Wolf Moon Rising (15 page)

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here and go upstairs. It’s not safe . . .”

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But then he stopped, and this time he stared at the girl

dumbfounded. Jackie was on the fl oor, holding Barnabas’s head

in her lap and silently weeping, her tears falling on his face. She pulled the cotton sleeve from under the cuff of her coat and

dabbed the cuts, and, as her tears rolled from her cheeks, and

she blotted them, he thought he could see the lacerations cease

to bleed and the skin close over.

“Jackie, what are you doing?”

But she seemed in a distant place, and he felt the pinch of

being ignored. She did not know he was there, or did not care.

She murmured something in a raspy sing- song voice, not the

voice of a girl, but of a woman, sonorous and ancient. David was

disturbed by a vague memory of a time not too far in the past

when he himself had been close to death, and she had kissed

away his wounds. But he had always thought it had been a dream.

Now, as he watched her, he was troubled. She did not seem

tender but obsessed by a foreign force moving through her,

causing her to shimmer with a frightening power. “Jackie?” She

still didn’t answer.

Frightened now, he decided to go and fetch Julia, or Willie,

someone who would get them out of this mess. Jackie was in a

daze, oblivious, crooning some kind of spell.

“Jackie . . . ?” But she did not respond. Feeling stupid, he

stumbled toward the basement stair, but before he started up

into the kitchen, he stiff ened.

Someone was coming down, and he thought he was seeing

a ghost.

It was a fi gure in a long gown, a woman with yellow hair who

moved silently, wavering a little. David was terrifi ed, afraid to

breathe, certain it was a some kind of supernatural creature, but as she drew nearer he could tell it was Antoinette, Jackie’s mom, who

was sleepwalking, her hands reaching blindly in front of her, her

hair tangled and falling about her stricken face, her wide eyes

fi xed in a frozen stare. Her green robe clung to her body as she

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moved haltingly, and her bare feet made no sound on the concrete.

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Jackie lifted up but said nothing, only sat with Barnabas’s

head in her lap and looked at her mother, waiting for some ex-

planation. Antoinette was not awake, her movements were slow,

and she seemed to glide like a phantom rather than walk across

the fl oor. When she spoke, her voice was low; David could not

hear her, but Jackie rose as though bidden, and moved away.

“Why you?” Jackie said, a hint of spite in her tone. “Why

did he call you?”

“Go away,” said her mother, and Jackie stood up and took a

step back.

Still staring blankly, Antoinette moved toward Barnabas,

stumbled slightly, stopped, and pulled her hair back from the

side of her face. When she reached out for Barnabas, David

could see what looked like blood on her neck, two deep wounds,

leaking crimson, and his blood froze.

In a daze, he followed Jackie upstairs to her room, but when

she lay down on her bed, she began to cry, as if the night with all its perils had ended in grief. Not knowing how to console her,

David waited until she became quiet and fell asleep, and then he

covered her with a quilt and curled up in a chair beside her bed,

deciding to spend the night. He tried to quell his own tremors.

Who had it been in the swimming pool house? And who had

attacked Barnabas? Why had Antoinette come down to the

basement? And why did Barnabas want to lie in a casket? Th

e

answers to these questions were too unfathomable.

For some reason he began to think about his mother, gone

from his life since he was ten. He fought the painful memory of

her death in the fl ames, and the vision of her calling to him. A

sharp pain gripped his chest.

Jackie roused, looked over, and smiled at him. “Are you still

here?” she said.

He leaned into her and smelled her ferny odor. “I— I was

worried about leaving you alone.”

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Her eyes were red, and even though she seemed tired, she

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reached out and touched his arm. Th

e moment was confusing;

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there was the familiar ache from missing his mother, and at the

same instant, Jackie’s nearness, her warmth, and her woodsy

fragrance excited him.

Th

en she said something that bewildered him. “You mustn’t

be sad,” she whispered, “she will come back,” and he was soothed

by her voice, wise beyond her years.

“Why do you say that?”

She lay back and closed her eyes. “Because I know you will

see her again.” She was speaking as if she could grant wishes.

Th

en she said in a drowsy tone, “She is a Phoenix. She will rise

from the fi re, and you will be with her again.” And she fell back

into sleep. David watched her for a long time, her chest rising

and falling.

Just as dawn was breaking he woke and, in the dim light, he

was able to make out the paintings and drawings on the walls of

Jackie’s room. He had never seen her artwork, and he was dis-

turbed by an uncanny awe. He rose up from his chair and walked

around the room, looking at each one closely. Th

e drawings were

astonishing— each displaying amazing technique. He was sur-

prised when he saw several small charcoals that were of him, his

face downcast or in repose, and all very good likenesses. Th

ere

were sketches of Antoinette, and of the fl owers and birds that

could be found in the garden, and one larger canvas of coyotes.

And then he saw a drawing that shocked him. It was a portrait

in oil of Barnabas with his dark brows and penetrating gaze,

staring out as though something mysterious had caught his at-

tention and he could not look away.

It was morning when weary, his bones aching, his clothes

fi lthy and covered with blood, David opened the front door

at Collinwood as quietly as possible with the intention of steal-

ing up the stair to change before the house hold awoke. He

caught a glimpse of the dining room table already set for break-

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fast, and the idea of food made his stomach turn. Unfortunately,

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his father was already dressed and standing in the drawing

room before the fi re talking with a stranger in a silver gray suit.

“David!” he called out, his voice like a bark. Adrenaline

jumped through David’s body, landing in his fi ngertips. “David,

I must speak to you.”

“In a moment, Father, I just—”

“Where have you been?”

David’s throat tightened as he hesitated on the landing and

fl oundered for an answer. “I— I fell off the snowmobile into . . .

and I have to take off —”

“At this hour of the morning? What were you doing out

before dawn?”

“Hold on. I’ll be down in a moment.”

“David, come here this instant.”

“Father, hey . . . mellow out. I’ll be right back.” He dashed

up the stair to his room just as Roger walked angrily into the

foyer, his voice a foghorn of irritation.

“David, come down immediately, do you hear? We are hav-

ing a family meeting and it’s imperative that you be present.”

David closed the door to his room and tore off his clothes in

disgust, gathering them into a pile to be thrown away, then

stepped into the shower. Th

e hot water soothed his body, dispel-

ling the chill as he leaned back with a long sigh and let the spray fall onto his face. He licked grime from his lips. He soaped himself, lathering furiously, and paused to dig the reddish dirt out

from under his fi ngernails, then watched the water turning pink

as it settled in the drain. Th

e spray pounded his back, neck, and

arms, and he scrubbed his face with a washcloth. Th

en he stood,

hands dangling, and let the water pour over him while he shook

uncontrollably.

Jesus, what
was
that in the pool house? Had it been some-

thing real? He trembled, even in the hot shower, goose bumps

rising on his arms, when he remembered the hands on his back,

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shoving him. Something didn’t want him coming around. How

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could he have imagined that? But he must have. No one was there.

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And then, Jackie had appeared out of the night, at fi rst in

his unconscious, and then she was calling him, standing by his

side. Her voice breaking, she told him she had found Barnabas

lying in the snow.

David dried off and began to dress. Uncertain now of what

had even happened, he was pushing from his mind the worst

part of the night, the memory he would erase if only he could,

the moment so incomprehensible it made his teeth clench to

think about it: the moment when Antoinette had descended the

stair.

Th

ere was a knock at his bedroom door and a voice called,

“David, everyone is waiting.”

He opened the door to see his cousin, Carolyn, his child-

hood companion, even though she was six years older. Th

ey

had grown up together in this weird family, but the two of

them never spoke of what went on, as though it was forbidden

to acknowledge anything. She was wearing a T-shirt and a ten-

nis skirt, and her golden cap of pale blond hair was pulled back

in a ponytail. She smelled of lemony sweat, and he knew she

had been down in the indoor tennis court, hitting balls at the

backboard. She had a hard time sleeping and often played

alone at two in the morning. Her cornfl ower blue eyes glowed

in her exasperated face, and her tiny mouth pouted with coral

lipstick. “Because of you, I’m going to miss my lesson,” she said.

“Come on.”

David turned back into the room. “Tell them I’m not com-

ing. I’ve got other things to do rather than stand at attention

and be lectured.” His wanted to return to the Old House and

see about Jackie, make sure that she was okay, and fi nd out what

had happened. He was also anxious to start the search for the

painting anew, this time in earnest.

“You have to be there. David, don’t be diffi

cult. You know if

you make Roger angry he will take it out on the rest of us, espe-

cially Mother, and she is not feeling well this morning.”

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“What is it? Is it something I’ve done?”

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She frowned. “Here’s a clue. You are not the center of the

universe, at least not this morning. No, it’s something about

what Roger called ‘a development at Collinwood.’ ”

“And I have to be there ’cause I’m the heir to all this.”

“You could act like it a little more. All that could change,

you know.” She gave a little chuckle.

“Well, if you had any idea what happened to me last night . . .”

He stopped, wondering whether he should say anything about his

adventure.

“What?”

“Nothing. So what’s the big family problem? Who’s the

culprit?” Family meetings usually involved some high or low

misdemeanor, ranging from being late to dinner, and making

more work for Mrs. Johnson, to participating in some escapade

in town that would sully the family reputation. Which was a

joke as, even though no one spoke of it, it couldn’t be worse than it already was. Th

e Collinses were the laughingstock of the com-

munity, with their reclusive manners and dismal secrets.

Invariably, at these meetings, fault would be found and

blame placed, usually by his father, who always assumed the po-

sition of a magistrate but was really only a bully who could never

let things go.

David shuddered, thinking of the problem that existed at

this very moment at the Old House, which would overshadow

anything Roger could come up with.

“I have a feeling it’s serious,” Carolyn said. “Everyone is

there, even the servants. Someone has come to see us. All I

know is that he says he is Nicholas Blair’s brother.”

“You’re kidding. I thought we were done with his sort.” He

was combing his hair in the mirror above his dresser, trying to

get the wet curl on his forehead to fall just right.

“Come on, conceited one, leave off the primping.”

David was vaguely interested. Nicholas Blair, who had

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claimed to be a lawyer, and who had entered their world

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unexpectedly, had seemed to possess a strain of evil. He had

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