from her, Barnabas, please."

Barnabas lay Angelique's hand carefully back in place, permitted Julia to half-lead him to the next room, where Stokes was standing beside the black altar and burning candles.

"We can begin here," Stokes said, lifting a candle from its wrought iron holder. "Look around you, Julia. The instruments of sorcery...witchcraft. The trade of a warlock."

He touched the flame to the black velvet of the altar and watched the fire greedily consume the cloth and all else in its wake. They backed from the room, Stokes still holding the candle. "Now the machines," he said.

Barnabas started for the center of the room, murmuring Angelique's name. He froze in the doorway, staring into the room in disbelief. The table, where Angelique had rested only moments before, stood empty.

* * *

It was very nearly dawn when Julia returned to Collinwood to find a shaken and disheveled Willie Loomis in the foyer.

"Willie," she strained to keep her voice level. "What happened to you? Where's Maggie?"

Willie nodded toward the landing. "Upstairs...with Elizabeth. I think you better look at her, Julia; I think she's in shock or something..."

"All right, Willie. Where were you both all this time?"

Willie shuddered. "The mausoleum," he stared down at the floor, wincing. "Hiding from Nicholas. I wanted to make sure he was gone before--" he stopped, fidgeting nervously. "Look, Julia, I better get to Barnabas, it's...it's..."

"I know, Willie. Go on."

The first rays of light were already appearing when Willie entered the Old House foyer. There, near the cellar door, was Barnabas, staring out at the light beyond Willie in utter astonishment. Willie stopped in the doorway, looking back at the growing sunlight.

Barnabas stared down at his own hands, his face still fixed with amazement at this miracle of surviving the dawn. He started for the door, halting half way, caught by his undeniably human reflection in the mirror.

"How...?" Willie said hoarsely. "How could it happen?"

Barnabas looked past him into the drawing room, where the portrait of Angelique hung over the mantel.

Willie followed him into the room. The face of Angelique gazed benevolently down at them, touched by the softest hint of an unnatural, luminous glow.

"She's alive," Barnabas said reverently. "Angelique is alive."

Willie stammered uncontrollably before finding the words to speak again. "She can't...she can't be, Barnabas. I..I saw..." he stopped mid-sentence when Julia appeared in the doorway. Willie sank into the nearest chair, burying his head in his hands. "My God," he whispered.

Julia was staring at Barnabas in disbelief. "It's dawn," she said weakly. "It's dawn!"

"I'm quite aware of that." Barnabas was still gazing up at Angelique's face in the portrait.

Julia blinked at it incredulous. "Angelique," she breathed.

From the chair Willie said remorsefully, "My fault...I saw..."

Julia turned on him. "Tell us what you saw, Willie. Did you see Angelique alive? Did you?"

Willie shook his head. "The charge," he said fervently. "I turned on the charge!"

"Through Maggie?"

"No... No, wrong dial. Julia, it was Nicholas. He was touching the table. Not Maggie. Nicholas!"

Julia paced a few steps, trying to make sense of it. "If Angelique is alive," she said slowly, "and Nicholas inadvertently provided the life force, Barnabas, then she's still..." she paused, letting it drop.

"Still a witch?" Barnabas finished, eyeing her with mild annoyance. "Do you think that's still important to me?"

Julia for once was at a loss for words.

Willie rose unsteadily from the chair. "It doesn't make sense, Julia. Nicholas... Nicholas said that Angelique...she died a mortal. And..and if he could bring her back that's what she'd be. He said she'd be mortal and..and helpless. His to control...that's...that's what he told me, Julia, he knew."

"No, Willie," Julia persisted. "Not if he was the life force; not this time. Angelique, if she is alive, is a witch. This time...this time, Willie, Nicholas was wrong."

* * *

When darkness fell, Julia was summoned back to Collinwood, and Willie, exhausted from his ordeal of the night before, dozed comfortably on the drawing room settee.

Barnabas stood beneath Angelique's glowing portrait, still watching the face intently. Then, slowly, he turned and left the house to disappear into the gathering darkness.

* * *

Nicholas was scornfully studying the fire in the hearth of his drawing room, lamenting the loss of his cellar equipment, when a voice from behind brought him around and face to face with a very beautiful -- and very angry -- Angelique. She mocked him, her almost musical laughter ringing repeatedly. "You did manage to release me, Nicholas. But hardly in the way you intended!"

Nicholas attempted to sound threatening and did not quite succeed. "Get out of here, Angelique. Leave me alone, or so help me I'll--"

Her harsh laughter cut him short. "Don't cross me again, Nicholas." Her tone was cold, deliberately menacing. "I defeated you once. Don't force me to do it again."

Nicholas made a nervous sound. "You?" he pointed an accusing finger. "One who has fallen out of favor?" He paused, delighting in her anger at the words. "You lifted the curse from Barnabas Collins, didn't you? The last feat of sorcery you could possibly accomplish and you chose to use it that way. But then, he always has been your one fatal weakness, hasn't he?"

Angelique's eyes were defiant, smoldering.

"Why did you cure him? Why now? You knew the power wouldn't last, is that why? You knew that what power you did have wasn't your own, but mine, received when my life force met yours. You knew that would disappear and leave you as you were when you died...mortal!" He chided, "And I'm certain Barnabas Collins promised you all you'd ever asked of him in return for lifting his curse. Are you really naive enough to believe he'll keep his word?"

Angelique gave no answer. She turned away as if to leave, and in the same instant, Nicholas reached behind him to the fireplace, snatching a heated poker from its flames.

Angelique saw him in time and cried out, narrowly dodging his attempt to strike her. He backed her against the window, parrying with the poker nearer and nearer her eyes, reveling in the terror he saw reflected there. Smoke curled from the glowing red tip.

Angelique forced a plea of "No" before he lunged at her with the weapon. She screamed, falling deliberately to the floor and plunging as far to the side as she could. Nicholas tried to turn and could not. The poker slashed the drapery, shattering the window behind it.

The night air swept in and almost as if it had been ignited by an explosion, the drapery burst into flames. Nicholas shrieked, falling away from it, but the fire caught his sleeve and began to spread swiftly.

Angelique cried out again, scrambling to her feet as Nicholas was engulfed in the fire and consumed in a relentless and horrifying pillar of flames.

She found the door, groping through the thick, belching smoke until she forced it open and emerged into the luxurious fresh air of the night.

* * *

There was a figure in the road, watching the house and the sea beyond. It was no more than a shadow, caped, hatless and carrying a cane, yet she began hurrying toward it.

The house by the sea was slowly eaten by the flames, lighting the countryside in three directions, the sea in still another. Together they watched it being consumed until it began to fall in upon itself, then slowly he led her away from it into the darkness.

The cliff at Widows' Hill was dark and foreboding in the shadows. They stood, watching as the waves broke over the rocks glistening in the moonlight far below.

Angelique stared down at the jagged stones. "It was here," she said faintly,"That Josette...Oh, Barnabas how can you forgive me for Josette!"

Barnabas took hold of her, gently and yet demanding. "We'll speak of her no longer," he said firmly.

Sirens were wailing in the distance, barely audible over the pounding of the surf beneath Widows' Hill. Barnabas looked out over the water, apprehensively aware that the first rays of sunlight were appearing on the horizon.

Angelique's answer was a demure but joyous laugh. She began to step away, but he caught her hand, slowly drew her back to him.

From the beach where the last of the house by the sea had surrendered to the flames, the cliffside was dimly visible. There in the darkness high atop Widows' Hill, two figures embraced, silhouetted against the pale grey light of dawn...