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 Fifteen
It was February 1: both the anniversary of the fight between the Crowhaven parents and Black John and the cross-quarter holiday of Imbolc. The snow had finally melted from the road, if not from the surrounding countryside, and Sean took out his Bianchi for the first time in almost a week. The morning was warm, for late January, and Sean rode quickly down Crowhaven Road and onto Marsh Street. The calls of gulls broke the quiet of the morning. A motor revved; a vehicle approached from behind. A cold chill swept over him, despite the still morning air. He glanced over his shoulder. An old tan and brown pickup truck was close behind him.
Sean stood on the pedals and accelerated. The pickup sped up, too – but it didn't pass. It maintained its distance. What was it doing? If it was trying to scare him, it was succeeding. Sean kept going, past forest and fields. If he could just reach the intersection – there was a lot more traffic on Ridge Road. Surely the pickup would back off when other vehicles were around.
The slight uphill slope on his right gave way to a nearly vertical hill – and the truck drew closer. And closer. Sean steered the bike onto the shoulder of the road and looked over his shoulder again. The truck had pulled to the right, two or three hundred feet behind him. It wasn't slowing; it was accelerating. The driver wasn't just trying to scare him; he was going to hit him. And there was no place for him to go.
Of course there is. It's a two-lane road. Don't panic. Sean pulled out into the lane and shifted up to a bigger gear, pedaling furiously. The truck was less than a hundred feet behind him. Fifty. Forty. Twenty.
He jerked the handlebars to the right and turned sharply to the left, nearly lying the bike down on its side as he turned on the narrow road, narrowly avoiding the truck. He straightened the bike and pedaled as hard as he could in the opposite direction.
The truck's brakes squealed as it stopped.
Sean kept going. There was a trail entrance less than two miles away; he'd passed it not long ago – just before he noticed the truck behind him. He wasn't sure if the Bianchi could manage the steep path – not with the snow still covering it. But he didn't have much of a choice.
The truck had turned and was accelerating toward him again. Still more than a mile to go before he reached the trail. Sean glanced to the side. The woods sloped steeply uphill; granite broke the soil's surface in more than one place; no trail led between the trees. But he knew that a part of a trail paralleled the road – if he could get the bike up the hill, he would intersect it – and he could take the trail from there.
He looked over his shoulder. The truck was less than three hundred feet away.
Sean turned sharply to the left. He downshifted to the bike's lowest gear and headed up the steep hill, steadying the bike each time it slipped in a patch of snow, ducking under low branches and dodging around trees. He stopped when he reached the summit, trying to catch his breath, and peered around a massive oak. Two figures in winter coats were there at the bottom of the hill, looking up – and one was holding a gun.
He started pedaling again. There – the trail was just ahead, through the trees. Sean turned and rode down the nearly level path – one mile, two, three – not slowing until the grade steepened just before the trail intersected the road.
He stopped. A cardinal called, and was silent. A grey Honda drove past, followed by a black car. He rode down the hill and stopped again, listening. He heard the muted roar of distant motors, but nothing nearby. The driver of the pickup truck probably wouldn't come after him here, even if he knew where the trail intersected the road – it was too close to town.
But he might go after someone else.
The other Circle members would already be at school, or on their way. Unless the driver of the pickup truck – or someone else – had already caught someone. Laurel usually rode to school alone – so did Deborah, on her motorcycle.
Sean rode faster, sprinting up the hill. He didn't stop until he reached Faye and Suzan, who were standing outside the east entrance.
"Have … have you … seen … Laurel? And Deborah? And … Chris and Doug? … And Nick?" he asked between breaths. He jumped from the bike and locked it to the redbud nearest the entrance.
"It's 7:45, Sean," Faye said in her most condescending voice. "I would think Laurel would be in class right now. And I doubt the others are here yet."
"Why? What's wrong?" Suzan asked.
"A truck … tried to … run me over," Sean said. "I went up the hill … and I looked back … and there were two … people standing there … and one had a … a gun…"
Faye and Suzan looked at each other.
They didn't believe him.
"You probably imagined it," Faye said. "It's not as if drivers never pass too close to bicycles – and maybe you just thought you saw a gun."
"I didn't imagine it. And I'm not paranoid." He leaned against the wall, willing his legs, which were trembling from exhaustion, to support his weight for just a little longer.
Faye rolled her eyes. "Yes, Sean, you are," she said. "You're afraid of everybody at school. You get nervous when the bell rings."
He scowled at her. "I am not afraid of everybody at school. I … I just … they … there's just too many people around, that's all. I don't think everybody's trying to kill me or anything. But that truck … it came after me! It didn't just pass too close. It followed me for more than a mile, and then it pulled up behind me – on the shoulder. And-and-and … and it stopped and turned around and followed me when I turned and rode back the other way. And it stopped when I pulled off the road and rode up the hill –"
A muffled roar sounded as Deborah's motorcycle crested the hill. Deborah parked near the bike racks and strode up the hill, scowling furiously. She nodded shortly at them, threw open the door, and stalked inside. "Deb? What's wrong?" Suzan asked, following her inside.
"Some people," she began, fuming. "Just because they're driving a truck, they think they own the road," she said.
"What happened?" Faye asked sharply.
"This idiot in a pickup truck pulled right in front of me. He didn't even slow down at the stop sign. I had to throw on my brakes and call on Air to stop my bike in time – and even then I almost plowed in to him."
"Was … was … the truck, was it an old tan and brown Ford?" Sean asked. His voice was shaking.
"What?" Deborah stared at him. "How'd you know that?"
"It came after me, too. It tried to run me over," he said.
"Go get Laurel," Faye said to Sean, turning abruptly and striding down the hall. "We're meeting now – in the back room." She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "Suzan, go call everyone who's still at home, and the parents and the crones. Deb – let's go. We'll watch the parking lot and warn everyone when they get here."
Sean glanced through a classroom window at a clock – 7:58. Zero period wouldn't be out yet. He ran to the science wing on the far side of the building.
* * *
Faye, Deborah, and Nick strode through the door and joined the rest of the Circle around the table.
"The witch hunters – or somebody – are after us now," Faye said abruptly. "They're trying to get rid of us. Deb – tell them what happened."
She did. And then there was silence.
"They went after Sean, too," Faye said after a long moment.
And then the Circle members were looking at him; surrounding him. He was sitting alone, in the middle of a ring of quartz crystals. He couldn't get away – he'd already tried. They were too strong – there were too many of them. And they were telling him that he had –
"Sean!" A voice hissed in his ear.
He gasped and looked around. Deborah was watching him.
"Hey, you're okay," she muttered, quietly – for Deborah.
Sean nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, just long enough to picture himself safe, protected by his cave. When he opened his eyes, he was in the back room again. The Circle members were there, but they weren't staring at him angrily or accusing him of anything.
Faye glanced at Sean, and chuckled. But she didn't say anything about his obvious fear. And she told the others what he had told her and Suzan.
"So all we know is that it was two guys in a pickup truck?" Doug asked, looking intently at Deborah and at Sean. "We don't know who they were, or if they're working with anybody else?"
Deborah shrugged. "We don't even know if it was two guys. I didn't get a good look at either of them. I was kind of busy keeping my bike from crashing into them, okay?" Her voice was defensive, but when nobody commented, she continued. "There were two people. They were both dressed for the cold. They were wearing coats and ski caps. The truck was an old tan and brown Ford – nineteen eighty-something, probably."
"Sean?" Doug prompted.
"I … I … uh, yeah. She's right," Sean said. "I didn't get a good look at them either. And it … the truck … it, uh … yeah. It was a nineteen eighty-something Ford." He stared intently at the table, trying to ignore the eyes watching him, and to picture the truck instead. "It had a silver thing in the back." He hesitated, and glanced at Nick. "You know, one of those big tool box things?"
Nick nodded.
"And … the bumper was dented – the front bumper. On the … on the right side. I think. And … and … the paint – there were some scratches in the paint. On the hood. And … and … uh, that's all."
"We should find out who owns 80s-model Ford pickups with tan and brown paint and mounted toolboxes," Adam said.
Nick snorted. "Jake Whitford has one, and Michael Connolly's dad, and Walt Benton. But I can't see any of them trying to run down a kid on a bike or a girl on a motorcycle."
"Neither can I," Diana said.
"The truck could've been from anywhere," Chris pointed out. "It might not be somebody from around here."
There was a long silence.
"If the outsiders – local or not – really are out to get us, then we've got to defend ourselves," Nick said.
There was a murmur of agreement.
"They could be trying to scare us off," Diana said. "They might not have intended to actually hurt anyone."
Deborah shook her head. "No. That driver was looking right at me when he pulled in front of me. I saw his eyes. He wanted me … hurt."
"We need to assume the worst," Adam said.
"And we have to stick together," Cassie said. She looked at Sean, and at Deborah and Nick. "You guys – could you please not go off by yourselves – not even on a bike or a motorcycle? Just until we figure out how to stop whoever it is who's after us?"
"I'll … try. For a while," Nick said.
Deborah frowned, but she nodded. "We'd better figure out who it is soon," she muttered under her breath.
"Sean?" Cassie asked.
He looked away. She was right – sticking together was a sensible precaution. Running or riding off alone, with witch hunters after the Circle, would be a really, really stupid thing to do. But sometimes he couldn't help it. When the memories overwhelmed him and he panicked, he might run – and he wouldn't be thinking of waiting for someone to come with him.
"Sean! Are you even listening?" Deborah asked.
He jumped and looked up at her. "I-I … yes." He looked away again. "I can't."
"What can't you do?" Cassie asked. She sounded confused.
"I can't promise to not ride my bike. Or run."
"Nobody's asking you to. We're just asking you to promise not to ride your bike or run alone."
"You can ride with me," Laurel said. "If you don't mind going to school early."
"Two bikes against a truck isn't any better odds than one," Nick said.
"And it misses the point," Faye said coldly. "We need to do whatever it takes to find out who is after us – and we need to stop them. Now."
"How?" Suzan asked. "We can't exactly summon the spirit of whoever's after us and ask them questions like we did with Black John on Halloween. He's gone, and these people are outsiders – and they're not spirits. I mean, they're alive. Besides, we didn't really learn anything on Halloween."
"We could try a Tarot reading," Laurel suggested hesitantly.
Sean shuddered, remembering his last reading, but he didn't say anything.
"Sure, Laurel – and we'll learn that Death and the King and Queen of Pickup Trucks are after us – and that we need to be courageous, stick together, and stand up for our rights," Faye said. "That'll be real helpful."
Suzan chuckled.
"Do you have a better idea?" Laurel asked calmly.
Faye scowled. "No," she admitted. "Just that we should ride home together after school and do whatever we need to do to find out who's after us. With the Master Tools to help us."
There was a murmur of assent from the Circle members, and the meeting broke up.
* * *
The entire Circle met at the parking lot after school, picked up Sean's and Laurel's bicycles and Deborah's motorcycle, and drove home as a group, with the bikes strapped to the rack on the back of the twins' Suzuki, and Deborah riding her motorcycle between Diana's Acura and Cassie's Volkswagen. They parked at Diana's house, and walked together to the beach, carrying baskets of food and of wood, ice chests, and Thermoses. Cassie, Faye, and Laurel built a small fire. Diana and Melanie placed a ring of candles around it.
"We'll start with a ceremony in honor of Imbolc and in honor of our late parents," Faye said after the Circle gathered around. "Then we'll try to find out who's after us, and what we need to do to stop them."
Nobody objected.
Cassie cast the circle. Then she turned to Diana.
"I think we should … those of us who lost parents that night should invite our own parents to join us," Diana said.
"Except me," Cassie said.
Several people chuckled.
"Doug, Chris – you guys may invite Kori. Cassie, you may invite your grandma."
"What do you mean, invite them?" Sean asked nervously, thinking of the last Halloween, when they'd invited Black John to speak to them. It had been so dangerous that they'd needed to call on the Watchtowers and Powers of each direction to protect them – and even that hadn't been enough, not after Black John appeared in the fire at the center of their Circle, within the elemental rings of protection, and made Cassie reach for, and touch, his hand – a hand formed from the smoke of the fire.
"It won't be like before, with Black John," Diana assured him. "We're not calling on any malevolent entities. And we're not holding the ceremony in the cemetery or anywhere else filled with power. It'll be like a regular Samhain ceremony, when we invite our parents' and grandparents' and any other ancestors' spirits to join us for the festivities. And we'll ask them for their advice."
"Oh." That shouldn't be too bad. They'd had ceremonies like that ever since Diana, Adam, Melanie, and Faye had first started getting interested in witchcraft, and nothing bad had ever happened. They'd felt a presence, and a feeling of love and acceptance. And those who'd lost parents and wanted to tell them something had spoken to them as if they could hear – and perhaps they could.
"Today isn't Samhain, though," Melanie pointed out. "We may not reach any of our ancestors. We might not even sense their presence if we do reach them."
"But we can try," Diana said. She turned to the candle in front of her and lit it. "Mom, you are welcome here in our Circle," she said simply.
"Mom, Dad, you are welcome here, in our Circle," Laurel said. She lit two candles. So did Adam. Suzan lit one candle as she called on her mother; Faye called on her father, lighting a candle for him without the benefit of a match. Melanie used a match to light a candle for each of her parents as she called on them. Chris and Doug looked at each other. Doug nodded; Chris lit a candle for Kori. Cassie lit a candle for Mrs. Howard.
Sean glanced at Nick, who was staring into the steady flames. His usually expressionless face looked … tense. Nervous.
The other members of the Circle were watching Sean and Nick; waiting, more or less patiently.
Sean closed his eyes to ground himself. "Mom, you are welcome here in our Circle," he said at last, striking a match with trembling fingers and lighting the candle in front of him. He blew out the match and set it beside the candle. A gentle breeze picked up in the still air, and was still once more. Sean smiled. "Hi," he whispered.
He opened his eyes and glanced at Nick, who gave him a wry smile and turned back to the flames.
"Mom, Dad, welcome," Nick said simply, lighting the candles in front of him and blowing out the match.
And then Cassie was speaking, telling the Circle – and their guests – what her grandma had told her and Deborah – letting their parents know that the Circle finally knew what they had done, what they had sacrificed, seventeen years ago.
Cassie finished speaking, and Diana spoke up, thanking her mom and all of the other parents for what they had done. The other Circle members – even Chris, Doug, and Deborah, who had lost no parent on that night, and Cassie, whose father's death was no loss – thanked them, too.
At last Diana was speaking again. "Mom, Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong, Mr. and Mrs. Quincey, Mr. and Mrs. Conant, Mrs. Whittier, Mr. Chamberlain, Mrs. Dulany, Mr. Glaser, Mrs. Burke-Glaser, Mrs. Howard, Kori – we thank you all for joining us tonight in our Circle. You are welcome to leave, if you must, or remain with us, if you wish, as we celebrate Imbolc – the first celebration of the spring yet to come."
"Winter is here," Faye spoke up. "The plants are dormant, the gardens are bare –"
"Except Laurel's," Deborah interrupted, grinning.
Laurel giggled. "And Sean's and Cassie's," she said.
Faye shot them a withering look. "The gardens are relatively bare, in the sense that they are relatively non-productive at this time of year," she said. "Our stores of produce and food are running low …" she paused, glancing at Deborah. "Relatively low, with respect to the food gathered, stored, and prepared from our own gardens, and excluding food purchased from grocery stores."
Deborah laughed. So did Laurel and Suzan.
"Yet winter will soon end, and spring will arise," Faye said, glancing at Laurel.
Laurel grinned. "And the crocuses and daffodils and tulips and dandelions will bloom. The chives will come up, and the onions and garlic and all of the crops in the cold frames will begin new growth."
"And our parents will tell us to clean our rooms," Doug intoned solemnly.
"And the rest of the house," Chris added.
"The trees will begin to leaf out, and some will flower. The birds and frogs will start to sing. And Spring will be here." Diana hesitated after finishing the formal ceremonial words. "And maybe … maybe we will find a way to make peace at school and in town, among the outsiders. We haven't had a whole lot of success with that yet."
"That's an understatement," Deborah muttered.
"We're having success with the environmental club," Laurel reminded Diana. "Eleven outsiders have joined – and they're helping us with our preparations for improving the landscaping at the school. We've already ordered fourteen fruit trees – Asian and European pears, apples, and plums – and I've propagated four kinds of blueberries and three of gooseberries. They'll be ready for planting in a couple of months."
Diana nodded. "That's true. And maybe we'll manage to call a truce with the outsiders who still dislike us." She turned to Cassie.
Cassie spoke once more to the ancestors and Kori. She told them of the events of the last few months, and asked for their advice, and for any assistance they could give.
No one spoke. No shape appeared in the smoke or flames of the bonfire. No answer was given to Cassie's and the Circle's request.
After a long moment, Cassie spoke again. "Unless someone has something to add, let's close the circle," she said.
No one objected. Faye thanked the parents once more for their presence, and closed the circle. She and other Circle members left the bonfire and grabbed plates and silverware, baskets and ice chests filled with food, Thermoses and two-liter bottles of tea and soda that had been set aside until after the ceremony. They filled their plates and cups, talking and laughing while they ate.
Sean sat with the other Circle members, silently, uneasily. His apprehension grew. He couldn't focus on the others' conversation. He was terrified, and he didn't know why. He felt as if he were at school – as if hundreds of hostile eyes were watching him. It was all he could do to remain seated in the circle near the fire. He put his fork down, closed his eyes and grounded himself, visualizing the calm energy of stone; the safety of the cave. When he opened his eyes again, his mind had cleared and his panic had faded to a vague sense of disquiet. But he still felt as if he was being watched.
He glanced at Raj, who'd been lying beside Adam and Cassie, watching the Circle members eat and patiently awaiting his turn. The big dog was no longer looking at the food. He was standing, looking up at the bluffs, his hackles raised and lips drawn back into a snarl. Sean followed the dog's gaze. He caught a glimpse of firelight, reflected by the lenses of someone's glasses.