Part Four

by Doreen Grégoire

She was walking in the woods. The night was clear and the full moon cast a silvery glow over the ghostly birches and maples that bordered the path she found herself upon.

At last she camp upon a large clearing. The path became obscured by meadow grass, and night-blooming wildflowers filled the air with their ethereal perfume.

A woman stood in the middle of the clearing. She wore the dress of a gypsy -- a long, gaily coloured skirt, a red shawl with hand-painted flowers on it. Her luxurious black hair cascaded free down her back and a pair of large hoop earrings glittered in the moonlight.

Julia approached her warily. "Who are you?" she asked.

The gypsy woman smiled. "When I lived I was called Magda. Now I come to help you."

Julia frowned in puzzlement. "Help me? How? Why?"

Magda sat on a fallen log and motioned her to join her. "You got a problem, right?"

Julia raised her chin in affront and her voice went cold. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you do," Magda said expansively. "You try to find cure for that man -- Barnabas Collins. But you stuck -- you can't go no further, no?"

Julia sank down beside her and stared in amazement. "How? How did you know?"

Magda waved her hand. "Is not important. But you got to know -- your science is not enough. Magic made him into what he is; you got to use magic to make him what he wants to be."

Julia shook her head. "There is no magic."

Magda chuckled. "You say same thing about vampires once, yet now you believe. Why not magic?"

Julia was at a loss for words. Why not indeed?

Magda laughed. "Got you, huh? Is good. Now you follow me. I show you what you gonna need."

Julia followed Magda as she went deeper and deeper into the woods. The trees grew closer together here and little moonlight managed to get through. She held out her hands in front of her to keep from bumping into a tree or getting a branch in the face.

"You pay attention to what I show you, and do exactly as I say." Magda's voice drifted back to her from somewhere ahead.

Julia stumbled through the woods, trying to keep the gypsy's dim shape in sight. She tripped on a root and narrowly missed bumping into Magda, who had stopped and was waiting patiently for Julia to catch up.

"Okay -- we here now." She pointed to a stalk with delicate white flowers growing in the detritus of the forest floor. "You see this flower?" Julia nodded. "You got to go out on a clear night at the dark of the moon. Use no torch, no lights. You use lights, it no work. Pick it, but don't touch it with your hands, not even gloves, and don't bruise it. Carry it back to your -- how you say? -- laboratory, and grind it with a new marble mortar and pestle. No machines. You put this in the potion you got written down."

Julia could barely see the flower, let alone remember where it was. She crouched down to peer at it in the gloom, then straightened to ask Magda another question. But as she turned, Magda's shape slowly faded into a mist; only her voice whispered on the breeze. "You got what you need. You go now."

Julia raised a hand to try to stop her, but even as she did so, the forest melted around her and dissolved into the drawing room of an old house, quaintly and exquisitely furnished with antique furniture and Persian rugs. As she stood there taking in her surroundings, she noticed Barnabas standing in front of a window, looking out at the night. The sky was just starting to show the first faint tinges of dawn.

He turned to face her at last, a smile on his face and his arms spread in welcome. He gathered her into an embrace, but his closeness frightened her and she pushed him away.

An expression of unutterable loneliness came over him. He held his hand out to her in entreaty, but she backed away. The sun's first new rays shone into the room and struck him as he took a step toward her. Loneliness turned to despair as he dissolved into a pile of dust.

* * * * *

She awoke, her heart pounding. She took several breaths to still its hammering and to get over the shock of that last horrible image, then she searched frantically for a pen and paper before she forgot her dream. It may have been mere fancy, but she was not going to take any chances. Barnabas had been cursed through magic. Perhaps magic was the answer to his cure as well.

Dawn was not far off, and her mind was too busy working on this latest development to allow her to go back to sleep. She got out of bed, put on a robe, and shuffled into the kitchen where she had a calendar tacked onto the wall. It just happened to have the phases of the moon marked for each month. Checking for that night, she noted that it was just past full; the dark of the moon would be in roughly two weeks.

She told Barnabas of her dream on his next visit two nights later, omitting the last scene she had found so disturbing.

"…and the strangest thing about this dream was that it felt so real," she told him.

They were seated in the living room of her apartment, Julia at one end of the couch, and Barnabas in a chair by the fireplace. She sipped from the mug of tea she balanced on her knee, then turned her attention back to him.

"I could feel the night breeze on my face and the grasses brushing against my legs. I could smell the perfume of the wildflowers. And this gypsy woman -- Magda -- she was close enough to touch. When she showed me that flower I knelt in the damp leaves to see it better, although it was so dark." She leaned over to put her mug on the coffee table, then sat back and crossed her legs. "I'm just not sure what to do any more."

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "It has been my experience that dreams are often sent for a purpose. Do you know what the plant is that she showed you?"

She nodded. "As soon as I could I found a book on herbs. It's angelica. We have some growing in the herb gardens by the kitchen, but this variety is different -- it's the wild one." She got up and showed him the picture in the book, then resumed her place on the couch.

He looked at her strangely when she told him this. "Julia, do you know one of the uses for angelica?"

"Aside from candied angelica, no."

"It is purported to be able to remove curses. You're sure you didn't know this?"

She shook her head in astonishment. "No. Until I met you, my life was firmly grounded in facts and science. I never had time to delve into folklore."

"Then there is only one conclusion. Your dream friend was telling the truth. I would suggest that at the dark of the moon, we search for this mystical angelica plant in the woods." The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

After agreeing on a plan of action, they soon got onto other subjects of conversation. They got onto the subject of music, and what he had enjoyed as a young man. Wistfully, he mentioned Mozart.

"I loved his music." He shook his head in distaste. "The noise the young people listen to today -- it grates on the nerves and hurts the ears. I don't know how they can listen to it." He thought for a moment. "Julia, I read in the newspaper that there is a travelling opera company coming to Bangor next week. They will be performing Mozart's 'The Magic Flute'." He paused and looked down at his hands, then back to her. "It would give me great pleasure if you would accompany me."

She sought desperately for an excuse; the last thing she wanted to do was to go out with this man on what was clearly going to be a date. "I have work to do. There are patients to look after, work on the formula --"

He came over and sat on the other end of the couch and turned to face her. "You can do nothing on the formula until we harvest the last ingredient, which we cannot do for another twelve days. And I assume a hospital this size has more than just one doctor to look after patients." He reached out for her hand and held it gently. "Please come with me?"

She glanced from her hand where it lay in his up to his face. His lips quirked in a gentle smile and his brown eyes shone with humour, but beneath this façade she sensed the loneliness she had seen in her dream. Somehow, the thought of seeing "The Magic Flute" did not seem so bad after all.

* * * * *

At that time of year, the sun set at 6:00, leaving them two hours to drive to Bangor and find their way to the theatre for the 8:00 curtain time. Barnabas had insisted on picking her up, so she was waiting for him in front of the hospital when he drove up in a black Rolls Royce. At Julia's inquiring look, he merely shrugged.

"How did you think I got myself here?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "Changed myself to a bat?" He chuckled at Julia's discomfiture, then relented. "All right. I can change to the form of a bat when the need arises, but bats are not swift flyers, nor can I maintain the shape for a long period of time. For the trip from my home at Collinwood to Wyndcliffe, a car is a more practical means of transportation."

Julia was surprised at his casual revelation, for she had really been inquiring about the car, but then she wondered at her surprise. Shapeshifting was merely one more facet of the complicated man named Barnabas Collins.

The opera was wonderful. Barnabas had attended a performance of "The Magic Flute" during one of his trips to London before his "death". But he was totally unprepared for what modern advances in musical instruments and stage technology could add to an already incredible experience. He spoke no German and was prepared to simply enjoy the music, but to his surprise Julia was able to provide him with a whispered translation. Even better, they had semi-private loge seats, so her comments went unnoticed by their neighbours.

During the intermission Barnabas bought Julia a glass of white wine, and they stood off to the side of the foyer and observed the glittering crowd around them. When the press of people became too thick for comfort, he took Julia's elbow and steered her outside onto a plaza where they could watch the night lights and talk without having to raise their voices.

"Where did you learn German?" he asked after a time.

"My father is German, and my mother's Hungarian. I was actually born in Berlin, but my family moved to New York when I was a baby. We usually spoke German at home, and I learned English from the neighbourhood kids I played with." She held her empty wineglass by the stem and twirled it between her fingers, then smiled at another memory. "I made a good income in college, tutoring students who wanted to learn German so they could read Freud in the original text."

"Do you also speak Hungarian?" he asked.

"A little. My mother would sing me old folk songs and tell me nursery tales in Hungarian. But my father was very strict, and insisted on German when he was home." She turned so she could look out over Bangor's skyline. A breeze came up and ruffled her hair and swirled the royal blue silk shawl she had thrown over the matching dress.

"Do you parents live still?" His voice came from very close behind her. Somehow, his nearness did not trouble her as much as she thought it might.

She nodded. "My father's retired, and they live in New Jersey."

She felt his hands on her upper arms. Then a chime sounded, announcing the imminent start of the second half of the opera. He ran his hands down her silk-covered arms in a light caress, and held her hand as they made their way back to their seats. Their easy mood on the plaza lingered, and as the performance recommenced, Julia leaned closer to him when she whispered her commentary. At one point he changed positions and his arm wound up around her shoulders; to her own surprise, she found she didn't object.

* * * * *

It was very late when they arrived back at Wyndcliffe. Barnabas walked her to the door of her apartment. After she unlocked the door, she turned to him.

"Thank-you for tonight, Barnabas," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "I had a wonderful time."

He took her hand and held it between both of his. "It is I who must thank you, Julia, for accompanying me. You have given me an understanding of Mozart that I did not have before." He raised her hand to his cool lips and kissed it lingeringly. "And you have allowed me to see a part of you tonight that I had not seen before, and I must thank you even more for that."

He stepped away from her, still holding her hand, then released it as he turned back to his car. Julia leaned against the door post and watched him drive off, wondering why she felt a pang at his departure.

* * * * *

TO BE CONTINUED.

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