Secret Circle - The Captive Part 9

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, Ca.s.sie 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?

"Is there a spell or something to hold it?" she panted.

Deborah threw her a startled glance, and Ca.s.sie saw that she hadn't realized Ca.s.sie was behind her.

"What?"

"We've got to trap it somehow! Is there a spell-"

"Down!" Deborah shouted.

Ca.s.sie dove for the ground. The shadow-thing had swelled suddenly to twice its size, like an infuriated

cat, and then it had lunged at them. Straight at them. Ca.s.sie felt it rush over her head, colder than ice and blacker than the night sky.

And then it was gone.

Deborah and Ca.s.sie sat up and looked at each other.

Adam and Nick appeared, running. "Are you all right?" Adam demanded.

"Yes," Ca.s.sie said shakily.

"What were you two doing?" Nick said, looking at them in disbelief. And even Adam asked, "How did you get over the fence?"

Deborah gave him a scornful look. "I didn't mean you," he said.

Ca.s.sie gave him a scornful look. "Girls can climb," she said. She and Deborah stood up and began brus.h.i.+ng each other off, exchanging a glance of complicity.

"It's gone now," Adam said, wisely dropping the subject of fences. "But at least we know what it looks

like."Nick made a derisive sound. "What what looks like?""You can't still say you didn't see it," Deborah said impatiently. "It was here. It went for Ca.s.sie and me.""I saw something-but what makes you think it was this so-called dark energy?""We were tracing it," said Adam."How do we know what we were tracing?" Nick rapped back. "Something that was around the place Lovejoy was killed, that's all. It could be the 'dark energy'-or just some garden-variety ghost."

"A ghost?" Ca.s.sie said, startled.

"Sure. If you believe in them at all, some of them like to hang out where murders are committed."

Deborah spoke up eagerly. "Yeah, like the Wailing Woman of Beverly, that lady in black that appears

when somebody is going to die by violence."

"Or that phantom s.h.i.+p in Kennybunk-the Isidore. The one that comes and shows you your coffin if you're going to die at sea," Adam said, looking thoughtful.

Ca.s.sie was confused. She'd a.s.sumed it was the dark energy they were tracking-but who could tell? "It

did end up in the cemetery," she said slowly. "Which seems like a logical place for a ghost. But if it wasn't

the dark energy that killed Jeffrey, who was it? Who would want to kill him?"Even as she asked, she knew the answer. Vividly, in her mind, she saw Jeffrey standing between twogirls: one tall, dark, and disturbingly beautiful; the other small and wiry, with rusty hair and a pugnaciousface.

"Faye or Sally," she whispered. "They were both jealous tonight. But-oh, look, even if they were mad enough to kill him, neither of them could have actually done it! Jeffrey was an athlete."

"A witch could have done it," Deborah said matter-of-factly. "Faye could've made him do it to himself."

"And Sally's got friends on the football team," Nick added dryly. "That's how she got herself voted Homecoming Queen. If they strangled him first, and then strung him up . . ."

Adam was looking disturbed at this coldblooded discussion. "You don't actually believe that."

"Hey, a woman scorned, you know?" Nick said. "I'm not saying either of them did it. I'm saying either ofthem could have.""Well, we won't figure it out by standing here," Ca.s.sie said, s.h.i.+vering. Adam's jacket had slipped off when she went over the fence. "Maybe if we could try to trace it again-"

It was then she realized she wasn't holding the crystal.

"It's gone," she said. "Melanie's crystal. I must have dropped it when that thing rushed us. It should be

right here on the ground, then. It's got to be," she said.

But it wasn't. They all stooped to look, and Ca.s.sie combed through the spa.r.s.e, withered gra.s.s with her fingers, but none of them could find it.

Somehow, this final disaster, incredibly tiny in comparison to everything that had happened that night,

brought Ca.s.sie close to tears.

"It's been in Melanie's family for generations," she said, blinking hard.

"Melanie will understand," Adam told her gently. He put a hand on her shoulder, not easily but carefully,

as if keenly aware that they were in front of witnesses.

"It's true, though; there's no point in standing around here," he said to the others. "Let's get back to school. Maybe they've found out something about Jeffrey there."

As Ca.s.sie walked, the Cinderella shoes hurting her feet and Laurel's silvery dress streaked with dirt, she found herself looking straight into the Blood Moon. It was hovering over New Salem like the Angel of Death, she thought.

Normally, on the night of the full moon, the Circle would meet and celebrate. But on the day after Jeffrey's murder Diana was still sick, Faye was refusing to speak to anyone, and no one else had the heart to call a meeting.

Ca.s.sie spent the day feeling wretched. Last night at the high school the police had found no leads as to Jeffrey's killer. They hadn't said if he'd been strangled first and then hung, or if he'd just been hung. They weren't saying much of anything, and they didn't like questions.

Melanie had been kind about the necklace, but Ca.s.sie still felt guilty. She'd used it to go off on what turned out to be a wild-goose chase, and then she'd lost it. But far worse was the feeling of guilt over Jeffrey.

If she hadn't danced with him, maybe Faye and Sally wouldn't have been so angry. If she hadn't let Faye have the skull, then the dark energy wouldn't have been released. However she looked at it, she felt responsible, and she hadn't slept all night for thinking about it.

"Do you want to talk?" her grandmother said, looking up from the table where she was cutting ginger root. The archaic kitchen which had seemed so bewildering to Ca.s.sie when she'd first come to New Salem was now a sort of haven. There was always something to do here, cutting or drying or preserving the herbs from her grandmother's garden, and there was often a fire in the hearth. It was a cheerful, homey place.

"Oh, Grandma," Ca.s.sie said, then stopped. She wanted to talk, yes, but how could she?

She stared at her grandmother's wrinkled hands spreading the root in a wooden rack for drying.

"You know, Ca.s.sie, that I'm always here for you-and so is your mother," her grandmother went on. She threw a sudden sharp glance up at the kitchen doorway, and Ca.s.sie saw that her mother was standing there.

Mrs. Blake's large dark eyes were fixed on Ca.s.sie, and Ca.s.sie thought there was something sad in them. Ever since they'd come on this "vacation" to Ma.s.sachusetts, her mother had looked troubled, but these days there was a kind of tired wistfulness in her face that puzzled Ca.s.sie. Her mother was so beautiful, and so young-looking, and the new helplessness in her expression made her seem even younger than ever.

"And you know, Ca.s.sie, that if you're truly unhappy here-" her mother began, with a kind of defiance in her gaze.

Ca.s.sie's grandmother had stiffened, and her hands stopped spreading the root.

"-we don't have to stay," her mother finished.

Ca.s.sie was astounded. After all she'd been through those first weeks in New Salem, after all those nights she'd wanted to die from homesickness-now her mother said they could go? But even stranger was the way Ca.s.sie's grandmother was glaring.

"Running away has never solved anything," the older woman said. "Haven't you learned that yet? Haven't we all-" "There are two children dead," Ca.s.sie's mother said. "And if Ca.s.sie wants to leave here, we will."

Ca.s.sie looked from one to the other in bewilderment. What were they talking about? "Mom," she said abruptly, "why did you bring me here?"

Her mother and grandmother were still looking at each other-a battle of wills, Ca.s.sie thought. Then Ca.s.sie's mother looked away.

"I'll see you at dinner," she said, and just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she slipped out of the room.

Ca.s.sie's grandmother let out a long sigh. Her old hands trembled slightly as she picked up another root.

"There are some things you can only understand later," she said to Ca.s.sie, after a moment. "You'll have to trust us for that, Ca.s.sie."

"Does this have something to do with why you and Mom were estranged for so long? Does it?"

A pause. Then her grandmother said softly, "You'll just have to trust us . . ."

Ca.s.sie opened her mouth, then shut it again. There was no use in pressing it any further. As she'd already learned, her family was very good at keeping secrets.

She'd go to the cemetery, she decided. She could use the fresh air, and maybe if she found Melanie's crystal she would feel a little better.

Once there, she wished she'd asked Laurel to go along. Even though the October sun was bright, the air was nippy, and something about the dispirited graveyard made Ca.s.sie uneasy.

I wonder if ghosts come out in the daytime, she thought, as she located the place where she and Deborah had had to throw themselves facedown. But no ghosts appeared. Nothing moved except the tips of the gra.s.s which rippled in the breeze.

Ca.s.sie's eyes scanned the ground, looking for any glint of bright silver chain or clear quartz. She went over the area inch by inch. The chain had to be right here . . . but it wasn't. At last she gave up and sat back on her heels.

That was when she noticed the mound again.

She'd forgotten to ask her grandmother about it. She'd have to remember tonight. She got up and walked over to it, looking at it curiously.

By daylight, she could see that the iron door was rusty. The padlock was rusty too, but it looked fairly modern. The cement chunk in front of the door was large; she didn't see how it could have gotten there. It was certainly too heavy for a person to carry.

And why would somebody want to carry it there?

Ca.s.sie turned away from the mound. The graves on this side of the cemetery were modern too; she'd seen them before. The writing on the tombstones was actually legible. Eve Dulany, 1955-1976, she read. Dulany was Sean's last name; this must be his mother.

The next stone had two names: David Quincey, 1955-1976, and Melissa B. Quincey, 1955-1976. Laurel's parents, Ca.s.sie thought. G.o.d, it must be awful to have both your parents dead. But Laurel wasn't the only kid on Crowhaven Road who did. Right here beside the Quincey headstone was another marker: Nicholas Armstrong, 1951-1976; Sharon Armstrong, 1953-1976. Nick's mom and dad.

It must be.

When she saw the third headstone, the hairs on Ca.s.sie's arms began to p.r.i.c.kle.

Linda Whittier, she read. Born 1954, died 1976. Suzan's mother.

Died 1976.

Sharply, Ca.s.sie turned to look at the Armstrong headstone again. She'd been right-both of Nick's parents had died in 1976. And the Quinceys . . . she was walking faster now. Yes. 1976 again. And Eve Dulany, too: died 1976.

Something rippled up Ca.s.sie's spine and she almost ran to the headstones on the far side of the mound. Mary Meade-Diana's mother- died 1976. Marshall Glaser and Sophia Burke Glaser. Melanie's parents. Died 1976. Grant Chamberlain. Faye's father. Died 1976. Adrian and Elizabeth Conant. Adam's parents. Died 1976.