by Lois Duncan
“You can’t do that!” Kyra exclaimed in immediate panic. “It would get us in terrible trouble!”
“Why are you so upset?” Leanne asked in surprise. “Sarah never told your fortune.”
“I was thinking about the rest of you,” Kyra said hastily. “And of course I’m concerned about Eric. She cast a spell on him and forced him to assist her. From what Eric’s told me, she was doing those readings in my father’s apartment on Barn Street. Trespassing on private property is a criminal offense, and all of you did it when you went there. If Dad finds out about that, he’ll go through the roof. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he filed lawsuits against all of you.”
“I wish you could have recorded her confession,” Jennifer said.
“I wasn’t prepared,” Kyra said. “The last thing I ever expected was that she would admit to it.”
“Maybe we could get her to confess again, and this time record it—”
“That’ll be the day!” Leanne said. “Can’t you just imagine the conversation? ‘Sarah, dear, we’d like you to walk up to this microphone and confess that you’re a witch so you can be properly punished for your wrongdoings and so you and your mother can be ridden out of town on a rail.’ Sure, she’ll agree to that!”
“What if we don’t give her a choice?” Debbie said.
“What do you mean?”
“There are ways you can force people to confess to things.”
“If you’re talking about physical torture, forget it,” Kyra said. “I’m not going to be a part of anything like that.”
“We don’t need you to be a part of anything,” Debbie said. “If you want to bail out, you can do it and forget you ever talked to us. I guess I was mistaken, but it was my impression that you wanted Sarah and her mother out of the picture so your dad would come back to the family.”
“I do,” Kyra said. “But not like that.”
“Debbie didn’t mean that we’d hurt her,” Cindy said reassuringly. “All we would ever do would be to scare her a little. Kyra, I truly believe that’s all it would take to send that mother-daughter team of witches back where they came from. We just need to get Sarah someplace where we can put a little pressure on her.”
“How about inviting her to the beer bust?” Leanne suggested.
“The beer bust?” Kyra repeated in bewilderment.
“The football team always throws a kegger up on the hill on the Friday after Thanksgiving,” Leanne explained. “It’s a secret tradition.”
“She’d never come,” Misty said. “Not even if we invited her.”
“She would under the right circumstances,” Debbie said. “That crow sent a pretty strong message. A witch who finds a dead familiar in her locker has to realize that the people she’s harmed are not incapable of violence.”
“Sarah mentioned a crow,” Kyra said. “I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Bucky did it,” Leanne said hastily. “I never even touched it.”
“You touched it when you put it into her locker,” Misty said.
“My skin didn’t touch it. I wore gloves.”
“That’s over and done with,” Cindy said. “That’s not what we’re here about. The issue, Kyra, is whether or not you’re one of us. Leanne and I are going to be graduating in the spring, and there are going to be a couple of slots open on the cheerleading squad. The student body votes, but that’s only for show, the squad and the team call the shots with word-of-mouth promotion. It’s very important that we make our decision carefully. We’re together all the time at practices, and we travel to out-of-town games together, and it wouldn’t work out to have somebody we couldn’t get along with.”
“All I did was ask about the crow,” Kyra said meekly.
“Like I said, that’s beside the point. Are you ready to be one of us?”
Was she ready to have the dream of a lifetime come true?
“If we’re only going to scare her,” Kyra said, “then of course I am.”
Chapter
SEVENTEEN
“HAVE YOU READ THEM yet?” Charlie asked her on Wednesday morning.
“I’ve read a couple of them,” Sarah said, sending a newspaper soaring across a brown lawn to land precisely on a doorstep.
“Well, what was your reaction?”
“The concept is fascinating.” Sarah craned her neck to look back as the door of the house opened. A woman in a terry-cloth bathrobe bent to scoop up the paper without having to step outside. “Did you see that pitch? Am I good, or am I good?”
“My wrist had better heal fast, or you’re going to steal my route,” Charlie said. “So, okay, the concept is fascinating. My question is, do you think there’s any validity to it?”
“I’m not sure,” Sarah said. “I haven’t had a chance to read everything, but I was surprised and impressed by all that research. I hadn’t realized so many studies had been done on people who claim to have past-life memories.”
“Dr. Ian Stevenson alone has more than two thousand cases on file at the University of Virginia,” Charlie said. “In some of them young children started speaking foreign languages they had never been exposed to. How can you explain that, except that the knowledge of the languages was transferring over from former lifetimes in other countries?”
“I can’t,” Sarah admitted.
“That theory would also explain the existence of child prodigies like those kids who are playing piano concertos by the age of five. In a former lifetime they might have been Mozart or Beethoven, or maybe just talented people who spent their lives playing instruments.”
“Why is it so important to you that I believe in this?” Sarah asked him, picking up another paper and sending it sailing out the car window. “You’re not exactly the type to be an evangelist.”
“It’s not that I’m asking you to accept it unconditionally,” Charlie said. “I just want you to accept that it’s a possibility. Because, like I told you the other day, I’ve got a scenario I want to run past you, and I want you to be able to listen with an open mind.”
“Okay, I’m listening,” Sarah said.
Charlie drew a deep breath and then said slowly, “I’m starting to think it’s possible that I was living in Salem in the seventeenth century at the time of the witch-hunt. That may be why I hallucinated and saw the topic ‘Salem Witch Trials’ as if it was printed in boldface on that handout in history class. I came into this lifetime with that subject entrenched in my subconscious. All it took to bring it to the surface was to see those words on paper at a moment when I was vulnerable.”
“You’ve got to be joking!” Sarah had just picked up the last of the papers. Now she let the hand that held it drop to her lap. “Now, I suppose, you’re going to tell me you know who you were back then?”
“I think I may have been Giles Corey,” Charlie said, ignoring her sarcasm. “I reacted violently to that name the first time I saw it, and when I started reading about the way Giles Corey died, I suddenly couldn’t get my breath. It was like my ribs were caving in.”
“He was the one who was crushed to death?”
“That’s the guy,” Charlie said. “In order to be tried in New England, the accused person had to speak out to answer his indictment. When he was asked, ‘How will you be tried? he was supposed to answer, ‘By God and this court,’ which meant he was giving permission for the court to try him. Giles Corey knew that everybody who was tried was found guilty, so he refused to open his mouth. Without his permission he couldn’t be brought to trial, so they couldn’t hang him for witchcraft. What they could do, though, was torture him to make him answer. He never gave in, so they crushed him to death with heavy stones. That was the turning point in the witchcraft epidemic. People suddenly snapped to how crazy things were getting, and Sir William Phips, the governor whose own wife was accused of witchcraft, issued a proclamation pardoning and releasing everybody.”
“You’re serious?” Sarah stared at him, too stunned to know how to react. “You ac
tually think you were the man who put an end to the witch-hunts?”
“Actually, I do,” Charlie answered, almost smiling. “Are you going to throw that paper, or are you planning to make a pet of it?”
Sarah hurled the paper without bothering to look where she was aiming. It careened to the left and landed in a bush.
“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard!” she exploded.
“It would explain all these pounds I’ve been toting around with me since birth,” Charlie said as if he hadn’t heard her. “They’re symbolic of the weight that put an end to poor Giles. You might say I came into this lifetime karmically weighted down.”
“Then what about me?” Sarah demanded. “Remember, I saw that topic highlighted too! Do you take that to mean that I was involved in the witch-hunt?”
“That’s for you to figure out,” Charlie replied calmly.
“If that were the case—which it most certainly is not!—wouldn’t it be sort of coincidental that the two of us would just happen to wind up in the same town, the same grade, and the same history class?”
“The whole idea of karma is that nothing is coincidental,” Charlie reminded her. “Our lives are lived by a game plan that we agree to before birth. The theory is that souls that are karmically linked keep returning to this earth plane at the same time so that they can interact with each other. Did you read that book Beyond the Ashes?”
“I haven’t gotten to that one yet,” Sarah said.
“It’s one of the most impressive accounts I’ve ever read. Over a ten-year period the author, Rabbi Gershom, counseled dozens of people who, even as very young children, had detailed memories of former lives as Jews who were executed during the Holocaust. They were all about the same age, as if they had come back together to help each other adjust to that past-life trauma.”
“The Holocaust took place in Europe in the twentieth century,” Sarah protested. “It didn’t have anything to do with the witch-hunts in Salem.”
“I don’t mean to imply there’s a direct connection,” Charlie said hastily. “I’m just saying the concept is similar. Certainly the Holocaust and the witch-hunts were very different, but both were atrocities that were rooted in group hysteria. If the witch-hunts and accompanying hangings had taken over this whole country, who knows how many innocent people might have been killed?”
“Home sweet home,” Sarah said in relief as Charlie pulled up in front of her house. “I can’t say this was the greatest hour I ever spent with you.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Charlie said.
“Well, you did,” Sarah told him. “It’s one thing to speculate about a concept like reincarnation, but it’s another to say you’ve experienced it. It’s like theorizing about where flying saucers come from compared with announcing you went for a ride on one. Are you going to insist that all the other people who took part in the witch-hunt have been reincarnated too? Is that why so many kids thought that topic was in boldface—because it triggered subconscious memories in all of them? Now I guess you want me to believe that we’ve got one big mass of former witches and witch-killers living in Pine Crest, because they made an agreement before birth that they were going to convene here? Charlie, give me a break!”
“I’m not going to insist on anything,” Charlie said quietly. “It’s obvious that I’ve said too much already.”
“You better believe it!” Sarah opened the door and got out of the car.
“You don’t have to throw papers tomorrow,” Charlie called after her as she started toward the house. “Mom won’t be working on Thanksgiving, so she can help me.”
“Great!” Sarah shouted back at him.
“She’s off the next day too, so you’ve got a two-day vacation, plus the weekend!”
“Quadruple great!”
“See you on Monday!” Charlie called as she hurried across the yard. Sarah didn’t turn to answer him. She realized that she was hyperventilating as if she had been running a marathon. She let herself into the house, shoved the door closed behind her, and then impulsively locked it as if securing it against demons. Immediately she was struck by the absurdity of the gesture. Who or what did she think she was locking out? What in the world had gotten into her? Nobody was chasing her. The only thing that was out there was her good friend Charlie—Charlie with his self-deprecating humor and offbeat reading habits, Charlie who had accepted her story about the crow when nobody else would believe her. Just because she and Charlie had gotten to be buddies didn’t mean that she had to take everything he said seriously.
Charlie was not Giles Corey! That idea was ludicrous! The weight problem he was so concerned about and couldn’t seem to conquer was not symbolic of anything other than his basic anatomy, which was evidently different from his parents’, and a passion for milk shakes!
As she took off her jacket and flung it onto the coat tree, she became conscious of the sound of the television, something she was unaccustomed to hearing in the daytime. When she went into the living room she found her mother seated on the sofa, with coffee cup in hand and an open box of doughnuts on her lap, staring at the screen. She looked as if she were mesmerized.
“What are you watching?” Sarah asked her.
Rosemary glanced up, startled.
“Oh, hi, honey! I didn’t hear you come in. It’s just one of those silly talk shows.”
“Since when do you watch those?”
“I’ve just recently started,” her mother said. “Actually they’re kind of amusing. These women on this panel all say they have proof Elvis Presley isn’t dead, because at night he crawls in their windows. Poor old Elvis has to be pretty creaky by this time, but he makes it up their gutter spouts! Isn’t that hilarious?”
“You wouldn’t even consider watching this kind of stuff back home,” Sarah said.
“Back there I had work and friends and meetings and all sorts of other things,” Rosemary said. “Now I’m a lady of leisure—so …” She gestured toward the set.
Sarah walked over to the sofa and stood gazing down at her mother, giving her her full attention for the first time in weeks. There was no doubt about it, Rosemary had changed. Her eyes were dull and her face looked puffy and tired, as if she had been sleeping too little or possibly too much. She had also gained weight, which gave her a matronly look she had never had before. Much more disturbing, however, was that the aura of vitality and vibrancy that had always seemed to light up her mother from within and make her the unique individual who was Rosemary Zoltanne had vanished.
Rosemary’s gaze had shifted back to the television screen.
“Mom?” Sarah said.
“What, honey?” Her mother glanced up at her, startled by the name that Sarah so seldom used.
“Why did we come here?” Sarah asked her.
“What a silly question! We came here because it’s where Ted lives and has his career.”
“Ventura is the place where you had a home and a career,” Sarah said. “Weren’t those as important as Ted’s?” When her mother didn’t respond, she continued more gently, “Truthfully, Mom, has this all turned out as you hoped it would? Are you happy here?”
Rosemary was silent a moment as if weighing the question. Then she said, “In all honesty, no. I’m not all that happy the way things are now. But I know they’re going to get better once Ted and I get married.”
“What’s going to change if you get married, except that your name will be Thompson?” Sarah challenged her. “The truth is, I don’t even think you’re all that much in love with Ted. You’ve convinced yourself that you are. I’m not just trying to be mean, but what’s there to love about him? He’s bossy and boring and not even especially good-looking.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Rosemary said.
“Try me. Tell me, what’s so special about Ted Thompson that you were willing to throw over everything that you’d worked for all your life to follow him here to Pine Crest? After all, he is still legally married, and in a small town l
ike this one that makes you the bad guy. Is he really the reason you came here? Or was it some unexplainable compulsion and Ted was just the catalyst?”
Rosemary regarded her with bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
“Charlie explained the concept of karma to me. He suggested that destiny sent us here, because one of us has unfinished business to complete, karmic stuff left over from a previous lifetime.”
“Sarah, honey, Ted’s told me that Charlie comes from a rather disturbed background,” Rosemary said. “Ted explained it all after you went to bed the other night. The Gormans came to Pine Crest several years ago to open an adult bookstore. Ted said they were selling material that was terribly offensive, and the worst part was they were selling it to kids from the high school. Reverend Morris preached a sermon about it one Sunday, and the congregation blackballed the store. They refused to make any purchases there, and of course they made it off-limits to their children. When Mr. Gorman realized his business was going to go under, a mysterious fire broke out at the store. Rumor has it that he burned the place down for the insurance. Not a very savory background for Charlie. It’s no wonder the poor boy has problems.”
“Mr. Gorman was badly burned in the fire,” Sarah said. “Both his legs had to be amputated.”
“What?” Rosemary stared at her incredulously. “Ted didn’t tell me that!”
“I hardly think Mr. Gorman would have been in there frantically trying to put out the fire if he’d set it himself,” Sarah said. “And I don’t think the Gormans could have collected much insurance. If they had, their lifestyle would be different. They wouldn’t be living in that cramped little house, and Charlie wouldn’t be wearing patched clothes. Ted only told you what he wanted to tell you.” Swallowing her anger at Ted’s fabrications and her mother’s gullibility, she gestured toward the television. “Well, you’d better get back to your show. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“This one’s over anyway,” her mother said. “Which means”—she glanced at her watch—“that you’re already late for school. This time-consuming paper route isn’t working out, Sarah. Ted and I were talking about it at breakfast. We’re also very concerned about your attitude toward school. The attendance office phoned the other day to say that you’ve been cutting classes. I couldn’t believe it! You’ve never done that in your life. You’ve always been so motivated, such a high achiever! You’ve changed since we came to Pine Crest; you’re not the same person.”
