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

  “It’s the magnet perfume. I think Suzan used too much.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s you. You’re a perfect little—gazelle. No, a little white unicorn, one of a kind. I think even Adam has noticed.”

  Cassie went still. “Oh, I doubt that,” she said lightly. “He’s just being polite. You know Adam.”

  “Yes,” said Laurel. “Sir Adam the Chivalrous. He turned around and asked Sally to dance after you left with Jeffrey, and Sally almost decked him.”

  Cassie smiled, but her heart was still pounding. She and Adam had promised not to betray their feelings for each other, not by word or look or deed—but they were making a horrible mess of things tonight on all fronts. Now she was afraid to look for Adam, and she didn’t want to dance any more. She didn’t want to be the belle of the ball; she didn’t want every girl here to be furious with her. She wanted to go to Diana.

  Suzan arrived, her extraordinary chest heaving slightly in her low-cut dress. She directed an arch smile at Cassie.

  “I told you I knew what I was talking about,” she said. “Having a good time?”

  “Wonderful,” Cassie said, digging her nails in one palm. She opened her mouth to say something else, but just then she glimpsed Sean making his way toward her. His face was eager, his usually slinking step purposeful.

  “I should have warned you,” Laurel said in an undertone. “Sean’s been chasing you all night, but some other guy always got there first.”

  “If he does catch you he’ll be all over you like ugly on an ape,” Suzan added pleasantly, rummaging in her purse. “Oh, damn, I gave my lipstick to Deborah. Where is she?”

  “Hi there,” Sean said, reaching them. His small black eyes slid over Cassie. “So you’re free at last.”

  “Not really,” Cassie blurted. “I have to—go find Deborah for Suzan.” What she had to do was get away from all this for a while. “I know where she is; I’ll be right back,” she continued to the startled Suzan and Laurel.

  “I’ll come along,” Sean began instantly, and Laurel opened her mouth, but Cassie waved at both of them in dismissal.

  “No, no—I’ll go by myself. It won’t take a minute,” she said. And then she was away from them, plunging through the crowd toward the double doors.

  She knew where the boiler room was, or at least where the door that led to it was. She’d never actually been inside. By the time she reached C-wing she’d left the music of the dance far behind.

  The door marked CUSTODIAN’S OFFICE opened onto a long narrow room with unidentifiable machinery all around. Generators were humming, drowning out any other noise. It was cool and dank . . . spooky, Cassie thought. There were NO SMOKING signs on the walls and it smelled of oil and gas.

  A stairway descended into the school basement. Cassie slowly went down the steps, gripping the smooth metal handrail. God, it’s like going down into a tomb, she thought. Who would want to spend their time here instead of in the light and music up in the gym?

  The boiler room itself smelled of machine oil and beer. It wasn’t just cool; it was cold. And it was silent, except for the steady dripping of water somewhere.

  A terrible place, Cassie thought shakily. All around her were machines with giant dials, and overhead there were huge pipes of all kinds. It was like being in the bowels of a ship. And it was deserted.

  “Hello? Deborah?”

  No answer.

  “Debby? Chris? It’s Cassie.”

  Maybe they couldn’t hear her. There was another room behind the boiler room; she could glimpse it through an archway beyond the machines.

  She edged toward it, worried about getting oil on Laurel’s pristine dress. She looked through the archway and hesitated, gripped by a strange apprehension.

  Drip. Drip.

  “Is anybody there?”

  A large machine was blocking her way. Uneasily, she poked her head around it.

  At first she thought the room was empty, but then, at eye level, she saw something. Something wrong. And in that instant her throat closed and her mind fragmented, single thoughts flashing across it like explosions from a flashbulb.

  Swinging feet.

  Swinging feet where feet shouldn’t be. Somebody walking on air. Flying like a witch. Only, the feet weren’t flying. They were swinging, back and forth, in two dark brown loafers. Two dark brown loafers with little tassels.

  Cassie looked up at the face.

  The relentless dripping of water went on. The smell of oil and stale alcohol nauseated her.

  Can’t scream. Can’t do anything but gasp.

  Drip and swing.

  That face, that horrible blue face. No more lady-killer smile. I have to do something to help him, but how can I help? Nobody’s neck bends that way when they’re alive.

  Every horrible detail was so clear. The fraying rope. The swinging shadow on the cinder-block wall. The machinery with its dials and switches. And the awful stillness.

  Drip. Drip.

  Swinging like a pendulum.

  Hands covering her mouth, Cassie began to sob.

  She backed away, trying not to see the curly brown hair on the head that was lolling sideways. He couldn’t be dead when she’d just danced with him. He’d just had his arms around her, he’d flashed her that cocksure smile. And now—

  She stepped back and hands fell on her shoulders.

  She did try to scream then, but her throat was paralyzed. Her vision went dark.

  “Steady. Steady. Hang on there.”

  It was Nick.

  “Breathe slower. Put your head down.”

  “Nine-one-one,” she gasped, and then, clearly and distinctly so that he would understand, “Call nine-one-one, Nick. Jeffrey—”

  He cast a hard glance at the swinging feet. “He doesn’t need a doctor. Do you?”

  “I—” She was hanging on to his hand. “I came down to get Deborah.”

  “She’s in the old science building. They got busted here.”

  “And I saw him—Jeffrey—”

  Nick’s arm was comforting, solid. “I get the picture,” he said. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I can’t. It’s Laurel’s dress.” She was completely irrational, she realized. She tried desperately to get a grip on herself. “Nick, please let me go. I have to call an ambulance.”

  “Cassie.” She couldn’t remember him ever saying her name before, but now he was holding her shoulders and looking her directly in the face. “No ambulance is going to do him any good. You got that? Now just calm down.”

  Cassie stared into his polished-mahogany eyes, then slowly nodded. The gasping was easing up. She was grateful for his arm around her, although some part of her mind was standing back in disbelief—Nick was comforting her? Nick, who hated girls and was coldly polite to them at best?

  “What’s going on here?”

  Cassie spun to see Adam in the archway. But when she tried to speak, her throat closed completely and hot tears flooded her eyes.

  Nick said, “She’s a little upset. She just found Jeffrey Lovejoy hanging from a pipe.”

  “What?” Adam moved swiftly to look around the machine. He came back looking grim and alert, his eyes glinting silver as they always did in times of trouble.

  “How much do you know about this?” he asked Nick crisply.

  “I came down to get something I left,” Nick said, equally short. “I found her about ready to keel over. And that’s all.”

  Adam’s expression had softened slightly. “Are you okay?” he said to Cassie. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. Then Suzan said you’d gone to look for Deborah, but that you were looking in the wrong place.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached out to take her from Nick—and Nick resisted. For a moment there was tension between the two boys and Cassie looked from one to the other with dawning surprise and alarm.

  She moved away from both. “I’m all right,” she said. And, strangely, say
ing so made it almost true. It was partly necessity and partly something else—her witch senses were telling her something. She had a feeling of malice, of evil. Of darkness.

  “The dark energy,” she whispered.

  Adam looked more keen and alert. “You think—?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do. But if only we could tell for sure . . .” Her mind was racing. Jeffrey. Jeffrey’s body swinging like a pendulum. “Usually we use clear quartz as a pendulum . . .”

  She snatched Melanie’s necklace off and held it up, looking at the teardrop of quartz crystal.

  “If the dark energy was here, maybe we can trace it,” she said, fired with the idea. “See where it came from—or where it went. If you guys will help.”

  Nick was looking skeptical, but Adam cut in before he could speak. “Of course we’ll help. But it’s dangerous; we’ve got to be careful.” His fingers gripped her arm reassuringly.

  “Then—we have to go back in there,” Cassie said, and before she could change her mind she moved, darting into the far room where the feet still swung. Nick and Adam were close behind her. Without letting herself think, she held the crystal up high, watching it shimmer in the light.

  At first it just spun in circles. But then it began to seesaw violently, pointing out a direction.

  Chapter 7

  Cassie followed the motion of the crystal. It was pointing upstairs, she decided—the opposite direction led into a wall.

  “We’d better get out in the open, anyway,” Adam said. “Otherwise we might not be able to follow it.”

  Cassie nodded. She and Adam were speaking quickly, tensely—but calmly. Their violent agitation was held just under the surface, kept down by sheer willpower. Having something to do was what made the difference, she thought as they climbed the stairs. She couldn’t afford to have hysterics now; she had to keep her mind clear to trace Jeffrey’s killer.

  In the hallway outside the custodian’s office they ran into Deborah and the Henderson brothers.

  “Adam, dude, what’s goin’ on?” Chris said. Cassie saw that he’d been drinking. “We were just comin’ down for a little liquid refreshment, you know—”

  “Not down there,” Adam said shortly. He looked at Doug, who seemed less inebriated. “Go get Melanie,” he said, “and tell her to call the police. Jeffrey Lovejoy’s been murdered.”

  “Are you serious?” Deborah demanded. The fierce light was in her face again. “All right!”

  “Don’t,” said Cassie before she could stop herself. “You haven’t seen him. It’s terrible—and it’s nothing to joke about.”

  Adam’s arm shot out as Deborah started toward her. “Why don’t you help us instead of picking fights with our side? We’re trying to trace the dark energy that killed him.”

  “The dark energy,” Deborah repeated scornfully.

  Cassie took a quick breath, but Nick was speaking. “I think it’s garbage too,” he said calmly. “But if it wasn’t the dark energy, that means a person did it—like somebody who had a grudge against Jeffrey.” He stared at Deborah, his eyes hard.

  Deborah stared back arrogantly. Cassie looked at her as she stood there in her short black tank dress—more like a sleeveless top than a dress—and her suede boots. Deborah was belligerent, antagonistic, hostile—and strong. For the first time in a long while Cassie noticed the crescent-moon tattoo on Deborah’s collarbone.

  “Why don’t you help us, Deborah?” she said. “This crystal is picking something up—or it was before we all started talking. Help us find what it’s tracing.” And then she added, inspired by some instinct below the level of consciousness, “Of course, it’s probably dangerous—”

  “So what? You think I’m scared?” Deborah demanded. “All right, I’m coming. You guys get out of here,” she told the Hendersons.

  Somewhat to Cassie’s surprise, Chris and Doug did, presumably going off to tell Melanie.

  “All right,” Cassie said, holding the crystal up again. She was afraid that it wouldn’t do anything now that their concentration had been broken. And at first it simply hung at the end of the chain, swaying very slightly. But then, as the four of them stared at it, the swaying slowly became more pronounced. Cassie held her breath, trying to keep her hand from trembling. She didn’t want to influence the crystal in any way.

  It was definitely swinging now. In toward the boiler room and out toward the front of the school.

  “Due east,” Adam said in a low voice.

  Holding the crystal high in her left hand, Cassie followed the direction of the swing, down the hallway.

  Outside, the moon was almost full, high in the sky, dropping west behind them.

  “The Blood Moon,” Adam said quietly. Cassie remembered Diana saying that witches counted their year by moons, not months. The name of this one was hideously appropriate, but she didn’t look back at it again. She was focusing on the crystal.

  At first they walked through town, with closed stores and empty buildings on either side of them. Nothing stayed open past midnight in New Salem. Then the stores became less frequent, and there were a few clustered houses. Finally they were walking down a road which got lonelier and lonelier with every step, and all that surrounded them were the night noises.

  There was no human habitation out here, but the moon was bright enough to see by. Their shadows stretched in front of them as they went. The air was cold, and Cassie shivered without taking her eyes off the crystal.

  She felt something slip over her shoulders. Adam’s jacket. She glanced at him gratefully, then quickly looked at the crystal again; if she faltered in her concentration it seemed to falter too, losing decisiveness and slowing almost to a random bobbing. It never swung as vigorously as the peridot had done for Diana—but then, Cassie wasn’t Diana, and she didn’t have a nearly full coven to back her.

  Behind her, she heard Adam say sharply, “Nick?” And then Deborah’s derisive snort, “I wouldn’t take it, anyway. I never get cold.”

  They were on a narrow dirt road now, still heading east. Suddenly Cassie had a terrible thought.

  Oh, my God—Faye’s house. That’s where we set it loose and that’s where we’re going. We’re going to trace this stuff all the way back to Faye’s bedroom . . . and then what?

  The coldness that went through her now was deeper and more numbing than the night wind. If the dark energy that had exploded through Faye’s ceiling had killed Jeffrey, Cassie was as guilty as Faye was. She was a murderer.

  Then stop tracing it, a thin voice inside her whispered. You’re controlling the crystal; give it a twirl in the wrong direction.

  But she didn’t. She kept her eyes on the quartz teardrop, which seemed to shine with a milky light in the darkness, and she let it swing the way it wanted to.

  If the truth comes out, it comes out, she told herself coldly. And if she was a murderer, she deserved to be caught. She was going to follow this trail wherever it led.

  But it didn’t seem to be leading to Crowhaven Road. They were still going east, not northeast. And suddenly the narrow, rutted road they were on began to seem familiar.

  Up ahead she glimpsed a chain-link fence.

  “The cemetery,” Adam said softly.

  “Wait,” said Deborah. “Did you see—there, look!”

  “At what, the cemetery?” Adam asked.

  “No! At that thing—there it is again! Up there on the road.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Nick said.

  “You have to. See, it’s moving—”

  “I see a shadow,” Adam said. “Or maybe a possum or something . . .”

  “No, it’s big,” Deborah insisted. “There! Can’t you see that?”

  Cassie looked up at last; she couldn’t help it. The lonely road in front of her seemed dark and still at first, but then she saw—something. A shadow, she thought . . . but a shadow of what? It didn’t lie along the road as a shadow ought to. It seemed to be standing high, and it was moving.

  “I don�
�t see anything,” Nick said again, curtly.

  “Then you’re blind,” Deborah snapped. “It’s like a person.”

  Under Adam’s jacket, Cassie’s skin was rising in goose pimples. It did look like a person—except that it seemed to change every minute, now taller, now shorter, now wider, now thinner. At times it disappeared completely.

  “It’s heading for the cemetery,” Deborah said.

  “No—look! It’s veering off toward the shed,” Adam cried. “Nick, come on!”

  Beside the road was an abandoned shed. Even in the moonlight it was clear that it was falling to pieces. The dim shape seemed to whisk toward it, merging with the darkness behind it.

  Adam and Nick were running, Nick snarling, “We’re chasing after nothing!” Deborah was standing poised, tense and alert, scanning the roadside. Cassie looked at the chain in dismay. Everyone’s concentration had been shattered, the crystal was gyrating aimlessly. She looked up to say something—and drew in a quick breath.

  “There it is!”

  It had reappeared beside the shed, and it was moving fast. It went through the chain-link fence.

  Deborah was after it in an instant, running like a deer. And Cassie, without any idea of what she was doing, was right behind her.

  “Adam!” she shouted. “Nick! This way!”

  Deborah reached the waist-high fence and went over it, her tank dress not hindering her at all. Cassie reached it a second later, hesitated, then got a foothold in a chain link, flicking her skirts out of the way as she boosted herself over. She came down with a jolt that hurt her ankle, but there was no time to worry about it. Deborah was racing ahead.

  “I’ve got it,” Deborah shouted, suddenly pulling up short. “I’ve got it!”

  Cassie could see it just in front of Deborah. It had stopped in its straight-line flight and was darting from side to side as if looking for escape. Deborah was darting, too, blocking it as if she were a guard on a basketball team.

  We must be crazy, Cassie thought, as she reached the other girl. She couldn’t leave Deborah to face the shadowy thing alone—but what were they going to do with it?