The Secret Circle:
Out of the Darkness
The Secret Circle and its characters aren't mine – they belong to L. J. Smith and HarperCollins Publishers.
Chapter Two
Sean shifted his bike to its highest gear and leaned forward, hands in the drops, pedaling as hard and fast as he could along the straight, level stretch of the road. He squinted against the chilling bite of the rushing wind, but he didn't mind the cold. His lungs were burning; so were his legs. Just as he was beginning to think he couldn't keep up his pace for another second, he reached the beginning of a sharp curve. He pedaled for just a few more seconds and stopped, leaning into the curve. The Bianchi took the curve with ease, its tires whispering against the asphalt, accelerating as the road descended.
A motor approached from behind. Sean glanced over his shoulder – a blue pick-up truck was just behind him. The truck gained on him, drew alongside, and passed. Sean looked behind him – the road was clear. He started pedaling again, the steep downhill grade allowing him to turn the biggest gear as if it were the smallest. The bike accelerated. He pulled further into the lane and caught the truck's slipstream, letting it tow him along.
The road leveled and began to rise. The truck pulled ahead. Sean downshifted, again, and again, pedaling hard as the grade steepened. He looked up at the main building of New Salem High School towering like a medieval fortress over the surrounding countryside. He reached the summit and turned onto the bike path.
Faye, Suzan, and Doug were standing next to the east entrance of the school, arguing about something. Nick was standing nearby, waiting silently.
The elation of the bike ride faded, and for a moment Sean was gripped by panic and an intense need to get away. He shook his head briefly in disgust. Of course he was breathing heavily and his heart was racing. He'd been riding at an all-out sprint for most of the last three miles – and the last quarter mile had been up a steep hill. There was no reason for him to be afraid of his own Circle. No reason, he thought fiercely, trying to quiet the small voice inside that was all too willing to enumerate all of the reasons.
Slowly, he rode to the nearly empty bike racks and through the open gate. He dismounted and pushed his bike to the space next to Laurel's purple mountain bike. He locked the bike and helmet to the rack.
The first bell rang. Sean looked up, past the dormant redbud trees that shaded the path in spring and summer.
Faye and the others were still waiting.
Sean walked toward them.
"Hey, Sean," Suzan said. She smiled briefly at him and turned back to Faye.
"Hi," he said. His voice sounded tentative; more like a question than a greeting. He didn't return Suzan's smile.
Doug nodded at him, silently, his eyes distant.
Nick just looked at him. Sean couldn't read his expression – as usual.
Faye smiled at him lazily, watching him like a lioness basking in the sun and watching, but not hunting, her prey – yet.
Sean involuntarily stepped away.
If she would just look away …
A deafening roar broke the silence. Deborah's motorcycle crested the hill – and Faye finally looked away.
Deborah nodded at them in greeting as she passed. She parked her motorcycle just outside the bicycle racks.
"Hey. What's up?" she asked as she joined them outside the door.
"We have an assembly this morning," Faye announced. "The vice-principal will be making an announcement. It might be … important."
"Like who the principal will be?" Deborah suggested.
"Maybe."
"And maybe … whether it's still open season for Witches," Suzan said.
Faye looked at Suzan and nodded. "Exactly."
"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go find out." Deborah led the way inside.
* * *
A pair of hall monitors stood just inside the doorway. They didn't say a word as they watched the members of the Club pass, but the tension was almost palpable, as if it could be cut with a knife.
It was the same with all of the outsiders they passed on their way to the auditorium: the small group of sophomore girls, hurrying to take books and notebooks from their lockers, who looked up and nervously watched the members of the Club walk by; the larger group of boys and girls standing inside a classroom, deeply involved in a discussion of something – a discussion which they stopped, their expressions carefully neutral, as soon as they saw the members of the Club; the small group of seniors standing outside the auditorium doors, openly glaring at them as they approached. Every one simply watched – no one said a word.
They're waiting, too, Sean realized. Their leader was gone, and nobody knew what was going to happen next.
The rest of the Club was already there, sitting together near the back of the crowded room. Empty seats surrounded them; the outsiders were keeping their distance. Adam was saying something to Cassie and Diana. Laurel and Melanie sat behind them. Laurel looked worried; Melanie, as calm as if nothing had happened. Chris sat beside Melanie, listening to something on his Walkman. Doug took the seat beside him. Sean followed Suzan and the others to the next row, in front of a group of outsiders who kept glancing at the members of the Circle.
Sean kept his gaze fixed in front of him, on the stage, trying to ignore the outsiders sitting behind him. Surrounding him. He could feel their hostile eyes watching him. The tension in the room was thickening. He felt as if he were trying to breathe through a thickening layer of fog – or molasses. He just knew that somebody was going to grab him and drag him away. They'd ask him questions and he wouldn't be able to get away and they'd find out that the Circle really had killed Mr. Brunswick and –
A screech of feedback jolted him back to reality. The pressure of the outsiders' eyes on him was gone.
It was just your imagination, he told himself. He looked up at the stage.
The vice-principal was standing behind the podium, adjusting the microphone. "Good morning," he said, his amplified voice filling the otherwise silent auditorium.
"Good morning, Mr. Peters." The auditorium echoed with the students' well-trained response.
"I'm sure many of you are wondering, and worrying, about your future and the future of our school – especially considering the events of the past few months."
Sean stared at him. Of course they were worried. Everyone was – the outsiders as well as the members of the Club. Two students and the principal had been killed. A hurricane came within twenty miles of Boston. The school was transformed into a Puritan reformatory. The new principal disappeared. Of course they were wondering and worrying about what was going to happen next.
The vice-principal was still talking, about the honorable intentions of the last administration and the unfortunate consequences of its policies – namely, student turning against student to the extent that many of the students of "the venerable institution of New Salem High" had deigned to involve themselves in a fight – nearly a riot – an event unheard of throughout the history of the school.
His voice droned on and on, talking about the dedication and hard work of Mr. Fogle during the eleven years he had served as principal, telling the students that, because of the unfortunate consequences of the disciplinary policies of Mr. Brunswick's administration, those policies would be terminated, and the policies of the previous administration would be reinstated. He himself would be taking on the position of principal on an interim basis, until after the holidays and the beginning of the New Year – thus enabling the school board to engage in a thorough search for the best possible candidate to permanently assume the position. He was sure that the students would take it upon themselves to focus on the future and to act in such a way as befitted the dignity of an institution of learning – an institution dedicated to the preparation of young people for entrance into college and productive, successful careers.
The vice-principal finished his speech. The auditorium was silent. No one moved. A nearly tangible miasma of fear, hatred, and anger filled the auditorium. Countless hostile eyes were boring into the Circle members; eyes of people who approved of Mr. Brunswick's policies and had no desire for them to be terminated. Sean grabbed onto the sides of his chair and forced himself to remain seated with the rest of the Circle.
"Please make your way to your first-period classes," the vice-principal said at last. Finally, students began to make their way out of the auditorium.
The members of the Club looked at each other.
"We need to have a meeting," Diana said. Her usually kind, gentle face was grim.
"Not here. Not now," Nick said.
Faye smiled. "We'll meet at lunch – in the cafeteria. The hall monitor program seems to have been … disbanded, so the back room should be available again."
Doug grinned. So did Deborah and Chris.
"We'll make sure it's available," Doug said.
"No fighting," Cassie said firmly.
"Cassie's right," Diana agreed.
Nobody argued, not even Deborah or Doug. The Circle members stood, and headed toward their respective classes.
* * *
It was lunchtime. Sean was following Laurel, Suzan, Chris, Doug, and Deborah through the cafeteria to the back room, half listening to Doug and Deborah argue with Chris about a band the three of them had seen in Salem over the weekend, when a group of outsider students stepped in front of them, blocking their path.
"You're not welcome here," a short, stocky boy said flatly.
"Yeah. This is our school. We're taking it back," a tall boy wearing a Letterman jacked added. His tone was belligerent, but he was watching the Club members nervously.
Deborah, the Hendersons, and Suzan were glaring at him.
"Your reign is over," the first boy said.
He turned his back on the members of the Club and followed the other outsiders into the back room. One of them shut the door.
"Leave them alone," Laurel said to Deborah and Chris and Doug. "This isn't the time for a fight."
Doug looked rebellious. So did Deborah. Chris just looked confused.
"Our reign?" he asked. "We had a reign?"
"Apparently," Suzan said.
"So, this is … a rebellion?" Chris asked.
"Precisely. And these treasonous commoners are attempting to overthrow us," Sean said, attempting an upper-class British accent.
Doug snickered. "Sean, your accent's worse than Chris's."
"Hey, mine's not that bad," Chris said, scowling at his twin.
Sean shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm Irish."
"So use an Irish accent," Doug said. "They've got a monarchy too."
"They've got a republic."
"No, it's a monarchy."
"No, it isn't!"
"Ireland's part of the United Kingdom, isn't it?" Deborah asked. "And that's a monarchy."
"Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom. Not Ireland! Ireland's an independent republic!"
"Guys, that's enough," Laurel said.
"But he said –"
The cafeteria door slammed, and Sean spun around, startled.
"What's going on?" Adam asked as he, Cassie, Diana, and Melanie joined the others in front of the door to the back room.
"They kicked us out of our room," Suzan said petulantly.
Adam looked sharply at her, and at Doug and Chris and Deborah. "It doesn't matter," he said. "We'll eat outside." He turned back to the main door of the cafeteria. Cassie was right behind him. Sean followed them. So did Suzan, Laurel and Deborah.
"Come on, Doug. Let's go," Chris said, tugging his brother's arm and trying to pull him away from the back room and toward the others.
Doug was still glaring at the outsiders just visible through the glass of the door. "This isn't over," he muttered. But he allowed himself to be pulled along, and he followed the others outside.
They walked to the granite outcrop near the stairs in front of the school.
Sean looked involuntarily at the bottom of the hill, where Kori's body had been found, and shuddered. He looked away quickly.
"It's a cease-fire," Adam was saying quietly from his seat beside Cassie. "Peters is playing it safe, putting everything on hold until his successor can be found and named."
"Not necessarily." Nick looked around at everyone. "Just because the vice-principal calls a cease-fire doesn't mean anyone is going to honor it."
"We mustn't start anything with the outsiders," Diana said. She was looking at Doug and Deborah, and Chris, and Nick.
"They already started something," Deborah said angrily. "They kicked us out of our room."
"For today," Suzan said.
The others looked at her.
"They're not always going to leave class early just to sit in the back room. When we get there first, we'll sit there."
Cassie nodded. "That's true. And we don't really know if they want to continue Mr. Brunswick's witch-hunt. Portia and her brothers probably do, but I think some of the others may have just decided that we shouldn't have special privileges that they don't have. I think we should be careful not to give them a reason to join Portia and her brothers."
"She's right," Laurel said. "We've got to be careful, in case the witch hunters still are after us. But we really ought to treat the rest of the outsiders like equals." She returned Faye's glare, unflinching. "I'm serious. Our ancestors got along fine with the outsiders – for generations. That's what Granny Quincey says. I think we can too. You know, if we treat them fairly, and don't use our powers against them. And, you know, if they don't have somebody like Black John influencing them."
They're not going to get along too well with us if they find out what we did to their Mr. Brunswick, Sean thought.And they would find out; he was sure of that.
"We won't start anything. For now," Faye was saying. "Until we know their intentions."
"We already know –" Deborah began.
"All we know is that some of them have decided to stand up to us when they want something – like the back room at lunchtime," Adam said. "But we don't know if any of them are planning to try to drive us out of school, or out of New Salem."
"Um, they're, uh … they're going to investigate. You know … Mr. Brunswick's disappearance," Sean spoke up at last. "They're going to … to ask us questions."
Adam looked at him and shrugged. "I'm sure somebody's already started investigating Brunswick's disappearance. He's already been gone for three days – three school days, I mean. Somebody probably will ask us questions. School officials; the police, maybe, if somebody tells them we were involved in Brunswick's disappearance."
"So what?" Deborah asked, scowling at Sean. "We didn't do anything wrong. Who cares if they ask us a few questions?"
"Yeah. We just totaled an evil crystal skull, that's all," Doug said, grinning, as if defeating Black John had been the most exciting experience he'd had in ages. As if he'd like nothing better than to do it again.
Melanie nodded. "I agree. We did nothing wrong, and we have nothing to worry about from the police. But Adam and Sean are right – someone will question us. And we did cause Mr. Brunswick's disappearance. We need to figure out what to say about what happened to him."
"It wasn't Mr. Brunswick at the house," Suzan said, tearing open the cellophane wrapper of a blueberry muffin. "It was Black John."
"Black John was Mr. Brunswick," Chris argued.
"Yes, but "Mr. Brunswick" was a … a persona. A role he put on for the outsiders," Cassie said. "Suzan's right. He wasn't "Mr. Brunswick" at the house. He was … Black John. He wasn't pretending to be anything other than what he really was."
"True," Adam said. He looked at each member of the Circle. "All we need to do, when they question us, is remember that "Mr. Brunswick" is the role Black John played – the role of the principal of New Salem High. We last saw him at school some time around December 9th – the day of the hurricane. We didn't talk with him outside of school on that day. And we didn't do anything to him. Black John is the … person … we confronted at the house out at Number Thirteen and destroyed. They won't ask us about him. And it's true, technically, that we don't know where Mr. Brunswick is now. Black John disappeared when we destroyed him – we don't really know where he is. Not exactly."
"They might not believe … all of us," Faye said.
Sean looked at her. She was watching him. Her golden eyes were narrowed.
He tore his eyes away – but Deborah was watching him, too. So was Doug.
He wanted to run, to get away from the Circle and their accusing eyes. But he'd sworn to stand with them.
He forced himself to stay where he was.
"You're right." It was Laurel who broke the silence. She was staring darkly at Faye. "They might not believe all of us. Some of us probably will look kind of guilty when they ask us what we know about what happened to Black John – I mean Mr. Brunswick. I know I will. It's not like I help to kill somebody every day – evil tri-centenarian or not."
"It doesn't matter if you look guilty," Adam said to Laurel. "Nobody's going to believe you did anything to Brunswick. Or Cassie or Diana or Sean, either."
"They might," Nick said.
"I doubt it," Adam said, turning to Nick. "They're more likely to think I did something to him. Or you, or Deb, or Chris or Doug, or Faye – but none of us will have any problem convincing whoever questions us that we didn't do anything. Neither will Melanie or Suzan. Or Cassie. Besides, they're more likely to think some of us are nervous about being questioned by police, or worried that whatever happened to Brunswick will happen to us, too."
Nick shrugged. "That might be true. But it doesn't matter. The police aren't the problem. They can't prove anything against any of us. The witch hunters are the problem. And they don't care about proof."
The members of the Circle looked at each other.
The bell rang. Sean startled. Cassie looked at him. So did Laurel. He flushed, and looked away.
"I'd better go – I've got a test in French," Melanie said.
"So do I," said Adam.
"We can meet again after school," Cassie said.