A strangled cry suddenly escaped the vampire. He stiffened, making futile clawing motions toward his rigid back, then fell and rolled down the worn stairs to land on his side, unmoving, at the bottom. The point of a jagged scrap of wood, blackly crimson, protruded slightly from his chest. Its blunt end was embedded firmly through the back of his soiled coat.

Barnabas saw now, for the first time, that Rita Merril was standing on the stairs beside him, looking more than a little pale herself. Her hands were darkly stained with the vampire's blood.

Hoarsely, Barnabas breathed, "Thank you."

Breathing raggedly in the darkness, Rita stared at her hands in horror. 'I can't believe I did that..."

Barnabas grasped the hands and held them firmly. "It's all right," he reassured her. "You saved both of us..."

"Barnabas!"

Michael's voice startled them both. They turned to see his silhouetted figure emerging from a previously unseen opening in the cellar wall -- a door disguised as part of the stone masonry.

"Well, cousin," Barnabas said with deliberate emphasis on the second word. "I'm glad to see you didn't entirely desert us."

The pale man glared at him for a moment. "Who is this woman, this Angelique?" he demanded suddenly. "Why does she hate you so much?"

"We've no time for life histories now..."

Rita had abruptly lost track of their argument, captivated by the opening Michael had come through. "What is it?" she interrupted them. "How did you get in there?"

"Stupid question, when you think about it," Michael replied. "I materialized behind the wall and found myself in... well come here. I'll show you both..."

Before they could move to investigate Michael's discovery, the heavy latch on the main cellar door clattered noisily. The big door swung open, banging loudly against the wall. The lights came on again, white and uncomfortably blinding.

"What's going on down there?"

Dr. Artemis Langdon walked angrily onto the landing. She glared at the three of them and then at the still form at the base of the stairs. Her expression changed from anger to horror as she rushed dbwn the stairs to kneel at the dead man's side.

"What have you done?" she demanded. "How could you have done this?!"

When the others, still in shock, said nothing, Barnabas moved cautiously toward her and said, "We had no choice, I assure you. Rita acted solely in my defense."

Langdon stalked toward the black altar, then spun quickly back toward them. "You have no right to be here!" she raged. "No right at all!"

"Blame me for that if you must," Barnabas told her calmly. "I was the one who insisted we come here -- to be certain your claims were legitimate."

She seemed not to hear him, staring instead at the dead man. "His black mass was to have been tonight," she said morosely. "His cure. If you hadn't interfered..."

"His curse did not include attacking me," Barnabas said accusingly. "Angelique arranged for that. Perhaps you both did."

She cast a stern look at him. "I know no one named Angelique," she said, her voice near breaking. "But you are all going to pay for--"

Michael cut her threat off in mid-stride. "You are a fraud," he accused. If you were truly capable of lifting this curse, you would surely have used the cure on yourself by now!"

Langdon looked surprised. "So you know," she seethed. "For all the good it will do any of you."

"I knew from the moment we met," Barnabas told her. "And I also wish to know why you've done nothing to cure your own affliction. Surely you don't enjoy..."

"My condition, Mr. Collins, is not the result of a curse. It is genetic. Inherited. It cannot be lifted by means of black magic, or any other form of mysticism. Dr. Hoffman and I may eventually find a scientific cure for those who are as I am But until then..." She glanced again at the dead man, then abruptly turned back to the altar to snatch up the black candles in their obsidian holders. "I will see that you are punished for what you have done."

Angelique's evil laugh came back, filling the air. "No," it said. "We will see..."

An incredibly cold wind began to fill the cellar, sucking life from the lights and building to a hideous, hell-borne wail. Rita cried out and grasped Barnabas' arm tightly. Michael pulled her from the other side.

"Come on!" he shouted. "This way!"

Blindly, Rita followed, only dimly aware that Barnabas was following behind her. In a moment she saw the opening in the cellar wall looming nearer. A viciously cold something was trying to clutch at her, to draw her back, but she fought, stumbled, and...

And suddenly the howling wind and cold had vanished. As had her surroundings. They were still in a cellar, but this one... this one was somehow very different, though it resembled the other. And beyond the portal they had just passed through -- nothing. A grey void.

"What... how?" Rita stammered, confused.

"Parallel time," Barnabas murmured, staring at the grey doorway. 'It has to be."

"Is that what you call it?" Michael queried lightly. He pushed the stone door shut with little effort and turned back to look at them. "I don't think our hostess will be following after us."

"You don't understand," Barnabas said, alarmed. "There may not be a way for us to get back!"

"Under the circumstances, that may not be so terrible," Michael said bitterly.

"You've been here before?" Rita asked timidly.

Barnabas nodded. "We must find out what year we have entered."

A door coming open prompted the three of them to shrink back into the shadows. Footsteps came down the dimly lit stairs, accompanied by the distinctly drunken sound of someone attempting to sing.

"Gotta be here somewhere," muttered a voice. "Ah! There you are!"

Barnabas peered carefully around a brick corner to view a familiar figure drawing a wine bottle from a well-filled rack.

"You're gonna be the one," the slender figure said to his prize. "The one that breaks the writer's block. I know you are. Come on now. We got a lot to do, you and me."

Barnabas drew back, whispering a name. "William Hollinshead Loomis!"

Rita stared at him. "Willie? But I don't understand..."

"Not Willie. But his counterpart. We are in Parallel Time 1970."

Michael glared at him too. "1970? How do you know that?"

"I have been here before. Or perhaps, I will have been here. There's no way yet to tell..."

"Shh!" Rita heard the footsteps come toward them. "I think he's heard us!"

The slumped figure that so resembled Willie had indeed sauntered toward their hidden corner. But he was brave with the effects of too many drinks, and there was no fear in the voice that challenged them. "Whoozat back there?" he demanded. "You come outa there now, y'hear? Come out!"

Giving each of his companions a definitive glance, Barnabas turned and stepped into William's view. The effect was electrifying. The wine bottle slipped from already-shaking fingers to shatter with a loud pop on the stone floor.

"You... You..." William stammered. "You're dead."

"Not at all. I'm--"

"I know you." A trembling finger pointed at Barnabas. "I'm writing... I mean I was writing... a book. The Life and Times of Barnabas Collins. That's you."

Another voice from the top of the stairs cut across his slurred speech.

"William?" it called, and Barnabas recognized Carolyn's tones. "William, what is it? What's wrong?" She came down the stairs at a trot, halting in obvious surprise at the foot when she saw Barnabas. "Who's this?" she asked politely. "A stowaway in the cellar?"

"It's him," William squeaked. "It's Barnabas Collins."

"If you'll allow me to explain." Barnabas adopted his most polite air. "My companions and I were merely seeking shelter from the cold. We've travelled a very long way..."

"Companions?" Carolyn gaped along with her husband as Rita and Michael stepped rather sheepishly into view.

"We're very sorry for having trespassed, I assure you," Michael said, his own voice rife with rare charm. "We'll be more than happy to go our way now."

"But you are," William interrupted, still staring at Barnabas "You are Barnabas Collins!"

"That is my name, yes. But I fear you ve confused me with my ancestor. He died over a century ago."

"Yes," William murmured absently. "Yes, of course he did."

"We were on our way to visit my family at Collinwood when our car broke down," Barnabas continued artfully. "As Michael says, we hadn't meant to trespass. We merely lost our way, and..."

"It's all right," Carolyn finally said, relieving him of the tedious story. "I can see you're a Collins, that much is certain. And are these two cousins, too?"

"A friend, and a cousin. Michael Collins and Rita Merril."

"Carolyn Loomis. And my husband, William."

William stepped gingerly over the broken glass on the floor and turned for the stairs. "Someday I gotta quit drinkin'," he mumbled.

Carolyn produced a rueful smile. "Come on upstairs," she invited. "I'll take you on to the big house and introduce you to the family."

"Thank you," Barnabas said politely, "but it really isn't necessary. I think we can find the way, and... perhaps you really should see to your husband."

William Loomis was having dire difficulty navigating the stairs and finding his way through the door. Carolyn looked embarrassed. "I am sorry," she said.

"Think nothing of it," Barnabas said, all charm. "Forgive us for the intrusion."

A loud thump heralded William's backward progression back down several of the stairs. Carolyn turned and fled, dragging him up and through the door, out of sight.

Moments later, Barnabas, Michael and Rita found themselves in the silent woods leading to the great estate of Collinwood. A pale half moon gazed balefully down at them from a cloud-strewn sky. A few cold stars shone through the gloom.

"What do we do now?" Rita wondered aloud.

"I'll admit I'm not certain of that," Barnabas told her. "But it's just possible that here, outside of Angelique's realm of influence, we might have a better chance of finding a cure for Michael."

"Ever the optimist," Michael grumbled, half to himself. Barnabas ignored him.

"The house is that way," he said, nodding. "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to the family of this time period."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Rita wondered. "I mean, we've already disrupted a time continuum just by coming here. Surely if we..."

"Trust me," Barnabas interrupted. "I have dealt with these things before."

He hadn't quite finished speaking when a scream and a muffled sob sounded from somewhere nearby. All three of them whirled and started toward the sound at a run. The sobbing came again, sustained now: a woman's sobs.

They broke into a small clearing -- near the edge of the sea cliff, Rita realized with a start. Widow's Hill! Someone was kneeling near the precipice, a dark-haired woman in a short floral dress and no coat...

"Maggie!" Another voice echoed through the trees. "Maggie!"

"Stay away!" she screamed. "Stay away from me!"

Barnabas melted abruptly back into the shadows, pulling Rita and Michael after him, as a man broke into the clearing Rita recognized Quentin Collins, but knew in the same moment that this was not the same Quentin she had known.

He stopped on sight of the woman at the cliff's edge, a look of startled disbelief on his handsome face.

"Maggie, for God's sake. What are you doing?"

"Get away," she sobbed. "Please leave me alone!"

He came nearer in spite of her warning. "I'm not going anywhere until you stop this nonsense and tell me what's wrong."

She looked up at him for the first time, face streaked with tears. "I've told you. It's her." His look of concern promptly melted into one of disgust. "Are we back to that again? How many times do I have to tell you? She's dead, Maggie. Dead and gone and buried."

"No."

"And the dead don't come back."

"Are you so sure? Are you?"

Something in his eyes belied the words he spoke. "Of course I'm sure. Now will you stop this and come back to the house?"

He held out a tentative hand. Maggie rose from her kneeling position, but instead of accepting his gesture, she moved away, in the other direction. "You still love her. You do."

"She's dead. I told you--"

"Don't try to deny it!" She spun to face him, fury in her eyes, "From the moment we came back to this place you've thought of nothing else! No one else but her!"

"That isn't true."

Rita could hear the deep tone of hurt in his voice, but there was something else as well. She wondered fervently who it was they were discussing.

"Oh, it's true," Maggie was sobbing quietly. "I can't compete with a ghost, Quentin. Not one who dominates your life as thoroughly as this one does."

He lowered the hand he'd offered her, defeat evident in the gesture. "It was a mistake, bringing you here. I can see that now. I'm sorry."

The look on her face was also one of defeat; defeat and utter despair.

"So am I," she sobbed, and ran from him into the trees. She narrowly missed colliding with Rita, but did not seem to notice at all as she hurried past, heading for Collinwood.

Quentin remained on the cliff's edge for some time, looking out over the unusually calm sea. After a while, he turned and slowly followed in Maggie's wake.

Only then did Barnabas venture back into the clearing to approach the cliff himself. He looked out over the water with an infinitely sad expression in his eyes. None of them spoke for a very long time.

"I have the distinct feeling," Michael finally ventured, "that now would not be the best of times to introduce ourselves to the 'family.'

"I think I agree," Rita said. "We'd be better off looking for a way back into our own time."

"Perhaps you're right," Barnabas concurred. "But we must wait for the right moment. We must find our way back to the portal and wait for it to change..."

"You mean we have to break back into Loomis' basement?" Michael queried.

Barnabas considered that for a moment. "Perhaps not. There is a room, in Collinwood's East Wing..."

"Wonderful,"Michael said acidly. "Now we'll be breaking into Collinwood instead."

Rita shot Michael a scathing look. "Don't you ever shut up?" she asked.

His reply was cut short by the eerie sound of familiar laughter, carried on the sea wind. "What was that?" Rita spun, but could see nothing.

Barnabas was staring again at the water. "Only the wind," he insisted.

"It didn't sound like wind..."

"An overactive imagination," Michael chided her. "That's your problem."

"Barnabas," Rita persisted. "Who were they talking about? Quentin and Maggie just now... I got the feeling you knew who they were talking about."

He looked at her. "Angelique," he said simply.

"Angelique?? Here?"

He nodded. "In this time, Angelique was Quentin Collins' first wife. She was dead long before I came here, either time. But she had a sister... Alexis." He squinted at the churning water below, remembering. "And it was Alexis who was truly the witch.

The familiar, feminine laughter came again, louder now. Barnabas whirled, and from the trees, the hauntingly beautiful form of Angelique materialized in a whirling maelstrom of blue light. It remained there after she had stepped out of it, a writhing portal of clouded blue.

"That's very amusing," she said conversationally to Barnabas. "But then, I have always found your tedious efforts to follow this family through all its dreary time lines... amusing." She laughed again, a chill, menacing sound.

"You cannot be the Angelique from this time," Barnabas accused. "She would not have been able to do this."

"No," Angelique admitted, surprisingly candid. "I followed the three of you. I'm not without my own talents where time travel is concerned, Barnabas. But I think you may find your own efforts in that area somewhat futile." Her smile was catlike. "You will be trapped in this time. All of you. This one..." she indicated Michael, "will be destroyed. This one..." A nod to Rita, "will die at your hand. And you... You will regain your own curse."

"Lies..." Barnabas began.

"No. I will see to it that my prophecy is fulfilled. I have power over this domain. More than you will ever know. All that I have said will occur. Unless..."

They waited. Barnabas' eyes narrowed, knowing perhaps what her ultimatum must be. She savored the moment, the blue halo of the time portal continuing to swirl behind her. Finally, Barnabas could stand the silence no longer. "Get on with it, Angelique," he demanded. "State your conditions."

"Surely you already know what they are."

"If I knew, I would hardly have to ask, would I?"

Green eyes flashed, first with anger and then with an almost mocking pity. "Oh Barnabas, you are so naive. There has never been more than one thing, and one thing only, that I wanted from you."

He stared at her, a look of pure horror on his face. "The one thing I could never give you," he said.

"It is the one thing you _will_ give me. It is my condition for freeing you. All of you."

Anguish filled Barnabas' voice as he replied. "You cannot barter love like sacks of grain! I cannot love you, no matter how many lives you may threaten--or take. I will only hate you more! Can't you see that?!"

"I see only that the three of you will die here if you remain. Yes Barnabas, even you. Your secret will also be discovered. Only I can give you the doorway to your own time. Surely my price is not so high."

"It is not high at all," Barnabas said miserably. "It is impossible."

She stepped closer to him, drawing a slender hand along the lines of his cloak. "Then I will bargain with you," she said slyly. "I will take you back to your own time. I will lift Michael's curse. And I will permit this one to live." The witch and Rita exchanged brief glares. "If you will agree to live with me, in the Old House, as man and wife."

He paled visibly at that. "You know that is not--"

"Oh but it is possible." The eyes flashed again. "If you doubt my word about what will happen to you here, I can show each of you your deaths..."

The clouded blue of the portal began to shift then, to coalesce into something else: the image of a cellar, a coffin, a woman none of them recognized. She lifted the lid to reveal Michael inside, and slowly placed a wooden stake over his heart.

"Stop it! Barnabas shouted, but only Angelique's cruel laughter answered him. The image shifted yet again into a likeness of Barnabas--holding Rita in his arms. In horror he watched as his twin drew the fabric away from Rita's throat, and opened his mouth to reveal the fangs...

"Stop it! he pleaded again, and turned his back on the continuing image. "I will do as you ask!"

Rita felt a surge of anger at his acquiescence. "Barnabas, no...

"Be silent," Angelique said sharply, and the image of the vampire promptly faded back into blue smoke. "Or I may change my mind about letting you live."

"I said I would do as you ask," Barnabas said shortly. "Don't gloat, Angelique, or I may change my mind."

Smiling, she turned away. "You must step through the portal," she said. "One at a time." Barnabas caught her sleeve, then gripped her arm fiercely. "No tricks," he said sternly. "If you harm either of them, so help me..."

"No tricks," she purred, and leaned into his angry embrace to kiss him. When he recoiled, she laughed again. "You will learn to love me, Barnabas. You will see."

First Michael and then Rita cautiously stepped through the swirling mist of the supernatural doorway. When Rita emerged, it was to find Michael on his knees, hands covering his eyes. In a moment, she realized why. Daylight was streaming down through the trees. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder just as Barnabas and Angelique materialized in the clearing. Michael gasped, blinking and staring in awe at his outstretched hands.

"It's true," he breathed. "It's true!"

"I told you I would keep my word," Angelique said with a meaningful glance at Rita. "Now I want a promise from you as well."

Rita stood up. "From me?"

Angelique smiled and grasped Barnabas' arm possessively. "Take Michael back to Collinwood with you. And stay there. Barnabas is _my_ husband. And he is going to remain mine."

Rita started to respond angrily, but the warning look in Barnabas' eyes stopped her. Nodding, she said simply, "All right." She helped Michael to his feet.

"I will see you, of course, " Barnabas said awkwardly. "Both of you."

With that promise, the two of them turned to walk away through the trees. Rita watched them go with mixed feelings.

But somehow she knew the promise was true.
 

The End