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

by L. J. Smith

  “What can the rest of us do?” Laurel asked. Cassie realized the question was directed at her; except for Faye, who was glowering, they were all looking at her expectantly. Flustered, she lifted her hands again and shook her head.

  “We can talk to the old ladies in the town who’re still alive,” Deborah suggested. “That’s my idea, anyway. Cassie’s grandma said our parents have forgotten about magic, that they made themselves forget to survive. But I figure the old ladies might not have forgotten, and we can question them. Like Laurel’s Granny Quincey, and Adam’s grandma, old Mrs. Franklin. Even your great-aunt, Mel.”

  Melanie looked doubtful. “Great-aunt Constance doesn’t approve of the old ways at all. She’s pretty—inflexible—about it.”

  “And Granny Quincey is so frail,” Laurel said. “As for old Mrs. Franklin—well, she’s not always all there.”

  “To put it tactfully,” Adam said. “Let’s face it, my grandmother can get pretty loopy at times. But I think Deborah’s right; they’re all we’ve got, so we have to make the most of them. We can try to pump some parents for information, too . . . what have we got to lose?”

  “An arm and an eye, if it’s my father you’re pumping,” Suzan muttered, holding her fingers in a shaft of sunlight to examine her nails. But Chris and Doug Henderson grinned wildly and said they’d be happy to interrogate all the parents.

  “We’ll say, ‘Hey, remember that guy you fried like Freddy Krueger sixteen years ago? Well, he’s back, so can you, like, give us any help in recognizing him?’” Doug said with relish.

  “Didn’t your grandma say anything that might help?” Laurel asked Cassie.

  “No . . . wait.” Cassie straightened up, excitement stirring inside her. “She said they identified Black John’s body in the burned house because of his ring, a lodestone ring.” She looked at Melanie. “You’re the crystal expert; so what’s lodestone?”

  “It’s magnetite, black iron oxide,” Melanie said, her cool gray eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s like hematite, which is iron oxide too, but hematite’s blood-red when you cut it in thin slices. Magnetite is black and magnetic.”

  Cassie tried to control her expression. Well, she’d known the hematite came from Black John’s house; maybe it had even been his stone. She shouldn’t be surprised that he wore a ring of something similar. Still, she felt a twinge of apprehension. She’d really better get rid of that piece of hematite. Right now it was sitting in a jewelry box in her bedroom, where she’d put it when Diana drove her over to her house to pick up her clothes this morning before school.

  “Okay, we’ll keep on the lookout for that,” Adam was saying, sparing Cassie the necessity of speaking. “We can talk to the old ladies tomorrow—or maybe we should wait until after Cassie’s grandmother’s funeral.”

  “All right,” Cassie murmured.

  “You’re making a lot of suggestions, Adam,” Faye said, stung into speaking at last. Her arms were still folded over her chest, and her honey-pale skin was flushed with anger.

  Adam looked back without expression. “Come to think of it, there was another suggestion I was going to make,” he said. “I think we should retake the leadership vote.”

  Faye lunged toward him, golden eyes blazing. “You can’t do that!”

  “Why not? If all of us agree,” Adam said calmly.

  “Because it’s not in the traditions,” Faye hissed. “You look at any Book of Shadows and you’ll see! The vote is the vote; I won and it can’t be changed now. I’m the coven leader.”

  Adam turned to the others for help, but Melanie was looking troubled and Diana was slowly shaking her head.

  “She’s right, Adam,” Diana said softly. “The vote was fair, at the time. There aren’t any provisions for changing it.” Melanie nodded her unwilling agreement.

  “And I don’t like you making all these plans without consulting me,” Faye went on, pacing again like a panther in a cage. Sparks actually seemed to flash from her eyes, the way they flashed from the red gems at her throat and on her fingers as she crossed patches of sunlight.

  “Well, what do you want us to do?” Laurel said challengingly, tossing her long light-brown hair back. “You were the one who wanted Black John out, Faye. You said he was going to help us, to give us his power. Well, how about it? What do you say now that he’s here?”

  Faye was breathing hard. “He may be testing us—”

  “By killing Cassie’s grandma?” Deborah cut in harshly. “Don’t be stupid, Faye. I was there; I saw it. There’s no excuse for murdering old ladies.”

  Faye glared at her defecting ex-lieutenant. “I don’t know why he did that! Maybe he has some plans that we don’t know about.”

  “That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said,” Melanie interrupted. “He does have plans, Faye—to take us over. He’s already killed four people, and if we annoy him I’m sure he’ll be happy to kill us, too.”

  Faye stopped pacing and smiled triumphantly. “He can’t,” she snapped. “If Cassie is right—and I’m not saying she is, but if she is—then he needs us for his coven. So he can’t kill us!”

  “Well, he can’t kill all of us, anyway,” Adam said dryly. “He can only spare one.”

  Silence fell. The members of the Circle glanced uneasily at one another.

  “Well, then, maybe you’d each better be sure you’re not the one,” Faye said, smiling around at them. It wasn’t quite her old, lazy smile; it was more a baring of teeth. Before anyone could say anything she turned around and stalked out of the room. They could hear her footsteps going rapidly down the stairs, then the slam of the science building’s front door.

  Cassie, Adam, and Diana looked at one another. Adam shook his head.

  “We’re in trouble,” he said.

  “Oh, so is that what we figured out at this meeting?” said Deborah.

  Diana leaned her forehead against her hand wearily. “We need her,” she said. “She is the coven leader, and we need her on our side, not on his. We’d better go talk to her.”

  Slowly, the Club members got up. Outside, it was too bright, and Cassie squinted. Seventh period had just ended and people were flooding out of the school exits. Cassie scanned the crowds but couldn’t see Faye.

  “She’s probably gone home,” Diana was saying. “We’ll have to go after her . . .”

  Cassie didn’t hear the rest. Among the milling students in the parking lot she had suddenly glimpsed a familiar face. A strange familiar face, one that didn’t belong here, one that she had to rack her brains to identify. For God’s sake, where had she seen that turned-up nose, that straw-colored hair, those cold hazel eyes before? It was someone she’d known quite well, someone she’d been used to looking at day after day, but that she’d been only too happy to forget about when she came to New Salem.

  A feeling of heat and humidity overcame Cassie. A memory of sand underfoot, sweat trickling down her sides, suntan lotion greasy on her nose. A sound of lapping waves and a smell of overheated bodies and a sense of oppression.

  Cape Cod.

  The familiar girl was Portia.

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, watch out, Cassie,” Chris said, running into her as she stopped in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just saw someone.” Cassie could feel how wide her eyes were as she stared into the crowd. Portia had disappeared in a sea of bobbing heads. “A girl I knew this summer . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mind boggled at the task of explaining Portia to the Circle.

  But Adam had seen her too. “A witch hunter,” he said grimly. “The one whose brothers carried a gun. They’re seriously into it—not just as a hobby, but as an obsession.”

  “And they’ve come here?” Deborah scoffed. Cassie looked back and forth between the dark-haired girl and Adam; obviously witch-hunting was something these people had encountered before. “They ought to know better.”

  “Maybe it was a mistake—or an accident. Maybe her parents moved and she was just transf
erred here or something,” Laurel said, ever the optimist.

  Cassie shook her head. “Portia doesn’t make mistakes,” she murmured. “And I pity the accident that tries to happen to her. Adam, what are we going to do?” She was almost more upset by this than she had been by the knowledge that Black John was loose somewhere in New Salem. That terror was mind-numbing, too much to deal with rationally. Fear of Portia was more familiar, and Cassie felt herself being sucked toward an old pattern of helplessness. She’d never been able to deal with Portia; she came out of every encounter tongue-tied and humiliated, defeated. Cassie shut her eyes.

  I am not like that anymore. I won’t be like that, she thought. But dread churned in her stomach.

  “We’ll deal with her,” Adam was beginning bleakly when Doug leaned in, his tilted blue-green eyes sparkling.

  “Hey, she’s an enemy, right? Black John the Witch Dude said he wanted to help us destroy our enemies, right? So—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Melanie cut in swiftly. “Don’t, Doug. I mean it.”

  Doug hunched his shoulders, but he looked at his twin sideways under his lashes.

  “Bad magic,” Chris muttered, staring into the distance.

  Cassie looked at Adam.

  “Never,” Adam said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Cassie. Never.”

  Cassie was living with Diana now. “Obviously you can’t stay in that house alone,” Diana had said, and that afternoon she and Laurel and Melanie helped Cassie move her things. Adam and Deborah came too, for protection, pacing around the house restlessly, and most of the other Club members stopped by for one reason or another. Only Faye was conspicuously absent. No one had seen her since she’d disappeared from school.

  The house itself wasn’t too badly damaged, aside from the strange burned places on the floor and some of the doors. The official story, as decided on by the adults who’d come last night to take Cassie’s grandmother’s body away, was that there had been a fire and Mrs. Howard had been frightened into a heart attack. The Club hadn’t mentioned an intruder, and the police hadn’t even cordoned the house off. How the police thought a hardwood floor had caught fire in such a strange pattern, Cassie didn’t know. Nobody had asked her and she certainly wasn’t going down to the station to volunteer anything.

  The house seemed empty and echoing despite the Circle members bustling around it. There was an emptiness inside Cassie, too. She’d never have thought she would miss her grandmother so much—just a stooped old lady with coarse gray hair and a mole on her cheek. But those old eyes had seen a lot, and those knotted hands had been deft and kind. Her grandmother had known things, and she had always made Cassie feel better.

  “I wish I had a picture of her,” Cassie said softly. “My grandma.” Witches didn’t like being photographed, so she didn’t even have that.

  “She was a pretty cool old broad,” Deborah said, slinging a tote bag over one shoulder and picking up a cardboard box full of books and CDs. “You want anything else?”

  Cassie looked around the room. Yes, everything, she thought. She wanted her four-poster bed with the dusty-rose canopy and hangings, and her damask-upholstered chairs, and her solid mahogany chest that was just the color of Nick’s eyes.

  “That’s bombé, that chest of drawers there,” she told Deborah. “It was made here in Massachusetts, the only place in the colonies that produced that style.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Deborah said, unimpressed. “My house is full of it. It weighs a ton and you can’t take it. You want the stereo, or what?”

  “No, I can use Diana’s,” Cassie said sadly. She felt as if she were leaving her life behind. I’m only moving down the road, she reminded herself as Deborah left.

  “Cassie, if you want to stop by and see your mom this afternoon, it’s okay with Great-aunt Constance,” Melanie said, appearing in the doorway. “Any time before dinner.”

  Cassie nodded, feeling something twist in her chest. Her mother. Of course her mom was going to be all right; Melanie’s great-aunt was willing to take care of her, and it would be better for her to stay at Melanie’s house than to be taken—somewhere else. Say what you mean: an institution, she told herself fiercely. If the doctors saw her they’d want to put her in an institution or a hospital. But she doesn’t belong there, and she’s going to be just fine. She needs to rest a little, that’s all.

  “Thanks, Melanie,” she said. “I’ll come after we finish moving. It’s nice of your aunt to take care of her.”

  “With Great-aunt Constance it’s not so much nice; it’s duty,” Melanie said, turning to go. “Great-aunt Constance believes in doing your duty.”

  So do I, Cassie thought, pausing as she picked up a bundle of clothes from the bed. So do I. “I just thought of something—I’ll be down in a second,” she said.

  What she’d thought of was the hematite. One-handed, she opened the jewelry box on the dresser—and then stiffened. She stirred through the contents of the box with her fingers, but it was no use.

  The piece of hematite was gone.

  Panic swelled in Cassie’s throat. She’d kept meaning to do something about the stone, but now that it was out of her hands she realized how dangerous she thought it really was.

  This time, she told herself, you are not going to keep it a secret and worry and stew about it all by yourself. This time you’re going to do what you should have done in the beginning, which is tell Diana.

  Cassie went downstairs. Diana and Laurel were in the herb garden, salvaging things Laurel thought might be useful. Cassie squared her shoulders.

  “Diana,” she said, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Diana’s green eyes widened when Cassie explained about the hematite, how she’d found it, how she’d kept it a secret. No one had known about it except Deborah—and Faye.

  “And now it’s gone,” Cassie said. “I don’t think that means anything good.”

  “No,” Diana said slowly. “I’m sure it doesn’t. Cassie, don’t you see, when you were carrying the hematite, it affected you. It made you do things . . . were you wearing it at the Halloween dance when you tried to make Adam kiss you?”

  “I . . . yes.” Cassie could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. “But, Diana—I wish I could say the hematite made me do that, but it didn’t. It was just me. I wanted to.”

  “Maybe, but I’ll bet you’d wanted to before and you didn’t actually do it. Hematite might not force you to do things against your will, but it makes it easier to give in to things you normally wouldn’t.”

  “Like onyx. Surrender to your shadow-self,” Cassie whispered.

  “Yes,” said Diana.

  “It must be one of us who has it; one of the Circle,” Cassie said. “Because I put it in the box this morning and nobody else has been by the house today. But which one of us?”

  Diana shook her head. Laurel grimaced. “I stick to plants,” she said. “They’re safer, as long as you respect them and know what you’re doing. They don’t influence you.”

  At Diana’s suggestion, the three of them searched Cassie’s room again. But the hematite was nowhere to be found.

  Cassie went to school on Thursday. It was strange to sit in her writing class and see life going on around her as usual. All these people—students counting the days until Thanksgiving vacation, teachers giving their lectures, the vice-principal walking through the halls and looking harried—had no idea what was loose in their community, just waiting to strike again. Of course, Cassie didn’t know exactly, either. What form was Black John going to take now? What would he look like when she saw him next? But she knew there was danger.

  Faye didn’t show up for English. Cassie had to stay after class to explain to Mr. Humphries why she’d been absent for two days. He was sympathetic and told her to take extra time for her next assignment, but it was hard to get away from him. Cassie was already late for algebra when she hurried into the third-floor bathroom. But once in a stall, she heard voices outside that made her
freeze and forget the time.

  They were carrying on a conversation that had obviously been going for a while.

  “And then she was supposed to go back to California,” the first voice was saying. Cassie had heard it too many times not to recognize it. Portia. “But that was obviously a lie too, if it’s the same Cassie I knew.”

  “What did you say she looked like?” asked the other voice. A strident, contentious voice. Cassie recognized Sally Waltman.

  “Oh, she’s just a little nonentity. She’s completely average, average height, a little taller than you . . .”

  A throat-clearing sound from Sally.

  “Not that you’re short, of course. You’re—petite. Anyway, she’s got a fairly slim build, and everything about her is just ordinary: ordinary brownish hair, ordinary little face, ordinary clothes—not anything to write home about. Overall, she’s unutterably dreary—”

  “It’s not the same Cassie,” Sally interrupted curtly. “This one had every guy at Homecoming dance following her around with his tongue hanging out. Including my boyfriend—and look where it got him. She looks ordinary at first, maybe, but there are all sorts of colors in her hair; it changes depending on the light. I’m serious. And I’m sure it’s just an act, but she’s the kind that looks all fragile and sweet, the kind guys are just dying to take care of—and then she starts ordering them around. And she gets away with it, probably because she opens those great big eyes and pretends she thinks she’s inadequate. The ‘Oh, I’m just the girl next door, but I’ll do my best’ routine—they lap it up.”

  Cassie opened her mouth indignantly, then closed it again.

  “And she’s got eyes to kill for,” Sally was going on bitterly. “Not the color, so much—they’re sort of grayish blue—but they’re so big and sincere it’s disgusting. They always look like they’re full of tears just ready to spill. Drives the guys crazy.”