5
It was a quiet ride from the old rectory across the woods to Collinwood. The moon lit up the trail for them as William sat next to Quentin trying to decide what he thought of the man now. So many of the odd idiosyncrasies from his secretive past made a lot of sense to him now as nephew looked to uncle with a bit of odd fear and nervous apprehension.
"You're quiet." Quentin remarked.
"I can't believe that... all this time..." The portion of truth he'd been force-fed unnerved William. "You and the man you said was your ancestor... you're one and the same."
"William," Quentin stopped the horses and looked back to his future nephew. It could have been worse if William had stayed behind and saw his father hiding from the sun in a casket. William could have even lost it had he learned his mother was a witch from the Seventeenth Century he had revived as a potential ally! No, he had to learn the truth about his favorite uncle.
"William," Quentin re-started again. "I know it's hard, but... don't you realize how hard it's going to be for me. Bound by that accursed portrait, condemned to watch my loved ones die around me. The only solace to look forward is the far future when friends your mother hasn't made yet finally give me my life back." Quentin was sternly adamant. Tortured and absolute, he had a look of a man tormented by demons he had created and of fears no man ever had.
"You said I was your favorite uncle." Quentin implored to the young man's heart. "Don't judge me, because your verdict is no where near as bad as the one I've imposed on myself."
"I'm sorry."
"Forget it," Quentin spurred the horses and carriage. "Now, when we get to Collinwood, you'll be William Coleman. I know the Coleman's in Crabapple Cove and Hector there has a son named William so you'll be his son. Talk little, be polite and stay away from Edward, he hates everyone. In the meantime, tell me about this Maggie and my son. I'd like to know more about him."
"Well," William started as Quentin began to turn for the main road. A figure dashed out of the bushes with a lantern and jumped in the way of the horses. He held his lantern to his face and gripped the horses to calm them.
"Quentin," he replied. "My master will see you now."
"Aristede," Quentin grinned sarcastically. "If your master wants me, tell him to come for himself."
"Quentin..." Aristede looked up with obvious Slavic features and lifted a flintlock. "You come now or your young friend gets it."
"William," Quentin looked over. "Ever meet the devil?" Aristede lifted himself up and sat next to William as he pushed the old gun into the young man's side. He grinned as if it were nothing personally as Quentin took the carriage from the main road off down the old North Road. The new Collinsport High School was built up here in 1975 leveling most of the old mill in creating far larger football fields, but it was pretty much intact and deserted as their sinister guide directed them into the basement. William glanced at the flintlock and wished he had it as a valuable antique, but as he was lead by it down into the makeshift dwelling, he noticed a lot of preserved antique furniture attended by a portly figure in black staring out from behind thick-rimmed eyeglasses.
"Quentin," A raspy voice turned from the man directing a symphony on an old victrola record player. Bouncing blue eyes looked out from behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. "You finally do me the honor. And who is this young man?"
"William Coleman," Quentin responded. "Count Andreas Petofi."
"Sir," William noticed Aristede hovering on the top step of the basement silently like a vulture waiting to swoop down on trouble.
"Such breeding," Petofi shook hands. "I don't meet many young men who are so polite." He put aside his baton and heaved his huge girth into a large Victorian chair as if it was a throne and he was a ruler.
"Quentin, as you know, my one and only fear are those accursed gypsies. They've never wanted to leave me alone no matter where I travel to escape them. But I have finally found the one place where I can go to be left alone." He jerked off the cloth cover from a small oak table. Lined up across it were seven black wands cut triangularly. Across the middle of them were white marks facing up from the table.
"And?"
"And I want you to take one last message to Barnabas Collins." Petofi's eyes danced under his thick glasses. "Tell him, if he does not tell me the secret of the I-Ching then I will use them to destroy him."
"Anything else."
"Young Mr. Coleman stays here with me." Petofi grinned demonically. His mutton chop sideburns curving as the antlers on some sinister goat god. "If you are not back in thirty minutes, the young man will be sent to meet his ancestors."
William grimaced at the irony. Quentin shot Petofi a look and sprinted up the stairs alone. Aristede and Petofi began laughing at him as they relaxed in the security of their plans.
"Sit down, boy." Petofi motioned to a chair and pulled out two glasses to pour some brandy. "I'm an old man, well, not for long, and I never get to have a truly intelligent conversation with anyone. Tell me, what fascinates you?"
"Well," William almost replied the amount of wood in the chair it took to support all his fat, but right now was not a time for making new enemies. "Mythology. Gods and Goddesses."
"Wonderful subject." Petofi sipped his brandy as he waited for William to respond. "Enlighten me."
"For one," William looked on the I-Ching wands. "The I-Ching originated in Tibet from the highest Sherpa priests. Even Confucius could not understand them. He thought they were created by gods to confound mortals."
"I am impressed." Petofi didn't feel pressured as he gestured to Aristede to leave him. "Please continue. I'm sure we could be the very best of friends..."