by L. J. Smith
“It’s okay, Chris,” Laurel said softly. “We know.”
Sean spoke up eagerly, his thin chest puffing out. “They hid the old stuff, but we found it,” he said. “We wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” said Melanie, casting an amused glance at him. “Of course, some of us were busy playing Batman while the older ones were rediscovering our heritage.”
“And some of us had a little more natural talent than others,” Faye added. She spread out her fingers, admiring the long red nails. “A little more natural—flair—for calling on the Powers.”
“That’s right,” said Laurel. She raised her eyebrows and then looked significantly at Diana. “Some of us do.”
“We all have talent,” Diana said. “We started discovering that when we were really young—babies, practically. Even our parents couldn’t ignore it. They did try to keep us from using it for a while, but most of them have given up.”
“Some of them even help us,” Laurel said. “Like my grandmother. But we still get most of what we need from the old books.” Cassie thought about her own grandmother. Had she been trying to help Cassie? Cassie felt sure she had.
“Or from our own heads,” said Doug. He grinned a wild and handsome grin and for an instant looked again like the boy who’d gone racing through the hallways on roller blades. “It’s instinct, you know? Pure instinct. Primal.”
“Our parents hate it,” said Suzan. “My father says we’ll only make trouble with the outsiders. He says the outsiders will get us.”
Doug’s teeth showed white in the moonlight. “We’ll get them,” he said.
“They don’t understand,” Diana said softly. “Even among ourselves not everybody realizes that the Powers can be used for good. But we’re the ones who can call on the Powers, and we know. That’s what’s important.”
Laurel nodded. “My grandmother says there will always be outsiders who hate us. There’s nothing we can do but try and keep away from them.”
Cassie thought suddenly of the principal holding the hanged doll by the back of its dress. How apt, he’d said. Well, no wonder . . . if he thought she was one of them already. Then her mind drew up short. “Do you mean,” she said, “that even adults know what you—what we are? Outsider adults?”
“Only the ones around here,” Diana said. “The ones who grew up on the island. They’ve known for centuries—but they’ve always kept quiet. If they want to live here, they have to. That’s just the way it is.”
“For the last few generations, relations have been very good between our people and the outsiders,” Melanie said. “That’s what our grandparents say, anyhow. But now we’ve stirred things up. The outsiders may not keep quiet forever. They might try to do something to stop us—”
“Might? They already have,” Deborah said. “What do you think happened to Kori?”
Instantly voices rose in a babble as the Henderson brothers, Sean, Suzan, and Deborah burst into argument. Diana raised her hand.
“That’s enough! This isn’t the time,” she said. “What happened to Kori is one of the things our Circle is going to find out. Now that we’re complete, we should be able to do it. But not tonight. And as long as I’m leader—”
“Temporary leader. Until November,” Faye put in sharply.
“As long as I’m temporary leader, we’ll do things when I say and not jump to any conclusions. All right?” Diana looked around at them. Some faces were shuttered, expressionless; others, like Deborah’s, openly hostile. But most of the members nodded or gave some sign of acquiescence.
“All right. And tonight is for initiating Cassie.” She looked at Cassie. “Do you have any questions?”
“Well . . .” Cassie had the nagging feeling that there was something she should be asking, something important, but she couldn’t think of what. “The guys in the Circle—what do you call them? I mean, are they wizards or warlocks or something?”
“No,” said Diana. “‘Wizard’ is an old-fashioned word—it means a wise man who usually worked alone. And ‘warlock’ comes from a word meaning traitor, deceiver. ‘Witch’ is the proper term for all of us, even guys. Anything else?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Well, then,” Faye said. “Now that you’ve heard our story, we have just one question to ask you.” She fixed Cassie with an odd half smile and said in a sweet, false voice, “Are you planning to be a good witch or a bad witch?”
Chapter 13
Very funny, Cassie thought. But actually it wasn’t funny at all. She guessed that there was a deadly serious side to Faye’s question. Somehow she didn’t see Faye wanting to use the Powers—whatever those were—for good. And she didn’t see Diana wanting to use them for anything else.
“Does anybody have anything more to say? Questions, comments, club business?” Diana was looking around the group. “Then I’m declaring the meeting over. You can all go or stay as you like. We’ll have another meeting tomorrow afternoon to honor Kori and talk about a plan of action.”
There was a murmur of voices as people turned to one another and got up. The electric tension that had held the group together had dissipated, but there was an unfinished feeling in the air, as if nobody really wanted to leave yet.
Suzan went over behind a rock and pulled out several wet six-packs of diet soft drinks. Laurel promptly went behind another rock and returned with a large thermos.
“It’s rose-hip tea,” she said, pouring a cup of fragrant, dark red liquid and smiling at Cassie. “No tea leaves at all, but it’ll warm you up and make you feel better. Roses are soothing and purifying.”
“Thanks,” said Cassie, taking it gratefully. Her head was spinning. Information overload, she thought.
I’m a witch, she thought then, wonderingly. Half a witch, anyway. And Mom and Grandma—they’re both hereditary witches. It was a bizarre and almost impossible notion to swallow.
She took another gulp of the hot, sweet drink, shivering in spite of herself.
“Here,” Melanie said. She removed the pale green shawl and put it around Cassie’s shoulders. “We’re used to the cold; you’re not. If you want, we can make a fire.”
“No, I’m fine with the shawl,” Cassie said, tucking her bare feet under her. “It’s beautiful—is it very old?”
“It was my great-grandmother’s great-grandmother’s—if you can believe the old stories,” Melanie said. “We usually get more dressed up for Circles—we can wear anything we feel like, and sometimes it gets outrageous. But tonight . . .”
“Yes.” Cassie nodded in understanding. Melanie was being nicer than usual, she thought. More like Laurel or Diana. It puzzled Cassie for a moment—and then she got it.
I’m one of them, she thought, and for the first time the full import of this struck her. Not a puppy off the street anymore. I’m a full member of the Club.
She felt the bubbles of excitement, of exhilaration in her bloodstream again. And there was a deeper feeling, too, of recognition. As if something at her core was nodding, saying Yes, I knew all along.
Cassie looked at Melanie quietly sipping her tea, and at Laurel straightening a pink candle that was slumping over. Then she looked at Diana, standing a little distance up the beach with the Henderson brothers, the three blond heads close together. Diana seemed to feel no self-consciousness about wearing the thin white shift and the fancy jewelry. It seemed a natural costume for her.
My people, Cassie thought. The sudden sense of belonging—of loving—was so intense that tears came to her eyes. Then she looked at Deborah and Suzan, deep in conversation, and at Faye, who was listening with a bland smile to something Sean was excitedly saying, and at Nick, who was staring silently out at the ocean, a can of something that wasn’t soda in his hand.
Even them, she thought. She was willing to try and get along with all the other members, with everyone who shared her blood. Even the ones who’d tried to keep her out.
She looked back at Laurel, to find the sl
im, brown-haired girl watching her with the hint of a sympathetic smile.
“A lot to deal with at once,” Laurel said knowingly.
“Yes. But it’s exciting, too.”
Laurel smiled. “So now that you’re a witch,” she said, “what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
Cassie laughed, feeling something almost like intoxication. Power, she thought. There’s so much Power out there—and now I can take it. She shook her head and lifted the hand that wasn’t holding rose-hip tea. “What can we do?” she said. “I mean, what sorts of things?”
Laurel and Melanie exchanged glances. “Basically, you name it,” Melanie said. She picked up the book that Diana had shown Cassie earlier and riffled through it, showing Cassie the pages. They were yellowing and brittle and covered with cramped, illegible writing. They were also covered with pink Post-it notes and plastic tape flags. Almost every page had one and some had several.
“This is the first Book of Shadows we got hold of,” said Melanie. “We found it in Diana’s attic. Since then we’ve found others—every family is supposed to have one. We’ve been working on this one for maybe five years, deciphering the spells and copying them out in modern language. I’m even putting it on my computer for easier cross-reference.”
“Sort of a Floppy Disk of Shadows,” Cassie said.
Laurel grinned. “Right. And it’s funny, you know, but once you start learning spells and rituals, it seems to wake up something inside you—and you start coming up with your own.”
“Instinct,” Cassie murmured.
“Right,” said Laurel. “We all have it, some more than others. And some of us are better than others at certain things, like calling on the different Powers. I work best with Earth.” Laurel took a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers.
“Three guesses as to what Faye works best with,” Melanie said dryly.
“But anyway, to answer your question, there’s lots we can do,” Laurel said. “It all depends on your taste. Spells of protection, of defense—”
“Or attack,” put in Melanie, with a glance toward Deborah and Suzan.
“—spells for little things, like lighting fires, and for big ones, like—well, you’ll find out. Charms for healing, and for finding things out—scrying and divining. Love potions . . .” She smiled as Cassie looked up quickly. “That interest you?”
“Oh, a little, maybe.” Cassie blushed. God, she wished she could just gather her thoughts properly. She still had that nagging feeling that there was something she was missing, something obvious that she was overlooking and should be asking about. But what?
“There’s a certain amount of debate over the ethics of love potions and love spells,” Melanie was saying, her gray eyes not entirely approving. “Some people feel it violates a person’s free will, you know. And a spell misused can rebound on the person who casts it—threefold. Some people don’t feel it’s worth the risk.”
“And other people,” Laurel said mock solemnly, her brown eyes sparkling, “say that all’s fair in love and war. If you know what I mean.”
Cassie bit her lip. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on that nagging worry, another thought was pushing it out of her mind. Or, not a thought so much as a hope, the sudden glimpse of a possibility.
Love potions. And finding things out. Something to find him and bring him to her. Was there such a spell? She seemed to feel in her bones that there was.
To find him . . . the boy with the blue-gray eyes. Warmth pooled in Cassie’s stomach and her palms tingled. The very possibility seemed to lift her on wings. Oh, please, if she could only ask one thing . . .
“Supposing,” she said, and was relieved to hear her voice sound normal, “you wanted to, say, find somebody you’d met and lost track of. Somebody you—liked, and wanted to see again. Would there be any kind of a spell for that?”
Laurel’s brown eyes sparkled again. “Now, is this a boy-type person we’re supposing about here?” she said.
“Yes.” Cassie knew she was blushing again.
“Well—” Laurel glanced at Melanie, who was shaking her head in a resigned way, then turned back to Cassie. “I’d say something like a simple tree spell. Trees are attuned to things like love and friendship, anything that grows and brings life. And fall is a good time to use things you harvest, like apples. So I’d do an apple spell. In one, you take an apple and split it. Then you take two needles—ordinary sewing needles—and put one through the eye of the other and bind them together with thread. Then put them inside the apple and close it up again. Tie it so it stays closed. Then tie it back on the tree and say some words to tell the tree what you want.”
“What kind of words?”
“Oh, a poem or something,” Laurel said. “Something to invoke the power of the tree and help you visualize what you’re asking for. It’s best to make it rhyme. I’m not good at making up that kind of thing, but, like: ‘Friendly tree, friendly tree, bring my special friend to me.’”
No. Not quite, Cassie thought, a thrill going through her. Laurel’s words were changing in her mind, transforming, expanding. She seemed to hear a voice, bell clear and yet remote.
Bud and blossom, leaf and tree,
Find him, bind him, now to me.
Shoot and seedling, root and bough,
Threads of love entwine us now.
Her lips moved soundlessly with the words. Yes, she knew somehow in the very core of her that that was right. That was the spell . . . but would she really dare to use it?
Yes. For him, I’d risk anything, she thought. She stared down at her fingers as they absently combed through the sand. Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow I’ll do it. And then afterward I’ll spend every minute of every day watching and hoping. Waiting for the time when I see a shadow and look up and it’s him, or when I hear footsteps and turn and see him coming. Or when—
What happened next was so startling and unexpected that Cassie almost screamed.
A wet nose thrust under her hand.
What stopped her from screaming was something like heart failure; the shriek got to her throat, and then she actually saw the dog and everything went fuzzy. Her recoiling hand fell limply back. Her lips opened and closed silently. Through a blur and a mist she stared at the liquid brown eyes and the short, silky-bristly hairs on the muzzle. The dog stared back at her, mouth open and laughing, as if to say, “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Then Cassie raised her eyes to look at the dog’s master.
He was looking down at her, as he had that day on the beach in Cape Cod. The moonlight tangled in his red hair, turning some strands to flame while others were dark as wine. His blue-gray eyes looked silver.
He’d found her.
Everything was motionless. The ocean’s roar seemed hushed and distant, and Cassie was aware of no other sound. Even the breeze had died. It was as if the entire world was waiting.
Slowly, Cassie got to her feet.
The green shawl fell behind her, discarded. She could feel the cold, but only because it made her aware of her own body, of every part of it, tingling like electricity. Yet strangely, although she was keenly aware of her body, she also seemed to be floating above it. Just like the first time, she seemed to see herself—and him—standing there on the beach.
She could see herself in her thin white nightgown and bare feet, her hair loose on her shoulders, looking up at him. Like Clara in the Nutcracker ballet, she thought, when she wakes up in the middle of the night and looks at the Nutcracker Prince who’s come to take her away into a world of magic. She felt like Clara. As if the moonlight had transformed her into something delicate and beautiful, something enchanted. As if he might take her in his arms right then and dance with her. As if in the moonlight they could dance forever.
They were gazing at each other. From the moment their eyes had met, neither of them had looked away. She could see the wonder in his face. As if he were as surprised to see her as she was to see him—but how
could he be? He had found her; he must have been looking for her.
The silver cord, she thought. She couldn’t see it now, but she could feel it, feel the vibrations of its power. She could feel it connecting them, heart to heart. The trembling went from her chest into her stomach, and then all over.
The cord was tightening, drawing them together. It was pulling her closer to him. Slowly, his hand came up and he reached out to her. She raised her own hand, to put it in his—
And there was a cry from behind her. The tall boy looked over her shoulder, distracted. And then his hand fell away.
Something came between them, something bright. Bright like sunlight, shattering Cassie’s trance. It was Diana, and she was embracing the tall red-haired boy. She was holding him. No—they were holding each other. Cassie stared, stunned, at the sight of him with his arms around someone else. She was barely able to comprehend the words she heard next.
“Oh, Adam—I’m so glad you’re back.”
Cassie stood like a pillar of ice.
She hadn’t seen Diana break down before, but Diana was breaking down now. She was crying. Cassie could see her shaking and could see how the tall boy—how Adam—held her to try and stop it.
Held her. He was holding Diana. And his name was Adam.
“You mean she hasn’t told you about Adam yet? Diana, there’s such a thing as carrying modesty too far. . . .” “Who is he? Is he your boyfriend? . . .” “He’s nice. I think you’ll like him. . . .”
Cassie fell to her knees and buried her face in Raj’s fur, clinging to the big dog. She couldn’t bear for anyone to see her face right now, and she was grateful for Raj’s warm solidity as she leaned against him. Oh, God; oh, God . . .
Vaguely, she could hear Adam’s voice. “What’s wrong? I tried to get back for Kori’s initiation, but where is she? What’s going on?” He looked at Cassie. “And—”
“Her name is Cassie Blake,” Diana said. “She’s Mrs. Howard’s granddaughter, and she’s just moved here.”
