The Secret Circle: The Complete Collection: The Initiation and The Captive Part I, The Captive Part II and The Power, The Divide, The Hunt, The Temptation
Page 27
Cassie’s mouth was dry. What had ever made her think she could ask a guy to a dance? So what if lots of guys had wanted to dance with her last time; that had probably just been a fluke. And Nick certainly hadn’t been hanging around her.
She tried to make her voice sound casual. “So what are you doing . . .” She had meant to ask “for the Halloween dance” but her throat closed up and she panicked. Instead she finished in a squeak, “. . . right now?”
“Rebuilding the carburetor,” Nick replied briefly.
“Oh,” Cassie said. She searched her mind desperately for some other topic of conversation. “Um . . .” She picked up a little metal ball from the workbench. “So—what’s this for?”
“The carburetor.”
“Oh.” Cassie looked at the little ball. “Uh, Nick, you know, I was just wondering”—she started to set the ball back down—“whether you might, um, want to—oops.”
The ball had shot out of her sweaty fingers like a watermelon seed, landing with a ping somewhere under the workbench and disappearing. Cassie looked up, horrified, and Nick slammed down the screwdriver and swore.
“I’m sorry—honest, Nick, I’m sorry—”
“What the hell did you have to touch it for? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I . . .” Cassie looked at his wrathful face and the last of her courage left her. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she gasped again, and she fled.
Out of the garage and down the driveway. Without thinking she turned right when she got to the street, heading back for her own house. She didn’t want to go to Diana’s, anyway—Adam was probably there. She walked up Crowhaven Road, her cheeks still burning and her heart thumping.
It had been a stupid idea from the beginning. Suzan was right; Nick was an iguana. He didn’t have any normal human emotions. Cassie hadn’t expected him to want to go to the dance with her in the first place; she’d just thought maybe he wouldn’t mind, because he’d been nice to her in the boiler room that night. But now he’d shown his true colors. She was just glad she hadn’t actually asked him before she’d dropped the ball—that would have been the ultimate embarrassment.
Even as it was, though, her chest felt tight and hot and her eyes felt sore. She kept her head carefully high as she passed Melanie’s house, and then Laurel’s. She didn’t want to see either of them.
The sun had just set and the color was draining out of everything. It gets dark so early these days, she was thinking, when the roar of a motor caught her attention.
It was a black Suzuki Samurai with the license plate FLIP ME. The Henderson brothers were in it, Doug driving too fast. As soon as they spotted her they pulled over and stuck their heads out the windows, shouting comments.
“Hey, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a neighborhood like this?”
“You wanna party, Cassie?”
“C’mon, baby, we can show you a good time!”
They were just harassing her for the fun of it, but something made Cassie look up into Doug’s tilted blue-green eyes and say nervily, “Sure.”
They stared at her, nonplussed. Then Chris burst into laughter.
“Cool; get in,” he said, and opened the passenger side door.
“Wait a minute,” Doug began, frowning, but Cassie was already getting in, Chris helping her up the high step. She didn’t know what had possessed her. But she was feeling wild and irresponsible, which she guessed was the best way to be feeling when you were with the Henderson brothers.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they roared off. Chris and Doug looked at each other cagily.
“Gonna buy some pumpkins for Halloween,” Chris said.
“Buy pumpkins?”
“Well, not buy, exactly,” Chris temporized.
For some reason, at this particular moment, that struck Cassie as funny. She began to giggle. Chris grinned.
“We’re goin’ down to Salem,” he explained. “They have the best pumpkin patches to raid. And if we get done early enough we can hide in the Witch Dungeon and scare the tourists.”
The Witch Dungeon? thought Cassie, but all she said was, “Okay.”
The floor of the minijeep was littered with bottles, bits of pipe, rags, Dunkin’ Donuts bags, unraveling cassette tapes, and raunchy magazines. Chris was explaining to Cassie about how to construct a pipe bomb when they reached the pumpkin patch.
“Okay, now, shut up,” Doug said. “We’ve gotta go around back.” He turned the lights and engine off and cruised.
The pumpkin patch was a huge fenced enclosure full of pumpkins, some piled up, some scattered across the ground. Doug stopped the Samurai just behind a large pile by the booth where you paid for the pumpkins. It was fully dark now, and the light from the enclosure didn’t quite reach them.
“Over the fence,” Doug mouthed, and to Cassie: “Stay here.” Cassie was glad he didn’t want her to climb it; there was barbed wire at the top. Chris laid his jacket on it and the two boys swarmed over easily.
Then they calmly started handing pumpkins over the fence. Chris gave them to Doug, who stood on the pile and dropped them to Cassie on the other side, motioning her to put them in the back seat of the jeep.
What on earth do they want with all of these, anyway? Cassie wondered dizzily as she staggered back with armload after armload. Can you make a bomb out of a pumpkin?
“Okay,” Doug hissed at last. “That’s enough.” He swarmed back over the fence. Chris started to climb over too, but just at that moment there was a frenzied barking and a large black dog with wiry legs appeared.
“Help!” squawked Chris. He was caught hanging over the top of the fence. The Doberman had him by the boot and was worrying it furiously, snarling. A man exploded out of the booth and began yelling at them and shaking his fist.
“Help! Help!” Chris shouted. He started to giggle and then yelped, “Ow! He’s takin’ my foot off! Ow! Help!”
Doug, his strange slanted eyes glittering wildly, rushed back to the jeep. “Gonna kill that dog,” he said breathlessly. “Where’s that army pistol?”
“Hold on, Max! Hold him till I get my shotgun!” the man was yelling.
“Ow! He’s chewin’ on me! It hurts, man!” Chris bellowed.
“Don’t kill him,” Cassie pleaded frantically, catching Doug by the arm. All she needed was for him and the pumpkin man to start shooting at each other. Doug continued ransacking the litter on the jeep’s floor. “Don’t kill the dog! We can just give him this,” Cassie said, suddenly inspired. She snatched up a Dunkin’ Donuts bag with several stale doughnuts in it. While Doug was still looking for a gun, she ran back to the fence.
“Here, doggy, nice doggy,” she gasped. The dog snarled. Chris continued bellowing; the pumpkin man continued yelling. “Good dog,” Cassie told the Doberman desperately. “Good boy, here, look, doughnuts, see? Want a doughnut?” And then, surprising herself completely, she shouted, “Come here! NOW!”
At the same time, she did—she didn’t know what. She did . . . something . . . with her mind. She could feel it going out of her like a blast of heat. It hit the dog and the dog let go of Chris’s foot, hind legs collapsing. Belly almost on the ground, it slunk over to the fence and crouched.
Cassie felt tall and terrible. She said, “Good dog,” and tossed the doughnut bag over the fence. Chris was scrambling over in the other direction, almost falling on his head. The dog lay down and whined pitifully, ignoring the doughnuts.
“Let’s go,” Chris yelled. “Come on, Doug! We don’t need to kill anybody!”
Between them, he and Cassie bundled the protesting Doug into the jeep and Chris drove off. The pumpkin-seller ran after them with his shotgun, but when they reached the road he gave up the chase.
“Ow,” Chris said, shaking his foot and causing the jeep to veer.
Doug muttered to himself.
Cassie leaned back and sighed.
“Okay,” Chris said cheerfully, “now let’s go to the Witch Dungeon.”
The
Salem Witch Dungeon Museum looked like a house from the outside. Chris and Doug seemed to know the layout well, and Cassie followed them around the house, where they slipped in a back entrance.
Through a doorway Cassie glimpsed what seemed to be a small theater. “That’s where they do the witch trials,” Chris said. “You know, like a play for the tourists. Then they take ’em down here.”
A flight of narrow stairs plunged down into darkness.
“Why?” Cassie said.
“It’s the dungeon. They give ’em a tour. We hide in the corners and jump up and yell when they get close. Some of ’em practically have heart attacks,” Doug said, with his mad grin.
Cassie could see how that might happen. As they made their way down the stairs it got darker and darker. A dank, musty odor assaulted her nostrils and the air felt very cool.
A narrow corridor stretched forward into the blackness, which was broken only by tiny lights at long intervals. Small cells opened out from either side of the corridor. The whole place had a heavy, underground feel to it.
It’s like the boiler room, Cassie thought. Her feet stopped moving.
“Come on, what’s wrong?” Doug whispered, turning around. She could barely see him.
Chris came back to the foot of the stairs and looked into her face. “We don’t have to go in there yet,” he said. “We can wait here till they start to come down.”
Cassie nodded at him gratefully. It was bad enough standing on the edge of this terrible place. She didn’t want to go in until she absolutely had to.
“Or . . .” Chris seemed to be engaging in some prodigious feat of thought. “Or . . . we could just leave, you know.”
“Leave now? Why?” Doug demanded, running back.
“Because . . .” Chris stared at him. “Because . . . because I say so!”
“You? Who cares what you say?” Doug returned in a whispering shout and the two of them began to scuffle.
They’re not really scary after all, Cassie thought, a little dazedly. They’re more like the Lost Boys in Peter Pan. Peculiar, but sort of cute.
“It’s all right,” she said, to stop their fighting. “We can stay. I’ll just sit down on the stairs.”
Out of breath, they sat down too, Chris massaging the toe of his boot.
Cassie leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. She could hear voices from above, someone talking about the Salem witch trials, but only snatches of the lecture got through to her. She was drained from everything that had happened today, and this dreadful place made her feel sick and fuzzy. As if she had cobwebs in her brain.
A woman’s voice was saying, “. . . the royal governor, Sir William Phips, established a special court to deal with the cases. By now there were so many accused witches . . .”
So many fake witches, Cassie thought hazily, half listening. If that woman only knew about the real witches lurking in her dungeon.
“. . . on June tenth, the first of the convicted witches was publicly executed. Bridget Bishop was hung on Gallows Hill, just outside of Salem . . .”
Poor Bridget Bishop, Cassie thought. She had a sudden vision of Jeffrey’s swinging feet and a wave of nausea passed over her. Probably Bridget’s feet had been swinging when they hung her, too.
“. . . by the end of September eighteen other people had been hung. Sarah Goode’s last words . . .”
Eighteen. That’s a lot of swinging feet. God, I don’t feel well, thought Cassie.
“. . . and a nineteenth victim was pressed to death. Pressing was a form of Puritan torture in which a board was placed on the victim’s chest, and then heavier and heavier rocks were piled on top of the board . . .”
Ugh. Now I really don’t feel well. Wonder how it feels to have rocks piled on you till you die? Guess I’ll never know since that doesn’t happen much today. Unless you happen to be caught in a rockslide, or something . . .
With a jerk, Cassie sat up straight, the cobwebs swept out of her brain as if by a blast of icy wind.
Rockslide. Avalanche. Mr. Fogle, the high-school principal, had found out what it was like to have rocks piled on you till you died.
Weird coincidence. That was all it was. But . . .
Oh, my God, Cassie thought suddenly.
She felt as if her entire body were plugged into something electric. Her thoughts were tumbling over each other.
Rockslide. Pressed to death. Same thing, really. And hanging. The witches were hanged . . . just like Jeffrey Lovejoy. Oh, God, oh, God. There had to be a connection.
“. . . never know how many died in prison. In comparison to the conditions there, the swift oblivion of a broken neck may have been merciful. Our tour will now take you—”
Broken neck. A broken neck.
Kori’s neck had been broken.
Cassie thought she was going to faint.
Copyright
THE SECRET CIRCLE: THE INITIATION AND THE CAPTIVE PART I. Copyright © 1992 by Lisa Smith and Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Revised paperback edition, 2011
Dedication
For Lauren and Brian, who know love is the Power
Contents
Dedication
The Captive Part II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Power
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Copyright
The Captive Part II
Chapter 1
The voices from above were getting nearer. Cassie couldn’t move; a gray blanket seemed to have enfolded her senses. Chris was pulling at her arm.
“C’mon, Cassie! They’re comin’!”
Faintly, Cassie heard from above: “If you’ll line up in single file, we’ll be going down a narrow stairway . . .”
Chris was pulling Cassie off the narrow stairway. “Hey, Doug, give me a hand here!”
Cassie made a supreme effort. “We have to go home,” she said urgently to Chris. She drew herself up and tried to speak with authority. “I have to go back and tell Diana—something—right now.”
The brothers looked at each other, perplexed but dimly impressed.
“Okay,” Chris said, and Cassie sagged, the grayness washing over her again.
With Doug pulling in front and Chris trying to prop her up from behind, they led her rapidly through the dark, winding corridors of the dungeon. They seemed as comfortable in the darkness as rats, and they guided her unerringly through the passageways until a neon sign announced exit.
On the drive north, the pumpkins thumped and rolled in the back seat like a load of severed heads. Cassie kept her
eyes shut and tried to breathe normally. The one thing she knew was that she couldn’t tell the Henderson brothers what she was thinking. If they found out what she suspected about Kori, anything might happen.
“Just drop me off at Diana’s,” she said when they finally returned to Crowhaven Road. “No—you don’t have to go in with me. Thanks.”
“Okay,” Chris said, and they let her off. Then he stuck his head back out the window. “Uh, hey—thanks for getting that mutt off me,” he said.
“Sure,” Cassie said light-headedly. “Any time.” As they rolled away she realized they had never even asked her why she needed to talk to Diana. Maybe they were so used to doing inexplicable things themselves that they didn’t wonder when other people did.
Mr. Meade answered the door, and Cassie realized that it must be late if he was home from the office. He called up to Diana as Cassie climbed the stairs.
“Cassie!” Diana said, jumping up as she saw Cassie’s face. “What’s the matter?”
Adam was sitting on the bed; he rose too, looking alarmed.
“I know it’s late—I’m sorry—but we have to talk. I was in the Witch Dungeon—”
“You were where? Here, take this; your hands are like ice. Now start over again, slowly,” Diana said, sitting her down and wrapping her in a sweater.
Slowly, stumbling sometimes, Cassie told them the story: how Chris and Doug had picked her up and taken her to Salem. She left out the part about the pumpkin patch, but told how they’d gone to the Witch Dungeon, and how, listening to the lecture, she had suddenly seen the connection. Pressing to death—rockslides; hanging—broken necks.
“But what does it mean?” Diana said when she’d finished.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Cassie admitted. “But it looks like there’s some connection between the three deaths and the way Puritans used to punish people.”
“The dark energy is the connection,” Adam said quietly. “That skull was used by the original coven, which lived in the time of the witch trials.”
“But that wouldn’t account for Kori,” Diana protested. “We didn’t activate the skull until after Kori was dead.”