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herself to return the piercing gaze.
Aunt Constance's eyes shut and she slowly leaned back in the chair.
"You're right," she said, without looking at anyone. "Come in, all of you, and find somewhere to sit down.
Then you can tell your story."
"So finally we decided we'd better talk to you three, since you were the ones who might remember him
from the last time," Diana said. "We thought of asking our parents, too—"
"Don't go to your parents," Aunt Constance said flatly. She had sat and listened to the whole tale, her
expression getting grimmer and grimmer. An aura of bleak horror hung in the room. "They wouldn't
understand," she said, and her gaze settled on Cassie emptily, making Cassie think of her mother's blank
eyes. "They won't remember. Dear God, how I've wished that I could forget too ..."
"What's past is past," Granny Quincey said.
"Yes," said Great-aunt Constance. She straightened. "But I don't know how you think three old women
are going to help you—against him."
"We thought that you might remember something about him, some weakness; something we can use to
fight him," Adam said.
Aunt Constance slowly shook her head. Granny Quincey was frowning, her face pursed into hundreds of
wrinkles. Old Mrs. Franklin wore a very pleasant expression; Cassie couldn't tell if she'd been following
the story or not.
"If he can come back from the dead, he can't have many weaknesses," Aunt Constance whispered
harshly. "And he was always clever at manipulating. You say that Faye Chamberlain is on his side?"
"We're afraid so," Adam said.
"That's bad. He'll use her to get at you, at your weaknesses. Lure her away from him if you can. But
how?" Aunt Constance's brow lined in concentration. "The hematite—take that from her. It's very
dangerous; he can use it to influence her mind." Diana glanced at Cassie, as if to say, I told you. Aunt
Constance was going on. "And you say the skull is gone now? Are you sure?"
"It's gone," Adam said.
"It looked like it exploded when Faye was holding it, just before we were all knocked out," Cassie said.
"Something exploded out of it, anyway. And we couldn't find a trace of it afterward."
"Well . . . there's no way to use that against him, then. And you, Cassie, you haven't found anything in
your grandmother's Book to help you?"
"Not yet. I haven't gotten all the way through it, though," Cassie admitted.
Aunt Constance was shaking her head. "Power, you need power to use against him. You're all too young
to fight him—and we're too old. And in between our ages are nothing but fools. There's no power
strong enough around here.. ."
"There was once," Granny Quincey said in her reedy voice.
Aunt Constance looked at her, and her expression changed. "Once . . . yes, of course." She turned to the
Circle. "If the old stories are true, there once was a power strong enough to destroy Black John."
"What power?" Laurel asked.
Aunt Constance countered with a question. "How did Adam happen to find the skull, exactly?"
"It wasn't an accident," Diana said. "He was out looking for the Master Tools . . ." She stopped. "The
Master Tools," she whispered.
"Yes. The ones that belonged to the original coven, the real Salem witches. Our ancestors who founded
New Salem after the witch hunters drove them out of Salem Village."
Cassie was speaking out loud before she" thought. "But just what were the Master Tools, exactly?"
It was Granny Quincey who answered. "The symbols of the witch leader, of course. The diadem, the
bracelet, and the garter."
"The ones we use are just imitations," Melanie said. "They are just symbols. The original coven's were
very powerful; real tools to be used.
But, Aunt Constance"—she turned back to her aunt—"it was Black John who hid the
Master Tools. Adam's been looking for them for years, from here to Cape Cod. How can we find them
now?"
"I don't know," the woman said. "But you've got one thing wrong there. Black John didn't hide them, the
original coven did. They hid the tools from him, so he wouldn't be able to use them. They knew that with
the power of the skull and the tools together, he would be invincible. That's what my grandmother told
me, anyway."
"They wouldn't have taken the tools far to hide," Granny Quincey added. "That's just sense. Black John
was a traveler, but our ancestors weren't. They were peaceable, home-loving people."
"You came for our advice—well, that's mine," Aunt Constance said. "Find the Master Tools. If
you all stand together, using those, you may have a chance against him." Her lips were a thin line again.
"All right," Adam said slowly. "We understand."
Cassie let her breath out, trying not to feel disappointed. It was good advice, but she'd hoped—for
what? For her own grandmother, she supposed. She wanted her grandmother, who had been so wise,
and had somehow always made Cassie feel as if she were stronger than she'd thought.
"And keep reading that book your grandma gave you!" Granny Quincey said suddenly, looking right at
Cassie. Cassie nodded and the old woman gave her a wrinkled but oddly intense smile.
Mrs. Franklin was smiling too, patting her knees and looking around as if she'd forgotten something.
"What's tomorrow?" she said.
There was a pause. Cassie wasn't sure if Adam's grandmother was speaking to them or to herself. But
then she repeated, "What's tomorrow?" looking at them encouragingly.
"Uh—our birthday," Chris offered.
But Diana looked startled. "I think—I think it's the night of Hecate," she said. "Is that what you
mean?"
"That's right," old Mrs. Franklin said comfortably. "Oh, when I was young, we would have done a
ceremony. I remember ceremonies under the moon, when there were Indians in the shadows.. ."
Glances were exchanged. Mrs. Franklin couldn't possibly remember that; there hadn't been Indians
around here for centuries.
But Diana was getting excited. "You think we should have a ceremony?"
"I would, dear," Mrs. Franklin said. "A girls' ceremony. We girls always had our secrets, didn't we,
Connie? And we stuck together."
Diana looked a little puzzled, then nodded slowly, determinedly. "Yes. Yes. It would be good for the girls
to get together—all the girls. And 1 think I know what kind of ceremony to have. It's not the right
time of year, but that doesn't matter."
"I know you'll enjoy it, dear," Mrs. Franklin said. "Now let me see—Cassie!"
Cassie looked at her, startled.
"Cassie," Adam's grandmother said again. Her head was on one side, and she was sighing, the way you
do when somebody shows you a picture of smiling baby. "Dear me, you are a pretty little thing, though
you don't look at all like your mother. Still—" She broke off suddenly and looked around. "Hm?"
Great-aunt Constance was looking more severe than ever, her snapping eyes right on Mrs. Franklin.
"Edith," she said, in a flat voice.
Mrs. Franklin looked at Granny Quincey, who was also staring at her with great concentration.
"Why—I was only going to say 1 could see a bit of her mother in her expression," she said, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
herself to return the piercing gaze.
Aunt Constance's eyes shut and she slowly leaned back in the chair.
"You're right," she said, without looking at anyone. "Come in, all of you, and find somewhere to sit down.
Then you can tell your story."
"So finally we decided we'd better talk to you three, since you were the ones who might remember him
from the last time," Diana said. "We thought of asking our parents, too—"
"Don't go to your parents," Aunt Constance said flatly. She had sat and listened to the whole tale, her
expression getting grimmer and grimmer. An aura of bleak horror hung in the room. "They wouldn't
understand," she said, and her gaze settled on Cassie emptily, making Cassie think of her mother's blank
eyes. "They won't remember. Dear God, how I've wished that I could forget too ..."
"What's past is past," Granny Quincey said.
"Yes," said Great-aunt Constance. She straightened. "But I don't know how you think three old women
are going to help you—against him."
"We thought that you might remember something about him, some weakness; something we can use to
fight him," Adam said.
Aunt Constance slowly shook her head. Granny Quincey was frowning, her face pursed into hundreds of
wrinkles. Old Mrs. Franklin wore a very pleasant expression; Cassie couldn't tell if she'd been following
the story or not.
"If he can come back from the dead, he can't have many weaknesses," Aunt Constance whispered
harshly. "And he was always clever at manipulating. You say that Faye Chamberlain is on his side?"
"We're afraid so," Adam said.
"That's bad. He'll use her to get at you, at your weaknesses. Lure her away from him if you can. But
how?" Aunt Constance's brow lined in concentration. "The hematite—take that from her. It's very
dangerous; he can use it to influence her mind." Diana glanced at Cassie, as if to say, I told you. Aunt
Constance was going on. "And you say the skull is gone now? Are you sure?"
"It's gone," Adam said.
"It looked like it exploded when Faye was holding it, just before we were all knocked out," Cassie said.
"Something exploded out of it, anyway. And we couldn't find a trace of it afterward."
"Well . . . there's no way to use that against him, then. And you, Cassie, you haven't found anything in
your grandmother's Book to help you?"
"Not yet. I haven't gotten all the way through it, though," Cassie admitted.
Aunt Constance was shaking her head. "Power, you need power to use against him. You're all too young
to fight him—and we're too old. And in between our ages are nothing but fools. There's no power
strong enough around here.. ."
"There was once," Granny Quincey said in her reedy voice.
Aunt Constance looked at her, and her expression changed. "Once . . . yes, of course." She turned to the
Circle. "If the old stories are true, there once was a power strong enough to destroy Black John."
"What power?" Laurel asked.
Aunt Constance countered with a question. "How did Adam happen to find the skull, exactly?"
"It wasn't an accident," Diana said. "He was out looking for the Master Tools . . ." She stopped. "The
Master Tools," she whispered.
"Yes. The ones that belonged to the original coven, the real Salem witches. Our ancestors who founded
New Salem after the witch hunters drove them out of Salem Village."
Cassie was speaking out loud before she" thought. "But just what were the Master Tools, exactly?"
It was Granny Quincey who answered. "The symbols of the witch leader, of course. The diadem, the
bracelet, and the garter."
"The ones we use are just imitations," Melanie said. "They are just symbols. The original coven's were
very powerful; real tools to be used.
But, Aunt Constance"—she turned back to her aunt—"it was Black John who hid the
Master Tools. Adam's been looking for them for years, from here to Cape Cod. How can we find them
now?"
"I don't know," the woman said. "But you've got one thing wrong there. Black John didn't hide them, the
original coven did. They hid the tools from him, so he wouldn't be able to use them. They knew that with
the power of the skull and the tools together, he would be invincible. That's what my grandmother told
me, anyway."
"They wouldn't have taken the tools far to hide," Granny Quincey added. "That's just sense. Black John
was a traveler, but our ancestors weren't. They were peaceable, home-loving people."
"You came for our advice—well, that's mine," Aunt Constance said. "Find the Master Tools. If
you all stand together, using those, you may have a chance against him." Her lips were a thin line again.
"All right," Adam said slowly. "We understand."
Cassie let her breath out, trying not to feel disappointed. It was good advice, but she'd hoped—for
what? For her own grandmother, she supposed. She wanted her grandmother, who had been so wise,
and had somehow always made Cassie feel as if she were stronger than she'd thought.
"And keep reading that book your grandma gave you!" Granny Quincey said suddenly, looking right at
Cassie. Cassie nodded and the old woman gave her a wrinkled but oddly intense smile.
Mrs. Franklin was smiling too, patting her knees and looking around as if she'd forgotten something.
"What's tomorrow?" she said.
There was a pause. Cassie wasn't sure if Adam's grandmother was speaking to them or to herself. But
then she repeated, "What's tomorrow?" looking at them encouragingly.
"Uh—our birthday," Chris offered.
But Diana looked startled. "I think—I think it's the night of Hecate," she said. "Is that what you
mean?"
"That's right," old Mrs. Franklin said comfortably. "Oh, when I was young, we would have done a
ceremony. I remember ceremonies under the moon, when there were Indians in the shadows.. ."
Glances were exchanged. Mrs. Franklin couldn't possibly remember that; there hadn't been Indians
around here for centuries.
But Diana was getting excited. "You think we should have a ceremony?"
"I would, dear," Mrs. Franklin said. "A girls' ceremony. We girls always had our secrets, didn't we,
Connie? And we stuck together."
Diana looked a little puzzled, then nodded slowly, determinedly. "Yes. Yes. It would be good for the girls
to get together—all the girls. And 1 think I know what kind of ceremony to have. It's not the right
time of year, but that doesn't matter."
"I know you'll enjoy it, dear," Mrs. Franklin said. "Now let me see—Cassie!"
Cassie looked at her, startled.
"Cassie," Adam's grandmother said again. Her head was on one side, and she was sighing, the way you
do when somebody shows you a picture of smiling baby. "Dear me, you are a pretty little thing, though
you don't look at all like your mother. Still—" She broke off suddenly and looked around. "Hm?"
Great-aunt Constance was looking more severe than ever, her snapping eyes right on Mrs. Franklin.
"Edith," she said, in a flat voice.
Mrs. Franklin looked at Granny Quincey, who was also staring at her with great concentration.
"Why—I was only going to say 1 could see a bit of her mother in her expression," she said, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]