Wolf Moon Rising (2 page)

Lara Parker

Wolf Moon Rising

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A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

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New York

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Th

is is a work of fi ction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fi ctitiously.

DARK SHADOWS: WOLF MOON RISING

Copyright © 2013 by Dan Curtis Productions, Inc.

All rights reserved.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www .tor -forge .com

Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 978- 0- 7653- 3259- 2 (trade paperback)

ISBN 978- 1- 4668- 0089- 2 (e-book)

Tor books may be purchased for educational, business, or promotional use.

For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1- 800- 221- 7945 extension 5442 or write [email protected]

First Edition: August 2013

Printed in the United States of America

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This book is dedicated to my larger family,

the Dark Shadows fans, who— with their undying devotion—

keep the fl ame burning. Whether you raced home from school to

miss not a moment, or discovered the DVDs only yesterday,

if you fell under the spell, this book is for you.

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A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s

I am deeply grateful to those who encouraged me to write this

book and graced my eff orts with their many talents. I owe a

huge debt of gratitude to Jim Pierson, the liaison between all

those who love
Dark Shadows
and the outside world. He has

championed the show for more than forty years, or ga nized the

yearly conventions, and coordinated the release of hundreds of

DVDs. He also initiated my
Dark Shadows
novels, thereby

providing the opportunity for me to become a writer.

I thank my editor, Stacy Hill, for her many fi ne sugges-

tions, and my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, for her faith in me, and

her enthusiastic support of all three of my books.

I often turned to the keepers of the
Dark Shadows
archives, Marcy Robin and Kathleen Resch, who together founded and

have edited
ShadowGram,
the
Dark Shadows
newsletter, for forty years. Th

ey were always willing to share their encyclope-

dic knowledge of the tele vi sion show, make suggestions, and

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remind me of all the story lines I couldn’t possibly remember.

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Ac know ledg ments

No companion can replace a fellow writer in the long jour-

ney toward a novel’s completion, and I was blessed with several.

My friend and talented TV writer Debbie Smith graciously

helped shape many turns of the plot; and I was able to discuss

the story with Stuart Manning, who blogs the dazzling
Dark

Shadows Journal Online
from London.

To my great good fortune, John Farris, celebrated author of

more than forty novels of terror and the supernatural— from

Southern Gothic to psychological thriller— became a sympa-

thetic mentor and an invaluable source of inspiration and guid-

ance.

Because the role of Elizabeth Stoddard on the tele vi sion

series was played by movie actress and icon Joan Bennett, I

sought out the wonderful biography of Joan and her sister, Con-

stance,
Th e Bennetts,
by Brian Kellow. His book was a great help in developing the character of Flapper Liz in the 1920s, a character whose story idea was suggested by producer, radio host,

and devoted fan Tony Blass. In addition, I often reached for the

delightful and multi- faceted books on
Dark Shadows
published by Kathryn Leigh Scott, especially her latest,
Return to Collinwood,
for facts and details I had forgotten.

And especially my aff ection goes to my husband, Jim

Hawkins, and my son and daughter- in- law, Andy and Celia

Parker, who shared their provocative ideas around the dinner

table; and my daughter, Caiti Hawkins, who was pressed into

reading the entire manuscript only to shame me with her origi-

nality and her free- fl owing instincts in the horror genre. All of these deserve, and receive, my deepest appreciation.

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So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed like a fl ower and the incarnation was complete.”

—F. SCOT T FITZGERALD

Man is in love and loves what vanishes,

What more is there to say?

—W. B. YEATS

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P r o l o g u e

The trees draw in their shadows, a violet stain seeps over the

sky, and beneath the stone walls of a hundred- year- old man-

sion, the vampire stirs. Encased in a smothering blackness that

smells faintly of blood, Barnabas can feel an unfamiliar surge of

strength, but where he lies there is no space, no air, only his foul breath, and demon memories crawling beneath his eyelids like

maggots. Panicked, he gasps to breathe, claws above his head.

His fi ngernails rip his silken shroud, and wooden splinters dig

into the quick.

Th

en, in the midst of his struggling, a wave of sorrow washes

over him and he lies back in what he knows is a coffi

n. Once

again, he has died forever. Had he been royalty in the Elizabe-

than age, an effi

gy would have been carved to adorn his tomb.

He is that fi gure of veined and polished marble, hands fi xed; face motionless; and buried within, a scarred and blackened soul.

High in an upstairs bedroom of the Great House, another

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anguished immortal paces the fl oor, restless and loose- limbed

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Lara Parker

as a caged carnivore. Head pounding from too much brandy,

Quentin lurches toward the mirror of his bureau and grimaces

at his loathsome refl ection. He lifts a furred hand to blot it out, and a low growl rumbles in his chest.

He is powerfully built, but the fl ood of urges that now con-

sume him has sapped his potency. Whom will he kill? What

innocent? He can sense a shift in his temperament, an exhaus-

tion of tenderness, and fl owing through his body a hideous crav-

ing. Across the snowy vista that falls to the sea, his old tormentor rises out of the water, drawing the tide in his blood. What

cleaver sliced this moon in half so perfectly, exposing the opales-

cence within, then buried its hidden side away in some celestial

cavern?

Just down the hall— in the third- story tower room that looks

out over the sea— a young man dreams of sailing over water. Th

e

sails swell, his boat heels, and his bow slips through the waves.

David approaches an island where a young girl waits for him, her

tangled hair lifted by the wind and her eyes the color of stars.

She runs across the sand as he draws nearer, her arms out-

stretched, and then she is folded against him. Again and again

he draws her to him only to have her dissolve in a mist. His body

throbs with pulses so intense he wakes gasping for air. He hears

her cry out before she disappears, turning to spray and salty

foam, and leaving only the scent of roses on his hands.

Down the sea road stands a ghostly mansion the moon has

wrapped in a silver shroud. Th

e milky columns shudder from the

storm within, the windows rattle. A woman searches the rooms

for a lost portrait, looking where she has looked before. High on

the weed she smokes, Antoinette slams doors, overturns chests,

drags clothes from armoires, blankets from shelves. She sobs

and sinks to the fl oor, the world spinning. Where could it be?

Impossible for it to be missing. Who could have taken it? She

needs to calm down, try to mellow out a little. She is afraid of

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Quentin. She had thought she loved him but now she knows

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how violent he can be. Why did she always make such bad

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

choices in men? Jackie must have put the painting somewhere.

In a storage room. Under a bed. In the basement. As she rakes

her face with her fi ngers, she can feel the synapses ripping in

her brain.

Mean while, in an adjoining bedroom, her daughter, Jacque-

line, is painting by moonlight. Her concentration is such that