THE SECRET CIRCLE 1 - The Initiation

by L. J. Smith

  Cassie frowned and forgot to rub her arms. She took a step or two down and leaned forward, looking again. The red at the bottom of the hill was almost too red, too bright. She'd never known foliage could turn that color. It wasn't natural.

  A violent shiver went through her. God, it was cold. Whatever was down there was half hidden by the underbrush, but it wasn't a bush itself, she decided. It looked more like a sweater somebody had discarded.

  It'll get ruined, lying on the damp ground like that, Cassie thought. Whoever owns it is going to be unhappy.

  She took another step down. Of course, it's probably ruined already—or maybe it's just a scrap somebody's thrown out.

  But it didn't look like a scrap. It had a shape—she could see what looked like the sweater's arm. In fact, it looked like a whole bundle of clothes. See, there was something like jeans lying below it…

  Suddenly Cassie couldn't breathe.

  That's funny—that's really funny, because it looks almost like a person. But that would be so stupid—it's cold and wet on the ground. Anybody lying down there would freeze—

  She was moving down the steps quickly now.

  Stupid—but it really does look a lot like somebody. See, there's legs. That yellow could be hair. They must be asleep—but who would go to sleep like that? Right beside the road. Of course, the weeds and stuff screen them—

  She was very close now, and everything had gone into slow motion—everything but her whirling, reeling thoughts.

  Oh, thank God—it isn't a person after all; it's just a dummy. Like one of those stuffed scarecrow things they put out at Halloween to scare people. See, it's all floppy in the middle… no person could bend that way… the neck looks like the neck of that doll in my locker. Like somebody pulled the head out…

  Cassie's own body was reacting strangely. Her chest was heaving and her muscles were shaking. Her knees were trembling so hard she could scarcely remain standing. And her vision was sparkling at the edges as if she were going to faint.

  Thank God, it's not a person—but oh, my God, is that a hand? Dummies don't have hands like that… not hands with little pink fingers… and dummies don't wear rings, turquoise rings…

  Where had she seen a ring like that before?

  Look at it closer; no, don't look, don't look—

  But she had seen. The hand, stiff as a claw, was human. And the ring was Kori's.

  Cassie didn't realize that she was screaming until she was halfway up the hill. Her legs, which had been trembling so badly, were taking her up in leaps and surges. And she was screaming over and over again: "Help, help, help." Only they were such thin, pathetic little shrieks—it was no wonder no one heard her. It was like one of those nightmares where your vocal cords are paralyzed.

  But someone had heard. As she reached the top of the hill Diana appeared, running. She caught Cassie by the shoulders.

  "What is it?"

  "Kori!" Cassie gasped in a strangled voice. She could hardly speak. "Diana—help Kori! She's hurt. Something's wrong—" She knew it was more than something wrong, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. "Help her, please—"

  "Where?" Diana cut in sharply.

  "The bottom. Bottom of the hill. But don't go down there," Cassie gasped illogically. Oh, God, she was completely falling apart. She couldn't cope—but she couldn't let Diana go down there alone, either.

  Diana was flying down the stairs. Stiff-legged, Cassie followed. She saw Diana reach the bottom and hesitate, then swiftly kneel and bend forward.

  "Is she—?" Cassie's hands were clenched.

  Diana straightened up. Cassie saw the answer in the set of her shoulders. "She's cold. She's dead."

  Then Diana turned around. Her face was white, her green eyes burning. Something in her expression gave Cassie strength, and she stumbled down the last two steps and flung her arms around her.

  She could feel Diana shaking, clinging to her. Kori had been Diana's friend, not hers.

  "It'll be okay. It'll be okay," she gasped, illogical again. There was no way for this to be okay, ever. And over and over in Cassie's mind other words were echoing.

  Someday they may find you at the bottom of those stairs with a broken neck. Someday they may find you…

  Kori's neck was broken.

  That was what the police doctor said. After Cassie and Diana went back up the stairs, everything that day seemed like a dream. Adults came and took over. School officials, the police, the doctor. They asked questions. They made notes in their notebooks. Throughout it all the kids in the school stood aside and watched. They weren't part of the adults' process. They had questions of their own.

  "What are we waiting for? Why don't we just get her?" Deborah was saying as Cassie came into the back room. It wasn't her lunch period, but all the rules seemed to have been suspended that day.

  "We all heard her say it," Deborah was continuing. "Suzan, Faye, and me—even she heard it." She gestured at Cassie, who was numbly trying to get a can of juice out of the machine. "That bitch said she was going to do it, and she did it. So what are we waiting for?"

  "For the truth," Melanie said quietly and coldly.

  "From them? Outsiders? You can't be serious. They'll never admit Sally did it. The police are saying it was an accident. An accident! No sign of a struggle, they're saying. She slipped on a wet step. And you know what the kids are saying? They're saying it was one of us!"

  Laurel looked up from the hot water she was pouring over some dried leaves in a mug. The end of her nose was pink. "Maybe it was one of us," she said.

  "Like who?" Deborah blazed back.

  "Like somebody who didn't want her in the Club. Somebody who was afraid she'd come in on the wrong side," said Laurel.

  "And we all know which side would be afraid," said a new voice, and Cassie jerked around, nearly dropping her juice.

  It was Faye. Cassie had never seen her in the back room before, but she was here now, her honey-colored eyes hooded and smoldering.

  "Well, Diana's side certainly had nothing to be afraid of," Laurel said. "Kori idolized Diana."

  "Did she? Then why did she spend the last week having lunch with me?" Faye said in her slow, husky voice.

  Laurel stared, looking uncertain. Then her face cleared and she shook her head. "I don't care what you say; you're never going to make me believe Diana would hurt Kori."

  "She's right," Suzan put in, to Cassie's surprise. "Diana wouldn't."

  "Besides, we already know who would," Deborah said sharply. "It was Sally—or maybe that moron boyfriend of hers. I say we get them—now!"

  "She's right," said Sean.

  Laurel looked at him, then at Deborah, then at Faye. "What do you think, Melanie?" she said finally.

  Melanie's voice was still quiet, detached. "I think we need to have a meeting," she said.

  Sean bobbed his head. "She's right," he said.

  Just then Diana came in. The Henderson brothers were behind her. They both looked ravaged—and bewildered. As if they couldn't understand how this could happen to them. Chris's eyes were red-rimmed.

  Everyone sobered at the sight of the brothers. There was silence as they sat down at the table.

  Then Faye turned to Diana. Her golden eyes were like two golden flames. "Sit down," she said flatly. "We need to talk."

  "Yes," said Diana.

  She sat down, and so did Faye. Laurel, after putting two cups of hot liquid in front of the Henderson brothers, did the same. Deborah jerked out a chair and threw herself into it. Suzan and Melanie had already been seated.

  Everyone turned to look at Cassie.

  Their faces were strange. Alien. Laurel's normally elfin face was closed. Melanie's cool gray eyes were more remote than ever; Suzan's pouting lips were compressed tightly; Deborah's fierceness was barely kept in check. Even Sean's usually furtive expression had an unprecedented dignity. Diana was pale and stern.

  The glass door swung open and Nick came in. His face was like a cold and handsom
e stone, revealing nothing, but he sat down at the table beside Doug.

  Cassie was the only one in the room left standing. She looked at them, the members of the Club, and they looked at her. No one needed to say anything. She turned around and left the room.

  Eleven

  Cassie didn't know where she was going. The school was trying to hold classes, even though there were probably more kids outside the classrooms than inside. They were in the halls, on the stairs, hanging around the main entrance. Cassie looked dazedly at a clock and then went to her science class, conceptual physics. She could probably call her mom and just go home if she liked, but she didn't want to face her mother right now. She just wanted to try and pretend to be normal.

  As she sat taking meaningless notes, she could feel eyes on her. She had the odd feeling that she'd been transported back in time and that it was two weeks ago, when Faye had blackballed her. But after class she saw the difference. People kept coming up to her and murmuring, "Are you okay?" and "How're you doing?" They looked ill at ease—as if they didn't want to be talking to her but felt they'd better. After her last class there were more little visits: people coming in groups of two or three to say, "Sorry" or "Just want you to know we'll miss her too."

  The truth of it struck her suddenly, and she almost laughed at the irony. They were condolence calls! Cassie was standing in for the Club. All of these outsiders were coming to her, not realizing that she was as much outside as any of them.

  When a cheerleader came and said, "Oh, this must be so hard for you," Cassie lost it.

  "I didn't even know her!" she burst out. "I only spoke to her once in my life!"

  The cheerleader backed off hastily. After that the condolence calls stopped.

  Ms. Lanning, the history teacher, drove Cassie home. She sidestepped her mother's worried questioning—apparently the school had called to explain what had happened—and went outside. She climbed down the steep bluff to the beach below her grandmother's house.

  The ocean had never looked bleaker. It was a heavy, shining silver color—like the mercury in a thermometer. The day, which had started out so bright, had turned overcast, and it got darker and darker as Cassie paced.

  And paced. This beach had been one of the good things about living here—but what good was it now? She was walking on it alone.

  Her chest was bursting. It was as if all the terrible events of the day were locked inside her, struggling to get out. But there was no release.

  She'd thought being an outcast at school was the worst thing that could happen to her. But it was worse to almost belong, and to know inside that you didn't, and never would. She knew it was selfish to care about herself after what had happened to Kori, but she couldn't help it. With all the rage of confusion and pain inside her, she almost envied Kori. Kori was dead, but she still belonged. She had a place.

  Cassie, on the other hand, had never felt so lonely.

  The sky was dark gray. The ocean stretched out endlessly beneath it, even darker. Looking at it, Cassie felt a strange and terrible fascination. If she just started walking toward it and kept on going…

  Stop that! she thought savagely. Get hold of yourself.

  But it would be so easy…

  Yes, and then you'd really be alone. Alone forever, in the dark. Sounds good, doesn't it, Cassie?

  Shivering violently, she wrenched herself away from the whispering gray waters. Her feet were numb and cold and her fingers felt like ice. She stumbled as she climbed up the narrow, rocky path.

  That night, she pulled all the curtains shut in her room so she wouldn't have to see the ocean or the darkness outside. Chest aching, she opened her jewelry box and took out the piece of chalcedony.

  I haven't touched your gift in a while. But I've thought about you. Whatever I'm doing, wherever I am, you're somewhere in my mind. And oh, how I wish…

  Her hand shook as she shut her eyes and put the stone to her lips. She felt the familiar crystalline roughness, the coolness of it warming to her warmth. Her breath came more quickly and tears started to her eyes. Oh, someday, someday, she thought…

  Then her mouth twisted in pain. A surge of something like lava welled up in her chest, and she threw the stone as hard as she could across the room. It hit the wall with a sharp sound and fell, clattering, to the floor.

  Someday nothing! the cruel voice inside her cried. Stop fooling yourself! You'll never see him again.

  She lay in bed staring with sore eyes into the dimness, lit by a small night-light on the far wall. She couldn't cry. All her tears had been scorched away. But her heart felt as if it had been torn open.

  Cassie was dreaming of the ocean—the dark and endless ocean. The ship was in trouble—she could hear the timbers creaking beneath her. They were going aground. And something was lost… lost…

  She came awake all at once, sucking in her breath. Was that a noise?

  Body tense, she listened. Silence. Her eyes struggled to pierce the darkness. The night-light had gone out.

  Why hadn't it occurred to her to be afraid earlier? What had been wrong with her this evening? She'd gone out there on the beach alone, never even wondering if the person who'd killed Kori might be watching, waiting…

  Accident, she thought, every sense alert and straining. They said it was probably an accident. But her heart was thundering dizzily. She seemed to see scintillating lights in the darkness. And she could feel …

  A presence. Like a shadow in front of her. Oh, God, she could feel it. She sensed it like a pressure on her skin, like a radiation of cold. There was something in her bedroom.

  Her eyes were staring into the utter blackness, her body trembling with tension. Insane as it was, she had the wild thought that if she didn't move, didn't make a sound, it couldn't find her.

  But she was wrong.

  She heard a shuffling noise, a stealthy advancing. Then the unmistakable creak of a floorboard.

  It was coming toward her.

  Suddenly she could move. She drew in breath for a scream—and there was a rush in the darkness and something clapped over her mouth.

  Instantly, everything changed. Before, all had been stillness, now all was dizzy motion. She was fighting. It didn't do any good; her arms were being caught and held. Something else had her feet.

  She was being rolled over and over. Wrapped in the sheet. She couldn't move. Her arms were trapped in the material. She was trying to kick, but her feet were trapped too.

  She felt herself being lifted. She couldn't scream; she was choking. Something was over her head, suffocating her. And the most terrible thing was the silence, the utter, continuing silence. Whatever had her was as noiseless as a ghost.

  As a ghost… and she herself was now wrapped in a shroud. Wild thoughts careened in Cassie's head.

  It was taking her out of her bedroom. Taking her downstairs—out of the house. It was taking her outside to bury her.

  She had envied Kori—now she was going to join her. It was going to put her in the ground—or in the sea. Frantic, she tried to thrash, but the restraining material was too tight.

  She had never been so frightened.

  In time, though, the violence of her first panic exhausted itself. It was like fighting against a strait jacket; her struggles only served to tire her out. And overheat her. She was smothering and she was so hot… if only she could breathe…

  Panting, Cassie felt her body go limp. For the next few minutes all her concentration was devoted to getting enough air. Then, slowly, she began to think again.

  She was being carried by more than one person. That was certain. Her arms and legs were being restrained not only by the winding material of the sheet, but by hands.

  Human hands? Or… images flooded her mind. Images out of horror movies. Skeletal hands barely covered by withered flesh. Dusky hands with nail beds the cyanotic blue of death. Mutilated hands, hands from the grave…

  Oh, God, please… I'll lose my mind. Please make it stop or I'll die. I'll die of terro
r. Nobody can be this frightened and live.

  But it wasn't so easy just to die after all. It didn't stop, and she went on living. It was like a nightmare, but Cassie knew she was not asleep. She could pray all she wanted, but she wouldn't wake up.

  Then everything stopped.

  She was no longer being carried; she was being held. Then tilted… her legs kicked and touched ground. She was being set on her feet. The sheet was unwinding; she felt a breeze on her legs, and her nightgown hem flapping against them. Her arms were free.

  Weakly she grabbed out, and her wrists were caught and held behind her. She still couldn't see. Something was over her head, some kind of hood. It was hot inside, and she was breathing her own carbon dioxide. She swayed, wanting to kick, to fight again, and knowing she didn't have the strength.

  Then, from directly behind her, she heard a sound that changed everything.

  It was a chuckle.

  Slow and rich. Amused. But with a grim edge to it.

  Unmistakable.

  Faye.

  Cassie thought she had been frightened before. She'd imagined ghosts, the living dead come to drag her back into the ground with them. But all those wild and supernatural fears were nothing compared to the sheer terror she felt now.

  In one blinding instant she put it all together. Faye had killed Kori. The way she was going to kill Cassie now.

  "Walk," Faye said, and Cassie felt a push in the center of her back. Her hands had been tied together behind her. She staggered and then took a step. "Straight ahead," Faye said.

  Cassie staggered another step, and an arm steadied her. It came from the side. Faye wasn't alone, then. Well, of course not; she couldn't have carried Cassie by herself.

  Cassie had never realized how important it was to see. It was terrifying to be made to walk like this, on and on into nothingness. For all she knew Faye might be marching her straight off a cliff.

  No, not off a cliff. They weren't on a bluff; they were on the beach. Although she couldn't see, now that she was no longer wrapped in the sheet her other senses were functioning. From her left came the slow, rhythmic roar of waves. Very close. Under her feet she could feel crumbling, slightly damp sand. The breeze that lifted her nightgown around her calves was cold and fresh. It smelled of salt and seaweed.