The Secret Circle: The Initiation (3 page)

But I
do know you
, she thought. In that instant a strange image flashed through her mind. It was as if she were floating outside herself and she could see the two of them, standing there on the beach. She could see the sun shining on his hair and her face tilted up to him. And they were connected by a silver cord that hummed and sang with power.

A band of energy, linking them. It was so real she could almost reach out and touch it. It bound them heart to heart, and it was trying to draw them closer.

A thought came to her, as if some small voice from deep inside her was speaking.
The silver cord can
never be broken. Your lives are linked. You can't escape each other any more than you can escape
destiny
.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the picture and the voice vanished. Cassie blinked and shook her head, trying to wrench her mind back. He was still looking at her, waiting for an answer to his question.

"I was glad to help you," she said, feeling how lame and inadequate the words were. "And I didn't mind

—what happened." His eyes dropped to her wrist, and there was a flash from them almost like silver.

"I
did
," he said. "I should have come out earlier." Cassie shook her head again. The last thing she'd wanted was for him to be caught and hurt. "I just wanted to help you," she repeated softly, confused. Then she said, "Why were they chasing you?" He looked away, drawing in a deep breath. Cassie had the sense of trespassing. "That's all right. I shouldn't have asked—" she began.

"No." He looked back at her and smiled, his wry one-sided smile. "If anybody has a right to ask, you do. But it's a little difficult to explain. I'm… off my turf here. Back home, they wouldn't dare come after me. They wouldn't dare
look
at me cross-eyed. But here I'm fair game." She still didn't understand. "They don't like people who are—different," he said, his voice quiet again.

"And I'm different from them. I'm very, very different."

Yes, she thought. Whatever he was, he wasn't like Jordan or Logan. He wasn't like anyone she had ever met.

"I'm sorry. That's not much of an explanation, I know," he said. "Especially after what you did. You helped me, and I won't forget about it."

He glanced down at himself and laughed shortly. "Of course, it doesn't look like there's much I can do for
you
, does it? Not here. Although…" He paused. "Wait a minute." He reached in his pocket, fingers groping for something. All in an instant Cassie's dizziness overwhelmed her, blood rushing to her face. Was he looking for money? Did he think he could
pay
her for helping him?

She was humiliated, and more stricken than when Jordan had grabbed her wrist, and she couldn't help the tears flooding her eyes.

But what he pulled out of his pocket was a stone, a rock like something you might pick up on the ocean floor. At least that was what it looked like at first. One side was rough and gray, embedded with tiny black spirals like little shells. But then he turned it over, and the other side was gray swirled with pale blue, crystallized, sparkling in the sunlight as if it were overlaid with rock candy. It was beautiful. He pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. As it touched her she felt a jolt like electricity that ran through her hand and up her arm. The stone felt
alive
in some way she couldn't explain. Through the pounding in her ears she heard him speaking, quickly and in a low voice.

"This is chalcedony. It's a—good-luck piece. If you're ever in trouble or danger or anything like that, if there's ever a time when you feel all alone and no one else can help you, hold on to it tight—tight"—his fingers squeezed hers—"and think of me."

She stared up at him, mesmerized. She was hardly breathing, and her chest felt too full. He was so close to her; she could see his eyes, the same color as the crystal, and she could feel his breath on her skin and the warmth of his body reflecting the sun's heat. His hair wasn't just red, but all sorts of colors, some strands so dark they were almost purple, others like burgundy wine, others gold. Different, she thought again; he was different from any guy she'd ever known. A sweet hot current was running through her, a feeling of wildness and possibility. She was trembling and she could feel a heartbeat in her fingers, but she couldn't tell if it was hers or his. He had seemed to hear her thoughts before; now she felt almost as if he were in her mind. He was so close and he was looking down at her…

"And what happens then?" she whispered.

"And then—maybe your luck will change." Abruptly he stepped back, as if he'd just remembered something, and his tone altered. The moment was over. "It's worth a try, don't you think?" he said lightly. Unable to speak, she nodded. He was teasing now. But he hadn't been before.

"I've got to go. I shouldn't have stayed this long," he said.

Cassie swallowed. "You'd better be careful. I think Jordan had a gun—"

"Wouldn't surprise me." He brushed it off, stopping her from saying anything further. "Don't worry; I'm leaving the Cape. For now, anyway. I'll be back; maybe I'll see you then." He started to turn. Then he paused one last moment and took her hand again. Cassie was too startled at the feeling of his skin against hers to do anything about it. He turned her hand over and looked at the red marks on her wrist, then brushed them lightly with his fingertips. The steely light was back in his eyes when he looked up. "And believe me," he whispered, "he'll pay for this someday. I guarantee it." And then he did something that shocked Cassie more than anything else had during that whole shocking day. He lifted her wounded hand to his lips and kissed it. It was the gentlest, the lightest of touches, and it went through Cassie like fire. She stared at him, dazed and unbelieving, utterly speechless. She could neither move nor think; she could only stand there and
feel
.

And then he was leaving, whistling for the dog, which romped around Cassie in circles before finally breaking away. She was alone, gazing after him, her fingers clenched tightly on the small rough stone in her palm.

It was only then she realized she'd never asked him his name.

Three

An instant later Cassie came out of her daze. She'd better get moving; Logan and Jordan might be coming back any second. And if they realized she'd deliberately lied to them…

Cassie winced as she scrambled up the sloping dune. The world around her seemed ordinary again, no longer full of magic and mystery. It was as if she'd been moving in a dream, and now she'd woken up. What had she been thinking? Some nonsense about silver cords and destiny and a guy who wasn't like any other guy. But that was all ridiculous. The stone in her hand was just a stone. And words were just words. Even that boy… Of course there was no way he could have heard her thoughts. No one could do that; there had to be a rational explanation…

She tightened her grip on the little piece of rock in her palm. Her hand was still tingling where he'd held it, and the skin he'd touched with his fingertips
felt
different from any other part of her body. She thought that no matter what happened to her in the future, she would always feel his touch. Once inside the summer cottage she and her mother rented, she locked the front door behind her. Then she paused. She could hear her mother's voice from the kitchen, and from the sound of it she could tell something was wrong.

Mrs. Blake was on the phone, her back to the doorway, her head slightly bowed as she clutched the receiver to her ear. As always, Cassie was struck by the willow slimness of her mother's figure. With that and the fall of long, dark hair worn simply clasped at the back of her neck, Mrs. Blake could have been a teenager herself. It made Cassie feel protective toward her. In fact, sometimes she almost felt as if she were the mother and her mother the child.

And just now it made her decide not to interrupt her mother's conversation. Mrs. Blake was upset, and at intervals she said "Yes" or "I know" into the mouthpiece in a voice full of strain. Cassie turned and went to her bedroom.

She wandered over to the window and looked out, wondering vaguely what was going on with her mother. But she couldn't keep her mind on anything but the boy on the beach. Even if Portia knew his name, she would never tell, Cassie was sure of that. But without his name, how would Cassie ever find him again?

She wouldn't. That was the brutal truth, and she might as well face it right now. Even if she
did
find out his name, she wasn't the sort to chase after a boy. She wouldn't know how.

"And in one week I'm going home," she whispered. For the first time these words didn't bring a surge of comfort and hope. She put the rough little piece of chalcedony down on the night-stand, with a sort of final clink.

"Cassie? Did you say something?"

Cassie turned quickly to see her mother in the doorway. "Mom! I didn't know you were off the phone." When her mother continued to look at her inquiringly, she added, "I was just thinking out loud. I was saying that we'll be going home next week."

An odd expression crossed her mother's face, like a flash of repressed pain. Her large black eyes had dark circles under them and wandered nervously around the room.

"Mom, what's wrong?" said Cassie.

"I was just talking with your grandmother. You remember how I was planning for us to drive up and see her sometime next week?"

Cassie remembered very well. She'd told Portia she and her mother were going to drive up the coast, and Portia had snapped that it wasn't called the coast here. From Boston down to the Cape it was the south shore, and from Boston up to New Hampshire it was the north shore, and if you were going to Maine it was down east, and anyway, where did her grandmother live? And Cassie hadn't been able to answer because her mother had never told her the name of the town.

"Yes," she said. "I remember."

"I just got off the phone with her. She's old, Cassie, and she's not doing very well. It's worse than I realized."

"Oh, Mom. I'm sorry." Cassie had never met her grandmother, never even seen a picture of her, but she still felt awful. Her mother and grandmother had been estranged for years, since Cassie had been born. It was something about her mother leaving home, but that was all her mother would ever say about it. In the past few years, though, there had been some letters exchanged, and Cassie thought that underneath they still loved each other. She
hoped
they did, anyway, and she'd been looking forward to seeing her grandmother for the first time. "I'm really sorry, Mom," she said now. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. She's all by herself in that big house and she's lonely… and now with this phlebitis it's hard for her to get around some days." The sunshine fell in strips of light and shadow across her mother's face. She spoke quietly but almost stiltedly, as if she were holding some strong emotion back with difficulty.

"Cassie, your grandmother and I have had our problems, but we're still family, and she hasn't got anyone else. It's time we buried our differences."

Her mother had never spoken so freely about the estrangement before. "What was it all about, Mom?"

"It doesn't matter now. She wanted me to—follow a path I didn't want to follow. She thought she was doing the right thing… and now she's all alone and she needs help."

Dismay whispered through Cassie. Concern for the grandmother she'd never met—and something else. A trickle of alarm started by the look on her mother's face, which was that of someone about to deliver bad news and having a hard time finding the words.

"Cassie, I've thought a lot about this, and there's only one thing for us to do. And I'm sorry, because it will mean such a disruption of your life, and it will be so hard on you… but you're young. You'll adapt. I know you will."

A twinge of panic shot through Cassie. "Mom, it's all right," she said quickly. "You stay here and do what you need to. I can get ready for school by myself. It'll be easy; Beth and Mrs. Freeman will help me—" Cassie's mother was shaking her head, and suddenly Cassie felt she had to go on, to cover everything in a rush of words. "I don't need that many new school clothes…"

"Cassie, I'm so sorry. I need you to try and understand, sweetheart, and to be adult about this. I know you'll miss your friends. But we've both got to try to make the best of things." Her mother's eyes were fixed on the window, as if she couldn't bear to look at Cassie.

Cassie went very still. "Mom, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying we're not going home, or at least not back to Reseda. We're going to
my
home, to move in with your grandmother. She needs us. We're going to stay here."

Cassie felt nothing but a dazed numbness. She could only say stupidly, as if this were what mattered,

"Where's 'here'? Where does Grandma live?"

For the first time her mother turned from the window. Her eyes seemed bigger and darker than Cassie had ever seen them before.

"New Salem," she said quietly. "The town is called New Salem."

Hours later, Cassie was still sitting by the window, staring blankly. Her mind was running in helpless, useless circles.

To
stay
here… to stay in New England…

An electric shock ran through her.
Him. I knew we'd see him again
, something inside her proclaimed, and it was glad. But it was only one voice and there were many others, all speaking at once. To stay. Not going home. And what difference does it make if the guy is here in Massachusetts somewhere? You don't know his name or where he lives. You'll never find him again. But there's a chance, she thought desperately. And the voice deepest inside, the one that had been glad before, whispered:
More than a chance. It's your fate
.

Fate! the other voices scoffed. Don't be ridiculous! It's your fate to spend your junior year in New England, that's all. Where you don't know anyone. Where you'll be alone.

Alone, alone, alone, all the other voices agreed.

The deep voice was crushed and disappeared. Cassie felt any hope of seeing the red-haired boy again slip away from her. What she was left with was despair.