air and the same fi ne features.
Curled up on the couch, looking up at Roger with her china
blue eyes, Carolyn appeared transfi xed by what she was hearing,
her satiny, well- brushed hair in two waterfalls on either side of
her petulant face. Elizabeth’s young daughter had always earned
Barnabas’s sympathies. She was lovely, but bored with her life.
Trapped in Collinsport, a small town without a movie theater
or a shopping center and so little to entertain or distract her,
she had developed no resources of her own. She seemed an un-
willing victim of circumstance, her small existence doomed to
dullness.
But she was clever and precise, possessed a quick temper,
and this eve ning especially, she appeared more irritable than
usual. Barnabas stepped back, wary of being spotted— an ob-
scene face looming behind the glass.
And who was missing from the family portrait? David, he
could see, was not present, and that may have been the problem.
Perhaps they were discussing David and his new obsession with
Antoinette’s daughter, Jacqueline. Th
ey thought she was a mys-
terious girl with troubling moods. As he was the heir to the
family fortune, all hopes rested on David, now sixteen, and pre-
paring to go to Prince ton. Th
ere were fears, shared by Barnabas,
that if the infatuation did not end this girl might jeopardize his
future. A troubled child, David had grown into a young man of
mettle, and of all the family, his welfare mattered most to Barn-
abas, who saw himself in the young man’s impetuous nature.
And where was Quentin, the ne’er- do- well of the family? A
distant relative recently materializing from abroad, he made no
contribution other than to consume the brandy in the cellar and
pursue what ever bar maid or cleaning girl was young and ripe
enough to catch his eye. Barnabas shuddered, remembering the
damaged portrait, and he was vaguely troubled by Quentin’s
absence.
—-1
Over the past year, during his time as a human, Barnabas
—0
—+1
57
039-54009_ch01_1P.indd 57
3/15/13 7:44 PM
Lara Parker
had been part of this family as well, and he had become familiar
with its petty problems. But since his transformation, he had
stayed away, certain his change would be obvious and cause
alarm. As he looked in on them, a painful lump in his throat
would not dislodge, and his limbs felt powerful but weary. He
was no longer one of them but instead hiding in the shadows,
once again the stranger staring into the snow globe, always with
the casement separating him from those he loved, able to trust
no one with his secrets— they in the light, he on the side of
darkness.
And, of course, one more character did not appear on the
scene, and Barnabas felt a twinge of shame. Julia was not
there— Dr. Julia Hoff man, the family physician, had been miss-
ing for weeks. Barnabas lowered his head and thought of her
lying in her coffi
n, abandoned, and trapped forever, facing eter-
nity alone.
To escape these guilty thoughts he rose into the air and soon
he was a dark wing hovering against the bright moon whose
hungry craters gaped as if to devour his shape. It was a fl ight so boundless and fi erce that he ached with all his being to fl ee the despised world, but he descended again, slipped beneath the
pearlescent shroud that enveloped the earth, and settled be-
tween the trees. Soon he was peering through a window of the
Old House into his own parlor, a room so painfully familiar that
he grasped the wolf ’s head of his cane and forced the wooden tip
into the snow.
Here he had brought Josette, his young bride- to- be from
Martinique. He could still see her stepping from the carriage,
her mauve velvet coat skimming the ground as she playfully took
his arm. Here he had rejected her maidservant Angelique, a be-
witching girl who had come to his room and demanded his af-
fections. Foolishly he had seduced her in Martinique, but back
in America he wanted to be rid
Curled up on the couch, looking up at Roger with her china
blue eyes, Carolyn appeared transfi xed by what she was hearing,
her satiny, well- brushed hair in two waterfalls on either side of
her petulant face. Elizabeth’s young daughter had always earned
Barnabas’s sympathies. She was lovely, but bored with her life.
Trapped in Collinsport, a small town without a movie theater
or a shopping center and so little to entertain or distract her,
she had developed no resources of her own. She seemed an un-
willing victim of circumstance, her small existence doomed to
dullness.
But she was clever and precise, possessed a quick temper,
and this eve ning especially, she appeared more irritable than
usual. Barnabas stepped back, wary of being spotted— an ob-
scene face looming behind the glass.
And who was missing from the family portrait? David, he
could see, was not present, and that may have been the problem.
Perhaps they were discussing David and his new obsession with
Antoinette’s daughter, Jacqueline. Th
ey thought she was a mys-
terious girl with troubling moods. As he was the heir to the
family fortune, all hopes rested on David, now sixteen, and pre-
paring to go to Prince ton. Th
ere were fears, shared by Barnabas,
that if the infatuation did not end this girl might jeopardize his
future. A troubled child, David had grown into a young man of
mettle, and of all the family, his welfare mattered most to Barn-
abas, who saw himself in the young man’s impetuous nature.
And where was Quentin, the ne’er- do- well of the family? A
distant relative recently materializing from abroad, he made no
contribution other than to consume the brandy in the cellar and
pursue what ever bar maid or cleaning girl was young and ripe
enough to catch his eye. Barnabas shuddered, remembering the
damaged portrait, and he was vaguely troubled by Quentin’s
absence.
—-1
Over the past year, during his time as a human, Barnabas
—0
—+1
57
039-54009_ch01_1P.indd 57
3/15/13 7:44 PM
Lara Parker
had been part of this family as well, and he had become familiar
with its petty problems. But since his transformation, he had
stayed away, certain his change would be obvious and cause
alarm. As he looked in on them, a painful lump in his throat
would not dislodge, and his limbs felt powerful but weary. He
was no longer one of them but instead hiding in the shadows,
once again the stranger staring into the snow globe, always with
the casement separating him from those he loved, able to trust
no one with his secrets— they in the light, he on the side of
darkness.
And, of course, one more character did not appear on the
scene, and Barnabas felt a twinge of shame. Julia was not
there— Dr. Julia Hoff man, the family physician, had been miss-
ing for weeks. Barnabas lowered his head and thought of her
lying in her coffi
n, abandoned, and trapped forever, facing eter-
nity alone.
To escape these guilty thoughts he rose into the air and soon
he was a dark wing hovering against the bright moon whose
hungry craters gaped as if to devour his shape. It was a fl ight so boundless and fi erce that he ached with all his being to fl ee the despised world, but he descended again, slipped beneath the
pearlescent shroud that enveloped the earth, and settled be-
tween the trees. Soon he was peering through a window of the
Old House into his own parlor, a room so painfully familiar that
he grasped the wolf ’s head of his cane and forced the wooden tip
into the snow.
Here he had brought Josette, his young bride- to- be from
Martinique. He could still see her stepping from the carriage,
her mauve velvet coat skimming the ground as she playfully took
his arm. Here he had rejected her maidservant Angelique, a be-
witching girl who had come to his room and demanded his af-
fections. Foolishly he had seduced her in Martinique, but back
in America he wanted to be rid
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