"How much do you know about this woman, Barnabas?"

Julia Hoffman stood before the fireplace in the Old House. Nearby,
in one of the wing-backed chairs sat Michael Collins, a new-found
cousin to the Collins family. Shadows under his eyes and the pale
pallor of his skin were evidence of a curse that had once been
shared by Barnabas himself.

"I know very little about her," Barnabas replied from the window.
"Except that she is supposed to know a great deal about curing...
such things."

Michael glared up at Julia from the chair. "This one and her
talisman didn't have much effect," he said bitterly. "What makes
you think a woman doctor will do any better?"

"I never said it was a cure," Julia said defensively. "And it
isn't 'my' talisman. It belongs to the Collins family. It's true
that it's imbued with certain powers, but lifting curses is not
among them."

Michael pretended not to have heard her. "You didn't answer my
question," he said to Barnabas. "Why do you expect this Dr.
Langdon person to be able to help?"

"I expect nothing," Barnabas told him. "I'm merely operating on
the theory that anything is worth trying once. Unless of course
you don't really want to be cured."

Michael would not look at him. "Don't be absurd," he murmured.

"Your curse is not unique, Michael," Barnabas said cautiously, with
a knowing glance at Julia. "Quentin and Julia have had experience
with such things. They've offered to help -- by sending Dr.
Artemis Langdon here to consult with you. She's a specialist in
unique and unusual cures for unique and unusual 'ailments' -- such
as yours."

Michael scoffed. "You are an incurable optimist. Some things
simply cannot _be_ changed. I wonder why you bother."

Barnabas looked meaningfully at him for a long time before
replying. "Because I found a way," he said. "And so will you."

Michael stared up at him, dismay written in the hollow eyes.
"You?"

"Yes."

"We told you your curse was not unique," Julia said. "There have
been a number placed upon members of the Collins family over the
centuries."

"Very true," Barnabas said, looking out the window again. "But
you've never told me, Michael, just how you came by yours."

He rose from the chair, visibly discomforted by the question, and
approached one of the burning tiers of candles that served as the
room's light source.

"A woman," he said, and the rancor in that single word was damning.
"I met her in France, at the Sorbonne, when I was studying
anthropology. It was 1927. The world was a different place then,
and I was a different person."

"What was her name?" Julia asked quietly.

"She called herself Erika Bourdages. But I expect she has had many
names. When she learned that mine was Collins she developed an
immediate interest in me. She asked a great many questions about
this place. About Collinwood. And she seemed disappointed to
learn I'd never been here."

Barnabas' face had undergone a metamorphosis as Michael spoke.
"This woman," he said slowly. "What did she look like?"

"Does it matter?"

"It could matter very much." Barnabas paced away from the window
toward where Michael stood. "What did she look like?"

Michael stared sullenly into the candle flames. "I have willed
myself not to remember," he said.

"Then perhaps I can tell you," Barnabas said shortly. "She was
blonde, most probably. Slender and quite beautiful. And her eyes
are like no other woman's eyes. Not grey and not quite green.
Haunting eyes. Evil eyes."

Julia gasped, knowing the description only too well. "Angelique?"

Barnabas turned back toward the window, pacing. "It had to be."

"What happened?" Julia pressed. "Why did she curse you?"

"We were married," Michael replied, still speaking to the candles.
Julia saw Barnabas' head come up at that statement, and there was
a familiar look in his eyes. "It wasn't long before I discovered
who... what... she really was. She murdered a colleague of mine,
simply because her insane jealousy resented the time we spent
together. It was then... I tried to kill her."

Julia and Barnabas exchanged looks again as she said, "That appears
to have become a pattern with Angelique."

"Whatever the cause may have been," Barnabas said impatiently,
"You've no reason to abandon all hope of a cure."

Julia marveled at Barnabas' open willingness to help this man he
hardly knew. Relative or not, Michael's trenchant behavior would
have been enough for her to dismiss him long ago. And Angelique
might still be a danger to their plans. Ironic, she mused, that
Barnabas' cured condition in the present day was actually due to
Angelique's intervention in another, parallel time. But that had
been an Angelique far different from the one that sometimes
manifested herself at the Collinwood of 1986...

"I've told you," Michael was saying in response to Barnabas'
statement. "I do not share your endless optimism."

"Don't fight me, Michael," Barnabas said. "I should hate to be
placed in the position of finding a cure for you in spite of
yourself."

Michael's response was forestalled by a rapid knocking at the door.
Barnabas moved to answer it, admitting a tall, brunette woman with
a distinctly commandeering presence. She marched into the foyer
without invitation, eyed Barnabas warily, then cast her gaze on
Michael .

"You," she said resolutely. "You're the one."

"I beg your pardon?" Michael glowered at her, clearly distrustful.
Ignoring this, she advanced on him and looked him over with a
critical eye.

"Yes," she said. "I think I can be of help."

Michael returned her scrutiny and huffed. "I doubt that."

"You won't," she responded curtly.

Barnabas, who had been watching their exchange in measured silence,
now studied Artemis Langdon with a new interest. Julia could see
it as well. Something about this woman was disturbing, though she
couldn't quite pinpoint it. Perhaps it was the way her eyes
glinted so darkly when she spoke. Or the paleness of her skin...

Julia stared in spite of herself, aware of Barnabas' eyes on her,
warning her to say nothing. He had seen it too, she knew.

Dr. Artemis Langdon knew how to deal with the living dead, because
she herself was one of them.

"Do you wish to be helped?" she was demanding of Michael. "Because
if you do not, we are both wasting our time here."

Michael scowled at her, then surrendered. "What do you want me to
do?" he asked meekly.

"Report to my lab tomorrow evening at sundown. I will be ready for
you by then. This is the address." She handed him a card. Michael
took it almost as though it were diseased, then glared after her as
she turned and headed for the door. She was stopped momentarily by
the look in Barnabas' eyes. "Something troubles you, Mr. Collins?"
she asked.

"Many things trouble me," Barnabas replied, cryptically. "I only
hope, Doctor, that you are as good as your word -- and your
reputation."

"I am."

"Excellent. You won't mind then, if I come along tomorrow
evening?"

From the doorway, she said, "You would do so at your own risk,
Mr. Collins. Good evening."

When the door had clicked shut, Michael was left staring at
Barnabas with an incredulous expression on his face. It was
Julia who finally broke the silence. "What was that supposed to
mean?"

"I've no idea." Barnabas lifted his cape and cane from the coat
rack near the door. "But I think perhaps that I would like to
find out."

"Where are you going?" Julia wanted to know.

"You would do better to stay here," he said to her rather
curtly. "Michael, however, is welcome to come along if he
likes."

"Well now, that depends. Exactly what do you have in mind?"

"An unscheduled visit to the doctor's laboratory. I'm curious to
see just how she plans to cure you."

As Michael pulled his own cloak from the coat rack, Julia
stubbornly retrieved and donned her jacket.

"I'm not staying here," she affirmed, defying Barnabas' warning
look. "If you're going skulking around in someone's basement,
you'll need someone to serve as lookout."

"Julia..." Barnabas sounded angry, but Michael's reprimand cut
him off.

"Let her come," he said, surprising Julia. "I might find it
amusing."

She gave him a sour look, regretting that she'd ever believed he
might be coming to trust her a little.
"You'd be unlikely to win any charm contests, Michael. Did
anyone ever tell you that?"

Again, he ignored her. "Barnabas," he said hesitantly as the
latter opened the door. "You know, don't you?"

"Know?"

"I saw your face just now, when that woman came in. You haven't
been free of your own curse so long that you cannot recognize one
of us when you see them. That woman is a..."

"I know that," Barnabas interrupted before the offending word
could be spoken. "I knew it almost from the moment I saw her.
What I want to know now is how she plans to help you, if she
cannot even help herself. Are you coming?"

Nodding, Michael slipped on his cloak, and with Julia close
behind, followed his cousin out the door.
* * *
Dr. Langdon's lab was the cellar level of a mansion nestled deep
in Collinsport's woods. They had no trouble gaining entry, after
making certain that the doctor had not returned to the house
after her visit to them. The interior of the well-equipped room,
however, surprised them all.

Upon turning on the room lights, they found that in the midst of
the requisite lab tables, test tubes and electrical gadgetry, an
altar had been erected. It was covered with a blood red cloth
and set with a gold censer and the black candles that were the
unmistakable earmarks of a black mass.

Michael knew the accoutrements as well as Barnabas did -- perhaps
better. But they shed an entirely new light on Dr. Langdon's
methods.

"So," Julia mused. "Now we know how she intended to 'cure' you,
Michael. I'm afraid I can't say that I'm impressed. Or
surprised."

"Nor I," Michael admitted. "All the same, I think I shall keep
our appointment for tomorrow."

Barnabas looked surprised at that. "Are you insane?"

"Possibly. But just as you once did, cousin, I will try
virtually anything that offers even the remotest promise of
removing this curse. You of all people should understand that."

"Yes. But I question the abilities of a woman who claims to
remove such curses when she obviously cannot even help herself.
Surely you understand _that._"

Michael smiled warily. His response, however, was interrupted by
Julia, who had remained near the door. "Someone's coming!"

"Hide," Michael whispered to them. "Quickly."

Barnabas hastily extinguished the overhead lights. They
vanished, each into separate corners of the shadowy laboratory,
as the door and solitary entrance to the cellar creaked open
above them. A faint shaft of light spilled down the stone
stairs. In a moment, a slender figure descended the steps on
noiseless, delicate feet. It was not the confident, heavy walk
of Artemis Langdon at all, and Barnabas Collins peered curiously
out at the figure from his hiding place, straining to distinguish
a face in the gloom. He'd begun to feel an odd sensation of...
he could only call it dread. Or perhaps, familiarity. It was a
feeling he had not experienced in many years.

Almost on the heels of his thought, a voice he knew only too well
said, "Hello, Barnabas."

He stepped slowly out of hiding, not flinching a muscle when her
slender fingers touched the switch to re-illuminate the room. She
was as deceptively lovely as the day he'd first seen her in
Martinique so long ago. Flaxen hair spilling seductively onto
cream-white shoulders; grey-green eyes wide and tempestuous; soft
lips framing perfect teeth.

"Angelique," he said levelly. "Somehow, I should have guessed you
would be involved in all of this."

"Should you?" Her laughter was like water spilling over lichened
rocks. "Just as _I_ knew that you would be drawn to this place --
and to this Langdon woman. You never change, Barnabas. You are
still as disgustingly noble as you ever were. Always ready to come
to the aid of another unfortunate victim of the Collins curse.
Don't you ever tire of such pointless heroics?"

"Apparently no more than you tire of plotting to defeat me."

From her hiding place in a still-darkened corner of the lab, Julia
watched Angelique turn, smiling, toward the section of the cellar
where Michael had hidden. No one was there now.

"Your friend and cousin appears to have abandoned you," she
gloated. "A rather common habit amongst the Collinses."

Barnabas ignored the taunt. "What are you doing here, Angelique?
What possible interest could you have in Michael's curse?"

"None whatever. My interest is only in you. You know that."

"You haven't answered my question."

Her face grew dark, as though some mystic cloud had suddenly passed
over her.
 

"There is another of the doctor's patients I have arranged for you
to meet," she told him, and as she spoke, her form began to fade
from sight. "The door is barred, Barnabas. There is no escape.
This time you will be mine. Just as the curse has always made
you."

With that cryptic warning, she dissolved into nothing, leaving
Barnabas seemingly alone in the brightly lit cellar. He turned
slowly, warily, in a circle and saw nothing. No one.

Julia had been about to come out of hiding, certain that even
Barnabas must have forgotten about her, when a faint sound came
from somewhere deep in the cellar, from within the walls, it
seemed. Julia froze, listening.

Another of the doctor's patients, Angelique had said. What did
that mean?

Barnabas had started toward the stairs to inspect the door for
himself when abruptly, the room was plunged into darkness once
again. Instinctively, he pressed his back to the nearest stone
wall and tried in vain to readjust his eyes to the darkness. Where
had that light switch been located? Probably no point in searching
for it. Angelique would likely make certain that the power would
remain unavailable...

Julia started to call out Barnabas' name, but something else
Angelique had said made her hesitate. '...just as the curse has
always made you...'

'Another of the doctor's patients...'

Frantically, Julia began searching the pitch black surroundings
with groping hands. She had finally begun to understand what
Angelique's threat entailed...

Barnabas' voice came from the darkness beyond her.

"Michael. Julia..." he said. "There is someone...
some _thing_ else here."

Julia stopped her search long enough to listen. She heard an
ominous scraping sound. A footstep grinding on stone floor. It
had not been Barnabas'.

"Angelique!" Barnabas' voice demanded of the silence. "Why do you
not come back and face me yourself? Or are you afraid?"

Nothing answered his goading challenge. He hadn't really expected
a response. Still...

The scraping sound came again.

"Michael!" Barnabas called. "Is that you?"

Julia's hands finally closed on something made of the material she
had been seeking -- wood. It was a small stool, old and already
splintered...

"Angelique? Who is there?" Barnabas was demanding of the darkness.
Still nothing answered him.

He began to ascend the stairs, deciding that testing the door would
be preferable to waiting for whatever dire fate Angelique might
have planned for him. But he hadn't gone half way when incredibly
strong hands suddenly gripped his shoulders and spun him. Eyes now
adjusted to the dark, he found himself staring into the face of a
man he had never seen. But the hollow eyes told him long before
the pale mouth opened to reveal two glistening fangs, that
Angelique had clearly designed this trap to reinstate the curse she
had placed on him once before -- in 1795.

Cold, disembodied laughter floated from somewhere in the dark.
Angelique's laughter.

Julia gripped the stool firmly by two rickety legs and smashed it
hard against the stone wall, again and again, until only one
splintered leg remained in her hand. That would do...

Barnabas lashed out at the man who held him in a desperate attempt
to push him down the stairs, but the strength of the vampire was
far too great. He was pinned to the stairwell wall, helpless even
to struggle or cry out, as one vice-like hand closed over his
throat and slowly, inexorably, forced his head to one side until
the veins of his throat were exposed...

A strangled cry suddenly escaped the vampire. He stiffened, making
futile clawing motions toward his rigid back, then fell and rolled
unceremoniously 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 Julia 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, Julia 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..."

Julia 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 I 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
down 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.
Julia 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
this..."

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 a hideous, hell-borne wail. Julia cried
out and grasped Barnabas' arm tightly. Michael pulled her from the
other side.

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

Blindly, Julia followed, only dimly aware that Barnabas was
following behind her. One 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?" Julia 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.

"We've been here before," Julia said 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 wellfilled 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!"

Michael stared at him. "Who? I don't understand--"

"We are in Parallel Time 1970."

Michael glared. "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!" Julia 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 Julia 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 Julia Hoffman."

"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 Julia 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?" Julia 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?" Julia wondered. "I mean, we've
already disrupted a time continuum just by coming here. Surely if
we--"

"Trust me," Barnabas interrupted. "We have, after all, 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,
Julia 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 Julia and
Michael after him, as a man broke into the clearing. Julia
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."

"No."

"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."

Julia 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 Julia, 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," Julia 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."

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

Barnabas looked at him. "Angelique," he said simply.

"Angelique?? Here?"

Julia nodded. "In this time, Angelique was Quentin Collins' first
wife. She was dead long before we came here, either time. But she
had a sister ... Alexis." She 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 timelines... 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."

"Erika!" Michael gasped, but she ignored him.

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 Julia, "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 Julia 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 Julia in his arms. In horror, he watched as his
twin drew the fabric away from Julia'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!"

Julia 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 Julia cautiously stepped through the
swirling mist of the supernatural doorway. When Julia 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 knealt 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 Julia. "Now I want a promise from you as well."

Julia 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."

Julia 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. Julia watched them go with mixed feelings.

But somehow she knew the promise was true.
 

The End