Subj: Unicorn Rising Ch. 8
Date: 6/8/00 7:17:21 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Charlene
"Barnabas! Barnabas, what's wrong?" asked Julia as she raced to the door.
Barnabas turned towards Julia and Stokes, moving back into the house. Shutting the double doors he answered her,
"It's Quentin. Petofi's changed him back into the werewolf." the pain he felt at the statement was clearly etched on his face.
Julia gasped. "This isn't possible. Eliot, tell him that's not Quentin, it's only a dog. I just saw Quentin at Collinwood."
Eliot Stokes turned from Julia to Barnabas. He could
see the anguished concern on his friends face. He moved towards Barnabas and
said, "How can you be sure that's Quentin Barnabas? Why, the moon's not
even full."
"We know from our past experience that sometimes the werewolf appears even without the full moon." Barnabas began, careful not to mention Chris. That wasn't his secret to reveal. "I don't know how Petofi managed to do this, but I know he did. I know that sound. It's not the same as a dog. I can hear the difference."
"Julia," Stokes began, " I'm afraid that I must agree with Barnabas. I'd say it's best to defer to the hearing of a vampire. If all the legends I've read are true, Barnabas' hearing is more augmented than ours. I'm quite sure he can hear subtleties that we couldn't imagine. Barnabas, what about the portrait you were telling me about?"
"It's suppose to be safe in Bangor. I'll have Willie go in the morning and check."
"Fascinating. I'm curious as to how Petofi changed Quentin into a werewolf if he doesn't have the portrait." Eliot said, curiosity gleaming from his eyes. This was an outstanding feat Petofi had accomplished if true. Yes, Elite Stokes would have to learn the secrets Petofi had. He was quite fascinated by this man he had yet to meet.
Barnabas moved to the window looking out into the night. 'Oh Quentin, I'm so sorry.' he thought as his anger against Petofi grew.
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Sally Porter was a clerk at the local apothecary in Collinsport. She had been since her high school graduation two years ago. This night she combed the beach, alone. Earlier this night, she and her boyfriend, Steve, had argued about the hours he had been putting in at the cannery. She walked along, stopping now and again to just look at the waves crashing onto the shore.
Every now and then she turned towards the woods which bordered the beach. Through those woods, the great estate of Collinwood stood. Sally, like most Collinsport locals, held Collinwood in an erie regard. Most locals thought it was haunted. And the Collins family themselves didn't do much to dispel the rumors. Yet, there was a certain Mr. Collins Sally wouldn't have minded getting to know better. Quentin Collins was definitely a fine looking man, she thought.
Suddenly she turned. There was a noise, coming from the woods. She was sure. Sally stood for a moment looking towards the trees. Nothing. She turned and continued walking. She turned. There was that noise again. What was it? Was someone in the woods?
"Hello!! Is anyone there?" she called out.
Silence was her only response.
She turned again, she was definitely going back to her car. It was time to go home. Then the noise came again. This time louder. It sounded like a growl. No, it was a growl. She turned. Her eyes grew wide as a scream started to form. A scream she would never have time to utter.
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Andraes Petofi stood at the window of the drawing room in the House by the Sea. He could see the events happening far below the house on the beach. He turned back toward the interior of the house and moved to a wing back chair. An evil smile upon his face.
"Aristede! Aristede, come here." he called.
Aristede rushed to his master from another part of the house, "Yes, Excellency?"
"I believe some champaign is in order."
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"Barnabas, there's nothing we can do for Quentin tonight. Let's see what Eliot can tell us." Julia said quietly to Barnabas as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned his gaze from the window and his eyes met hers. He read her concern, both for Quentin and himself. Turning, he moved back into the drawing room.
"Have you found anything that might be able to help, Eliot?"
"Actually, I have. I'm rather excited by what I've discovered." Stokes said with a satisfied look on his face.
Perhaps, thought Barnabas, all hope isn't lost. He moved further into the room taking a seat in his favorite wing backed chair. He motioned for Julia and Stokes to do the same as Willie came into the room.
"Willie," began Barnabas, "Please pour Julia and the Professor a drink, then join us for this discussion, it effects you as well."
Willie Loomis headed toward the brandy decanter. He knew there was trouble, Barnabas' actions told him that.
"Well Eliot?" queried Julia.
"I believe that we should use the source of Petofi's powers against him."
"How do you mean?" asked Barnabas.
"As you know, the Greek Gods of legend were a very vengeful and proud lot. But they did not tolerate pride or boasting by mortals, especially such boasting which compared a mortal to the gods themselves. Petofi, from all I can discern of him, sees himself as somewhat of a god. I think Hecate herself would be most displeased that he has forgotten her."
"If he has?"
"I'm sure he has Barnabas. If he hadn't she would have never allowed the gypsies to place the werewolf curse upon him. Remember that curse originated in Greece when Zeus himself turned Lycian into the first werewolf. No, if Petofi still worshipped his ancient ancestor I don't believe that fate would have befallen him. Petofi is too self-reliant. I believe that can be his downfall."
"What are you proposing Eliot?" asked Barnabas.
"I'm saying that we should call upon the ancient goddess Hecate to aid us in defeating Petofi."
Barnabas' eyes grew wide at the thought. Calling upon ancient dark gods was not an act to be taken lightly. He heard the howl of the wolf somewhere in the night. Dangerous as it may be, he had no choice.
"When do we begin?"
"I still have some research to do. We must ensure that we are using the proper spell. Additionally, there is a man in Portland who has ancient Thracian artifacts. Hecate originated in Thrace according to the legends. I am hoping that his collection includes an artifact that we could use. I plan on going to Portland in the morning."
"Whatever it costs Eliot, get what you need. Whatever the cost." said Barnabas, determination set in his face. Turning to Willie, he continued, "I want you to go to Bangor first thing in the morning. Check on Quentin's portrait."
"Yes Barnabas."
"Julia, I want you here in the morning."
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A bright sun rose over Collinsport as birds sang out the newness of the day. Quentin Collins stirred himself awake.
"Where..." he began falling backwards as he tried to sit up, "what a hangover...NO!" he remembered. He hadn't been drinking the night before. No, it was far worse. The curse had returned. He pushed himself up, surveying the woods about him, looking at his tattered clothes. Then he looked at his hands. "Oh dear God, No!"
Blood. So much blood covered his hands. Covered him. He had killed someone last night.
'Can't stay here.' he thought, his mind not forming complete thoughts, the weight of what had happened AGAIN bore down upon his soul. 'Gotta get to Barnabas. He'll help me. Only one who can.'
Quentin Collins forced his body up. Forced himself through the woods, carefully so that no one saw him, heading toward the Old House and safety. Safety at least for now.
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The cafe at the Collinsport Inn was crowded when Sheriff George Patterson entered.
"You want your regular breakfast George?"
"Just coffee to go, there was a killing last night."
"Murder?"
"We don't know what to think. You remember those killings a couple of years ago, the real savage ones? It's the same. I don't know if it's some kind of animal or some madman."
"Well, here's your coffee."
"Thanks."
All the customers in the cafe went about with their regular routines, all but one. Joe Haskell had been reading the morning paper when George Patterson first came in. Now the paper lay untouched before him. He remembered. He remembered too much.
"Werewolf." he whispered.