Chapter 9

Alone in her room, Victoria locked the door, drew the curtains, and feverishly packed an overnight bag. Then she switched off the light so as not to attract any attention from outside. Even with the curtains drawn, the full moon seemed to penetrate the room like an all-seeing eye.

She sat huddled on her bed, her arms wrapped around her legs, listening as the long hours ticked away. The moment the sun came up, she would sneak out of the house, run down to the train station and buy the first ticket to anywhere. But in the meantime she must stay put, imprisoned in her room, and pray that Barnabas had no power over locked doors and windows.

The cross necklace Dr. Hoffman had given her lay on her bedside table. She picked it up, looked at it uncertainly, then put it on. Better than nothing, she thought.

Since the moment she had discovered what Barnabas really was, she had not thought about anything except making her escape. But now, with nothing to do but wait, she found herself thinking about those she would leave behind. Dr. Hoffman had said that the people at Collinwood would not be safe until she, Victoria, was gone; but would they, even then? Would anyone in Collinsport be safe? Dr. Hoffman seemed to have the situation in hand—at least, she had encountered Barnabas before and survived—but she might well be in league with the evil presence that pervaded this house.

If there was only some way she could warn the family! But who would believe her? David and Carolyn would; Elizabeth and Roger would not. And even if they did, would that knowledge protect them or put them in greater danger?

A note. She could leave them that, at least. She got out a pen and paper, crouched down by the window where the moonlight was clearest, and tried to write. Her fingers shook so badly she could hardly hold the pen.

Suddenly she knew he was there.

She dropped the pen and stood up. Very slowly, holding her breath, she put her eye to the slit between the curtains. He was standing in the driveway below, looking directly at her.

Josette.

She backed away, crawled onto her bed, and buried her head under the pillow. I'm not Josette. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not . . .

But she could still hear him in her mind.

Josette. Come to me.

To her horror, her body rose of its own accord. She fought it—tried to cling to the bedpost, to dig her heels into the floor—but her nerves and muscles were responding to a will other than her own. The cross suddenly felt like a dead weight around her neck. Her fingers unfastened the chain and let it fall to the floor.

She moved like a sleepwalker down the stairs and out the front door. Barnabas met her in the shadow of the house and took her in his arms. He was so cold, as cold as death, and yet the lips that kissed her and murmured her name—no, Josette's name—were strangely warm. She wanted to scream, to run, but could not; she could only watch helplessly, from the part of her mind that was still her own, as she raised her face to his and kissed him back with treacherous desire.

When his teeth pierced her neck, the pain—even though she was expecting it, almost longing for it—was astonishing. The shock of it forced her eyes open, brought the power of independent motion back to her body. She struggled against him, tore herself free from his grasp, and ran.

The fumes from the cooking pot—a sweetish, nauseous herbal smell—went straight to Julia's head. As she watched David's rhythmic gestures and listened to Angélique's voice chanting softly through his lips, she felt overcome by a warm, euphoric lethargy, not unlike a pleasant dream. Fear and memory were dulled; she was no longer sure of who she was or why she was out here, and it no longer mattered. Nothing seemed real anymore except the fire, the singing, and this strange, dark sisterhood. . . .

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear someone running. Only for a moment, and then the footsteps died away. But that moment was enough for Julia to come back to herself. She remembered, all at once—horrified that she could ever have forgotten—Barnabas, Victoria, the Collinses, all of them under Angélique's spell; and she clung desperately to that shred of consciousness, that spark of free will.

Slowly she rose to her feet, swaying to the rhythm of the incantations, as if to dance. David went on chanting, rocking back and forth on his heels. Then, before he could stop her, she kicked the pot over, sending its contents into the fire.

With a shriek of rage, he stretched out his hands to rescue the sizzling mess. His shirt caught fire, and Julia shoved him down onto the ground, trying to smother or beat the flame out. He fought back viciously, tooth and claw, with more than human strength; she was grappling, not with flesh and blood, but with a dark and monstrous entity that threatened to tear her apart.

"David!" she half cried out, half gasped. "David, stop!"—and the thing took her by the throat, choking off utterance. Her lungs strained for breath; her head filled with a noise like beating wings, as if the thing was struggling to break free and fly upward. David gave a ghastly scream and then was still.

For an awful moment Julia thought that she, or Angélique, had killed him. But then she realized that he was still breathing, and so was she, albeit raggedly. The rushing noise in her head gradually died down to her own heartbeat. And David Collins was just a little boy again, badly injured, sobbing on the ground.

Julia carefully gathered him up in her arms. She was also severely burned and bruised, but she did not yet feel pain—only pity for the boy. "It's okay," she said shakily. "It's okay now. She's gone. I'm taking you home."

She trudged through the woods to Collinwood, wincing at every step, and thinking of the footsteps she had heard. She had a horrible suspicion that it was Victoria running for her life, with Barnabas, and now perhaps the demon of Angélique, in pursuit.

It will start with the girl he loves.

Was it too late? By interrupting the spell, had Julia actually undone anything? Or had events been irrevocably set in motion?

"Don't do it, Barnabas," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Don't let it happen again."

I'm going to die. That was the only thought in Victoria's panicked brain as she plunged blindly through the woods. Any moment she might fall headlong and break her neck, or dash her skull against a tree trunk, or her heart might burst from running so hard. She hoped she would die before Barnabas reached her. She dared not look back, but she knew he was there—running swiftly, silently, only a step or two behind.

Abruptly the trees ended, and she was dazzled by a glittering radiance—the moonlight on the sea. She kept running toward it, impelled by terror and despair. She had been here a hundred times, in dreams, just like this; she knew how it would end.

"Victoria, no! Don't!"

She tried to stop, but her shoes skidded on a bit of loose earth. She lost her balance, tottered and fell. For a split second she felt a terrifying sensation of weightlessness—a searing, wrenching pain in her arm—then nothing more.