The Secret Circle: The Captive Part II and The Power (2 page)

“Come in, Cassie. Everybody’s in the den,” she said.

Cassie could hear music as they approached a room off the entrance hall. It was furnished in the same opulent and luxurious style as the rest of the house. Noise from a huge TV was competing with some song by Madonna being blasted out of a magnificent stereo unit. With all this technology, the dozens of candles stuck in various kinds of holders around the room seemed incongruous.

“Turn that stuff down,” Faye ordered. Suzan, pouting, pointed a remote control at the stereo, while Deborah muted the TV. Apparently Faye had forgiven them as well.

“Now,” Faye said, with a feline smile at Cassie, “I’ll explain. The housekeeper has the day off, and my mother is sick in bed—”

“As usual,” Deborah interrupted, to Cassie. “Her mom spends ninety-five percent of her life in bed. Nerves.”

Faye’s eyebrows arched and she said, “Yes, well, it’s certainly
convenient
, isn’t it? At times like this.” She turned back to Cassie and went on, “So we’re going to have a little pizza party. You’ll help out getting things ready, won’t you?”

Cassie was tingling with relief. A pizza party. She’d been imagining—oh, all sorts of strange things. “I’ll help,” she said.

“Then let’s get started. Suzan will show you what
to do.”

Cassie followed Suzan’s directions. They lit the red and pink candles and started a low, crackling fire in the fireplace. They lit incense, too, which Suzan said was composed of ginger root, cardamom, and neroli oil. It was pungent, but delicious smelling.

Faye, meanwhile, was placing crystals about the room. Cassie recognized them—garnets and carnelians, fire opals and pink tourmelines. And Suzan, Cassie noticed, was wearing a carnelian necklace which harmonized with her strawberry-blond hair, while Faye was wearing more than her usual number of star rubies.

Deborah switched off the lamps and went to fiddle with the stereo. The music that began to rise was like nothing Cassie had ever heard. It was low and throbbing, some primal beat that seemed to get into her blood. It started out softly, but seemed to be getting almost imperceptibly louder.

“All right,” Faye said, standing back to survey their work. “It’s looking good. I’ll get the drinks.”

Cassie looked over the room herself. Warm; it looked warm and inviting, especially when compared with the chilly October weather outside. The candles and the fire made a rosy glow, and the soft, insistent music filled the air. The incense was spicy, intoxicating, and somehow sensuous, and the smoke threw a slight haze over the room.

It looks like an opium den or something, Cassie thought, simultaneously fascinated and horrified, just as Faye came back with a silver tray.

Cassie stared. She’d expected, maybe, a six-pack of soda—or maybe a six-pack of something else, knowing Deborah. She should have known Faye would never stoop to anything so inelegant. On the tray was a crystal decanter and eight small crystal glasses. The decanter was half full of some clear ruby-colored liquid.

“Sit down,” Faye said, pouring into four of the glasses. And then, at Cassie’s doubtful look, she smiled. “It’s not alcoholic. Try it and see. Oh, go
on
.”

Warily, Cassie took a sip. It had a subtle, faintly sweet taste and it made her feel flushed with warmth right down to her fingertips.

“What’s in it?” she asked, peering into her glass.

“Oh, this and that. It’s—stimulating, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” Cassie took another sip.

“And now,” Faye smiled, “we can play Pizza Man.”

There was a pause, then Cassie said, “Pizza Man?”

“Pizza Man He Delivers,” Suzan said, and giggled.

“Otherwise known as watching guys make fools of themselves,” Deborah said, grinning savagely. She might have gone on, but Faye interrupted.

“Let’s not
tell
Cassie; let’s just show her,” she said. “Where’s the phone?” Deborah handed her a cordless phone.

Suzan produced the yellow pages, and after a few moments of thumbing and scanning, read out a number.

Faye dialed. “Hello?” she said pleasantly. “I’d like to order a large pizza, with pepperoni, olives, and mushrooms.” She gave her address and phone number. “That’s right, New Salem,” she said. “Can you tell me how long it will be? All right; thanks. ’Bye.”

She hung up, looked at Suzan, and said, “Next.”

And then, to Cassie’s growing astonishment, she did it all over again.

Six times.

By the end of it, Faye had ordered seven large pizzas, all with the same toppings. Cassie, who was feeling somewhat dizzy from the smell of incense, wondered just how many people Faye was planning to feed.

“Who’s coming to this party—the entire Mormon Tabernacle Choir?” she whispered to Suzan. Suzan dimpled.

“I hope not. It’s not choirboys we’re interested in.”

“That’s enough,” said Faye. “Just wait, Cassie, and you’ll see.”

When the doorbell rang the first time, Faye, Suzan, and Deborah went into the parlor and looked through the window. Cassie followed and looked too. The porch light revealed a young man holding a greasy cardboard box.

“Hmm,” said Faye. “Not bad. Not terrific, but not bad.”

“I think he’s fine,” Suzan said. “Look at those shoulders. Let’s take him.”

With Cassie trailing behind, they all went into the hall.

“Well, hello,” Faye said, opening the door. “Do you mind coming inside and putting it over here? I left my purse in the other room.” As Cassie watched with widening eyes, they escorted the guy into the warmth of the luxurious, richly scented den. Cassie saw him blink, then saw a stupefied expression cross his face.

Deborah took the pizza from him. “You know,” Faye said, biting the pen she had poised over a checkbook, “you look a little tired. Why don’t you sit down? Are you thirsty?”

Suzan was pouring a glassful of the clear ruby liquid. She held it out to him with a smile. The delivery boy wet his lips, looking dazed. Cassie could understand why. She thought there was probably no guy in the world who could resist Suzan, with her cloud of strawberry-gold hair and her low-cut blouse, holding out a crystal glass. Suzan leaned over a little farther as she offered it to him, and the guy took the drink.

Deborah and Faye exchanged knowing glances. “I’ll go move his car around the side,” Deborah murmured, and left.

“My name’s Suzan,” Suzan said to the guy, as she sank into the cushiony couch beside him. “What’s yours?”

Deborah had barely returned when the doorbell rang again.

Chapter 2

“Y
uck,” Deborah said, as they peered out the parlor window again. This delivery guy was skinny, with lank hair and acne.

Faye was already moving to the front door. “Pizza? We didn’t order any pizza. I don’t care who you called to confirm it, we don’t want it.” She shut the door in his face, and after a few minutes of hanging around the porch he went away.

As his delivery van was pulling out, another one pulled in. The tall, blond guy with the cardboard box kept looking behind him at the receding rival van as he walked to the door.

“Now
this
is more like it,” Faye said.

When they brought the blond delivery guy into the den, Suzan and the muscular one were entangled on the couch. The pair disengaged themselves, the boy still looking foggy, and Faye poured the new guest a drink.

Within the next hour, the doorbell rang four more times and they collected two more delivery boys. Suzan divided her attention between the muscular one and a new one with high cheekbones who said he was part Native American. The other new one, who looked younger than the others and had soft-brown eyes, sat nervously next to Cassie.

“This is weird,” he said, looking around the room, and taking another gulp from his glass. “This is so weird . . . I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve got deliveries to make . . .” Then he said, “Gee, you’re pretty.”

Gee?
thought Cassie. Gosh. Golly. Oh, my
God
. “Thanks,” she said weakly, and glanced around the room for help.

None was forthcoming. Faye, looking sultry and exuding sensuality, was running one long crimson fingernail up and down the blond guy’s sleeve. Suzan was sunk deep in the couch with an admirer on either side. Deborah was sitting on the arm of an overstuffed chair, eyes slitted and rather scornful.

“Can I put my arm around you?” the brown-eyed boy was asking hesitantly.

Boys aren’t toys, Cassie thought. Even if this one did look like a teddy bear. Faye had brought these guys here to play with, and that was wrong . . . wasn’t it? They didn’t know what they were doing; they didn’t have any
choice
.

“I just moved up here last summer from South Carolina,” the boy was going on. “I had a girl back there . . . but now I’m so lonely . . .”

Cassie knew the feeling. This was a
nice
guy, her age, and his brown eyes, though a little glassy, were appealing. She didn’t scream when he put his arm around her, where it rested warmly and a little awkwardly around her shoulders.

She felt light-headed. Something about the incense . . . or the crystals, she thought. The music seemed to be pulsing inside her. She should be embarrassed by what was going on in this room—she
was
embarrassed—but there was something exciting about it too.

Some of the candles had gone out, making it darker.

The warmth around Cassie’s shoulders was nice. She thought of yesterday night, when she’d wanted so much for someone to comfort her, to hold her. To make her feel not alone.

“I don’t know why, but I really like you,” the brown-eyed boy was saying. “I never felt like this before.”

Why not do it? She was already—bad. And she wanted to be close to
somebody
. . .

The brown-eyed boy leaned in to kiss her.

That was when Cassie knew it was wrong. Not the way kissing Adam was wrong, but wrong for
her
. She didn’t want to kiss him. Every individual cell in her body was protesting, panicking. She wiggled out from under him like an eel and jumped up.

Faye and the blond guy were also on their feet, heading out of the room. So were Suzan and her unmatched pair.

“We’re just going upstairs,” Faye said in her husky voice. “There’s more room up there. Lots of rooms, in fact.”

“No,” Cassie said.

A hint of a frown creased Faye’s forehead, then she smiled and went over to Cassie, speaking in low tones. “Cassie, I’m disappointed in you,” she said. “After your performance at the dance, I really thought you were one of us. And it’s not
nearly
as wicked as some other things you’ve done. You can do anything you want with these guys, and they’ll like it.”

“No,” Cassie said again. “You told me to come over and I did. But I don’t want to stay.” Her eyes were smarting and she had trouble keeping her voice steady.

Faye looked exasperated. “Oh, all right. If you don’t want to have fun, I can’t make you. Go.”

Relief washed over Cassie. With one glance back at the brown-eyed boy, she hurried to the door. After last night’s dream, she’d been so frightened . . . she hadn’t been sure what Faye would do to her. But she was getting away.

Faye’s voice caught her at the door, and she waited until she had Cassie’s full attention before speaking.

“Maybe next time,” she said.

Cassie’s entire skin was tingling as she hurried away from Faye’s house. She just wanted to get home, to be safe . . .

“Hey, wait a minute,” Deborah called after her.

Reluctantly, Cassie turned and waited. She was braced as if for a blow.

Deborah came up quickly, her step light and controlled as always. Her dark hair was tumbling in waves around her small face and falling into her eyes. Her chin was slightly out-thrust as usual, but her expression wasn’t hostile.

“I’m leaving too. You want a ride?” she said.

Instantly memories of the last “ride” she’d accepted flashed through Cassie’s mind. But she didn’t exactly like to refuse Deborah. After Faye’s parting words, Cassie was feeling small and soft and vulnerable—like something that could be easily squashed. And besides . . . well, it wasn’t often Deborah made a gesture like this.

“Okay, thanks,” Cassie said after only a moment’s hesitation. She didn’t ask if they should be wearing helmets. She didn’t think Deborah would appreciate the question.

Cassie had never been on a motorcycle before. It seemed bigger when she was trying to get on it than it had looked just standing there. Once she was on, though, it felt surprisingly stable. She wasn’t afraid of falling off.

“Hang on to me,” Deborah said. And then, with an incredibly loud noise, they were moving.

It was the most exhilarating feeling—flying through the air. Like witches on broomsticks, Cassie thought. Wind roared in Cassie’s face, whipped her hair back. It whipped Deborah’s hair into Cassie’s eyes so she couldn’t see.

As Deborah accelerated, it became terrifying. Cassie was sure she’d never gone this fast before. The wind felt icy cold. They were racing forward into darkness, far too fast for safety on a rural road. The houses on Crowhaven were far behind. Cassie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Everything was the wind and the road and the feeling of speed.

I’m going to die, Cassie thought. She almost didn’t care. Something this electrifying was worth dying for. She was sure Deborah couldn’t take this next corner.

“Relax!” Deborah shouted, her voice snatched away by the wind. “Relax! Don’t fight the way I’m leaning.”

How can you relax when you’re plunging at practically a hundred miles an hour into darkness? Cassie thought. But then she found out how: you give yourself up to it. Cassie resigned herself to her fate, and let the speed and the wind take her. And, magically, everything was all right.

She was aware, eventually, that they were heading back up Crowhaven Road, past Diana’s house, past the others. They overshot Cassie’s house and stormed around the vacant lot at the point of the headland.

Dust sprayed up on either side. Cassie saw the cliff whip by and buried her head in Deborah’s shoulder. Then they were leaning, they were slowing, they were spiraling to a stop.

“So,” said Deborah, when the world was still again, “what’d you think?”

Cassie lifted her head and made her fingers stop clutching. Every inch of her was as icy as if she’d been standing in a freezer. Her hair was matted and her lips and ears and nose were numb.

“It was wonderful,” she gasped. “Like flying.”

Deborah burst into laughter, jumped off, and slapped Cassie on the back. Then she helped Cassie off. Cassie couldn’t stop shivering.

“Look over here,” Deborah said, stepping over to the edge of the cliff.

Cassie looked. Far below, the dark water crashed and foamed around the rocks. It was a long way down.

But there was something beautiful, too. Over the vast gray curve of ocean, an almost half-full moon hung. It cast a long wavering trail of light along the water, pure silver on the darkness.

“It looks like a road,” Cassie said softly, through chattering teeth. “Like you could ride on it.”

She looked at Deborah quickly, not sure how the biker girl would take to such a fancy. But Deborah gave a short nod, her narrowed eyes still on the silver path.

“That would be the ultimate. Just ride till you fly straight off the edge. I guess that was what the old-time witches wanted,” she said.

Cassie felt a warmth even through her shivering. Deborah felt what she herself had felt. And now Cassie understood why Deborah rode a motorcycle.

“We better go,” Deborah said abruptly.

On the way back to the motorcycle Cassie stumbled, falling to one knee. She looked back and saw that she had tripped on a piece of brick or stone.

“I forgot to tell you; there used to be a house here,” Deborah said. “It got torn down a long time ago, but there’re some pieces of foundation left.”

“I think I just found one,” Cassie said. Rubbing her knee, she was starting to get up when she noticed something beside the brick. It was darker than the soil it was resting on and yet it shone faintly in the moonlight.

She picked it up and found that it was smooth and surprisingly heavy. And it
did
shine; it reflected the moonlight like a black mirror.

“It’s hematite,” said Deborah, who’d come back to look. “It’s a powerful stone—for iron-strength, Melanie says.” She knelt down suddenly beside Cassie, tossing tangled hair out of her eyes. “Cassie! It’s your working crystal.”

A thrill which seemed to come from the stone rippled through Cassie. Holding the smooth piece of hematite was like holding an ice cube, but all the things that Melanie had said would happen when she found her own personal crystal were happening now. It fit her hand, it felt natural there. She liked the weight of it. It was
hers
.

Elated, she lifted her head to smile up at Deborah, and in the chilly moonlight Deborah smiled fiercely back.

It was when she was dropping Cassie off at Number Twelve that she said, “I heard you came to see Nick yesterday.”

“Oh—um,” Cassie said. That meeting with Nick in the garage seemed like centuries ago, not yesterday. “Uh, I didn’t come to
see
him,” she stammered. “I was just walking by . . .”

Deborah shrugged. “Anyway, I thought I’d tell you—he gets in bad moods sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you should give up. Other times he’s okay.”

Cassie floundered, completely amazed. “Uh—well—I didn’t mean—I mean, thanks, but I wasn’t really . . .”

She couldn’t find a way to finish, and Deborah wasn’t waiting anyway. “Whatever. See you later. And don’t lose that stone!” Dark hair flying, the biker girl zoomed off.

Up in her room, Cassie’s legs felt weak from tension, and she was tired. But she lay in bed for a while and held the hematite on her palm, tilting it back and forth to watch the light slide over it. For iron-strength, she thought.

It wasn’t like the chalcedony rose; it gave her no feeling of warmth and comfort. But then the chalcedony rose was all mixed up in her mind with Adam and his blue-gray eyes. Diana had the rose now, and Diana had Adam.

And Cassie had a stone which brought a strange coolness to her thoughts, a coolness that seemed to extend to her heart. For iron-strength, she thought again. She liked that.

“And so that’s what Cassie believes, that each of the deaths—even Kori’s—is connected to the skull, and to Puritan ways of killing people,” Diana said. She looked around the circle of faces. “Now it’s up to us to
do
something about it.”

Cassie was watching Faye. She wanted to see the reaction in those hooded golden eyes when Diana explained about the dark energy that had escaped during the skull ceremony, killing Jeffrey. Sure enough, when Diana got to that part, Faye shot a glance at Cassie, but there was nothing apologetic or guilty about it. It was a look of conspiracy.
Only you and I know,
it said.
And I won’t tell if you won’t.

I’m not that stupid,
Cassie telegraphed back angrily, and Faye smiled.

It was Sunday night and they were all sitting on the beach. Diana hadn’t been able to find out much from her own Book of Shadows about dealing with evil objects like the skull, and she was calling for everyone’s help.

It was the first full meeting of the Circle in three weeks, since the day after Mr. Fogle had been found dead. Cassie scanned the faces above thick jackets and sweaters—even New Englanders had to bundle up in this weather—and wondered what was going on in each individual witch’s head.

Melanie was grave and thoughtful as usual, as if she neither believed nor disbelieved Cassie’s theory, but was willing to test it out scientifically. Laurel just looked appalled. Suzan was examining the stitching on her gloves. Deborah was scowling, unwilling to give up the idea that outsiders had killed Kori. Nick—well, who could tell what Nick thought? Sean was chewing his fingernails.

The Henderson brothers were agitated. For a terrible instant Cassie thought they were going to turn their energy on Adam, blame him for Kori’s being killed. But then Doug spoke up.

“So how come we’re still sittin’ around talking? Let
me
have the skull—
I’ll
take care of it,” he said, teeth bared.

“Yeah—let Doug have it,” Sean chimed in.

“It can’t be destroyed, Doug,” Melanie said patiently.

“Oh, yeah?” Chris said. “Put it in with a pipe bomb—”

“And nothing would happen. Crystal skulls can’t be destroyed, Doug,” Melanie repeated. “That’s in all the old lore. You wouldn’t even scratch it.”