 
# Comes the Night

_Book 1 in the Casters Series_

## Norah Wilson

_and_

## Heather Doherty

Published by

Something Shiny Press

P.O. Box 30046, Fredericton, NB, E3B 0H8
Copyright (C) 2012 Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and the publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and are not to be construed as real. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the authors.

Smashwords Edition

**Smashwords Edition, License Notes**

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Edited by Nancy Cassidy, TheRedPenCoach.com

Cover by Phat Puppy Art

Book Design by Hale Author Services

### Note re Bonus Material

Please note that bonus material in the form of an excerpt from _Into the Night_ , Book 2 in the Casters Series, appears at the end of this book. That bonus material will make this book appear several pages longer than it actually is. Bear that in mind as you approach the end and are anxiously trying to judge how much story is left!

### Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Other books by Wilson-Doherty

Excerpt from _Enter the Night_

### Prologue

#### From the Diary of Connie Harvell

_October 11, 1962_

_Dear Diary_ ,

_I went out again tonight._

_I just had to! There was no room for anything in me beyond the need to escape. As soon as my legs would hold me, I got off that cot and crossed my attic prison to the stained glass window. I looked at the Madonna trapped there in the colored glass. Her image was dull in the night, yet --in its own way--alive with the moonlight shining through. I saw her eyes clearly. And it really felt like she saw mine too--saw my horror._

_Yes, this gentle lady knows my suffering. She 's silent yet offering. And it's terrifying, what she offers!_

_I will not be damned for what I must do. I. Will. Not!_

_I touched the cold glass, Dear Diary. I laid my hands on it and looked up into those blue eyes. I smiled, despite the nightmare of this room. I smiled as I prepared to say the words that would set me free, if only for these darkened hours._

_Because out there... out there I 'm free from the locks, the bindings. The pain. Even my lonely isolation. Out there I join with the night. And it joins with me!_

_I spoke the words. I whispered them as I tapped on the window. Then, once again, I was one with the dark night._

_It was terrifying_... _And yes --it was wonderful._

### Chapter 1

#### The Bleeding Rose

_Alex_

_Present day_

IT WAS THE cold that woke her.

Eyes still glued shut with sleep, Alex Robbins threw her arm wide, fumbling for the covers she must have thrown off in the night. Except her knuckles came in stinging contact with a hard surface instead of a soft mattress.

What the hell? Her eyes flew open.

The ceiling above was unfamiliar, but from the way it slanted so sharply, with raw, exposed beams, it had to be an attic.

She was in an _attic_!

She jackknifed up, then wished she hadn't as sharp, stinging pain arrowed up from between her legs. Gasping, she leaned to the right, shifting her weight onto her hip to alleviate the discomfort. Oh, God, her _naked_ hip! Her shirt hung open, buttons missing, and she wore nothing from the waist down.

Her heart pounded, and a wave of nausea rolled over her as she struggled to process the obvious.

_Who had done this to her?_

The memory was like a hammer, just outside her awareness. Relentlessly pounding. Forcefully driving at the walls of her mind in an attempt to break through the barrier. She pressed her fists to her forehead for long moments, straining for the memory. But it wouldn't come. Oh God, it wouldn't come! But something _had_ happened! And that terrified her, like nothing had ever terrified her before.

She turned her frantic attention back to the room. Definitely an attic, but where? Everything was dusty and gray and still, as if stopped in time. The dark rafters above her rose to a peaked roof. The lighting was low, only the smallest amount of diffused sunlight filtered into the room.

_Sunlight_ --there had to be a window.

Alex cringed at the pain low in her belly as she turned. Beside her lay a musty, dirt-streaked overcoat and she pulled it up around her, covering her nakedness. A low window was directly behind her and she only had to scoot back a few feet to look outside. The top two-thirds of the window shone with a multitude of bright colors, but she didn't even look at the pattern in the stained glass. She just raised herself up enough to peer through the clear glass at the bottom.

It was barely morning. Probably just past six, judging from the rising sun. Alex was looking out on a river--the Saint John River. She recognized this stretch of it. At least she was still in Mansbridge. And as she studied more of her surroundings through the window--the buildings around the bend in the river, a transport truck rumbling down the road on the other side of the Saint John--she knew where she was.

"I'm still in Harvell House!" she whispered. There was little comfort in that.

Alex had come back to school early; the other students wouldn't be arriving for two more days. She'd had little choice in the pre-Labor Day arrival. Her parents had had enough of her, and she'd certainly had enough of them. Two phone calls and it was arranged, Harvell House would take her early. "Reject Row" the town called it. Harvell House was the residence where the loneliest went, the oddest ones, and of course, as in Alex's case, the very worst of the bad apples who attended the Streep Academy.

She turned her attention back to the room. As her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, she could make out more detail. A mattressless crib, its sides high and slats wide apart, stood in one corner, flanked by two dressers and an old rocking chair. Alex's stomach clenched as she saw the wide cot, the one tatter of thick rope knotted onto the metal frame.

_But no, it hadn 't happened there._

She pulled the dirty coat tighter around her. Whoever had done this to her--whoever had _raped_ her--hadn't done it there on the cot, but here on the floor. Here where she sat now. She couldn't remember it happening, but with stomach-churning sickness and body-burning anger, she knew the truth of it.

And it had to have been rape. Her sexual experience was a whole lot thinner than most people probably thought, but she knew enough to know consensual sex didn't leave you feeling like _this_.

The memory hammered--again and again. _Closer_.

Under the meager covering of the coat, Alex brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. The action caused the coat to gape at the top. She looked down at herself, at her beloved tattoo just above her right breast--a bleeding red rose. She'd gotten it back home in Halifax during the summer in celebration of her 17th birthday. They'd all gotten one--Alex and Anika and Chelsea. Anika had dared a small musical note on her ankle. Chelsea a wide, blue tramp stamp on her lower back. But Alex had been drawn to the bleeding red rose displayed on the tattoo shop's wall. She'd gotten that. Gone back once more over the summer to have the job completed.

And now, at the sight of the bruise from unknown hands continuing to form around that bleeding flower, she curled up into a ball on the floor let the tough-girl tears flow.

How had this happened? She'd been back in Mansbridge twenty-four hours. Last night had been her first night at Harvell House. Who could have done this to her? Who would have _dared?_ Who even knew she was back?

How did she get here?

_Come on, girl, remember!_

But that was just it. She couldn't. No matter how hard she tried.

Had she been roofied?

The caretaker--John Smith--had signed her in to Harvell. Quiet, harmless-looking old geezer. As always, he'd barely made eye contact with her. The housemother, Mrs. Betts, had been summoned. Tired, apathetic, annoyed to be woken at two in the afternoon, she'd shown Alex to the second-floor room she'd be sharing in September with two girls, one of whom she'd never even heard of, and the other she knew to be a total B. She fully intended to bunk with Leah and Kassidy again this year, but she would save that news for when her posse could back her up. So instead of arguing about it, Alex had lain down on the bed. She'd read for a bit, had a short nap, cracked open her flask and... Her flask! Was that it? Had someone on the bus ride slipped something into her bottle? Unlikely. She'd had it in her carry-on and had used that as a pillow most of the way. She'd changed buses in Moncton, but the bag hadn't been out of her sight. Not for a minute.

She just couldn't remember. And if she couldn't remember, how could she tell anyone? Especially with her reputation in Mansbridge. She'd had almost as many run-ins with the local law here as she'd had with the Halifax Regional Police. And the force was so much smaller here. Every one of them knew her. Or thought they did.

She'd get up. Of course she would. She'd fight this feeling of brokenness. She'd get up and wrap the coat around her and make her way back to her room, and get showered and dressed. But she was going to stop crying first. Get a hold of herself.

Starting by getting out of this stupid fetal position. She wasn't a baby.

She rolled onto her back. Through tear-filled eyes she glared up at the rafters steepling above her, silent witness to her--There was something there. She wiped at her eyes to get a better look. Papers?

No not papers, exactly--a yellow-edged book, way up on the rafters, tucked in what looked to be a rough-carved place in the wooden beam. She wouldn't have even noticed it had she not been lying flat on the floor.

Alex got to her feet and pulled the coat around her. The musty, sickening smell of the coat's fabric filled her nostrils, but she pushed her nausea aside and crossed the floor to look up at the rafter. How could she reach it?

She scanned the room. The rocking chair! It wouldn't boost her high enough to reach the hidden book, but if she used it to get up on the dresser... No sooner had she formed the thought than she was moving the heavy dresser, lifting each side by turns and inching it quietly to the center of the room.

Alex climbed. As much as her world felt like it was falling apart, she was pulled to the tiny book, like the distraction of discovering its contents would somehow be enough to help her survive this awful moment. She stood on top of the dresser, balanced on her bare feet and reached. With careful, digging fingers she pulled the book from its wooden nest and held it close to her as she climbed down to the floor again.

She flipped through the pages as she stood there, reading a bit here and there of the shaking handwriting on the yellowed paper. "Omigod, a diary."

She flipped to the front page and read the name there. _Connie Edwina Harvell_. She closed the book and her fingers touched the tiniest rose, drawn on one lower corner of the cover.

Alex tucked the diary securely into the top of the tightly-belted coat and eased the dresser back into place. Then, with practiced stealth, she made her way soundlessly back down to her room.

She showered, standing under the stinging hot spray until the water ran cold. She dressed. She cried again and pounded her pillow. She fought and fought with the memory and the memory fought with her.

And then, as she sat tight in a corner, Alex Robbins began reading the yellowed pages of Connie's diary.

### Chapter 2

#### Tabula Rasa

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE HEMLOCK HAD been in more awkward situations than this over the course of her seventeen years. But darned if she could think of one of those situations right now as she sat on the edge of her bed in her assigned room at Harvell House. Her gaze traveled between her two roommates--Alex Robbins and Brooke Saunders. Their single beds, identical to Maryanne's, snugged up against two of the other walls of the perfectly square, perfectly plain, high-ceilinged room.

Eyes shifted.

It was like some kind of Mexican standoff, without the guns.

_What the heck was she doing here?_

No sooner did the thought form than the answer came. Along with the sad resolve. Because she _had_ to be here.

Jason.

She still missed him. Still grieved her baby brother's death as if it were yesterday. Twelve months and twelve days, that had been his whole life. She didn't grieve him with the same anguished desperation as her mother did. Nor with the same stoic heartache as her father. But she missed him and mourned him in her own way.

Like no one would ever-- _could_ ever!--know.

It wasn't that Jason had been the adored sibling. No more and no less the center of her parents' world than she had been. They'd both been cherished, and known it. She'd been their first born child; he'd been their 'miracle' baby. The pleasant surprise. And he'd fit.

Jason had fit perfectly into their little family. Made it all the cozier.

She supposed that they had been an extraordinarily close-knit family. Skip Hemlock, her slightly eccentric father, had been a content stay-at-home dad who made the most amazing lasagna and was famous in their little subdivision for his pecan pie, which was Maryanne's favorite. He'd made Jason's baby food himself, and kept it all organic. Maryanne's mother, Kelly Webb-Hemlock, was the CEO of a very successful Toronto IT security firm, but she had never missed a single one of Maryanne's Christmas concerts, piano lessons or swim meets. She'd aahed and oohed over every one of Jason's first words, marveled at his smile. So had Maryanne.

But then on that nightmare night just last May, Jason's life had ended.

And the guilt crushed her still.

It's not like her little brother had been the glue that had held the family together. But nevertheless without him, they'd come undone. And rightly or wrongly, she'd had to get away. Away from her parents whose marriage was crumbling right before her eyes. Away from all the sympathetic souls who told Maryanne how sorry they were for her loss, how much Jason had adored her, and worst of all--what a very good big sister she'd been.

A few Google searches later and she'd had the answer: Streep Academy in Mansbridge, New Brunswick.

I wasn't like Streep was her only choice. Her marks had been good enough to get her into _any_ private school in the country, and her parents could afford to send her. But this little school in this small town had seemed just right. Just far enough away from her Burlington, Ontario home. Neither of her parents protested. In fact, her mother cut the tuition check the very day Maryanne broached the idea. She'd opened up a generous line of credit for her remaining child with the instructions, "Don't go without." And four weeks later, her father hugged her goodbye at the airport.

Short hours after that tremulous hug, she'd stood before Harvell house--the only dorm left in town that had a vacancy--and smiled. "Awesome!"

"Yeah, it's pretty grand," the taxi driver agreed, placing her bags on the sidewalk. "Can't imagine why Mr. Stanley doesn't sell it. He could get a good price for it."

She passed him a tip and took the handle of her suitcase. "I'm glad he hasn't."

The Academy's website had boasted this as one of the oldest homes in a town bursting with old homes. Apparently, it was owned by a Mr. C. W. Stanley, an oil man from Alberta who had visited Mansbridge years ago, fell in love with the little town, and spent a ton of money to modernize the property.

About a decade ago, he'd donated use of the house to Streep Academy. But even from the low-res pictures on the Streep website, Maryanne knew Harvell was the place for her. She'd always 'felt' places, their _vibes_ , though that particular quirk was something she kept to herself, ever since Angela Carlin had called her a weirdo back in Grade 3 when she'd described the school's small gym as angry.

But it wouldn't take someone with Maryanne's sensitivity to feel the lonesomeness that permeated the huge, old house. It practically _breathed_ out through the clapboards. Disquiet stared from every window of Harvell House, even the smallest ones.

"Oh wow, especially the smallest ones."

Maryanne looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen her talking to herself. Not exactly the first impression she wanted to make. But only the cab driver was there to hear her. He smiled and got back into his vehicle.

As the taxi pulled away, Maryanne climbed the steps and walked into the enormous old house, knowing she'd made the right choice. She'd breathe here a little while, while her parents survived, marriage intact or not, back in Burlington. She'd grieve here. Work through the feelings as best she could. And what was left, she would shove in a box in the corner of her mind so she could go on. Then she'd head home in the summer and prepare for university.

That was the plan.

Someone cleared their throat, dragging Maryanne away from her drifting thoughts and back to the present. _Right_. She was supposed to be getting to know these two. After all, these were her roommates for the next ten months. They seemed an unlikely trio.

Alex was clearly a scene kid. Skinny-legged jeans, slip on Vans, tight band t-shirt. Two lip rings on her bottom lip, one on either side, and the requisite black hair skimming her shoulders at the back, but bangs cut jaggedly short at the front. The only thing missing was the heavy eyeliner. Maryanne could all too easily imagine those gray-blue eyes darkly outlined in that delicate, heart-shaped face. But even without dramatic makeup, Alex's eyes were very pretty, if a little sad.

Brooke's looks, on the other hand, were a sharp contrast with Alex's. Not that Maryanne was vying for the title of fashion czar, since comfy jeans and a loose-fitting sweater was her fall fashion statement. But Brooke was clearly going for something altogether different. She was definitely high-end. Long brunette hair, parted in the middle, and doubtlessly enhanced by a salon versus Alex's home dye job. Perfect oval of a face. Dark, impeccably groomed eyebrows and a slightly olive-tinted complexion that probably never broke out and required nothing more than a moisturizer. Even her clothes looked expensive. Maryanne didn't know one designer from another, but even she could see the difference $300 made to a pair of jeans. Top it with a nice shirt and a tailored leather jacket and Brooke Saunders looked like sheer confidence on a pair of spike-heeled shoes. What was _she_ doing in Harvell House? Maryanne would lay money that she was a late enrollment, too. Too late for one of the better dorms.

"Soooo," Maryanne edged out. Someone had to break the ice. It would be a pretty damn long year otherwise. "You guys come here often?"

Not a chuckle. But at least it started a conversation.

"This is my second year," Brooke said.

_At Harvell or Streep?_ Maryanne wondered. "Do you like it here?"

"At Harvell or Streep?"

The echo of her own question rattled Maryanne for a moment. _Brooke actually chose to come back to Harvell?_ She shrugged. "Both."

Brooke sighed. "Quiet town. Small school. Boring house."

Alex snorted.

"Okay," Brooke amended. "Nothing much happens in _my world_ around here." With a purposeful and sly smile, she looked over at Alex. "But that's just me. I guess I hang with the boring crowd. You know, the ones on this side of the law."

Maryanne waited for Alex to reply, but she didn't. In fact, her raven-haired roommate suddenly seemed to be barely registering the conversation. She seemed... lost. Not for words; Maryanne had the feeling Alex Robbins wouldn't be too shy about tearing a strip off of anyone, if the situation demanded. But right now, she seemed lost in some interior maze of thought. Without knowing exactly why, Maryanne felt a pang of compassion for the girl.

"I'm from New York," Brooke offered.

Maryanne swung her gaze back to Brooke. "What brings you to Mansbridge?"

She shrugged. "Same reason most of the girls are here. Things went wrong at home. Or home didn't fit anymore. It was a boundaries thing. Take your pick. For me, that translates into my mother remarried."

"You don't like the guy?" Maryanne asked.

"He's a freakin' Nazi," Brooke pulled a nail file out of her purse. "Or pride of the NYPD computer crime division, depending on how you look at it."

"Your mom must like him."

Brooke snorted. "My mother--she's a district attorney--met him three years ago when she was prosecuting some corporate weasel who was hacking into competitors' systems, then undercutting everyone on industry bids."

"Bad stuff."

Brooke waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy starts trying to set curfews and acts like a total authoritarian dipstick. The upshot--darling daughter gets sent away to boarding school."

Ouch. Guess $300 jeans didn't fix everything. "Why Streep?"  
"To piss my mother off." Brooke smiled as she said it. "Streep was my idea."

Maryanne nodded. "You must find it a real... culture shock, being in such a small town."

"I get by. And it's almost over. Last year." Brooke turned to the other girl. "Your last year too, huh, Alex?"

Alex stared at her for a moment, as if hitting an internal rewind button to trace back the conversation. "Yeah, one more year."

"What brings you to Harvell House?" It was Brooke's turn to ask the questions, and she was pointing them at Maryanne.

Under Brooke's sharp gaze, Maryanne fought to control the sudden pounding of her heart in the long and empty pause. She couldn't tell. Didn't want to. Not yet.

She smiled, lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "You know, just needed a change of pace."

Brooke smirked, "Which translates into... ?"

"Just that. Change of pace." Maryanne stood and walked to the window overlooking the Saint John River. Traffic was picking up. School would be starting tomorrow. Not just Streep, but the nearby community college, high school and grade schools. God, but it was a pretty town. Picture-book pretty, with the cozy little shops lining the streets, the trail along the river, the sidewalks and crosswalks. She had to smile as she saw a black cat scoot out to the crosswalk. Every car came to a stop for the feline and the drivers seemed to wait each other out after it passed. Just who was going to go first to cross the black cat's path?

"I think I'll go for a walk tonight," Maryanne announced. "Explore a little."

"Don't!"

Maryanne startled at Alex's near shout. Their eyes met.

Alex ran a hand over her hair. "Things... things aren't always as safe as they seem around here."

_Someone 's hurt her_. Maryanne knew it instantly. She didn't know who nor why nor how, but she knew that someone had hurt this girl to make her so on edge. So cautious and quiet.

"Well, aren't you the little den mother all of a sudden," Brooke said.

Alex sent her a quelling look. "She's new here, Brooke. She doesn't know her way around town yet. And you don't... you don't know who's around."

There was a knock at the door. Maryanne saw Alex stiffen, her eyes growing wide.

"Come in," Brooke called, and the door swung open.

It was the caretaker, the one who'd carried Maryanne's bag up to this second floor room when she'd arrived. He didn't glance up at any of them, but instead looked down at the floor like a meek boy rather than the man of sixty-some years he had to be. "Mrs. Betts needs to see you all," he said. "In the main parlor. Right away."

"Problem?" Maryanne asked.

"Nah, she just likes to lay down the house rules," Brooke answered for John Smith, and the man backed gratefully away from the door. " _Study hard. Be good. No drinking. No boys._ Bet you can't wait to break them all again this year, huh Alex?"

The look Alex returned was ice cold. "It's a new year, Brooke."

"Yeah, but same old Alex. You'll be on probation within a week."

Alex bit her lip, the lower one with the double piercing. "People change."

"Not so much, in my experience." On that note, Brooke stood. She tucked her purse under her arm and headed toward the door. Stopping with her hand on the doorknob, she turned to Maryanne. "Coming?"

"I'll be right along."

"Suit yourself."

Alex stood. She drifted over to the window and stood gazing out of it, hands tucked deep in her jeans pockets.

What was it with this girl? What was her sad story?

"Hey," Maryanne said. "At the meeting downstairs... mind if I sit with you?"

There was a worry in Alex's eyes as she contemplated the idea. "Whatever," she finally said, and stalked out into the hallway.

### Chapter 3

#### The World That Tightens Around

_Alex_

ALEX FLOPPED INTO the first empty seat she came to. Not because it was the most comfortable one left in the old parlor. It wasn't. If anything, the old, narrow-bottomed, straight-backed dining chair looked as if it could be transformed into a fairly efficient torture device with very little effort. Or very little imagination. But Alex claimed it because it was the closest one to the door. And she wasn't sure she could catch her breath if she went further into the room.

The panicky feeling she'd woken with in that damned attic was still with her. Instead of fading over the intervening days, it seemed to have burrowed down inside, surfacing at odd intervals. It was making itself known in this crowded room. This crowded room with _only one exit_.

From across the room, Alex saw Leah give a head jerk _over here_ gesture. Beside Leah, Kassidy scowled off a freshman who was about to claim the empty seat between them. They were obviously holding it for Alex. But with her left foot flat on the floor, and her right jacked up on the bottom rung for emphasis--Alex stayed put in the chair by the door.

A second later, Maryanne sat down in the equally narrow-bottomed, straight-backed piece of crap beside her. Alex shot her a quick look. Maryanne flashed her a smile, then turned away to scan the faces of the assembled students.

Huh. After Alex's less than warm reception of Maryanne's suggestion that they sit together, she really hadn't expected the other girl to park it next to her. Especially when there were more comfy chairs further inside.

Alex shrugged. Whatever. If Maryanne wanted to sit in that torture device, so be it.

The room filled up quickly. Alex glanced around the large parlor, then stared out the door into the hallway. She'd leave. If it got to be too much, she'd just walk out. Already she could feel the closeness of the room pressing in around her. Felt the first trickles of warmth, then the tightness in her chest. It hadn't been like this before. It _shouldn 't be_ like this. But everything felt entrapping now. Threatening. Like she was suffocating within her own skin.

While she battled that feeling of suffocation, Patricia Betts came up behind her and laid a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex jumped in her seat and swore.

Those who dared, and those who'd never met Alex Robbins, snickered.

"Good heavens, I didn't mean to startle you." Mrs. Betts thrust a handful of colorful pages out toward her. "Hand these out for me please, Alex."

Alex didn't budge as the seconds ticked by. Not in defiance, but because the room suddenly did feel that close. She felt her knees tremble.

"I'll do it, Mrs. Betts. I need to stretch my legs."

Maryanne was on her feet with papers in hand before Betts had time to utter a protest. But in true Patricia Betts fashion, she just rolled her eyes, sighed and let it go as she took her place at the front of the room behind the podium, an old scarred-up music stand that was almost guaranteed to get knocked over before the meeting was done. Betts took a pair of reading glasses from a case and perched them on her nose. She looked down at the pages before her--the same ones Maryanne was handing out--as if she'd bothered to add anything different from all the previous years. As if she'd actually take the time to-- _He 's looking at me._

Alex knew John Smith's eyes were on her even before she looked his way. Her darting eyes were quick enough to catch the caretaker staring. Quickly he lowered his glance. He almost seemed to lower his head.

_Was it him? The old dude who always looked so harmless?_

Smith could have slipped into her room while she was in the bathroom and put something in her flask. He knew Alex was back at Harvell House. He could access the attic. Maybe he only _seemed_ harmless. Maybe it was all an act. Maybe he'd been stalking her for years. Watching her. Waiting until he could--

Alex shook her head. Fought down the breaths that she just now realized were coming far too fast. She was driving herself crazy. But dammit, who wouldn't be driven out of their mind if they'd been drugged and raped and left to wake half-naked and confused in a dingy old attic? Left there like a used tissue or some bit of garbage they were finished with.

The only thing worse than that, was not knowing who'd done it.

Alex bristled as Maryanne sat down again beside her, passing her the last of the handouts.

"Now, we'll start with the yellow sheet," Mrs. Betts said. The yellow sheets were two sheets down in the small packets of colorful pages, which made no sense to anyone. The rustle of turning pages filled the room. Alex glanced down.

Oh God, the yellow sheet. Introductions.

Before Mrs. Betts even announced his name, the school's benefactor C. W. Stanley rose from his chair beside the podium. He bowed like a Southern gentleman in an old Civil War movie, removing his hat as if he were being introduced to a room full of genteel ladies rather than the collection of cast-offs and hard cases most of them were. C. W. slicked a hand back over his yellow-white hair. "My, my," he said, smiling around the room. "I don't think I've ever been in the company of such fine young ladies."

What an ass. And unfortunately a long-winded one.

"We are joined here once again at the beginning of another school year in this majestic home," C. W. began, leaning back as he pontificated. "It's a house full of history. Harvell House is one of Mansbridge's oldest homes. When I first came to this fine town, I marveled at the place. I would walk along the sidewalks, look up at this grand structure and vow I would own it." And here, as he always did, C. W. raised an arm for dramatic emphasis. "And now, by the grace of God, Harvell House is mine, and I am so pleased to open it up to all of you promising young ladies."

Kassidy snorted and some of the other girls tittered, but it was lost on Alex. She was too busy trying to imagine C. W. in the role of her attacker.

Could it have been him?

He was known for lurking around the house, although she'd never heard of him entering a room without knocking. And quite a few of the girls said he sometimes looked at them in a leering, old-man way. Kassidy herself, just last year, had sworn she saw him peeking through the curtains one night after lights out. But Kassidy _always_ said men were looking at her. Once when they'd snuck into the local tavern with fake IDs, Kassidy had insisted that every guy in the place waved to her at least once over the course of the night. Alex and Leah had just about peed themselves laughing, knowing Kassidy's 'admirers' were just signaling for another round of draft.

On the other hand, Harvell House belonged to C. W., and he clearly took pride in its history. Why wouldn't he check in on the place?

_But had he raped her?_

She studied him with narrowed eyes. Man, he looked as if he could barely get _himself_ up the stairs, let alone manage it while burdened with Alex's weight. Because she must have been unconscious, to have no memory whatever of the event or even of preceding events.

Alex felt tears sting the back of her eyes. Was this the way it would always be? Would she be looking for the bastard who'd done this in the eyes of every man she encountered for the rest of her life?

All of a sudden, Alex felt something else. Maryanne's elbow in her ribs.

"What the--"

"I'm Maryanne Hemlock," Maryanne announced. "From Burlington, Ontario. This is my first year attending Streep Academy. And so, of course, it's my first year at Harvell."

Okay, she got it. Alex was next. She drew a shaky breath.

"Burlington. That's near Toronto, isn't it, Miss Hemlock?" C. W. asked. He always tried way too hard with the new girls.

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you'll enjoy life at Harvell House."

"I'm sure I will, Mr. Stanley."

"Tell us a little about yourself. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Even as distracted as Alex was, she felt Maryanne go tense beside her.

"No," Maryanne said, her voice flatter than before. "No. I'm an only child."

Maryanne lowered her head, as if all of a sudden something was terribly interesting in the tiny ring she twisted now around her finger. Alex glimpsed the stone--Apache tear--she was almost sure. Anika had been into stones the summer before last in Halifax. She'd spent a small fortune on them at a little store on Barrington Street that specialized in things like that.

It was Alex's turn. Short and sweet. To the point. That's how she'd get through this.

"I'm Alex Saunders. Last year. Going to... going to see what I can make of it."

"Party time!" Leah shouted.

"No!" The automatic denial was out before Alex could even think about it. Dammit, she should have just let it slide. After all, that was the Alex everyone knew. That's how she'd ended up at Streep in the first place three years ago, a whole province away from her parents and little sister back in Nova Scotia. Her parents just couldn't handle her. The drinking, the fights, the staying out all hours, the early run-ins with the law. She'd been kicked out of a handful of schools in Halifax, including two Catholic ones within the same month. Streep had been a way out for all of them. For Alex to get away from her parents, for her parents to get away from her. And for the sake of her impressionable little sister Eva, of course. Alex was well aware of that unspoken fact, too. The thought of her family and her friends back home suddenly made her want to cry. But she had to keep it together.

_Say something, Robbins._ "I... that's not what I meant."

Audibly, Leah pffted her disbelief, but it was Kassidy whose glare burned her from across the room. "What is it with you, Alex?" Kassidy demanded. "What's your problem?"

All the other girls were looking at her now. Mrs. Betts, John Smith, C. W. Stanley--everyone's eyes were on her. What did they know? Who were these new girls anyway? And what about the ones who'd known her before? Could they... oh, God, could they see it in her eyes? Could they look at her and know how close she was to screaming?

The torture chair went flying back against the wall and Alex found herself on her feet with all those eyes staring at her.

She bolted.

Mrs. Betts called after her, but Alex had to get out of there, now. Had to get some air.

She'd never felt so panicked--so _scared_ --as she ran out of Harvell House. She had never in her life felt so alone as she jumped down the steps. And as she raced along the walkway, her fingers found and clutched the little diary in the pocket of her hoodie.

### Chapter 4

#### The Bitch Is Back

_Brooke_

BROOKE SAUNDERS KICKED her shoes off the moment she hit the bedroom. Sighing, she closed the door behind her and dropped her book bag. She'd cut out of History--her last class of the day--early, pleading a migraine. But she didn't need Tylenol for a non-existent headache. She just needed a little alone time. God, it seemed like _forever_ since she'd enjoyed just being by herself.

And not just since she came here, just over five weeks ago. Since... forever. Well, at least since her mother had married Herr Kommandant.

It used to be just Brooke and her mom, Gracie, ever since her dad split when she was seven. Not that her mom didn't have the occasional boyfriend, but they came and they went and they never posed a serious threat. Not until her mother caught that stupid case that brought her in contact with stupid Kendall McLeod, Detective First-Grade with the NYPD. After that, after all the skirmishes over curfews and attitude and language and _every last damned thing_ , she'd taken to staying out until all hours of the night. Which meant she had to tolerate the company of friends and would-be-friends and yeah, some downright creeps, just so she wouldn't have to endure Herr Kommandant at home.

And she was _not_ going to think about him now, or her mother or any of that stuff. She'd only get pissed off. And she had plenty enough to get pissed about already.

Of course, her mother had a few things to be pissed about too. Namely, the credit card bill from last month with the incriminating charges on it.

Brooke had come to town three days before school started--lying to her mother about the start date. But she hadn't exactly been searching for solitude then. She'd checked into one of those odiously dated but affordably-priced cabins down by the river and invited Seth Walker to join her. She would have preferred the new Best Western, but she'd thought that if she kept the expenditure small enough, it wouldn't come to her new stepfather's attention back in New York. She should have known better.

Not that her mother would be overly shocked to learn she'd been sharing a motel room with a boy. Over this past summer, when Brooke started avoiding home for days at a time, her mother had handed her an appointment card for their family physician, instructing her to get herself on the pill and for God's sake to please be careful and to always protect herself. With that vote of confidence, Brooke had promptly given up her virginity to the first sufficiently hot guy who'd cared enough to chase her--a French pre-med student she'd met after crashing a party. Of course, he'd stopped chasing as soon as she stopped running. And she'd stopped putting out.

But Seth, a native of Mansbridge, was different. The two of them had been hot and heavy last spring, before she'd had to go back home, but Brooke stupidly hadn't wanted to take it any further than their make out sessions in Seth's cramped Mustang. Instead, she'd gone home and wound up sleeping with a jerk she hadn't given a crap about.

When she'd called, Seth had come running. All he'd had to hear was "motel" and he'd been there, panting after her. Except he hadn't been too pleased about the fact that she'd come back unencumbered with her virginity. Not that he was so put off that he hadn't availed himself of what she was offering. He'd availed himself _plenty_ , for the whole three days, until she moved into Harvell House. And then he'd fallen off the face of the earth.

That's right. He'd gone to ground. It had been _five weeks_ now, and still she hadn't heard from him. And this despite the messages she'd left on his parents' voice mail. Worst of all, she'd sent a friend request to his stupid new Facebook page, and he was giving her the inbox rot. And she _knew_ he was around. He'd changed his profile picture twice. _Jerk_. And duh--she'd seen him twice at the mall. And she was sure it was him at the wheel when his Mustang had rumbled past her last Thursday night. She'd been to the bar--thank you, fake ID--and had the cab driver drop her a few blocks from Harvell House so she could sneak back in. She'd taken off her shoe and thrown it after him, but her aim had fallen short.

Well, screw Seth Walker. When she caught up with him, she'd tear him a new one. In the meantime, she wasn't wasting another second thinking about him. Especially when she had the place to herself.

She flopped down on her bed. It took some doing, but eventually she calmed herself down and emptied her mind of the Seth/Herr Kommandant/Mother noise. That's when she heard it.

_Silence_.

Oh, man, that was good! She listened to it some more, sinking into it. Before long, though, she felt the tug of sleep. Felt it and sat right up. No way was she wasting quality alone time by sleeping. She could do that any time.

Besides, there was something she'd been meaning to do... She got up and crossed to Alex's corner of the room. That girl was acting strange. To hear her, you'd think she'd turned totally straight-edge. The Alex Robbins Brooke knew from last year was seriously hardcore. Yet she'd kept up the act--if it was in fact an act--for more than five weeks now. Could it be for real? In Brooke's experience, no one did that kind of one-eighty without a damned good reason. And Brooke was going to sleuth it out.

She started with the tried and true spots--under the mattress, under the bed, tucked under the socks in the dresser drawer--but they yielded nothing. Nor did the drawer of the night table by Alex's bed or the pockets of her jackets hanging in the shared wardrobe. She was about to give up the search when her gaze fell on the narrow, single-shelf bookcase that doubled as a headboard for the twin bed. All the beds had them. Brooke thought it was the hokiest thing she'd ever seen, a misbegotten marriage of office furniture and bedroom furniture, but Maryanne loved hers, filling it with things she'd brought from home.

Geez, that girl was different, always talking to herself. And she didn't swear. Ever. Wouldn't say shit if she had a mouth full of it. God knew Brooke had done her best these past weeks to try to drag a cuss word out of her.

Brooke turned her attention back to the bookcase thingie at the head of Alex's bed. Alex actually used hers for the purpose for which it was intended, to wit, stashing her textbooks. Except one of the books didn't look like the others lined up there... She leaned in to examine the spine.

A diary! That's abso-friggin'-lutely what it was!

Heart beating unaccountably fast, Brooke reached for the little tan-colored book. Damn, it was old. How long had Alex been keeping it? Since kindergarten?

She flipped the cover open, her gaze racing over the yellowed page. Within seconds she realized it wasn't her roommate's diary. It belonged to some chick named Connie. She turned the first page, then another and another.

"Holy shit!" Brooke sank down on Alex's bed, completely engrossed. So engrossed that she failed to heed the sound of feet on the stairs and the creak of the floorboards right outside the door. The echo of those sounds only registered when the door flew open and Maryanne breezed into the room.

Breezed in and then froze.

"Brooke? What are you doing over there? And is that a _diary_?" Her voice rose with accusation as she looked down at the handwritten pages. "You're reading Alex's diary?"

"It's not Alex's."

"But you got it out of her things."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "So sue me."

"Have you been looking through my things, too? Is that why you skipped out early? To snoop?"

Brooke felt her face flushing, but managed to give Maryanne a coolly derisive smile. "Sweetie, I haven't seen anything about you so far that's remotely interesting enough to make me want to look through your things."

Something flashed in the other girl's eyes, and Brooke almost regretted being such a bitch. Almost.

"So my stuff is safe, but Alex's is fair game?" There was no mistaking the coldness in Maryanne's voice. "Why's that, Brooke? Because Alex is obviously sad? Hurt over something? _Pain_ interests you?"

Brooke stood, huffing out an angry breath. "Because she's acting all straight-edge all of a sudden and I want to know why."

"How about maybe she grew up a little over the summer?"

"Yeah, right. That must be why she went out and got that new snakebite, to prove how grown up she is now. And here I was thinking she'd done it just to be all scener-than-thou with the scene crowd."

The other girl's face went blank. "Snakebite?"

"Duh. The lip rings, one on either side. Looks kinda like a--"

"Snakebite," Maryanne finished.

"I'm telling you, that girl is hardcore. I don't know what this act is about, but don't expect it to last for long. Alex Robbins is a party animal."

"So it's okay to read her diary?"

"I told you, it's not _her_ diary! It's way old. Belongs to some chick called Connie Harvell. I think she must have lived right here, at Harvell House. And omigod, you should read it! I just read a page or two, but--"

A thump interrupted them. Both girls looked up to see Alex standing in the open doorway. The thump they'd heard was her book bag hitting the floor.

"That's mine!" An ashen-faced Alex flew across the room and tore the diary from Brooke's unresisting hands. She stood there, chest heaving, looking every bit as badass as her reputation. "What the hell are you doing with it? With _any_ of my stuff?"

Because she couldn't resist, Brooke turned to Maryanne. "Yeah, what _are_ we doing with Alex's stuff?"

"What the--" Maryanne sputtered. " _I_ wasn't doing _anything_ with her stuff and you know it!"

Brooke laughed. "Just teasing. God, girl, you have to learn to chill or you're going to be one big fat target, living in this house." Then she turned to Alex. "So this is yours, huh?"

"Yes." Alex thrust out her chin, a clear giveaway.

"Funny, because it seems to belong to a girl named Connie Harvell, who used to live here decades ago. So I'm thinking, maybe you found it laying around the house somewhere. But a document like this--an _artifact_ like this--I don't think you can claim ownership. In fact, we should probably turn it in to Mrs. Betts."

At the mention of the housemother's name, Alex paled further. "No! You can't do that. Connie... Connie wouldn't have wanted that."

Brooke lifted an eyebrow. "You seem to know Connie pretty well. Have you read it all the way through yet?"

Alex's lips thinned. Brooke took that as a yes.

"Hey, maybe we could read it together," Maryanne suggested. "From the beginning."

From the horrified expression on Alex's face, you'd think Maryanne had suggested they slide a particularly nasty porno movie into the DVD player and pop some popcorn.

Losing patience, Brooke snapped, "Face it, Alex, you gotta share. You can't keep it to yourself any longer. 'Finders, keepers' doesn't apply here."

Alex gripped the book tight to her chest. "Are you kidding? You'll just be all sarcastic like you always are. Connie Harvell had a tough life and a tougher death."

_Tougher death?_ What the hell was in those pages?

"I won't have you mocking her. You hear me, Brooke?" Alex continued. "I swear to God, I'd rather give the diary to that judgmental old bat, Mrs. Betts."

Brooke felt her face slacken with shock and hurt. "You think I'd really do that? I mean, I know I can be a bitch, but dude. Poke fun at a dead girl?" She shook her head. "Screw this." Scooping up her shoes, she stalked toward the door.

"Wait!"

Brooke stopped at Alex's command, but didn't turn. If she turned around now, they'd see the emotion she was blinking back.

"Don't tell Mrs. Betts."

Brooke paused long enough to suppress any hint of tears, then turned, arching a brow at Alex. "I guess that's your decision, isn't it?"

Alex's face darkened. "Dammit, Brooke, this is blackmail!"

"Blackmail?" She lifted the other eyebrow and pretended to consider the accusation. "Lemme see... I threaten to reveal the existence of the diary--no, the _historical artifact_ you found and force you to turn it over to Mrs. Betts unless you agree to let us read it, too." Brooke tilted her head. "Gosh, I guess you're right. That's definitely blackmail."

"Bitch!"

Brooke smiled. "Well, I guess that's my cue." Turning, she headed for the door again.

Alex's hand on her arm stopped her. "Wait."

Brooke turned expectantly.

"Okay, dammit!" Alex exhaled and drew a deep breath. "Okay, we can read it together. But if we're going to do this, we're going to read it where it was meant to be read."

"Where's that?" Maryanne asked.

"The attic."

Brooke and Maryanne looked toward the ceiling.

"Trust me, there is an attic. I've been there. But we can't go until after lights out, after everyone's asleep. No one's supposed to go up there."

"There's always been a lock on that door," Brooke said.

"It's broken. Probably been broken for ages and nobody's bothered to try it."

Brooke felt her pulse quicken. Finally. A little excitement. Granted, it was more in keeping with a tweener sleepover involving a Ouija board than she'd like, but at this point, she'd take her thrills wherever she could get them.

"Deal," she said. "Now I'm gonna go get high before I have to read that stupid book they gave us in English class." She didn't actually have any on her, but she knew where to get some in a hurry. "Anyone care to join me?"

"Oh! Um... uh... no thanks," Maryanne said.

But it wasn't Maryanne's face Brooke was watching when she'd thrown that offer out. It was Alex's. And the desire to say yes--or _hell yeah_ , or _I 'm in!_--might as well have been written on her forehead with a fat black marker. But she fought it down. The evidence of her turmoil was there in her tensed muscles, her tightly fisted hands. Then her fingers unclenched.

"No, thanks," she muttered, looking away. "Gotta hit the books."

Brooke smiled. "Another time, maybe."

And as she turned to leave, she had the satisfaction of seeing Alex bite her snake-bitten lip.

### Chapter 5

#### Ascending in the Night

_Alex_

ALEX TREMBLED INSIDE as she climbed the steep stairs ahead of Maryanne and Brooke, but she moved quickly, decisively. No way would she let the other girls see the fear she bit back as she climbed up to the darkened attic. But that wasn't the only reason she moved so quickly. Alex knew that if she stopped, she just might not go on. Might never return to that horrible place.

She'd have felt infinitely safer doing this in their shared bedroom, but at the same time that seemed wrong somehow. She had to honor Connie's words, and she knew the only way to really do that was to read them in Connie's prison. She wrapped her hand even more tightly around Connie's diary, deep in her hoodie pocket.

Behind her, Maryanne carried a thick white candle. They would light it only when they got inside the attic door. Just an extra bit of precaution to avoid being caught. Maryanne had lifted the candle from the house kitchen. She'd been on clean-up duty tonight with a couple of first-floor girls. Two Grade Nine newbies from Fredericton who looked scared shitless to find themselves housed at Harvell.

Not that the candle was likely to be missed, at least not for a while. It was obviously an ornamental thing meant to be tucked into a Christmas centerpiece and never lit. In fact, no candles were ever lit at Harvell House. It was forbidden, no doubt for insurance reasons. Even during the power failures that often came with winter storms, no candles were permitted. Instead, they broke out the flashlights until the backup generator could restore electricity. All of which meant if they got caught with this candle, lit or unlit, they'd be in trouble for that alone, never mind the reaming out they'd get for entering the off-limits attic. Maryanne had to know this, yet here she was. And when Alex had instructed her to snag the candle, she'd done so with much less coaxing than Alex would have imagined. Actually, with no coaxing. Maybe Maryanne Hemlock wasn't such a chickenshit after all.

And Brooke... she might not be a chickenshit, but she sure could be a shit.

Anyway, there was nothing to worry about. They weren't going to get caught. It was well past midnight, late enough even for the wild girls to have crept back in on a school night. Lights out was ten o'clock, Sunday through Thursday and midnight on weekends, but Alex knew from experience that rule didn't carry a whole lot of weight. Especially with her old crowd, or what remained of it. One had graduated, one was back in juvie out west, and one just hadn't been heard from. That left Alex, Kassidy and Leah.

_Kassidy and Leah._ Alex felt the tension pouring in even just thinking about them. They'd been on her case since they'd come back to Harvell. They'd expected the same old hard-partying Alex. They'd fully expected her to have transferred down to their room by now, not to mention to have skipped classes with them--gym at the very least. They'd also expected her to join them that first night drinking down by the river with the college crowd. But she hadn't gone. She hadn't had a drink at all since that first day back. And she hadn't asked for a new room assignment.

She _had_ changed. She wanted to believe that. Needed to.

Fear would do that to a person, Alex knew. Scare them straight before something horrible--or more horrible--happened. But what could be more horrible than what she'd already gone through? Waking up half-naked on a hard floor, knowing she'd been raped. And remembering none of it.

Alex stumbled on the steps, and Maryanne tried to catch her as she fell forward. Alex could have caught herself if she used both hands, but she couldn't bring herself to release the diary she gripped so tightly in her hoodie pocket. So she went down on one hand and one elbow, skinning the latter.

They all froze, waiting to see if the small thump would be heard, and if so, whether anyone would come to investigate it. But the quality of the silence didn't change. Harvell House slept on.

"You okay?" Maryanne whispered, touching her arm.

Alex jerked away as she straightened. "I'm fine."

Brooke flicked her lighter but the small, blue-white flame lit the pitch black of the stairwell only dimly.

"This help?" Brooke asked. There was the faintest hissing sound as she adjusted the flame higher.

Maryanne answered, "A little."

"Whatever," Alex said. She was still pissed at Brooke for forcing her to share the diary. "We're just about there anyway." No sooner had she said this, than the timbre of her footfalls changed, and she took that final trembling step off the stair treads onto the attic floor. She pulled in a choking breath. The dust... it stirred the few memories she did have, memories of waking up on the floor.

Except last time she'd been here, the room had been washed by the gray light of pre-dawn. Tonight, the white glow of moonlight poured into the small room from the lone window, laying a muted pattern on the floor. But unlike the light of dawn, this rectangle of moonlight only served to darken the room around it.

Alex's eyes were drawn to the stained glass window itself, where the moonlight had set the decorative image darkly glowing.

That other morning, she'd barely glanced at the upper half of the window, but now all she could do was stare at the picture segmented into the glass. The Madonna holding her child. It should have been a peaceful image. It should have been calm. Serene. But it wasn't. The poor woman stood in a bed of thorn-guarded roses. And the darkness in the glass bits at her feet could only represent one thing. The woman was bleeding as she stood there in the ancient window, high up in Harvell House.

"Whoa--time warp!" Brooke breathed.

Alex turned to her. Brooke was using the lighter again, and she'd moved toward the furniture piled in the corner. The same bed Alex had seen days before. The same bureau and rocking chair she'd pushed to the room's center.

"Spooky, creepy, time warp. Ouch!" The lighter's small flame went out. "That gets hot," Brooke said by way of explanation for letting the light die.

"You want to go back?" Alex asked. She knew her voice was quick with hope--didn't even try to hide it.

"No way," Brooke walked toward the window and stepped into the light coming through it, her shadow long and thin behind her. Silently Maryanne followed and held out the candle, which Brooke obligingly lit. Alex watched as Maryanne dripped wax into the makeshift holder--a fancy glass ashtray Mrs. Betts only brought out when C. W. Stanley came to the house.

The two girls settled themselves on the floor, and Alex studied them in the moonlight.

Brooke's eyes were avid as she took everything in.

Maryanne, on the other hand, seemed fascinated by the candle, staring quietly into the flame. She was pretty, sort of, in a straight-laced, not-trying kind of way. Not to be confused with the "natural" beauty that took some girls hours to achieve. This girl... she just flat out didn't try. Luckily, she didn't have to. She was smart, too. Alex knew that from the couple of classes they shared. But she had a hunch Miss Hemlock had led something of a sheltered life. How would she react to the revelations in Connie's diary? Of what had happened to her here in this attic?

_Or of what happened to me?_

Something hammered at her memory again. Still! And all the harder up here, just outside her reach. _What had he done to her? How had he gotten her up here? And the worst question of all, was it just "he" and not "them"?_

God, it _haunted_ her, not knowing who'd done this to her. She stared hard into the eyes of every boy at school, every man on the street, trying to see if anyone stared back a moment too long. But then what? How could she be sure? How could she accuse without betraying her secret?

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding the shaking in. Well, until she caught Maryanne, staring silently up at her from where she sat on floor. Alex loosened her shoulders immediately, shrugged them back into a don't-mess-with me posture, and sat on the floor with the other two girls.

"So you found the diary here?" Brooke sat with her feet flat on the ground, knees pressed together and pulled up close, as if to prevent touching too much of the dust and dirt of the place with her pajama-clad butt.

"Yeah, up here."

"Where up here?" Maryanne asked.

"Just up here." Purposefully Alex didn't let her eyes slide ceiling-ward, toward the wooden beam from where she'd pulled it free. That much she'd keep to herself. Absolutely.

Alex drew a long breath as she pulled the diary from her pocket.

She'd never had one single qualm about cheating on a test she'd failed to study for, pirating DVDs, or keying the principal's car like she'd done every year since coming to the Streep Academy. Even that time she and Leah and Kassidy had broken into the Legion to steal booze, she'd done so without the least bit of guilt. Alone in Halifax one time, she'd broken into a vacant house with a Realtor's sign on its lawn and slept the night in the master bedroom. On these occasions, she hadn't felt like she was taking. Not truly. At least, not beyond physical property.

But now...

As she held Connie's little diary in her hands, a great sense of guilt washed over her. A sense that she was violating poor Connie yet again. Taking more from this long-dead girl who'd lost so much in her life. By sharing the diary, she was betraying her secrets. But the choice seemed beyond her now, on so many levels.

Her resentment toward Brooke flared again, but she took a deep breath and tamped it down. There was nothing to be done about it. And if she had to share Connie's words, she would do it right. At least she could give Connie that.

"Read on, Alex."

Brooke, of course.

"Keep your shirt on. I'm getting to it." Alex began skimming through the pages, her eyes adjusting quickly as she focused on the words.

"Aren't you going to start at the beginning?" Maryanne asked.

"Whose beginning?" Alex murmured, then cursed herself when she felt Maryanne's gaze sharpen.

"Duh," Brooke huffed. "Connie's."

For once, Alex was grateful for Brooke's directness. She leafed through the pages some more until she found the one she wanted. "Okay, you guys ready?"

"Yeah, get right to the good stuff," Brooke said. "Dish the dirt. I saw the dates. Connie Harvell was a sixties chick. There's got to be some good stuff in there."

It took every bit of restraint Alex owned not to reach over and throttle Brooke Saunders. "Connie wasn't like that!"

"Shhhhh!" Maryanne hissed. "Keep your voice down! We'll get caught up here."

"Okay, okay," Brooke's hands went up in mock surrender. "Connie wasn't like that. Fine. She was sugar and spice and I'll love Elvis till the day I die. Her life was sweet and innocent."

Alex could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes. Oh shit, she wouldn't cry! Couldn't cry in front of these girls. In front of anyone. "Her life was far from sweet and innocent. But that wasn't her fault."

Alex's throat tightened as she leaned forward toward the candlelight. She wet her lips, swallowed past the lump in her throat. Then, with a silent apology to Connie Harvell, she began.

_September 9, 1962_

_I blew out the candles when I heard Billy at the lock. He knows where they keep the key --knows where they keep me. I hid under the bed, but that didn't stop him. He brought a candle of his own, and when I saw him light it and hold it out to look around the room, I knew I was defeated. Billy knew where to find me. And when he did, he knew how to hurt me._

_Mother and Father were gone to church again. They couldn 't miss a Sunday night meeting, even though they'd spent most of the day there already. Oh, THAT would be damnation! Not what they do to me! So again tonight, I faced my own hell as Billy raped me. Then he beat me. And like he always does, he threatened to kill me if I tell._

_I believe him. So though I scream and scream up here when he does these things to me, I never scream out loud._

"Connie was beaten," Maryanne whispered. "She was raped. Oh my gosh... she was locked up in here!"

Brooke shuddered. " _Here?_ In this attic?" She looked around the dim room, studying it all over again. "Wonder if that's the bed she hid under?"

"Oh, the poor girl!" Maryanne said. "She must have felt so... powerless."

"So angry," Alex spat out, surprised she'd spoken at all. She drew a breath as she flipped forward a page, scanned down the old lines with a finger. "Angry beyond belief and scared and alone and... messed up. Just listen... "

Alex read on.

_But I went to that place again as Billy hurt me --as he did those things to me. I just slipped away to that place outside my body where it didn't even seem like the girl on the floor was me anymore. I was just another little girl watching something terrible happen to someone else--some_thing _else --the girl-shaped sack on the floor._

_Billy left when he was done._

_And then, as I always do, I got up and went to the window. I looked into those same sad eyes of the lady in the glass, the baby in her arms, her bleeding feet, and I spoke the same futile prayer as I tapped the glass --"I want out, I want out, I want out."_

Alex fought the urge to slam the diary shut. But a part of her had to go on. She wanted them to know the pain. Connie's pain; _her_ pain! Though she could never admit to the latter. No one would ever know. But there was more. She had to tell Maryanne and Brooke the rest of it. The rest of what Connie said happened to her that September night.

_And this time --God, what have I done?--this time as I tapped the stained-glass window and pleaded "I want out," something happened. This time, part of me--a dark part, pitch black and empty--did go out into the night._

_It was nothing physical, and yet,_ it was _. Not so much as a fleshy fingertip went beyond the glass, but part of me absolutely flew right out! It wasn 't my soul that escaped. It wasn't my mind. But while my body fell to the attic floor, something else, something dark, cast out from Connie Harvell._

"Oh, God!" Maryanne said. "The poor girl! It was too much to take. She lost it."

"This window?" Brooke turned full around to take in the moonlit glass. "This is the window she... cried out from? Tapped on?"

Maryanne hugged herself as she shivered. "It would have to be this window. Look at that woman's eyes. The blood at her feet, just like she said. Oh, poor Connie Harvell."

"Crazy Connie Harvell, you mean," Brooke said.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Alex flew at Brooke. Grabbing a fistful of Brooke's pajama top in her hands, she pulled the other girl's face in close. "Crazy? You think Connie's the crazy one here? Because she couldn't handle repeated rape and beatings? Because her mind just couldn't wrap itself around what was done to her? _She 's_ the one who deserves the names? You see her as _weak_?"

"Alex, let her go!" Maryanne's voice was shrill with panic as Alex's grip tightened. Brooke scrabbled at Alex's hands, gasping for breath. "You'll hurt her! You'll strangle her. You'll--"

"I'll kick her New York ass." Alex's eyes never left Brooke's, but she released her with a shove. Automatically, Brooke's hand went to her throat.

"What the hell?" she rasped. "Are you trying to _kill_ me?"

Alex shook her head in disgust. Pocketing the diary, she crossed to the window. And though she felt the urge to raise a hand to swipe at her eyes, she kept her hands down deep in her hoodie pocket and just looked out into the Mansbridge night. The wind blew through the scattered trees behind Harvell House. The river was a long black strip past the field. Headlights from a lone vehicle moved along the road on the other side of the river, and then just that quickly, all was dark again. As she stared into the window, Alex became aware of the candlelight's flicker reflecting in the glass. As if it actually danced there alongside the reflected outline of her own sad eyes.

Idly, she raised a hand, tapped the glass lightly.

"I can't even comprehend how hard that would have been." Maryanne joined her at the window. "Being abused like that. Locked up here. How... "

"Evil."

Brooke came over to stand with them. "Alex, I wasn't trying to make fun of Connie."

"Yeah, I know," Alex said. "I shouldn't have... gone off on you." That was all the apology she could manage. "But can't you guys just imagine it? How... how vulnerable this girl was? How sad? How desperate? Tapping on the window like this." Her fingers took on a rhythm now as she _tap, tap, tapped_ on the glass. "Can you imagine her standing here, crying for someone to hear? Begging over and over... I want out, I want out, I want out--"

Alex was out.

She felt her body drop, felt the sharp explosion of pain as her head hit the floor, but _simultaneously_ she felt a part of herself fly beyond the stained glass and out the window. Alex was conscious of Maryanne's hands shaking her shoulders. Could feel them on her body as she lay on the attic floor. But at the same time, from _outside_ the window she saw Maryanne's panic as she leaned over her limp form. From outside she clearly saw Brooke, with her hand over her mouth, take a step backward from her sprawled body.

_Co-consciousness._

She knew it instantly--that was what she was experiencing. She was aware in both worlds, in both ways! Alex-on-the-floor stared out at Alex-past-the-window. Connie had felt this, written about this. And Alex was feeling it now. She'd cast out too.

Alex-outside held her pitch-black, empty hands in front of her face. This was wild! She looked down to the ground two stories below and thought, _I 'm hovering_. _I 'm out here in this amazing, awesome night, and I'm freakin' hovering!_

And she wasn't scared. She knew she probably should be. Shit, she should be _terrified_. She'd just peeled away from... the rest of herself. But she wasn't frightened. For the first time since the rape, she wasn't scared.

Alex-on-the-floor thought, _I can feel it too! I feel the night around me even though I 'm in here. Or part of me is. And it feels so good. So... free!_ But she couldn't articulate it for the other girls. She couldn't speak at all, as she lay there on the floor.

Alex-on-the-floor watched as Maryanne's wide-eyed gaze turned to the window. Stared out and saw Alex-outside staring back in at her through the glass.

### Chapter 6

#### From That Darkest Place

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE STOOD. HER heart pounded with terror, as if it would leap right out of her chest. Or out of the window with... _whatever_ it was out there. While Alex Robbins--the flesh, the body, the _original_ Alex Robbins--lay flat on her back on the floor at Maryanne's feet, out past the window against the star-filled sky, an Alex-shaped blackness hovered.

Through the clear pane beneath the stained glass Madonna, Maryanne watched the cast-out piece of Alex raise both of her hands. The hovering Alex moved her hands in front of her empty-black face, and they disappeared from sight, only to re-emerge when she waved them out to the sides. Cast-out Alex turned her body--almost in a half-assed pirouette--as she played in the darkness, played as _part_ of the darkness.

Then Alex stopped, faced the window again, and waved a dark hand to them. Maryanne's legs weakened.

"What the hell?"

Maryanne turned her head to see Brooke backing away, a hand pressed to her mouth. For a moment, she marveled that the other girl had the presence of mind to quiet her voice to avoid waking the house. Then she got a good look at Brooke's face and realized she was holding back a scream with those fingers. Tough-talking Brooke was just as freaked out as Maryanne herself.

Fascination warring with terror, Maryanne turned back to the window where the dark form still hovered, obscuring the stars. But a small, distressed noise from Brooke had her turning around again, seconds later.

Brooke now knelt on the floor beside Alex. Her hand trembled as she touched her fingers to one pale wrist, moving them searchingly up and then down Alex's arm. Her face knotted in anxiety.

Maryanne's stomach clenched with dread. "Is she... dead?"

As if in answer to Maryanne's question, Alex moaned. Her right foot kicked sideways. Okay, it was more of a sudden flop than a kick, as if flaccid muscles had jumped out of paralysis only long enough for that weak, spastic jerk.

"Her pulse is... oh God, I don't know!" Brooke said. "Where the hell do you even find it?"

Maryanne blinked. She'd spent two summers as a junior counselor in a camp for disadvantaged kids and had been trained in basic first aid. It should be her, not Brooke, looking for a pulse.

"Let me, Brooke." She squatted down and drew a sharp breath before she grabbed Alex's right wrist and sought her pulse. _Oh, crap._ "Her heart's racing. I mean, it's _hammering_. Like she's run a hundred-yard dash."

Brooke was silent.

Maryanne wet her dry lips. "Should we get Mrs. Betts? Should we... What the hell should we do?"

Brooke didn't answer.

"Brooke, are you even listening to me?"

As soon as Maryanne turned toward her it was obvious the other girl wasn't listening. Maybe wasn't even coherent as she stared out into the night. Out into the black form of Alex.

"It's... it's still out there," Brooke said.

Maryanne dared another look out the window. The dark emptiness that was a piece of Alex was still there. It floated away from the window, shot close to the glass, then drifted far away once again. Only to repeat this dance several times until it settled near the window. Two black hands splayed close to the lower half of the glass, making it appear like a dark eternity in the shape of fingers and palms. From its posture--no, _her_ posture; no matter how weird this was, that was part of Alex out there--she seemed to be peering in at them.

"She wants back in!" Maryanne said.

"Are you freakin' nuts? Whatever that thing is--"

"That _thing_ is Alex!"

Brooke shuddered. "And just how do you propose we get her back in? Break the glass?" No sooner had she said it and Brooke was moving toward the stained glass.

"No!" Maryanne's voice rose. "She went out _through_ the window, _through_ the glass--"

Brooke stopped in her tracks. "So it might be her only way back in."

On the floor, Alex moaned. Again it was a deep-in-her-throat moan, as if forced with the greatest of effort.

"The diary!" Maryanne said. "Let's read it."

"God, Maryanne, don't you think that can wait?" Brooke huffed out a sound of disbelief. "And you thought _I_ was being such a bitch when--"

"For _answers_ , Brooke." Maryanne knelt and retrieved the diary from Alex's hoodie pocket. "The answers have got to be in here." She sat back on her heels as she flipped through the pages. Her eyes moved quickly as she scanned the words, searching desperately for answers. "There's got to be something about how Connie got back to her body. Wait! I think I've got it. Listen to this."

_When I cast back in, it 's like I bring part of the night with me. The exhilaration I feel out there in the darkness, in that other state, stays with me. Not nearly long enough, but for a little while at least, it's as if--_

There was a barely audible whoosh of sound, and Maryanne looked up to see Alex's cast-out part streak toward them in a shocking blur of speed, slamming back into her body. Before Maryanne could expel the sharp breath she'd inhaled, Alex threw an arm out and seized her around the waist. The two of them flew across the attic like they'd been flung by some unseen hand. When they came to a stop, Alex leapt atop Maryanne, straddling her chest, her hands closing around Maryanne's throat.

"That's Connie's diary!" Alex snarled. "You stay the hell out of it!"

Maryanne felt the squeezing pressure around her throat as Alex's hands tightened. She clawed at Alex, trying to pry her off. Stunned, she looked up into Alex's wild eyes. In that fiery intensity, Maryanne sensed a struggle for control. It was almost as if Alex was trying to hold back the ferociousness that had flown them across the room when the cast-out piece had fused with her again. She hadn't meant to knock them flying, Maryanne realized. She wasn't trying to hurt her now. And yet Alex could so easily strangle her...

_Do it!_

The thought--sprung straight from the darkest reaches of her mind--shocked Maryanne. More shocking still, she found herself mentally repeating the words like a mantra. Like a prayer. _Do it! Do it!_

Her mind flashed back home, to poor little Jason, that horrible night.

Her hands fell away from Alex's.

_Do it! Dammit, just do it!_

Brooke's face appeared above them. "Geez, you guys, could you possibly make any more noise? Do you want to wake the whole--" Her low, urgent rant broke off as she saw what was happening. "Alex!" Brooke seized Alex's arm and tried to pull her off Maryanne, to no effect. Then she braced her feet flat on the floor as she hauled for all she was worth, but it was as if Alex were a supercharged magnet that couldn't be budged.

"Alex!" Brooke's voice was low but urgent. "Let go!" she gritted. "You have to let her go!"

All at once, Alex's grip loosened on Maryanne's throat. Her arms went slack, and she succumbed to Brooke's pull. The two of them tumbled to the floor.

Alex sat there panting, her back curved, and her shoulders shaking. Yet she leaned forward and picked Connie's diary off the floor where it lay beside Maryanne.

Maryanne raised herself up slowly on her elbows, then sat up beside Alex.

"Did I hurt you?" Alex asked, thickly.

"No," Maryanne lied. But she held a hand to her throat, which was probably already bruising, as she looked toward the window. Night sky. Stars and moon. No empty black silhouettes. She turned her head slowly back to Alex. She took a breath, and within the dark of the attic looked as deeply as she could into her eyes.

"Can you see it in me?" Alex whispered. "Can you see... ?"

"The cast-out part?" Maryanne finished.

"Cast," Alex murmured. "That's what Connie calls it in her diary."

It was Brooke who fetched the candle. She handed it to Maryanne, then sat down. Maryanne lifted the candle close to Alex to examine her face. Alex stared back. Eagerly, Brooke watched.

"Your eyes... " Maryanne moved the candle slowly left then right, and she watched as Alex's pupils followed the flickering fire. She bit down on her lip as she settled the candle on the floor. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your focus. But your pupils... "

"My God, they're huge!" Brooke said. "It's like the iris is completely gone. You look like some kind of deranged junkie axe murderer. Like you just escaped from a home for the criminally insane. Like you're some alien--"

Maryanne tensed, expecting Alex to go off on Brooke as she rambled on, but Alex just rubbed her forehead.

"Gee, Brooke. Don't hold back."

Phew! Whatever surge of emotion had come in with the cast-out Alex... er, Alex's _cast_... seemed to have dissipated now. Maryanne sagged. Realizing she still held the candle, she put it down on the floor between them.

It occurred to her then that she should be feeling more. More anxiety, more terror. For God's sake, she'd just watched a piece of Alex leave her body! Leave it and exit through a stained glass window into the night, where it twisted and danced in mid-air until it shot back into her friend's body, infusing her briefly with a terrible, wonderful wildness and violence.

And as for Maryanne's own reaction to being strangled... Maybe shock was setting in. Maybe this was the adrenaline let-down her mother had talked so much about it.

Maybe it was dark fascination.

_Maybe she wanted to die._

Brooke's voice cut into Maryanne's morbid turn of thought.

"Alex, what happened?"

"I'm... I'm not really sure. I was just tapping the window, repeating Connie's words."

"Right," Brooke said. "Let me out. Let me out."

"No, it was 'I want out.' Those were the words. And then suddenly, I just... was out."

"Did you feel yourself go?"

Alex hesitated, as if carefully choosing her words. "It wasn't like I felt myself going from my body, so much as I realized myself suddenly gone. All of a sudden I just was outside looking in, and at the same time I was on the floor in my body staring at my dark cast." Alex raised a hand and rubbed the back of her head. "Man, I cracked my head good when I hit the floor. It sort of distracted me for a second out there."

"Holy shit," Brooke breathed. "You could feel your body? What was happening?"

"Yeah, I could feel you shaking me, Maryanne, then you checking me, Brooke, and then Maryanne again, taking my pulse. I could feel my heart jacking like crazy. But I couldn't pull away when you grabbed my arm. I couldn't talk or move. It was like I was completely conscious, but paralyzed."

"Until I started reading Connie's diary," Maryanne said.

Alex looked at her sharply. "Did you hear me yell at you through the window?"

"No." Maryanne shook her head.

"I called out to the both of you, just once." She wet her lips. "I said, 'I want in.' And then... then I shot back in. Right through the glass."

Maryanne sucked in a sharp breath. The window. If they'd broken it, would Alex have been able to get back? Or would she have been left trapped alive in her paralyzed body?

Maryanne looked closely again into Alex's eyes. There was a pale circle of color now around the dark center. Her pupils were slowly returning to normal. From her breathing, she suspected Alex's heart rate was normalizing too.

Alex stood first, raising the candle with her. She tucked Connie Harvell's old diary back into her hoodie pocket. But this time, she tucked it deeper somehow. And judging by the bulge of her tense hand through the hoodie material, Maryanne knew she held it with more passion than ever. More possession. That diary wasn't leaving Alex Robbins's person anytime soon.

"You... you going to be okay, Alex?" Maryanne asked.

Brooke seemed to be waiting intently for the answer too.

Alex shrugged. "It's strange. It's... scary. And I don't know how, but a real part of me left my body tonight. Just like what happened with Connie Harvell. The part of me in here on the floor was helpless. Scared. Couldn't even cry out. I was _voiceless,_ here. But the part of me out there... " Alex looked to the window, past the sad Madonna who stood amongst the thorns. "I wasn't so scared out there at all. You know?"

They all gazed toward the window for a moment. Alex was the first to turn away. Maryanne turned away too. But as she did, for the most fleeting of moments, she thought she glimpsed something. Something so pitch black against the star-filled sky, it looked empty. Maryanne blinked and looked again, but the sky beyond the window looked just as it should, velvety black and studded with stars.

She turned to follow Alex, who carried the candle, until she noticed Brooke still stood there, feet rooted to the floor, eyes on the window.

"Brooke?" Maryanne called. "You okay? Did you see something?"

The other girl shook her head. "No. I didn't see anything. Let's go."

### Chapter 7

#### Miss Gun-to-a-Knife-Fight

_Brooke_

BROOKE CRACKED THE seal on her third--and unfortunately last--sample-sized vodka of the night, and tossed it back. It burned all the way down, but it didn't burn hard enough. Not hot enough.

She tossed the empty mini-bottle at the trash barrel--maybe a twelve-foot shot from the swing where she sat--but it hit the rim and bounced away. Hell with it. Let it lie there.

That weirdness last night. It had scared the crap out of her, but at the same time, she wanted to do it. Wanted to try it herself. To 'cast out' as Connie Harvell evidently called it in her diary. Or so Alex said. It's not like anyone was getting their hands on that diary any time soon. But whatever it was called, Brooke wanted to do it.

What would it feel like to be out of your body? To fly free? To become one with the night, the darkness...

A masculine laugh followed by a chorus of feminine giggles broke into her thoughts. Great. Just what she didn't want--company. She pushed off the swing and headed for the deep shadows beyond the pool of light cast by the sentinel lights illuminating the elementary school playground.

She'd barely made the shadows when a group of teenagers burst into the circle of light. But their destination was a picnic table behind the backstop of the child-sized baseball diamond. Brooke was already headed for the street when the guy spoke, freezing her in her tracks.

_Seth Walker._

With the vodka still burning in her belly, she turned back. Seth climbed up to sit on top of the picnic table, and oh, God, he looked good. Then a petite, black-haired girl whom Brooke didn't know clambered up to sit beside him. To remove any doubt that they were together, he slung an arm carelessly around her. The other kids--and they weren't all girls as she'd originally thought--took seats on the bench. She recognized the tall guy as Seth's brother, Bryce. And the girl with Bryce was Emalee Sorenson, though they didn't really look like a couple. The other skanks she didn't know.

Brooke's instant reaction was to go over there and tear Seth's arm off at the shoulder socket, then use the bloody limb to beat the crap out of the girl he was with. She had to take six or seven deep breaths before she breathed away the last of the red haze of fury fogging her vision.

Then, just as she had herself under control, laughter rippled through the group again. The sound hooked her right in the gut. Last year, _she 'd_ been the one beside Seth, holding court with these losers, or other ones like them. The Walkers were an important family in Mansbridge. They had money and old-town ties. Anger boiled inside. That was _her_ place by Seth's side. Now more than ever, and especially after that first weekend back.

No, forget about that weekend. Seth obviously had.

Fists squeezed at her sides, she made her decision.

No one saw her approach. Briefly, she thought about drifting quietly into the light until someone noticed her. As much as it would please her to hear Seth shriek like a girl in front of his friends, there was no way she was coming off as a stalker. He meant nothing to her. _Nothing_.

Well, eventually he'd mean nothing.

Besides, she had a better idea.

"Seth?" she said, injecting her voice with surprise. "Omigod, Seth, is that you?"

Seth froze at the sound of her voice, and she strode into the circle of light.

"Uhhhh... Brooke. Haven't seen you around for a while."

_Yeah, for about five weeks, you piece of crap_. "Yeah, funny thing about that, especially since I've been trying to reach you."

"Um... yeah... well... I been kinda busy."

"So I can see," she said, letting her gaze drift ominously over the petite girl at his side. "I have something I really need to tell you, but I didn't want to leave a message on your parents' machine. I mean, the last thing you want your parents to hear about is that HPV infection. I know I'm certainly not planning on telling _my_ mother."

"What?" He squawked. "HP what?"

"HPV. Human Papillomavirus. Did you know that condoms don't necessarily prevent transmission? I mean, if condoms worked, I wouldn't have it, right?" She spread her hands and gave a what's-a-girl-gonna-do shrug.

"You lying bitch!" Seth roared. "I don't have HP... whatever you said."

The girl beside him shrank away. She didn't exactly shrug out from under his arm, but close enough.

He snatched his arm away and fisted his hands. "Melissa, I swear she's lying. I don't have anything."

"Oh, you wouldn't necessarily know," Brooke said, the soul of understanding. "It doesn't always manifest with nasty warts or anything. I mean, you could be a carrier and not even know it. I wouldn't have known if it weren't for that pap test the other day. You should get checked, too."

He leapt off the picnic table. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Okay. Suit yourself. But I think you should know that certain strains of HPV can cause cancer."

A pause. "Cancer?"

"Yeah. You know," she said in a stage whisper as she pointed south, "down _there_. Cervical cancer in women, penile cancer in men."

Seth made a strangled sound.

"Hey, don't sweat it. Chances are your immune system will clear it in a few months. Or years. Of course, if it _is_ the cancer-causing kind, I wouldn't recommend the wait-and-see approach." She turned to the others apologetically. "Sorry you had to witness this." She turned back to Seth. "See you around."

With that, she walked away.

Anger and betrayal still churned in her gut, but at least she had the satisfaction of hearing a tearful Melissa going off on Seth about trying to get her in bed while he had an HPV infection. With the sweet music of hysterical accusations and gruff denials echoing in her ears, Brooke was practically smiling when she hit the sidewalk.

Well, her teeth were bared, anyway.

She had a sudden vision--a half bottle of Tanqueray tucked down one of her high leather boots in the wardrobe back at Harvell. She'd stolen it from her mother's bar, though Lord knew why. She hated gin. It tasted like a freaking pine tree. But it would do. She picked up the pace.

She was practically jogging when she heard the disturbance. She was tempted to ignore it and keep going, except it occurred to her it might be Seth coming after her. She didn't imagine he'd have anything good to say, but she'd be damned if she'd run from him. But when she stopped and wheeled, she knew instantly the sounds were coming from the wrong direction. She also recognized one of the voices--Maryanne Hemlock's. And Maryanne wasn't in a good way. From the sounds of things, she was about to take a roughing up from some of the locals.

Brooke stood there, weighing her choices. Stay or go?

Back at Harvell, a half quart of gin waited. Though she didn't have anything suitable to mix it with... And on the other side of those bushes, stood the chance to vent some of this fury that was eating at her insides.

Of course, if she did that, Maryanne would read more into it. Like, for instance, that Brooke gave a crap about her. Not that she _dis_ liked Maryanne. But she didn't especially like her, either. Hell, she barely knew her. Of course, she didn't like very many people she _did_ know, and trusted even fewer.

"Oww! Stop it! That hurt!" That from Maryanne.

Hoots of laughter. "It was meant to hurt, loser."

"Yeah, loser," another female voice chimed in. "Outcast. Freak! _Reject_!"

"Even your own family doesn't want you," the first voice said. "That's why they sent you here."

"Shut up about my family!"

Brooke had heard enough. With those words resonating in her head-- _outcast, freak, reject_ --she rounded the tall hedge that separated the sidewalk from the convenience store parking lot. Maryanne stood there surrounded by three girls. She clutched her earth-friendly cloth shopping bag containing her purchases protectively to her chest. But her hair, which she wore perpetually in a ponytail, hung wildly about her face. That must have been the "ouch" she'd heard, the elastic being yanked from her hair.

"What'd you buy for us?" one of the girls asked.

Maryanne clutched the bag tighter. "Nothing."

"That's not very nice." The largest girl advanced, and Maryanne shrank back.

"Hey, Shovel Face," Brooke called. "Leave her alone."

The three girls whirled toward Brooke.

"Look, this is none of your business," the big girl said. "And if you get your skinny ass out of here fast enough, I won't even kick it," she offered graciously

Brooke laughed.

"Come on, Brooke," Maryanne called. "Let's just get out of here."

"I don't think they're inclined to let us walk away. Are you girls?"

Actually, with Brooke's arrival evening the odds a little, they might have done just that, but Brooke's words and tone were calculated to make retreat difficult.

The big girl turned to face Brooke squarely. "You _are_ looking for an ass-kicking, aren't you?"

Brooke shrugged and smiled. "I keep looking. Haven't found one yet."

Shovel Face lunged. Brooke blocked her with a raised elbow, then lifted her leg and brought the pointy heel of her suede ankle boot down onto the other girl's foot in a vicious stomp. Her attacker crumpled immediately, screaming and clutching her foot, which probably had a number of small bones broken.

With a roar, the other two girls rushed Brooke simultaneously. She caught one with a stiff arm to the solar plexus, taking her out of the fight and leaving her gasping for air on the ground beside her friend. The other managed to hook an arm around Brooke's neck, but Brooke went with the momentum, twisting with the girl's lunge, pulling her attacker with her. As a result, when the two girls hit the ground, Brooke landed on top. In a flash, she had her forearm pressed to one girl's throat, cutting off her airway.

"Stop!" Maryanne cried. "For God's sake, Brooke, don't hurt her!"

Brooke pressed harder. "She tried to take my head off!"

"But she didn't. They can't really fight. Well, not like you anyway. Let her go!" Maryanne's voice grew more panicked. "The other girls are leaving, Brooke. There's no need to worry about this one."

Brooke eased up on the pressure enough to let the girl beneath her gasp for breath.

"Guess this is your lucky night," she said. "I'm going to let you go. But tell your friends not to mess with me. Or my friend, either. And don't think you can gang up on me some day if you catch me alone. It won't go well for you. They didn't call me Miss Gun-to-a-Knife-Fight back home in the Bronx for nothing." She released the other girl and let her roll away.

The girl got up and lurched after her limping friends.

"Holy shit!" Maryanne said. "Is that true? Your nickname?"

"Lord, no." Brooke sat up. "But reputation is everything. And I do know a few moves."

"A few moves? One stomp and that big chick was out of the game." Maryanne helped Brooke to her feet. "I suppose you've taken lots of self-defense classes, living in New York and all."

Brooke laughed. "I did take Taekwondo classes after school for about five years, but that's not where I learned those moves." She dusted her butt off. "That stuff I learned from a guy I met who said he was former Israeli Special Forces." Specifically, he'd taught her a few moves over this past nomadic summer when she'd been avoiding going home. "Krav Maga, he called it, Yiddish for hand-to-hand combat. Basically, dirty, no-holds-barred, him-or-me street fighting."

"Wow." Maryanne's eyes looked like saucers. "Was he like... your boyfriend or something?"

"Nah, just someone I met." He might have become her boyfriend, but even as messed up as she'd been, reason had finally asserted itself. That guy was way too dangerous to be hanging with.

"Whatever that was, thank you! You saved me," Maryanne said.

"Yeah, from a hair pulling." Brooke brushed more dust off her jeans.

"They'd already progressed beyond that," she said, shuddering. "They were going to _hit_ me. Thank you for the intervention. I've never been in a fight."

Wow. Big news flash there.

Brooke shrugged. "No biggie. And don't say thank you again. I was looking for a little stress release therapy and you just happened to provide it."

Maryanne's forehead puckered in a frown. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just ran into a jerk I used to know."

A pause. "Want to go find him and dish out some of that Kraft Mega stuff?"

Brooke laughed, genuinely amused. "Krav Maga. And no, that's all right. I already got him where it hurts."

"In the... um... jewels?"

Brooke snorted. "Almost as good. I pretty much claimed that he gave me HPV in front of his new girlfriend and all their friends."

Maryanne clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. "You didn't!"

"I'm afraid I did. And it was so worth it. Of course, I'm not going to get laid in this town any time soon."

"Come on." Maryanne indicated the direction of Harvell House with a tilt of her head. "Let's go back and tell Alex about our adventures."

"Why not?" she agreed. "I need a change of... boots anyway."

Feeling considerably less crazy, Brooke fell in beside Maryanne as they headed back to the dorm.

### Chapter 8

#### Slide

_Maryanne_

"AND SIDE A, Ms. Hemlock?"

The question caught Maryanne off guard. She dragged her attention back from gazing out the window to the illuminated diagram on the Smart Board. After a brief pause, she answered. "Side A equals 6.78 centimeters."

Phew! Thank goodness this was math. It had always been her strong suit. Had it been anything else, she likely couldn't have produced an answer so quickly.

"Very good," the teacher said, but he wore a tight look on his face as he turned back to the board. Disappointed, probably, that he'd failed to embarrass her even though he clearly knew she'd been daydreaming.

In truth, Maryanne's mind had been drifting through most of this first-period class, far away from the parallels and bisecting angles and congruent triangles in front of her. Now, she sat up a bit straighter, adjusted herself in the seat, and tried to pay attention to what he was saying. Tried to focus on Mr. McKenzie's geometry lesson. He didn't make it easy, though. The guy had no enthusiasm for teaching, and it showed as he stood in front of the class. She'd had teachers like him before, men and women who'd found themselves in the wrong profession too late to do anything about it. When you got stuck with one of them, it sure made for a long academic term.

McKenzie's story--so the schoolyard gossip went--was that he'd applied for several principalships, but found himself second-best man for the job every single time. And every time, he'd been beaten out by a woman. Apparently this pattern of losing to women only helped cement him as a total misogynistic prick. McKenzie loved to grill the girls on the tougher questions. Then he would sigh and roll his eyes when they flustered over the answers, or better yet, got them completely wrong. If he found a crier in the class, the man was reputed to be relentless. It had taken Maryanne all of two days in his class to realize this guy's rep was bang on.

But still, even after nearly being caught daydreaming, she couldn't keep her mind on the class today. Not for 6.78 seconds. Not that she tried very hard. She found her head turning and her gaze drifting back to the window and the gray day beyond. She couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Not with everything happening in her world. And of course, not with this being a Jason day.

Jason. Her dead little brother. It was another counting day.

Maryanne had woken this morning shortly after 6 a.m. as she always did, glanced at the calendar and saw it was the 15th of the month. Another monthly anniversary of Jason's death. Tonight at approximately 9 p.m. would mark the last time she'd heard his cry.

Despite what she'd told them.

Maryanne knew that right about now in Burlington, Ontario, her mother would be riding the GO train in to work, no doubt with the newspaper opened in front of her. But she wouldn't be reading a single word of it. Her father would already be in Jason's room, most likely. Perhaps determined to finally take the crib down. Skip Hemlock hated that crib. Standing there silently in that boy-less room, that mournful piece of furniture owned him now. Which was why Maryanne knew the chances were that it would still be there when this counting day rolled to an end.

As for Maryanne herself... well, she'd get through this day somehow, in her own way.

Ty Piper waved a hand from his desk and Maryanne caught the movement in the periphery of her vision. Ty smiled widely. Oh, crap! From his seat by the windows, it must have seemed like Maryanne had been staring at him rather than the outside world. Now what?

Ty was one of the few local boys who actually attended the Streep Academy. He was a tall, gangly farm boy who stuck out hopelessly, with his shy quietness and slightly-too-small school clothes. Obviously smart--brilliant, actually--he shared several other classes with Maryanne. And right now, his face was glowing red as he waited on Maryanne's acknowledgement of the wave and smile that must have cost him to toss her way. Maryanne offered what she hoped would be construed as a 'friendly' smile, not an 'I'm interested' smile. Then she looked up again at the board. Guys were the furthest thing from her mind this year.

"Ms. Saunders? The answer... "

"Nine?" Brooke ventured in a bored voice.

"Wrong!" There was true glee in McKenzie's voice.

She shrugged. "Okay, how about _sixty-nine_ , then?"

There was a short-lived chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mr. McKenzie's face burned. Brooke would be the absolute _last_ one in this class he could reduce to tears. Or rattle. He should have learned by now to stop trying. And despite her apparent inattention in class, Maryanne knew Brooke was fine with math. Not a whiz, but comfortable enough that she'd pass. And that seemed to be all she was looking for.

As if feeling Maryanne's stare, or maybe just to share the moment, Brooke turned in her seat. She smiled at Maryanne, but as always it slid to a slightly snide expression before she turned herself back around. It was as if Brooke couldn't help it. Or as if she raced to get that snide look in, before anyone else trumped her on it.

Maryanne was truly grateful for Brooke's intervention the other night when those local girls had surrounded her. And Brooke, of course, had delighted in administering the shitkicking. Had grinned all the way home. But Maryanne had seen the anxiousness rising in Brooke as she told the story to Alex. It climbed even higher as Brooke elaborated on the fast one she'd pulled on Seth--proclaiming their mutual STD before his new girlfriend. Maryanne recognized that anxiety. Hard as it was to believe of Brooke Saunders, the girl desperately wanted to be liked, to belong. And it made the other girl spill her words out quickly, even while she somehow tried to bite them back.

That anxious desire for friendship had crept out again before the three girls left their third floor room at Harvell house this morning. They'd stood in the middle of the quiet room, beds made behind them, book bags at their sides as they looked from one to the other. And they'd stood there with the promise that this evening, they'd return to the attic.

To read more from Connie's diary.

Maryanne hadn't seen the old diary since the night Alex's accidental... adventure. She was quite sure that Brooke hadn't seen it either. Though she was equally sure Brooke had searched for it amongst everyone's things in their shared room at Harvell. But there were stretches of time when Alex would be gone for an hour or more at night. Only to return ashen and quiet and so lost in thought. Maryanne expected she had been reading the words of Connie Harvell. From the little she already knew, that was one sad tale.

Once, when Alex had crept into the room and crawled into bed well after lights out, Maryanne had heard soft crying from the other side of the room while Brooke gently snored and she herself pretended to be asleep. She had said nothing, of course. Not then and not the morning after when Alex had awoken with her gray-blue eyes red-rimmed.

_Jason 's eyes had been gray-blue._

"I'll ask you again, Ms. Hemlock!" McKenzie snapped his pointer on the whiteboard, bringing it down hard on the triangle's lower corner. "What is the answer?"

Maryanne started. Crap! Had that question been directed to her? Had she been that zoned out? But ten studying seconds later, Brooke answered for her:

"Seventy-two degrees."

With obvious disgust, Mr. McKenzie cast a dirty look at both Maryanne and Brooke before he turned back to the board.

And that was a very good thing because if he'd stared at her for one minute longer, he might have seen the tears welling in her eyes. And she didn't want him to think they were because of him.

The tears that threatened were for her little brother, not this jerk of a teacher. They were for this counting day. And maybe too, a bit for herself.

At least tonight she would have some distraction. She, Brooke and Alex had agreed that they would sneak up to the attic again after lights out to hear more from Connie's diary. But they wouldn't stop there. This morning in their room as they'd prepared to go off to school, they'd agreed to simultaneously tap on that window and beg to fly out through the pane as Alex had done once before. As Connie Harvell had done. If that couldn't distract her, nothing could.

Much as part of her yearned for it, Maryanne was terrified of what the night might bring.

_I bet poor Jason was terrified that night, five months ago today._

One tear slid slowly down her cheek, followed by another. It was just a small mercy that Mr. McKenzie didn't turn around to see. But shy and quiet Ty Piper was watching her, she saw through tear-filled eyes. A couple others too, no doubt. More than anything right then and there, Maryanne wanted out of that classroom.

She just wanted out.

### Chapter 9

#### Into the Brilliant Darkness

_Alex_

GOD, SHE HATED it here. Hated the very air in the room. Hated everything about it.

Alex felt her throat constrict as she ascended the final step and walked the length of the dim attic. The candlelight flickered crazily as her hand trembled. Just like every other time she'd entered this room since waking here that awful morning, the almost-memory hammered at her. Rhythmically, relentlessly pounding outside the barrier of her mind as she looked around at the now familiar space. Dresser, rocking chair, crib, cot, musty trunk, old coat tree... Something would surely trigger a memory. But it didn't. As she stood there--right _there_ on the very spot where it must have happened--she still had no recollection of the attack. No picture of her attacker.

"Spooked out?"

For once, Brooke's voice didn't have that taunting edge.

"Scared stiff," Maryanne breathlessly confessed.

Alex didn't doubt it. She was scared herself, and she'd already done it once before; they hadn't. And though she'd loved the exhilaration of joining in with the night, loved knowing that part of her had slipped through the stained glass unscathed to fly into the darkness, it was still a frightening prospect. A slip into the unknown. Yet as this week had passed, Alex had thought about little else, and the niggling craving to do it again had grown into an itch. She wanted to do it again.

She would.

The three girls placed their candles carefully, strategically, so no flopping bodies would knock them over. Two on the dresser to their left, one on an old trunk to their right. Then they sat down in front of the window. Between the candles and the wide wash of moonlight falling through the window, there was plenty of light. Alex and Brooke sat easily cross-legged, while Maryanne sat with knees drawn up and arms wrapped around her legs.

Brooke leaned to peer out the window. "Not a cloud in the sky."

Alex followed her gaze. Brooke was right.

The stars shone against the beautiful blackness. The half-moon hung brilliant and unobscured. She knew it was cold out, though. That crisp cold you get with a clear autumn night. She could feel the chill just sitting here so close to the heavy glass. A tiny shudder skated over her skin and she shook it away.

The single candle to the right flickered, causing their shadows to dance.

Maryanne had bought three candles--one for each of them--at a local craft shop. They were wide and white and stood on their respective perches without worry of tipping. Brooke had suggested that big, heavy-duty flashlights or Coleman lanterns might have been a better choice when she'd seen Maryanne's purchases, but Alex and Maryanne had overridden her.

They both understood. Connie had lived by candlelight as a prisoner in this attic. They could ask for no more. It just wouldn't feel right.

And as Alex looked over at Maryanne in this moment of reflection, it struck her again how tired she looked. More lost than usual today. Was it just the revelations of Connie's diary? The dark secrets of Harvell House? That was a big part of it, no doubt, but it wasn't the whole story. There'd been something lost about Maryanne from the moment she'd stepped into Harvell House. Something that had come with her.

"Want me to read tonight?" This from Maryanne, but not asked with any real belief she'd get a positive answer.

Oh, crap! Alex had been staring at her. No wonder the girl thought something was expected of her. Alex shook her head. "No, I'll read."

She opened the book carefully. She wouldn't dream of dog-earring a page, and so the tiny slip of paper she'd inserted as a bookmark earlier, now drifted down to the floor as she found the spot she'd chosen to read from tonight.

The guilt arose the moment she angled the book toward the light and looked down at Connie's small, compact writing. Just like last time, something deep inside balked at sharing Connie Harvell's words.

"Why not start where we left off the last time?" Brooke asked. "September 9, 1962."

"That was the night Connie first flew out." Maryanne wrapped her arms a little tighter around her knees.

" _Cast_ out," Alex corrected. "Connie calls it casting out, which is as good a term as any, I guess. And she called her body on the floor her _original._ " She aimed a quelling look at Brooke. "And no, we're not picking up where we left off because there's more to understand. There's more to know about Connie and how... how everything came to be. What was happening to her. Not just how she cast out. Not just the parts--"

"That serve us," Maryanne finished for her in a quiet voice.

"She was being raped," Brooke said. "By this guy Billy. We know that and--"

"And there's more!" Alex snapped. She glared at Brooke, who now wore a defensive expression. "If we're going to do this--if you want to learn this casting thing--we're going to do it my way. End of story. That's it."

It was Brooke who was first to avert her glaring eyes. "Fine! You're the queen of those bloody scribbles. The keeper of the sacred text!"

"Don't mock her!" Alex felt her fingers digging into the diary and forced herself to relax them so she wouldn't damage the delicate binding. "You don't know what she'd been through. You--"

Maryanne sighed. "Oh come on, you two! Are we going to do this or not?" It wasn't a question and she didn't wait for an answer. "Alex, read from wherever you want to. Then... "

She couldn't finish. And Alex wasn't sure she herself wanted to articulate what they'd promised this morning.

Brooke did it for them, without even the smallest hesitation. "Then we all try to cast out."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, calming down. "Then we try to cast out."

Alex began.

_August 14, 1962_

_Sometimes I pretend I 'm in a fairy tale locked away in this attic. Rapunzel was trapped in a tower. But her hair was longer than mine._

_I know I 'm too old for such childish thoughts. I'm sixteen, for God's sake! But I can't help it. I think of my father--my real father--and imagine him rushing in to save his only daughter. He's been dead three years now. He was a good man._

_Mother should never have married again. She must see that now. He made me call him 'father', right from the start. Stepfather. That's what he is. Jailor. And if the devil could walk in human form with a bible shoved up in his armpit, then he'd be that too._

_No. I guess that would be his son, Billy._

_It scares me to think this way._

_It really does! I know he 's not the devil--not the one that my stepfather preaches of who waits for me in hell, to carry my 'whore self away to be his bride in the fiery pit'._

_If only he knew it was his beloved Billy 's baby that grows in my 'whore' belly._

Brooke gasped. "Connie was pregnant!"

Alex grimaced. "Yeah, by her stepbrother, Billy. Sick bastard."

"Poor girl," Maryanne said. "The nightmare just keeps getting worse for her. No wonder she--"

"Cast out of her body," Alex finished for her. "She had to."

Another piece of paper fell as Alex turned the pages. The slip of white glowed faintly on the hardwood floor.

"Listen to this entry," she said. "This'll really show you... well, just listen."

_September 23, 1962_

_I saw my mother._

_Tonight when I went out, I went to find her._

_I know that she 'd come see me in this awful attic if she could. It has to be my stepfather that won't let her come. He rules her with an iron fist--one he claims to be God-given. Just as he's done ever since he stepped foot in this house. We didn't need anyone else here in Harvell House. We could've lived with being poor._

_So, tonight as my bulging body fell to the floor and I moved beyond the window, I didn 't roam the fields or skim above the trees. I didn't head to the woods to watch the foxes cower. I went down. I went to the kitchen window, and I saw my mother there._

_She looked so old it broke my heart! Her cheekbones stuck out. Her eyes were absolutely sunken in her skull, dark and hollow and sad beyond belief. She looked completely defeated as she worked there in the kitchen late at night, kneading the dough for the fresh bread that my stepfather insisted upon for breakfast._

_The window was open and I wanted to call out to her so much! I needed to speak her name. I didn 't want her to see me, not in a way that would surely frighten her. But oh, I still couldn't help but whisper, "Mother"._

_She didn 't hear me. She didn't turn around or even look around in a 'what's-that-sound' kind of way. I spoke louder. Still nothing. She just kept kneading the bread and staring off into nothing. I raised my voice louder even as I crouched down lower in the bushes. Oh dear God, how I yelled! But mother still did not hear me._

_I knew I couldn 't scream my loudest... I couldn't do that to her._

_But as I moved to leave, I saw her blink. I saw her turn to the window, with a strange look on her face. She searched the shadows. But I couldn 't show myself as I was--I couldn't do that to her either. So I just stayed down in the night and watched my poor mother a little while longer until she turned away._

The girls sat silently. No one said a single thing as Alex stared down into the page, nor did anyone say a word as she closed the diary with finality. Not for several minutes. Finally Alex herself broke the silence.

"You guys still want to do this? I was out for just a minute last time, and it was accidental. Do you really want to try to cast out? To become a cast? Like Connie?" Even as she asked the questions, Alex wondered if they'd be _able_ to do it. Maybe the path Connie had forged out through the stained glass was a path only Alex could travel, because of the abuse they'd shared in this room. She had Connie's diary; maybe she was _supposed_ to have it. Maybe somehow Connie had left it there just for her and her alone. Alex welled with emotion to think Connie could have done that for her. There was a common bond they shared; two victims from the attic floor.

"I want out," Brooke stood, and the candle flames flickered off to her left. Flickered but not like they were in danger of being snuffed out. More like they were dancing. "That's right, isn't it? 'I want out'?"

Maryanne answered for her. "Yeah, I want out, I want out, I want out. Those are the words."

Alex heard the tremor in the breath Maryanne drew, and even in the dim candlelight, she could see the other girl's eyes glistening with tears. Instantly, Alex knew they weren't just tears for Connie. They weren't just tears of fear.

"Maryanne," she said. "You don't have to try this."

Maryanne stood abruptly. Alex rose too.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, side by side in the attic of Harvell House--Maryanne, Alex and Brooke. Trembling as their fingertips touched the cold, cold glass.

"Look into the Madonna's eyes," Alex whispered.

The moon light shone through those amazing and yet strange blue eyes as the girls looked up into them. Compassionate. Benevolent. Promising escape. Offering reprieve from their worlds and their wounds.

"I want out," Maryanne's voice was thick with tears. She was the first to start tapping. "Please... I want out. I want out. I want out... "

Alex joined in. And then, so did Brooke. The whispers became a chorus of chants, a holy plea for freedom.

And Alex knew that freedom suddenly. As did the other girls. They were right there on either side of her, and the night surrounded the three of them.

They'd done it! They'd cast out.

"Holy shit! I'm levitating! I'm levitating _two stories_ above the ground!"

Alex swung toward Brooke. She'd heard that! Hadn't she? Or had she just felt it?

"Oh wow, we did it!" Maryanne cried.

_Yes_! They could _hear_ each other! Even if other people couldn't hear them, they could communicate amongst themselves. One less thing to worry about while their defenseless bodies lay on that floor... "Yes, we did it," Alex said.

"And, oh wow, would you just _look_!' Maryanne said. "Everything's so bright out here! Much brighter than when we're in our bodies. I can even see you much better than I could the other night. You almost have a bit of a shimmering edge." She lifted a black hand and looked down at it. "So do I!"

"We all do," Brooke agreed. "But Alex didn't have that shimmer the other night. We must _see_ differently out here."

Alex could find no fault with Brooke's reasoning. It _was_ much brighter than it should have been out here. Not daylight bright, but much brighter than could be accounted for by the available light. Much brighter than their non-cast eyes would have found it, she was certain. And that glittery edge--it made it much easier for them to see each other, yet Connie's diary assured that other people would only see their pitch-black form, if they kept in the shadows. It was as though they were uniquely made for the night.

On that thought, Alex, following some instinct, held her hands out to the other girls. "Let's _own_ the night!"

Maryanne took her hand and Alex felt her surprise when their fingers touched. It wasn't like flesh meeting flesh--not warm and pulsing with blood like their regular hands--but there was a strange solidity there that allowed them to grip each other. A weight.

Maryanne squeezed Alex's hand and there was strength in her grip and in her voice. "That beats what I was going to say when you held your hands out like that."

"Which was?"

"One for all and all for one."

Brooke snorted, but she took Alex's other hand and then Maryanne's as well, to close the circle. If she found the sensation of their touch strange, she didn't show it. "I was gonna say, 'Let's roll, bitches.'"

Their laughter rang around them.

Then Brooke released their hands and moved back, throwing her arms wide as if to embrace the night itself. "We got out! Can you believe it?"

Alex grinned at Brooke's exuberance, but her smile faded quickly.

_They 'd gotten out, but part of them stayed in_.

Alex looked in the window at their three bodies lumped on the floor in the pale, flickering wash of candlelight. Maryanne and Brooke moved closer to do the same, but quickly the two looked away and moved deeper into the darkness, leaving Alex hanging there outside the window.

Though she knew the night was cold, her cast didn't feel it. But she did feel the warmth on her body--her original--in there, flanked by the semi-paralyzed bodies of original Maryanne and original Brooke.

Co-consciousness... "Come on!" Brooke urged from way over by the glistening river.

Alex glanced back with worry at their bodies on the floor, helpless. She hated to leave them. They were so damned vulnerable. But oh, how she wanted to soar!

So with a last look at their bodies, she followed Brooke's urging and Maryanne's delighted laughter. And the three casts soared out into the Mansbridge night.

### Chapter 10

#### Like a Fish to Water

_Brooke_

AS SOON AS Alex started toward them, Brooke turned and willed herself forward again. And holy crap, her dark form obeyed! God, this was amazing!

Powered by nothing more than the force of her intention, she zoomed out over the broad, flat Saint John River. She heard someone behind her--Maryanne?--murmur about how beautiful the river was. And oh, it was! With that odd, extra clarity, the dark water glittered in the moonlight like a massive spill of dancing sequins.

Brooke willed herself closer to the water's surface, skimming along as she'd seen birds do when they fished. It was awesome! And the smell! With the air rushing by, it was just like being on a motorboat. Well, without the stink of gasoline and the noise of the outboard. And yeah, the sun-warmed smell of the river was completely different than this night-cool smell. Okay, it was _nothing_ like a motorboat ride. Except it was just as thrilling. More thrilling!

She willed herself faster, but the desire failed to translate itself into reality. For the first time tonight, she felt a twinge of disappointment. Her speed seemed to have topped out. At least with her current degree of skill. But who knew? Maybe they could learn to go much faster, with practice. Right now, she figured she was moving faster than a person could run, but not nearly as fast, say, as a motorcycle. Hell, not as fast as a Moped, probably. Maybe as fast as a horse could gallop, though honestly she really didn't know how fast that was. It was hard to gauge speed, especially since they were moving upstream. With the water flowing beneath them, maybe it only seemed like they were going fast.

Something touched her leg and she glanced down, startled. Until she realized it wasn't her leg. Well, yes it was her leg, but not cast Brooke's leg. Original Brooke's leg. Back in the attic, one of the other girls had flopped a foot onto Brooke's calf. How weird to be feeling what her body was feeling back there!

They'd agreed on that terminology--cast and original--right out of the gate. Attaching those labels had been as much about processing what had happened to Alex as it was about efficient communication. The terms made perfect sense to Brooke, "cast" being this free part that shot out-- _cast out --_through the window, and "original" being the body that slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Except it wasn't just a body she'd left behind. Original Brooke might look like an empty shell in that paralytic state, but she was far from vacant. Her heart had pounded with terror when she'd slipped through that window, and it pounded still, but it did so now with the thrill of flight. She was fully aware and conscious. She just couldn't move.

But cast Brooke? Cast Brooke could _fly_!

She caught a flash of movement to her right and saw that Alex had caught up to them. She craned her neck to see that Maryanne cruised a comfortable few yards behind. And she could almost feel their exhilaration! Their joy matched her own as they raced along over the lazily moving current.

It struck her anew how weird this was. She was floating weightlessly, moving by sheer force of will, seemingly without exertion. It was surreal. Yet at the same time, it felt just as real as anything she'd ever experienced. The more she thought about that, the more she thought she should be freaked out. But she wasn't, not even for a second. Just as Alex had said, there was little fear as a cast.

They rounded a bend in the river and a tall stand of pines caught Brooke's attention.

"I'm going to go touch the top of that tree!" she called to the others.

Without waiting to see if they followed, she cut away. The night smell changed when she left the river behind. The scent of the earth and forest was warmer than that of the river, as though it were still releasing some of the sun's energy that it had stored during the day.

As she neared the tree, she slowed her speed. When she got close enough, she stuck her hand out to trail it through the soft boughs of the giant white pine. Or rather she tried to. But her hand simply passed through them without rustling so much as a single pine needle. She tried it again, with the same result, then lifted her hand to examine it.

She hadn't touched it, yet she _had_. Because when she'd drawn her hand back, she came away with a feeling of knowing _exactly_ what it was to _be_ the pine needle, to be the frigging branch! But even as she stared at her hand, the sensation left her. She swiped her hand through the boughs again, and again she felt it. Once more the sensation faded in a matter of seconds.

Bizarre!

"What are you doing?"

Brooke turned to see the other girls had joined her.

"This is so freaky! Run your hand through those boughs and tell me what you feel."

The others tried it, to the same effect. "Wow, that's crazy!" Maryanne said.

"This is going to be even crazier," Alex said, and before Brooke knew what she intended to do, Alex dropped down to where the tree's trunk grew thicker and--oh, shit!--moved her arm right through the tree.

"Omigod, it's so old!" Alex cried. "This tree must have been standing before any of the town was here."

But Brooke wasn't listening. She'd caught sight of something below on the ground, approaching from the south. Coyotes. Four of them, at least. "Look, guys. We've got company trotting our way."

"Wow! I've never seen a wolf before," Maryanne said.

"Coyote," Alex corrected. "We don't have wolves in the Maritimes, but we make up for it with big-assed coyotes. They're nothing like the little western ones. Some scientists believe they're a coyote/wolf hybrid."

"Let's go down for a closer look," Brooke said.

"Don't bother," Alex said. "You'll just scare them away."

"How do you know that?" Maryanne asked. "Maybe they won't even see us in the dark."

But Brooke knew how Alex knew. The diary. Yet Alex said nothing. Typical.

"Let's check it out for ourselves, shall we?" Brooke said.

Brooke started to move toward the pack, half expecting a protest from the others. Well, from Maryanne anyway. But as she neared the animals, she felt the others right behind her.

The pack sensed something amiss before they got very close. The biggest one--the leader?--bristled, standing there all stiff-legged and growling low in his throat. The rest of them slunk closer to the leader, whining. As the girls edged closer, the leader wheeled toward his pack. Clearly that was the signal to retreat, because they started to melt quietly away.

Brooke shot upward, then pressed for all the speed she could muster. In a matter of seconds, she had overtaken the coyotes, who'd opted for stealth over speed. Then she promptly dropped directly into their path. The lead dog yipped its surprise and scuttled backward.

"Spread out!" she called to the other girls. "Surround them and see what they do!"

To Brooke's surprise, the girls complied.

Surrounded now, the coyotes formed a defensive circle. Like spokes in a wheel, they put their rumps together and turned their bared teeth toward the threat.

Brooke dove toward them, pulling up at the last instant. The pack fell back, one of them actually urinating on itself as it cowered low. They were terrified! Brooke laughed.

"Come on, that's enough!" Maryanne said, falling back.

"Yeah, leave 'em alone, Brooke."

"Okay," she said. "In just a minute." With that, she buzzed the pack again, but this time the coyotes turned tail and raced off, the path to freedom having opened up when the girls abandoned their positions. Brooke zoomed after the retreating pack. With the wind in her face, she could smell the wild, musky scent of them, mixed with fear. It was heady stuff.

"Run, you scaredy-cats!" she shouted. "Run! Run!"

Brooke heard a noise behind her and turned to see that Alex and Maryanne had joined her in the chase. The coyotes ran harder, stretching for the safety of the forest just ahead. When they reached the woods' protective cover, the girls swung back, laughing.

"That was awesome!" Brooke said.

"Amazing," Maryanne agreed.

"Hey, guys, maybe we should think about going back."

Brooke turned to gape at Alex. "What? We just got out here!"

"We've probably been out longer than we think," she said. "And remember, we're still back there, paralyzed, vulnerable. Anything could happen."

Man, she missed the old Alex. This one was a real wet blanket. Even Maryanne seemed downright adventurous in cast form. But instead of launching into yet another harangue about the futility of Alex trying to change her spots at this late date, Brooke decided to reason with her.

"If anything happened, we'd know it," Brooke pointed out. "Or can't you feel yourself--your original--lying back there? I can feel mine."

"Oh, I can feel her... er, me. Or however the hell I should say it. But still... someone could come along. Maybe somebody heard us when we fell to the floor and they'll come to investigate."

"We had a nice, soft, quiet landing on the cushions, just like we planned," Brooke corrected. "If they didn't hear us the other night, no way would they have heard us tonight."

"That's right," Maryanne said. "We made a heck of a lot more noise that other night. Remember? You falling from a standing position with a big thump, and us rushing around trying to figure out what to do for you. Then when you came back in... "

"Yeah, that made a lot of noise, too. You choking the hell out of Maryanne, I mean."

"Thank you for that reminder, Brooke."

Brooke grinned. She couldn't see Alex's eyes--or any features of her face, for that matter--but she was completely certain Alex was glaring at her right now.

"I still think we should go back. This is our first time; we should take it easy, learn the ropes."

"Suit yourself," Brooke said. "But I have somewhere to go first before I'm ready to go back."

She turned to leave but Maryanne called to her. "Wait! We should all go back together. In case... you know... one of us has trouble getting back in."

Whoa! Trouble getting back into her body? She hadn't even thought of that. Part of her knew that prospect should give her some anxiety, but it didn't.

"Then come with me," Brooke said. "It'll be fun!"

The girls returned to the river.

"Okay, I'll bite," Alex said, surging up beside Brooke. "Where are we going?"

"To pay a visit to Seth Walker."

"Oh, I don't think that's such a good idea," Maryanne said, zooming up to flank Brooke's other side.

"Are you kidding? It's a _great_ idea."

"Wait, who's Seth Walker?" Alex asked.

"The guy she dropped that bomb on in front of his friends," Maryanne said.

Alex snorted. "The imaginary HPV infection?"

"That's the guy," Brooke said grimly. "And that's his place down there. The one with the big paddock and horse barn."

Seth's house was a ranch-style monstrosity. He'd never actually taken her home to visit, but they'd gone there once, so he could run in and retrieve a gram bag of weed. She should have known what a pussy he was then, too paranoid to carry that miniscule amount on him until the very minute he intended to smoke it. She'd waited in the car as instructed, but he had pointed out which second-floor window was his bedroom. She definitely should have known what a dick he was when he failed to invite her in and introduce her to his family.

Well, tonight Seth was going to get a little payback.

"Whoa." Maryanne stopped a few hundred yards from the house. "This is as far as I go. You want to spy on him, go ahead. I'll wait here."

"Me too," Alex said.

"Fine by me." She really didn't need an audience for this next part.

Calmly, she soared over the neatly mown lawn and the pretty flowerbeds and around a big oak tree to hover outside Seth's window. And yes! He was home. Of course, where else would he be in the dead of night? At least, she thought it was him. It was hard to tell from here. But she was sure it was the bedroom he'd pointed out to her. He'd even given her a wave from the window. Yeah, this was it.

Now... how to get in?

She approached the window. She could probably go through it, just like she'd run her hands through that pine, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try it. For all she knew, a second trip through glass in caster form could have unwelcome consequences. But as she got closer, she saw the window was wide open, covered only by a mosquito screen, which struck her as odd. It was quite chilly tonight. She could see sleeping with the window cracked, but jacked wide open? Then she caught the faint but distinctive odor of pot. Ha! He was airing the ganja stink out of his room while he slept. She stifled a laugh, then wondered why she bothered. No one could hear her but Maryanne and Alex. Moving into a horizontal position, Brooke slipped in through the screened window slick as water flowing through a sieve.

She drifted over the big queen-sized bed, and yes, the sleeping form in it was Seth. He slept on his back with both arms thrown up to rest on the pillow by his head. The posture put her in mind of a sleeping baby. An innocent. She shook her head, denying the comparison. As if! More like an arrogant man who felt so secure in his world, he believed nothing could harm him. Golden boy! He didn't have to curl on his side and hug his pillow. He didn't feel the need to roll over to protect his soft underbelly. Apparently life hadn't dealt _him_ any low blows.

_Dammit, Seth, why 'd you have to go and be such a total jerk? I liked you. I more than liked you. But you didn't like me very much, did you? I wasn't girl-next-door-wholesome enough for your parents, was I? And then, when I finally get dirty with you, which you'd been begging for_, _for months, I 'm suddenly yesterday's stinking garbage?_

She drifted closer, wishing she could actually grip something. Handy as it was to be able to move through solid objects, she wished she could just take a handful of Seth's hair and give it a vicious rip. And how weird was that when you thought about it? She could actually touch her fellow casts, but the 'real' things around her, the material things, she moved right through them.

Then she remembered the way it had felt went she put her hand through the boughs of that tree. It had left her with a powerful sense of the bough itself, if only fleetingly. What if she were to stick that same hand inside Seth's head? Would she come away knowing something?

Even as the thought formed, she acted on it. She was ready to see her fingers disappear into him, but to her shock, they made contact with his scalp. She jerked her hand back, and he twitched and murmured in his sleep. Shit! She _could_ touch him. Well, if she could touch him... she could damn well yank his hair!

She did, wrapping her fingers in those glossy blond locks and giving them a really good tug.

He roared and his arm shot up. Before she could lift far enough away, he'd grabbed her by the wrist. Shit! She was snared. Her first time out and she damn well got herself caught. She renewed her efforts to pull away, fighting madly.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my room?"

"Let me go!" she yelled, but of course he didn't hear her. She struck at his arm, but he was so much stronger. And he was pulling her toward the side of the bed. Oh, crap, he was reaching for the lamp! Frantic to escape, she opened her mouth and let loose a bellow of rage and desperation.

And omigod, the sound that came out! It was unearthly! A foghorn deep, wall-shaking primal scream! It must have rattled Seth to the bone--quite literally--for she felt it sink into him and travel back up his arm. He released her instantly, snatching his hand back.

Because she was still freaking out that that sound had actually come up from somewhere inside her, it took her a second to realize that she was free. As soon as that fact registered, she zoomed to the window, but she was a second too late. Seth hit the switch on his lamp just as she dove through the opening.

"What the hell?" She heard his panicked shout as she disappeared through the mosquito screen and rushed away from the building. She also heard another male voice as someone--presumably Seth's dad, or maybe his brother Bryce--broke into the room. As fun as it would have been to hang around and listen to Seth explain how a shadow had attacked him--or oh God, the lingering smell of the joint he'd smoked--she was frankly too shaken.

Besides, Alex and Maryanne were there, tugging at her.

"Come on, come on, let's go!" Alex urged.

Brooke didn't need any convincing, but before she could move, the night exploded in a white ball of light. What now? Oh, God, a yard light! Someone had turned on a light on a giant pole next to the house.

"Up!" Alex cried, and shot straight up into the air, beyond the light's reach.

Below, Seth and Bryce spilled out the house's front door, down the porch and onto the grassy lawn. "There!" Seth pointed to them. "Up by my window."

"Up, dammit!" Maryanne grabbed Brooke's arm and the two of them arrowed straight up and out of sight.

And oh, God, Brooke felt like she was having a heart attack. Not cast Brooke, but original Brooke. Back there in the attic, her heart was tripping like crazy. And her lungs! Man, she was working for oxygen while her body jittered, limbs twitching spasmodically.

"Jesus, what was _that_?" Bryce's voice was high with fright. "And it was in your room?"

"Damn straight it was. And it pulled half my hair out!"

"But what _was_ it?"

"What do you think it was, idiot? It was the Mansbridge Heller!"

The girls didn't stick around to hear anymore. They broke for home at top speed. Which, Brooke noticed, didn't seem to be as fast as before. Was it just that they were getting used to the sensation of flying, or were they actually moving slower? Her limbs did seem heavier now, as though she'd gathered weight somehow as the night wore on. Did the others feel that way too? Or was it just her? And if it was just her, was it because Seth had grabbed her? Had touching his flesh drained her? Could being reminded on that basic level of the wrongness, the unnaturalness of her current state, somehow suck away her cast powers?

"What happened back there?" Maryanne said. "And what the hell was that noise? Was that you?"

"It came out of me, all right, but I have no idea what it was." Brooke glanced over at Alex. "Maybe Alex here can shed some light on it."

Alex sighed. "Look, our hearts can use a break back there, not to mention our nerves. Let's just concentrate on getting home, okay? We can talk about this stuff when we're safely inside again."

She _did_ know about that noise. It was there in her voice.

"Dammit, Alex," Brooke said bitterly. "Any other critical information we should know?"

"Give it a rest," Maryanne snapped. "Alex will tell us what she knows about that... sound. And you'll tell us what you did to Seth Walker."

Oh, great. They'd _never_ get to bed tonight.

### Chapter 11

#### Wind Blowing Ways

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE HAD BLOWN off school.

Well, not _blown off_ , exactly. More like faked her way out of it. Still wearing her housecoat, she'd trudged downstairs and announced to Mrs. Betts in the most nasal voice she could manage that she was too sick-- _cough-cough, sniffle_ --to go to school. Amazingly, Mrs. Betts hadn't turned her infamous gimlet eye on her. Instead, she'd simply stood there in the parlor doorway and shrugged at Maryanne's assertion. Then she'd dialed the Streep Academy and left a tired voice-mail message that Maryanne Hemlock wouldn't be at school today. And without another word, Betts had walked into the dining room, grabbed some unbuttered toast and a mug of black coffee and disappeared through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.

Maryanne watched her go. For a woman who was maybe in her early forties, Betts walked as though she were pushing seventy this morning. As if the weight of the world were on her slumped shoulders.

She'd never skipped school before, but Maryanne suspected it wasn't usually this easy pulling one over on Mrs. Betts. What was up with that? Maybe the old girl was just tired this morning. Too tired to argue with students over fake illnesses.

Well, Maryanne could identify with the tired part. She was frickin' exhausted. Clutching her prop tissues, she'd headed back up the stairs.

She'd met Brooke and Alex on their way down, carrying their backpacks.

Maryanne laid a hand on Alex's sleeve. "See you both tonight."

Alex looked down at the hand with a knotted look on her face, as if Maryanne's touch were burning into her flesh. Maryanne pulled her hand away.

"Yeah," Brooke answered, smiling. "Right after dinner. Back in the room."

"And we'll talk then, right?" Maryanne said, lowering her voice even more.

"With pleasure!" Brooke bounced down the stairs. She tossed her backpack down by the door before hanging a left into the breakfast hall.

By contrast, Alex only nodded at Maryanne before continuing down the stairs. But when she hit the bottom, instead of turning, she walked right out the front door.

Maryanne climbed the remaining stairs and returned to the bedroom.

She flopped back down on her bed. The sun shone through the open curtains, laying an oblong of light across the hardwood floor and warming the room itself. The small bed had never felt so welcoming, the blankets never so soft and cozy as today when she tucked down deep inside them. Man, she needed sleep.

She hadn't gotten a wink of it last night.

Within minutes of blasting back into their bodies the previous night--Lord, she'd never felt anything like it!--they'd blown out the candles and crept back downstairs. No point hanging around up there any longer than necessary. The longer they were AWOL from their bedroom, the higher the chance their absence would be detected. They'd snuck down the stairs and quietly back through the door that led to the second floor. Without saying a word, they'd made their way back to the small room they shared. Alex and Brooke had buried their snuffed-out candles in their dressers, while Maryanne hid hers behind some books on her headboard shelf.

She hadn't expected any of them to sleep much that night, if at all, after what had just happened.

But though Maryanne and Brooke had sat up on their beds, practically vibrating with energy and ready to talk, Alex was in no mood for conversation. Nor was she bursting with the same energy and excitement.

If anything, she seemed quieter than ever on their return to the bedroom. Both Maryanne and Brooke had tried to engage her, to no avail. She'd seemed lost somehow, as she lay down on her bed, head on the pillow and eyes fixed on the ceiling. Staring into nothing.

"So tell us," Maryanne had urged. "What did Connie write in her diary about that scream?"

"Not now, Maryanne, I've got a brutal headache."

Brooke's response? "Fine. But if _you 're_ not talking, _I 'm_ not talking."

Maryanne, always the peacemaker, had jumped in before the two could start a war. And she'd also managed to extract a promise from the both of them that they'd meet tonight to talk about it.

Eventually, Brooke had lain down on her bed, and her soft snores were soon filling the darkened room. Not long thereafter, Alex had also drifted off, or so Maryanne had thought, judging from her breathing.

But Maryanne had lain there in bed and stared out the window into the blackness. Not even having to try to fight sleep. Just staring easily into the night that had so lovingly embraced her. She'd felt a freedom out there. An incomparable, wonderful lightness.

She hadn't wanted that feeling to end, so she'd lain awake in the dark.

But now her lack of sleep was catching up to her. Mentally, she wasn't ready to surrender to it, but her body had its own agenda. She fell asleep with one thought in her head. _Oh God, don 't let it end_.

She slept for three dreamless hours, until the sunlight made its way along the hardwood floor to fall onto her bed. When she eventually woke, it was to find the sun beating on her tightly closed eyelids. Blinking, Maryanne turned to look at the clock beside her bed. The digital readout indicated it was 11:11.

_Make a wish?_

She always had on 11:11. Ever since she could remember.

But this time she didn't have to take a minute to stew over what wish to throw to the wind.

"I wish to cast out again," she said to the empty room. "Very, very soon."

Her stomach grumbled as she threw off the blankets. But breakfast/brunch/lunch would have to wait. Five minutes later, Maryanne was in the first unhurried shower she'd had since coming to Harvell House. She let the water smooth down on her back. Washed and conditioned her hair slowly. No one would be pounding on the door for her to hurry; no one would be standing in the hallway tapping an impatient foot and shooting her daggers for taking so long when she came back out.

She'd enjoy the small amount of peace while she could.

Fresh from the shower, she dressed in her faded, most comfortable jeans, and favorite Maple Leafs jersey. She looked out the bedroom window to gauge the weather. Though the day was sunny, a stiff breeze tossed the branches of the trees below, so she threw her fall jacket on too before going downstairs in search of food.

Oh, yuk! She wrinkled her nose at the sight before her in the dining hall, where the remnants of breakfast still lay on the buffet. A pile of soggy, buttered toast. Half empty pitchers of milk. The scene was completed by a couple of happy houseflies buzzing around the table. Oh, man, why hadn't Mrs. Betts cleared this crap away yet? It was nearly noon. More to the point, what was she going to eat?

Ah! Perfect. One sesame bagel remained, still securely wrapped in its original plastic bag. Maryanne opened a small plastic tub and scraped up the last of the cream cheese. She spread it on the bagel, wrapped it back in the plastic bag, and grabbed a small, unopened bottle of orange juice. She shoved these in her pockets as she left Harvell House.

She didn't know the town well, but she'd explored enough to know there were a few secluded spots where she could stop to have a quiet lunch and just relax in the fall sunshine. There were a couple of parks within walking distance that probably wouldn't be too crowded. But even a small handful of mothers with their bundled-up children in swings were more company than Maryanne wanted today.

The cemetery down by the old church... As soon as the thought hit, she knew it was the perfect place.

She'd been there before, on a Jason day when she'd found herself practically stumbling through the streets with tear-filled eyes. It was tucked away behind an ancient-looking little church, set well back from the road and gloriously out of sight. Maryanne had cried her heart out there that day.

But this time as she pushed through the creaky old iron gate and walked to the back of the cemetery, she did so with dry eyes. Today wasn't a Jason day. This wasn't a Jason moment.

And Maryanne could finally admit it--the grief had been practically non-existent last night when she'd soared in the night sky with Alex and Brooke.

Oh, the burden of it had been there, but it had been _over there_ , somehow. Away. Detached from her the whole time she was out there. Even when she'd shot back into her body, that detachment had persisted.

That's why she'd pushed herself to stay awake, to enjoy the reprieve. It hadn't lasted. As the night moved on and morning claimed the sky, it had dissipated. By the time she awoke at 11:11, she'd struggled to hang on to that precious bit of peace.

And now, settling on a cold stone bench at the tree-lined cemetery's edge, Maryanne just wanted to sit alone, quietly, before the full weight of her remorse crushed her again.

She unwrapped her bagel and popped open her juice. She looked up into the bright blue sky and wished it were night again.

"I want to do it again," she murmured. "I want to soar."

And she _had_ soared! She had successfully tap, tap, tapped that window and _cast out_. Glided over the town. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought about scaring the coyotes. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have ever imagined doing such a thing. But the experience of casting out was about as far from normal as you could get. Experiencing that duality--helpless original on the floor and practically boundless cast outside--had been _far_ from ordinary.

"So far from anything!"

Maryanne had been apprehensive about reuniting with her cast. After seeing Alex's crazed re-entry the other night, she figured she had reason to be. Yet she'd been surprised at how easy it was for her body and cast to rejoin. There had been no push through the window. No struggle or even a shrug to get back into her body. As easily as she had realized herself cast out, she had realized herself back inside her body once she'd tapped on the glass.

But it hadn't been just a 'tap on the glass'. She'd mimicked Alex's words out there.

_I want in, I want in, I want in._

And that surge that had followed! The force of it had sent them all reeling back, one right after the other--Alex, then Maryanne and Brooke.

All of them had been thrown to the attic's far wall with the force of the reunion. Thinking of it now, Maryanne rubbed her left elbow that still smarted from banging into an old bureau as she'd flung past it. But at least this time, Alex hadn't come in to land with her hands around anyone's throat! Though Alex _had_ raced to snatch up Connie's diary the moment she could move again. But this time, there'd been no rage in her, which Maryanne had been very relieved to see.

And certainly there was no rage involved for Brooke or Maryanne. Quite the opposite. Brooke had come in biting down on her excitement, barely able to contain the laughter that surely would have given them away. Maryanne's reaction had been very similar. She'd barely managed to hold her exuberance down.

Alex, however, hadn't seemed to be bursting with the same excitement, maybe because she'd done it before. Whatever the reason, she hadn't been bouncing off the walls like Brooke and Maryanne. She'd simply sat there quietly against the back wall, appearing deeper in concentration than Maryanne had ever seen her. But it was a disturbed concentration. One that caused her forehead to line and a nervous hand to fly to her face so she could chew on a black-polished thumbnail.

Maryanne looked down at the bagel she'd been eating, deciding she didn't want the rest of it. The juice, however, she drained. She crumbled up the bagel and tossed it on the grass for the birds to find, recapped her empty bottle and shoved it back in her coat pocket. Then she tucked her hands inside her sleeves--left hand in right sleeve, right hand in left--and leaned back on the bench, snuggling down farther inside her coat for warmth.

The wind was beautiful today, scattering the few leaves around the low tombstones. Maryanne closed her eyes as the wind picked up and blew through her long hair. Somehow, the wind made her feel even more alone. Alone in her own thoughts.

It was dangerous, what she, Brooke and Alex had done. Hell, she wasn't even sure what it was they were playing with. She wasn't sure how much even Alex knew, though Alex had read Connie's diary cover-to-cover. But one thing she did know--if she could escape from the guilt and grief of her life, even for a while, it was worth the risk.

_' Me-anne'_. That's what Jason used to call her.

Maryanne hadn't thought of that in ages. Hadn't allowed herself to remember it. But she thought of it now--how Jason would clap his hands and laugh and call her Me-anne over and over until she laughed and tickled his belly and called him her silly J-bug.

Just like that, the sorrow was back, renewed, heavier. Grief wrapped around her again because of what she had done. Her throat ached and tears stung behind her closed eyelids. Her hands in her jacket clawed--"Goddamn it!"

Maryanne's eyes shot open, but she didn't stir at the sound of the man's voice. She didn't jump up or say anything. But she saw him and she recognized the older gentleman who stood nearby.

It was C. W. Stanley from Harvell House. The pontificating old benefactor. The one who'd asked if she had any siblings.

_What was he doing here?_

Okay, then again--what was _she_ doing here? That would be the first question Mr. Stanley would pose, no doubt, if he caught sight of her here. The last thing she wanted to do was have to explain herself. Or to have Mr. Stanley raise questions about Mrs. Betts's chaperoning. Or lack thereof.

Maryanne sat very still, hoping he wouldn't turn to see her sitting just off to his right.

She felt like a snoop. Like she was invading his privacy. From her own days of visiting Jason's grave, she knew how personal cemetery visits could be. Still, she felt compelled to watch.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself," he said, his words strangled.

Maryanne held her breath as Mr. Stanley took a seat on the small marble bench placed by an old headstone. It was one of the largest stones in the graveyard, like those she'd seen with the names of many family members written on the front, or one that belonged to a very rich family. He leaned forward to run a hand over the top of the smooth stone then sat back again. From where Maryanne sat, she had only a profile view of his face, but she could still see the sadness in it. He was old; it was no surprise that he'd lost someone. But there was something more than sadness. Something deeper than lonesomeness for a departed loved one.

_Anguish._ She knew the label was accurate the moment it came into her mind. That's what Maryanne saw in the old man's face as she watched him there.

In less than ten minutes, C. W. Stanley stood. He looked down at the bench, frowned, and lifted a corner to straighten it. The apparently fastidious man, bent to straighten it two more times before he was satisfied. He ran his hand again over the polished stone.

_He must care so deeply._

Mr. Stanley drew a deep breath. And somehow he drew his grief deep down inside again. Hiding it, or sheltering it with his public façade. With his back again straight and his arms at his sides, he walked briskly toward the cemetery gate. The wind picked up again as he walked around the last of the headstones and further away from Maryanne.

And with every step the old man took, Maryanne somehow shared his pain.

The peace was gone. Every shred of it now. And the grief was only heavier as it fully reconnected.

"Me-anne! Me-anne! Me-anne!" It was as if the very wind carried Jason's heartbreaking cry, causing pain to bloom in her chest.

Suddenly, Maryanne more than wanted to cast out again. She _craved_ it. No matter the unknown danger; no matter the cost! She would cast back into the night and find that reprieve. It was more than a foolish wish now, made at 11:11.

With tears in her eyes as she walked along, she swore to God, she would cast out again.

### Chapter 12

#### Read On

_Alex_

"WHAT A... _PRICK_."

Maryanne hooked the completed math assignments into her binder and snapped the rings shut, continuing to mutter about her math teacher.

Alex grinned as the usually polite Maryanne Hemlock colored the air with her opinion of Mr. McKenzie. Alex had had McKenzie for Math last year herself, and couldn't agree more about his prick status. And so the extra math homework he sent home for Maryanne via Brooke didn't surprise her. It hadn't surprised Brooke either. But it was clearly a shock to Maryanne. Which was quite hilarious, really. Maryanne hadn't been the least bit sick today, yet here she was getting all bent out of shape about a guy who sent extra homework to sick people.

"Are you sure he gave me _extra_ , Brooke?" she asked again.

"Yep. Two pages for everyone else in class, four pages for you. Wrote them up special." Brooke grinned devilishly. "You should feel honored to be so missed."

"Honored isn't the word I'm looking for here," Maryanne grated.

"Okay, he's a genuine, gold-plated tool," Alex agreed. "But the homework is done, right? So let's move on."

"Right." Maryanne inhaled a big, calming breath and exhaled it. "You're so right." Yet she still used more force than necessary when she shoved her binder into her book bag and dropped it onto the floor at the end of the bed. "Okay, ready to read, Alex?"

Ready to read? Ready to share Connie's world with the others? Not really. Not by a long shot. But she didn't exactly have any choice, did she? Her roommates were both deep in that world now, almost as deep as Alex herself. There were things they needed to know... Alex produced the diary from beneath her pillow. Maryanne's mood seemed to lift instantly, and Brooke sat a little straighter when she caught sight of the little leather-bound book.

"Ah, so _that 's_ where you keep it stashed."

Alex didn't respond to Brooke. She didn't need to. The other girl knew damned well she didn't keep it there. Yes, she'd tucked it under her pillow until tonight's reading time, but that wasn't its customary hiding place. She didn't even keep it in the room with her. Not a freaking chance! Brooke had already snooped through her things once. And just about anyone could enter the room in the daytime, while the girls were at school. So when Connie's little book wasn't on Alex's person, she kept it tucked away in a spot so well-hidden, the world would never find it.

"So what did Connie write?" Brooke sat cross-legged on the bed, her knees bouncing a bit with restrained excitement. "About the scream, I mean."

Even though it had been Alex's idea--okay, her absolute, desperate _need_ --to postpone any discussion of last night's events, it had been hard, even for her. And it had been absolute torture for the other two. Brooke especially had been excited about the events that had unfolded. She _loved_ casting. And Alex could see it in Maryanne's eyes too--that excitement. Joy. Abandon.

Her roommates had come back into their bodies on a high they could barely contain. And yes, probably with a touch of fear. Alex had come back with those feelings too, but also with something else. Something the other girls couldn't possibly share. She'd come back with the vaguest of memories of the night of her rape. She'd needed to focus every ounce of her energy on trying to recover those memories. Which was why she'd postponed the post mortem. She was afraid she'd lose what few tendrils she'd managed to grasp if she allowed her attention to be diverted.

Not that she remembered everything. Just a shadow of... something. Someone. Hurting her. Oh, how he laughed, low and deep in his throat, and oh how she'd cried. She remembered that much.

The hammer just outside her memory had cracked a little into her mind. She was almost sure of it. And though she reached to remember more, reached to remember _concretely_ , dear God, she was afraid to. So very afraid it would all come crashing down and around her.

If she recaptured the nightmare, would it recapture her?

"Hello? Earth to Alex! Come in, Alex." With an extended thumb and pinkie, Maryanne mimicked shouting into a phone as she sought Alex's attention.

Crap. Alex shook her head to clear it. "Sorry, my mind was wandering."

"Nowhere nice," Brooke observed.

Double crap. Brooke knew something was amiss in Alex's world. Alex could see it in the other girl's sharp, all-seeing, brown eyes. Damn her!

Alex shrugged casually, easily, belying the panic she had to fight down. "Whatever." She opened Connie's diary to the page she'd chosen earlier. "You guys ready to hear this?" Her gaze moved between Maryanne and Brooke as she asked.

"Absolutely," Maryanne said.

Brooke straightened on the bed. "Bring it on."

Alex pulled a deep breath. The last few nights they'd read in the attic. It had seemed important--it had been important--to read the words the way they'd been written. Where they'd been written, at least at the beginning. But now... she cast a glance at Maryanne and Brooke. Now these words--all of it--had gone well beyond the attic walls.

Alex began to read.

_September 22, 1962_

_Something strange happened tonight. Well, more strange than usual. It was terrifying. Oh, but it felt wonderful too!_

_Something rose up from inside me tonight. I mean, from deep, deep inside. Maybe from a place I hadn 't even known existed until tonight._

_Or accepted until tonight? Could that be it?_

_Everyone thinks I 'm such a mouse. Everyone thinks I'm that quiet, passive, voiceless girl. And God help me, I am. That's the way they want me. That's how they've made me. Every last damned one of them. But I wasn't quiet tonight. I was NOT passive. And I was far from voiceless._

_Dear Diary, from the time I open my eyes in the morning now, I count the hours until night comes so I can soar out again._

_I don 't have a clock or even a watch up here in my prison, so this is how I keep track of the hours: I know my first meal comes at noon. My mother sends it up on the dumbwaiter my stepfather and Billy built into this old house. That's so I can't see her for even a minute. That's one of my stepfather's rules. One of my punishments for being such a whore. And I know my supper comes at six. Again, by the lift, or with Billy if he's home and inclined to unlock the door, climb the stairs and torment me some more._

_After supper is when I really start counting down the time. Literally. I eat slowly. Then I start counting --one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, all the way to 725-Mississippi. That's a little over 12 minutes. Then I do it again and again and again and again--and mark it off in lines, sets of five that I scratch inside the closet door. Every set of five is one hour. When I tire of that, I recite out loud the few poems I memorized from school, then lyrics from songs I heard on the radio, all to pass the time. I close my eyes tightly and keep them closed for as long as I can while I sit on the floor by the window, hoping that when I open them again, the sky will be a bit darker, and I will be that little bit closer to the only escape I know._

_I did all of this tonight, as I always do. I set my pillow and blanket beside me to cushion my body when it hits the floor. And I tap, tap, tapped on the window as I stared up at the Madonna. Once I was out, I raced away from the house. Maybe it was the day 's loneliness that sent me soaring away so fast. Maybe it was Billy's threatening words when he brought up my cold meal: "I'll be back later on." Or maybe it was because today I felt the baby kick for the very first time. The baby I know I will never get to keep. Whatever it was, I soared fast and far until I found myself further away than ever before._

_Over at Walker 's farm_...

"Seth Walker's family's farm?" Brooke shook her head at the question as soon as she asked it. "Oh God, it would _have_ to be! Seth bragged about that farm being in the family for generations."

"But that's not so far," Maryanne said. "We went there the other night on our first cast out."

"Yeah, _we_ being the operative word," Alex pointed out. "It would probably seem a lot further to Connie, out there on her own. Would you have gone that far alone? Without the courage of a group?"

"Omigod!" Brooke said. "Seth's grandfather! The old man died last year, but Seth said that right up until he croaked, he used to ramble on about--" All at once, Brooke paled.

"About what?" Alex asked, hearing the sharpness in her own voice.

"About the Mansbridge Heller." Brooke drew a breath. "Seth called his grandfather a crazy old coot for his obsession with something called the Mansbridge Heller. The old guy wanted to catch this dark ghost he always talked about. Claimed he'd seen it often. Of course, Seth and everyone else said the old bugger was senile. Well, almost everyone else."

Alex felt her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. She'd heard of the Mansbridge Heller. Anyone who'd spent any length of time here knew about it. It was just another rural legend in this superstitious town--the local boogie man. A story to scare the new kids with during the annual hazing. An easy costume on Halloween. But some claimed to have actually seen the Heller--a black ghost, an empty shell, a shrieking she-devil that came up to steal your soul. And from what Connie had written... "Wait a minute!" Maryanne leapt to her feet. "Black ghost? Empty shell? Was that _Connie_?"

"It makes sense," Alex said, having just come to the same conclusion. "If she were seen--"

"Yeah," Maryanne interrupted. "But a shrieking she-devil that came to steal souls? Where the heck did _that_ come from?"

Alex shrugged. "People need a way to explain the unexplainable. Their fears. Stories grow."

"Yes," agreed Brooke, almost too quietly to be heard. "And so do legends."

"So our Connie is famous," Maryanne said, sinking back onto her bed.

Alex bristled at the use of the phrase _our Connie_ , but pushed her irritation down. "Look, do you want to hear more or what?"

"Sorry," Brooke said. "Didn't mean to sidetrack you. Read on."

Alex turned to the diary again.

_I wanted to see the Walker dogs. Well, one in particular._

_Yes, I figured they would run away --that's what every animal does when they see me. But Ira Walker had an ancient bloodhound, half-blind with cataracts and crippled with arthritis. Any other dog in that condition, Ira would have put down without even blinking, but this dog was his favorite. I thought maybe since she couldn't see me, and if she couldn't run, she couldn't flee from me. And if she didn't flee, maybe I could pet her. I wanted so badly to touch something warm and real. To know again a touch that wasn't taking. Taking! Taking! A touch that wouldn't hurt me. I didn't know if I could do it. But I really wanted to try to pat the old dog._

_I knew it wasn 't a good idea--someone could spot me! But I was willing to take the chance. I needed to do it._

"Poor Connie," Maryanne said. "Can you imagine being that lonely?"

Alex opened her mouth to speak, but it was Brooke who answered the question. "Yeah, I can." She shook her head. "But what a stupid risk she took!"

"More stupid than what you did last night?" Alex asked.

Brooke's lips turned up in a grin. "That was just plain fun."

Alex read on.

_Her name was Sugar. I remembered her from years ago when my father used to take me with him to the Walker farm on grocery runs. That was before the bigger stores moved in and Dad 's little store went under, just months before his heart attack. I'd wait in the truck at most stops, but when we stopped in at the Walker farm, I always got out to pat Sugar. Ira is one of the best hunters around and his hunting dogs are known all over New Brunswick. Sugar was the best of them, in her day. And she was a good dog--so friendly. Whenever she saw me, she wagged her tail and I swear she grinned. I thought that maybe Sugar would remember me. Maybe she would know me, even this dark me._

_The other dogs ran away as soon as they saw me. Well, most of them. There was one huge bloodhound chained up in the yard. He strained against his tether and gagged until his chain snapped and he raced away yelping. I headed to Sugar 's doghouse over by the horse barns. Even though they couldn't see me, they knew I was there. The poor horses were frantic--I could hear their whinnies. The cows that had been left in the back pasture that night ran to the far end of the fence._

_Sugar didn 't come out of her dog house. Sugar didn't run. She couldn't run. I could hear her whimpering. She was so frightened. But surely once she knew it was me--she'd be okay._

_I crouched down at the front to her doghouse._

_Sugar was pressed as tightly as she could be against the back wall of her house. She trembled and I could smell urine. I said, "There, there, Sugar," as I reached, but I don't think she could hear me._

_So then I touched her!_

_Oh dear God in Heaven, I reached and touched that good dog! I 'd thought my hand might go right through her as it did with other things. But I actually _touched _her graying fur, and I patted her back and I laughed and oh, I almost cried! It felt wonderful to connect with something good. So I crept closer until I could get my arms around her to hug her. I hugged Sugar close, sure she 'd stop trembling then--that she'd realize somehow it was me. But instead, with an ungodly, frightened howl, she convulsed and died in my arms._

_It was so horrible! I dropped the body, and backed out of there._

_I had done this to her. I had killed Sugar. I had patted that sweet dog that used to be so glad to see me, and I had terrified her to death. I just held there with my head in my hands then, grieving. I didn 't think I could feel any worse than I did in that moment. Until I felt a hand close around my upper arm._

_It was Ira Walker!_

_Ira 's eyes were round as the full moon above us. He was shaking as he held me, but not enough to let me go. I struggled, I struck him, but although he flinched, his grip only tightened._

_He was confining me. Ira was forcing me to stay there. He was holding me down when I didn 't want to be held. I did not want him touching me. Claiming to own any part of my body! That had happened enough in my life! The rage welled up in me, and dear Lord, it was primal!_

_That 's when I screamed._

_But the sound that came up from me was more than just a scream. I shrieked! It came from somewhere deep down inside. From_ everywhere _inside, and it was no helpless cry! It was as if every bit of my dark being felt my desperation and exploded in it. But not just in desperation. I shrieked at Ira Walker with rage, pure and raw and powerful._

_I threw my head back and it was as if all the pained voices in the world came up through me as I shrieked again. And I could feel it go into Ira --like a current! I could feel him go cold with it. I could feel the icy terror that rode through the man until he finally let go of my arm. Gasping, he fell to the ground there beside Sugar's house, and I soared away._

_Oh, the madness of it all! Oh my lonely, breaking heart!_

_Yes, that scream that came from me was terrifying. Yet --oh God forgive me--it was wonderful._

Alex closed the book, and neither Brooke nor Maryanne protested. In fact, they all sat in silence for several minutes.

"Oh, God, poor Connie!" It was Maryanne who broke the silence, and Alex could hear the unshed tears in her voice. "She just needed to touch a warm, loving body, but her touch killed that poor dog."

"Yeah, and then Ira-freakin'-Walker grabbed her!" Brooke said. "But she shrieked him into letting her go. Ripped right into him!"

"I got no problem with that," Alex said harshly. "He tried to hold her against her will."

Brooke held up her hands, palms out. "Hey, no argument here. More power to her."

They were silent for a few seconds again.

"So... I guess that must be what I did to Seth--shrieked him into letting me go."

"Holy crap, he grabbed you?"

Alex had already come to that conclusion. But it was almost funny to watch Maryanne figure it out.

Maryanne's brow furrowed. "But how did he even know you were there? The house was dark. Completely dark until--"

"I'm thinking Brooke decided that fake STD she saddled him with wasn't punishment enough." Alex lifted an eyebrow at Brooke. "Am I right?"

"He deserved it." Brooke's shrug lacked its usual grace, her words not nearly as casual-sounding as she intended them to be. "And I only pulled his hair."

"That's when he grabbed you?" Maryanne was staring wide-eyed.

"Yeah, he grabbed my arm. That scream just... rose up. Scared the crap out of Seth. Did a pretty good job of scaring me."

"Was it terrifying?" Maryanne's voice was barely a whisper. "I mean, having that noise come out of you?"

Brooke nodded. "God, yes! But like Connie said, it was awesome too!"

"And so that's how he saw us," Alex grated. "Both Seth and Bryce saw at least you out there in the front yard when the light came on."

Brooke squared her shoulders, her chin coming up. "Hey, Dumb and Dumber don't know that they saw _us_. They think they saw the Mansbridge Heller! Some shrieking she-devil their senile grandfather talked about."

"Don't you get it?" Alex hissed. " _We 're one in the same_!"

Then she jumped--they all did--as a shrill scream rose from downstairs.

"What the hell was that?" Brooke was already on her feet.

But Alex didn't answer. Nor did Maryanne. The three girls just bolted out the door and down the stairs of Harvell House toward the still-erupting scream from below.

### Chapter 13

#### Casting Call

_Brooke_

BROOKE BEAT THE others to the foot of the stairs, but once there, she hesitated. Left or right? Where had the scream come from? In that moment of indecision, Alex shot right past her, heading in the direction of the front room. Brooke and Maryanne followed hard on her heels.

In the front room they found a trembling Kassidy being cross-examined by Mrs. Betts.

"I'm telling you, there's something out there!" Kassidy said.

"Some _thing_?"

"Okay, some _one_! And he was looking in that window." Kassidy pointed to the bow window. "He was looking straight at me! I'm sure of it. I saw him standing right there."

Brooke rolled her eyes. Kassidy and her peeping Tom story again. Had someone finally gotten so tired of hearing it, they'd decided to fulfill her fears? Or maybe that should be _fantasies_. The girl did seem to want to be the focus of attention.

Mrs. Betts sighed. "Don't you think this is getting a little old, Kassidy? This is the third time you've raised this type of alarm, yet we've never been able to find any evidence of anyone skulking around."

"Well maybe if you actually went out there to look instead of standing in here accusing me of making up stories to gain attention, you might actually find some evidence!"

Brooke grinned. Way to go, Kassidy! Mrs. Betts's face now resembled a thundercloud. Okay, that wasn't too far off her normal expression, but it was still worth the price of admission.

Before Mrs. Betts could retort, the front door opened and Mr. C. W. Stanley stepped inside, followed quickly by John Smith.

"What's all the ruckus in here, Mrs. Betts?" C. W. removed his trench coat. "I heard a female screaming from clear across the lawn."

"My apologies, Mr. Stanley," Betts said, rushing to take Mr. Stanley's coat. "Miss Myers here imagined that she saw someone peering in through the bow window."  
Both men glanced at the large window, which looked out on the sidewalk side of the house, not the river side.

"I can assure you," Mr. Stanley said, "that no one was stirring out there. At least not in front of that window. Mr. Smith and I would surely have had a good view of him, if we'd had an intruder. Isn't that so, Mr. Smith?"

Smith solemnly agreed.

"But I saw something!" Kassidy protested. "I really did. And it was definitely looking in that window."

Mr. Stanley smiled that smarmy smile. "Well, now, it must have been a goblin, then. I can't imagine what else could have slipped by us, eh, Mr. Smith?"

"Yes sir, it would have to be a goblin to have gotten past us."

Brooke rolled her eyes again. Could the old caretaker be any more subservient?

"Except it's too early for that," Mrs. Betts chimed in. "Halloween is still weeks away!"

Everyone chuckled.

Well, the adults did. Kassidy on the other hand, looked poised for a serious melt-down.

"I'm telling you, there was something there!" Her voice shook with fury. "You can laugh if you like, but it doesn't change anything. I know what I saw!"

Kassidy turned and dashed out of the room. Maryanne had to dodge quickly to avoid being clipped as the other girl shot past. Alex, with a frown on her face, hurried after Kassidy.

Brooke snorted. "Well, that was interest--"

A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Betts, with an apology to Mr. Stanley, broke away to answer it. "What do you want, young man?" she said.

_Young man_? Brooke moved to see who the caller was. She recognized him--that gangly, geeky Ty Piper, from her Math class. For a second, she had a horrified flash that he'd come to see her, but then she remembered the HPV payback she'd laid on Seth. By now, it would have gotten around the whole town. No way was _anyone_ going to come looking for her. Especially not this painfully shy specimen.

"I was hoping for a word with Maryanne Hemlock," Ty said, sounding ridiculously formal. God, between Mr. Smith bowing and scraping to the Lord of the Manor and Ty's gentleman caller routine, she felt like she'd fallen into one of her mother's historical romance novels.

"This is a ladies' residence." Mrs. Betts drew herself up to her most intimidating. "If you're expecting to be invited in, you are sadly mistaken."

But Maryanne had already heard him and moved to stand by Mrs. Betts in the open doorway. "I'm right here, Ty. What can I do for you?"

He cast a nervous glance at Mrs. Betts. "Can you step outside?"

"No, she can't," came Mrs. Betts' brusque reply. "We're in the middle of something here. Just say your piece and be on your way."

Brooke rolled her eyes. As if Ty couldn't just step outside and phone or text Maryanne. Or catch her at school tomorrow. She fully expected him to do so, but then he turned to Maryanne.

"The Halloween dance," he said. "You know, a week from Friday. Would you like to go with me?"

Brooke saw Maryanne's answer instantly in the subtle hunching of her posture, and knew Ty wasn't going to be pleased with it. Clearly Mrs. Betts saw it too. This was one suitor she wasn't going to have to chase off. Nevertheless, the housemother aimed a frosty look at Ty and another at Maryanne. "Three minutes," she said, then left the two of them there in the doorway to rejoin Mr. Stanley and Mr. Smith.

Brooke's gaze swung back to Maryanne, who still hadn't managed to stutter out an answer. She clearly didn't want to go out with Ty--probably didn't want to go out with _anybody_ --but knowing Maryanne, she probably didn't want to be hurtful, either. So Brooke bailed her out.

"Oh, Maryanne, you _can 't_ go with someone else!" She rushed up to the other girl and laid a hand lightly on her back. "You promised me and Alex that we'd all go out together, just us girls. Remember? And we've already got our costumes figured out. You know it won't work without you."

Brooke literally felt Maryanne wilt with relief beneath her hand, but for Ty's benefit, the other girl grimaced.

"She's right," Maryanne said. "I really can't back out now. But thanks for asking."

"Okay, how about this Friday night, then?"

Maryanne bit her lip.

Brooke did a mental shrug. She couldn't help Maryanne with that. Couldn't be expected to provide an out for every day of the week. Maryanne was just going to have to dish out the bad news.

"I'm sorry, Ty. I don't think so. I just... I'm not... I mean... the whole dating scene... it's been a tough year, and I'm just not into--"

"Forget it," he said, angry slashes of color staining his cheeks. "Just forget it." He left then, yanking the door shut behind him. But not before both Brooke and Maryanne heard his muttered parting shot. "Bitch!"

Alex, who'd gone after Kassidy a few moments ago, rejoined them. "Was that Ty Piper?" Her eyes narrowed on Brooke. "And why did he just call you a bitch?"

Brooke shot Alex an indignant look. "What? You hear 'bitch' and naturally it has to be a reference to me, right?"

"Well, duh."

Brooke dropped the indignant act. "Okay, so I _am_ a bitch. But for your information, it was Maryanne he was slagging. Honest."

Alex turned surprised eyes on Maryanne, who blushed. "Why?"

"I told him I didn't want to go out with him."

"And he didn't take it kindly. Got it."

"Hey, what'd Kassidy have to say for herself?" Brooke asked.

Alex sighed. "The usual. Everyone is watching her. These two juniors are following her at school, hoping for a crotch shot when she gets in Trevor Haynes's car at lunch time and after school. And the vice-principal has the hots for her, and the cute guidance counselor keeps nagging her to make another appointment, not because he thinks she has problems but because he's clearly in love with her."

Maryanne shook her head. "Wow. Just... wow. That makes me feel so well-adjusted somehow."

Brooke snorted. "God, Maryanne, when people look up _well-adjusted_ in the dictionary, they see your name."

Maryanne's eyes shot wide as though in protest of that characterization, though why being called well-adjusted would offend anyone, Brooke couldn't imagine. Or wait, maybe she could. Maybe it was like the way nice people hated being damned with that 'nice' label. Maryanne opened her mouth, but Brooke cut her off before she could claim hidden, dark depths or produce a troubled-teen membership card or something.

"Hey, I don't mean that in a bad way. Well-adjusted is good! But point taken about Kassidy. Classic narcissist. When her supply runs low, she needs to generate some more attention."

"Brooke?"

Brooke turned to Alex. "What?"

"You are such an asshole."

She grinned. "No, I'm a _bitch_. I thought we'd already established that. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go grab a nap. You know, so I'll be nice and fresh when I cast--"

"Brooke!" Alex hissed, glancing toward the clump of adults who'd drifted over toward the fireplace.

"What?" She batted her lashes innocently. "I was going to say when I cast myself on my mother's mercy. I need to persuade her to dump some more cash in my account."

Holding back a laugh at Alex's expression, Brooke headed for the stairs. She didn't have to look back to know the other two girls were right behind her.

And she didn't need to look at them to know something else. When it came to deciding if they would cast out tonight, Alex would vote against it. She would want to hold off. There was something hinky about that. Hinky as that whole straight-edge act Alex was trying to pull off. Hinky as the way she'd come in the other night, all quiet and withdrawn when Brooke and Maryanne had been bouncing off the walls. But Alex's vote wouldn't matter because it would be two to one. Maryanne would definitely be on board. If the girl actually _did_ have dark depths, that's where they lay, clustered around this casting thing. The prospect of casting out again was calling Maryanne as powerfully as it called to Brooke.

Brooke smiled to herself.

Get ready, Mansbridge. Get ready for the Hellers.

### Chapter 14

#### Cracks

_Alex_

IT WAS THREE o'clock in the morning.

Alex left her roommates fast asleep in their beds as she slipped out of the room. Both of them still smiling, no doubt, after the short-lived cast out earlier tonight. They'd outnumbered her. Outvoted her. And Brooke and Maryanne assured her they were going anyway. Casting out with or without her. So how could Alex not have joined them? But then, how could she possibly sleep afterward with the memories pounding?

One specific memory--oh God, she was _almost_ certain--had actually broken through.

Yet that's not what got her out of bed. She could have tossed and turned on that one and chewed on the almost-memory from beneath the covers. But instead she sat alone in the upper bathroom at Harvell House, door firmly locked, a thin towel between her nakedness and the cold floor.

It was day 47. Forty-seven days since her last period. She held her blood-soaked panties in hand and cried with the pain of it all. But this morning, she cried with the relief, too.

Though she'd never been regular, she knew she'd missed at least one period since the rape. She'd been so afraid that she was pregnant!

Not that she hadn't taken measures to try to prevent a pregnancy. Even as broken as she'd felt, she'd known enough to do that. But she couldn't face the idea of walking into the small local pharmacy and asking for a Plan B pill. Someone who knew her--or worse, someone who thought they knew her--would surely see her buying the over-the-counter emergency contraceptive. They'd say something. They'd talk about her. She might not have given a rat's ass about what people thought before, but this time, about this one thing, she did. They'd snicker and judge and accuse. After what had happened, she just couldn't handle that.

So the day after the rape, after she'd rubbed her skin raw in the shower, cried and screamed into her pillow and read from Connie's diary until her eyes were sore, she'd walked to the bus station. With her head bent down and her hands tucked so far into her jacket they disappeared, she'd bought a return ticket to Fredericton--a pretty, tidy city of 50,000, just an hour away.

But even as she handed over the cash for the ticket, her mind had whirled with panic. What if _he_ were watching her? Whoever it was who'd raped her, what if he were stalking her? What if he'd trailed her to the station? She wouldn't know him! Couldn't _remember_ him! Her heart had been racing by the time she'd boarded the bus. She'd taken a seat alone at the back, put her knees up on the seat in front of her so she could slouch way down, and closed into herself as far as she could go.

Since then, she'd skipped school and taken the bus to Fredericton three more times. Twice to visit the sexual health clinic where she was screened for sexually transmitted infections. Well, all that she could be tested for. They'd done one HIV test, which was negative, but they'd explained it could take a while to develop antibodies in detectable volumes. She'd have to be retested in at three months, then again at six months, to be completely certain. And thank God for the kind nurses who worked there. They'd given her all the information she needed, without prying yet making it clear they were there for her if she wanted to talk. She hadn't talked--God, she couldn't--but she appreciated those nurses more than they would ever know.

Then she'd taken the bus to Fredericton one more time, when she was sure her period was late, to buy a pregnancy test kit. She'd ended up buying three of them at the first pharmacy she came to.

She'd rushed to the small mall's bathroom and peed on a stick right then.

It read negative. Alex held the stick up to the small bathroom light. She took it outside and sat in the small park across from the mall and looked at it in the sunlight. Yes, still just one negative line. But still there was little relief in that, for the blood had yet to come.

Desperate to know, she'd visited an after-hours clinic in Mansbridge--the kind that dealt with sniffles and sore throats--and got the doctor to order a blood test for pregnancy, which she knew was more reliable than the urine tests. That too came back negative, along with a lecture from the doctor about the perils of unprotected sex.

Alex had sat through it. Silently, with tough-girl, screw-you attitude written across her face while she screamed inside what she didn't dare scream outside:

"I was raped!"

And now it was three o'clock in the morning. And she sat bleeding on a towel.

She'd felt bad all day, with cramps way down in her stomach--heavier than normal. When Brooke and then Maryanne had insisted it was the perfect night for casting out, her inclination had been to say no, but they'd pressured her. Alex didn't trust Brooke to stay out of trouble, and she didn't know what the hell was up with Maryanne that she would be so damned persistent. But if anyone caught them--if anyone found out--then they'd find out about Connie's diary.

They'd find out about her.

It had to be all three of them when they cast out. There was safety in numbers, though she knew there was danger too.

At least Brooke hadn't insisted on heading over to Walker's farm tonight. Alex wasn't persuaded that Brooke's obsession with Seth Walker was abating, but this night, the three girls had contented themselves with simply racing through the fields, soaring through the treetops, and scaring a murder of crows from their slumber just to hear their cawing in the night. But they had soared too close to a few darkened houses, and breezed past some bedroom windows in the Mansbridge night.

Windows. They shouldn't have done that.

Alex had felt bad for Kassidy earlier when she'd screamed and claimed she'd seen yet another peeping Tom. Everyone had heard these claims from Kassidy before, of course. Anyone who had spent any length of time with the girl knew she craved attention. But it seemed different this time. This time when Kassidy had cried wolf, there was something about that cry that had a ring of truth to it. There'd been a tremor in her high-pitched voice.

And Alex had been afraid. Afraid for Kassidy. Holy hell, afraid for herself.

_What if it was_ him _Kassidy had seen looking in the window? The one who 'd raped her? What if he was outside Harvell house, looking for another victim? Or to make Alex a victim again?_

Kassidy couldn't describe what she'd seen when Alex questioned her. A figure. A shadow. But _something_. The other girl's frustration had shown, and not just because no one believed her. Kassidy had gotten all excited because Alex was finally talking to her again after all these weeks, but then she'd quickly realized that Alex only wanted to pump her for information. Kassidy had turned her frustration and anger on Alex then, but Alex couldn't really blame her. She'd talked to Kassidy and Leah individually, but they just didn't get it. Or more accurately, they just didn't want to accept that Alex was trying to change.

Alex hooked a hand on the sink and pulled herself up to her feet. Blood trickled down her leg as she stood. She used a washcloth to clean herself, then gathered up the towel from the floor where she'd sat. Quietly, running the water at a trickle so as not to wake anyone, she filled the basin with soapy water and tossed in the soiled underwear, the washcloths and the hand towel. As they soaked, she donned fresh underwear and a fat pad to deal with her flow before pulling on clean, dark PJ bottoms and a fresh sweatshirt. She'd have to do a laundry after school. Sighing, she released the stopper in the basin, wrung the stuff out, balled it up with her towel and her old PJs, and shoved the whole works into her laundry bag. With a last look around the now clean bathroom, she snapped the light off.

On tiptoes she stepped out into the hall and quietly closed the bathroom door behind her. She walked softly down the hallway, past the rooms of the other girls. Outside her own room, she paused, listening to the sound of Brooke's soft snores. Then she glanced down toward the end of the hallway and the door to the attic. The door no student was ever supposed to enter. The one with the broken lock.

She could go to bed, or she could go face what she might find up there. She was shaking, and her heart was practically pounding out of her chest. But the new memory pounded too.

God, she just had to know.

Placing her laundry bag inside the door of her bedroom, she continued down the hall to the attic door. It opened soundlessly. She climbed the thirteen steps again to stand on the attic floor. She'd been here just a few short hours ago, lying almost paralyzed on the floor with Maryanne and Brooke while their casts had flown away free. The Madonna's eyes greeted Alex again as she looked over to the window. Alex hadn't a flashlight or even a candle with her, and the moonlight coming through the glass was scarce. But she didn't need the extra light to know where she was going. To find what she sought. The dresser stood out--a big, black, square box--in the grey attic light.

The bottom drawer. Alex sunk to her knees to access it, and swallowed hard as she did. If this almost-memory that had come back to her was real, she'd find what she was looking for here.

She eased the drawer open. The gasp caught in her throat. Her eyes filled with hot tears. Angry tears. And yet, sorrowful tears--she had to allow those too. She pulled her ruined jeans from the bottom drawer of the old dresser. The ones she'd been wearing the night she was attacked. The ones with the rip in the right back pocket where he had hooked a hand to grab her when she'd tried to scramble away. When she had tried to fight him off. She remembered hearing the rip of the pocket, like thunder tearing through her life. He'd fallen on her--she _remembered_ --knocking her down--face-first--to the floor.

That was it. That was the memory she'd returned with on this last cast out. That, and the tear-blurred image of a man's back as he knelt to stash her jeans in the dresser.

Why had he done that?

The answer came instantly-- _so you 'd be naked when you woke, unable to find your jeans to cover yourself_. He'd wanted her humiliation to be complete. Knowing her memories would be blasted by whatever drug he'd given her, he wanted to leave no possible doubt in her mind that she'd been violated. So she wouldn't imagine she'd gotten hammered and come here for consensual sex. A consensual partner didn't take your clothes and leave you naked and exposed.

Bastard!

She would remember more. Next time, when her cast shot back into her body, it would bring another flash of illumination. Another terrible memory fragment her attacker imagined would stay forever shrouded in that drug-induced blackout.

She had to remember! She needed to know more.

And yet, those memories terrified her.

She sank to her knees, gripping the jeans tight, and cried and cried and cried.

And when she was done, she wiped her eyes.

"I'll get you." She whispered the vow raggedly into the silence. "I swear, when I remember who you are, I'll get you, you son of a bitch!"

With an angry shove, Alex pushed the dresser drawer closed again. Something rattled around inside the now empty drawer. Curious, Alex opened it again.

_A candlestick holder!_

She reached in and pulled it out. It was only about three inches high, but heavy. Solid. She knew it had to be silver. And Alex knew something else. It had to--just had to--be Connie Harvell's.

### Chapter 15

#### Where's the Love?

_Brooke_

SHE WAITED UNTIL Bryce left to make her move.

And no, she hadn't counted on serendipity to make sure her path to Seth was clear. She was never that lucky. But as it happened, she'd overheard Bryce making plans with Nikki Brewer to catch the early movie at the pitiful little Cineplex in the town's pitiful little mall. That bit of information is what gave her the idea in the first place. Seth would be rounding up the horses to lock them in the barn for the night.

She started her car when she saw Bryce turn out the long Walker driveway in his father's humongous F250 pickup. As their vehicles passed, Bryce didn't even look sideways at her in the generic grey Intrigue her mom had leased for her for the year. Sometimes it was good to be invisible.

She drove right past the house to the horse barn. As she suspected, Seth had already called the horses in and settled them in their box stalls. She stopped just inside the doorway and waited for her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness inside. There he was. Three stalls down, he was inspecting his father's prize broodmare. Damn, he looked good. She hated that she still wanted him so much. Still cared for him.

She made her way quietly down to the stall, her heart pounding. What to do now?

"Hey, Seth," she said.

He just about leapt out of his skin, which caused the horse to snort and dance away. Cursing, he scuttled out of the mare's way.

"Dammit, Brooke! What the hell is wrong with you, sneaking up like that? The horse could have trampled me."

Oh, crap. "Sorry. I didn't realize she'd spook like that."

"Horses spook at anything. I've told you that before." He seemed to catch himself at that mention of their previous relationship. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought I saw the last of you after that performance in front of my friends."

Brooke grimaced. "Yeah, the HPV thing. Sorry about that."

"You're _sorry_?" He laughed bitterly. "That's nice. Real nice. Meanwhile, I've had doctors swab me from stem to stern. I've endured them going over my junk like they were looking for the Hope-freakin'-Diamond. _Sorry_ doesn't cut it."

Brooke bit her lip. "But you had to have known I was just messing with you. You know, because you bailed on me."

"Of course I knew." Seth let himself out of the box stall, latching it behind him. "But that's hardly the point, is it? I had to prove I was clean for--"

"Your new skank," Brooke finished.

"Melissa is not a skank," he retorted. "Unlike some people I could mention."

The words slid into Brooke's heart like a hot knife going through butter, straight and sure and devastating. The pain shocked her, even though she knew it shouldn't. She'd known Seth resented her for giving it up to someone else, and hadn't he been avoiding her like the plague? But somehow, she'd been unprepared for it. The armor she'd been building around her heart should have provided more protection. Guess she'd have to work on that. Starting now.

"Unlike me, you mean?" Brooke smiled, letting it cover the hurt. "Well, that's okay. I seem to remember you liking my _skankiness_ just fine." She stepped forward and laid a hand on his chest, and was rewarded by how hard his heart pounded. "Come on, admit it, Seth. You liked what we did together." The words were bitter in her mouth. "You want to do it again."

She tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans and laid her hands on his skin beneath, and he tipped his head back and groaned. The sound suffused her with a sudden sense of power, and she grabbed at it. Anything to push back the pain, the self-loathing. She _did_ have power over him, with this.

He didn't even make a token resistance. When she pushed his shirt up, he tugged it off. Then they were making out like crazy. At some point, he broke it off long enough to lead them to the relative privacy of what served as an office. All the while, Brooke reminded herself this was what she wanted, but nothing felt right. It didn't stop Seth from getting off, though.

Afterward, he tossed her clothes at her and started to dress again. So much for tender afterglow. It didn't matter, though. She'd won. Buh-bye, Melissa.

When she'd shimmied into her jeans and was working on her shirt, he said, "So, what now? Do you want to do this regularly?"

What the hell kind of question was that? "Hey, you know us skanks and the sex thing. Can't get it often enough."

Her sarcasm blew right by him, as usual.

"Great! And this is a good spot. But next time, call first. Bryce helps with the chores most times."

Brooke's hands stilled on her buttons. "You want me to come here to the barn for... dates?"

He snorted. "I wouldn't exactly call it a date, but yeah. How else are we gonna keep it on the downlow?"

It clicked then. She hadn't won anything. He didn't want to get back with her, at least not publically. And he wasn't going to give Melissa up. He just wanted her for a piece on the side.

"You are such a jerk, Seth Walker."

He looked up, genuinely astonished. "What?"

"I am not going to be your fuck buddy in private while you date Melissa in public. While you and your friends _laugh_ about me. It's not gonna happen."

He snorted. "What? You thought this meant we were going to get back together? That it meant anything? That we'd go to the Halloween dance together and slow dance in the auditorium?" His eyes turned hard. "That was last year, Brooke. Before you went home for the summer and spread your legs for somebody else. Well, this is a new year, and I have a new girlfriend."

His words lashed at her, flaying her to the bone. She wanted to explain. _I was lonely. I was angry at my mother for assuming the worst. Dammit, I was hurt. He said he cared about me, and I thought it would make me feel better, at least for a while, but it didn 't. It made me feel like shit. _But she'd _die_ before she told him any of that, because he'd made her feel like shit too.

She lifted her chin. "Ah, the ego smarts over that, doesn't it? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's a good thing I _did_. Otherwise I might be standing here, not knowing what a sorry excuse for a lover you are, Seth. I might have thought _this_ was all there was to it."

His face darkened like a thunderous black cloud. "Get out of here, right now! And don't come back. I mean it, Brooke. If you turn up here again, I'll set Dad's Dobermans on you."

Brooke smiled. Oh, she'd be back again. And again and again, until she'd made him pay sufficiently for this. For rejecting her, _humiliating_ her. Dammit, for breaking her heart. But when she came back, she wouldn't have to worry about dogs. Or anything else.

"Fine. I'm going."

And she did go, for a while. She drove into town and had supper while darkness fell. When it was full dark, she made her way back to the Walkers', parking her grey Intrigue on the shoulder a few hundred yards down the road. Then she crept onto their property, careful to be as quiet as she possibly could. Though if she were discovered, she'd just say she'd lost an earring in the barn when she and Seth had all that wild sex earlier. Ha! Let him explain _that_ to his parents!

She slipped past the house without detection--not even the Dobermans stirred in their kennel--and opened the barn door. The horses lifted their heads and snuffle/snorted a greeting. She spoke quietly to each of them for a moment, then unlatched their stall doors and pulled them open. One gelding took the opportunity to leave his stall to join the mare in the next box, but the others were content to stay where they were. They knew it was nighttime, and none of them wanted to venture out of their safe, warm stalls. Which was a good thing, because as she walked away, she left the barn door propped ajar.

### Chapter 16

#### Out About

_Maryanne_

THEY DIDN'T REALLY need the candles anymore. They could all find their way around the attic blindfolded. But behind the closed door, Maryanne lit each of the thick white candles anyway--one by one. First Brooke's then Alex's and finally her own. Somehow those small flames were part of it now. Part of the ritual.

But as she lit the candles, she did so with a shaky hand.

She knew that trembling would soon settle, once she cast out. So would her jangling nerves. And this time, it was she who led the group up the attic stairs.

"You've already been up here! Alone!" Alex said, unable to keep the accusation from her tone as she looked at the arrangement of pillows on the moonlit floor. It was an amazing full-moon night, the brightest so far.

And yes, Maryanne had been up here earlier in the day, after pilfering a few extra pillows from the storage room below. She'd landed hard on her elbow the last time she'd cast out; that wouldn't be happening this time.

Before she had a chance to answer Alex, Brooke jumped in.

"Get over it, Alex. We've all been up here alone. You included."

"Yeah, but--"

"Yeah, but _nothing_."

Alex didn't sputter; but she _did_ narrow her dark eyes as she glared at Brooke.

Of course, Brooke spoke the truth. Though the three girls had made a pact to only cast out together--one that even reckless Brooke seemed to realize was necessary--they'd all ventured up here on their own. Just the other morning, as she was padding down the hall to the bathroom, Maryanne had come across a startled, white-faced Alex, sneaking back through the attic door. She'd been holding something tightly in her arms as they'd passed. Maryanne figured it must be something of Connie's Alex had found up there, or at least something she associated with Connie. She'd wanted to ask, but Alex was so weirdly possessive about Connie, she just let it go.

And when she herself had quietly crept up the stairs earlier this evening, she'd found Brooke there already. Brooke hadn't seen her. Maryanne had been about to call out, but something told her not to. Instead, she sat down, three steps from the top, leaned forward and spied over the edge of the floor.

Brooke had stood before the window. Her hands pressed to the cool, day-lit glass. Her forehead bent toward it.

"Bastards. Rotten, hurtful... bastards! Users. Every one of them." Brooke's voice had been heavy with tears and Maryanne had backed down the stairs slowly so as not to be heard. Later, as they'd rushed through their homework--rushed being a major understatement--Brooke had suddenly announced that she wouldn't be going home for the American Thanksgiving after all.

She'd complained all through the Canadian one. Too early in the calendar year. Too much grease in the gravy. And what the hell was up with Canadian football--three downs instead of four? At least _then_ she'd actually been looking forward to a long-weekend at home in New York for the American Thanksgiving in November. But now her plans had been canceled. Her mom and new husband were heading to Vermont to spend the holiday with his folks. She wouldn't be. And though she proclaimed it a Godsend not to be included in the gathering at Herr Kommandant's family homestead, Maryanne knew that had to hurt. Yet that wasn't the only thing eating away at Brooke. Maryanne could almost swear to it.

"The diary, Alex?" Brooke asked as they moved toward the center of the room.

They'd not ventured into Connie's book in a few days. Not since Alex had read to them about the old dog, Sugar, and Ira Walker and that terrifying shriek. And of course in that reading, the girls had learned the legend of the Mansbridge Heller.

"No. No reading tonight," Alex answered.

"Why not?" Maryanne protested. "You can't keep it to yourself."

"I know. But we're just not reading tonight. Tonight... let's just soar."

"I'm good with that," Brooke said.

Maryanne felt the niggling of relief, and almost sighed with it. She just wanted it to happen. She just wanted to cast out. Get away from everything. Get that blessed reprieve. And stop the thoughts about Jason.

No, that wasn't quite right. The thoughts of Jason never stopped. But casting... distanced them. Yeah, that was the right word. When she was out there, the grief and pain seemed so far away somehow. Which was why she was so impatient to cast out again and again. She found herself constantly distracted, even in school, as she counted down the hours-- _the minutes_ --till night fell. Her marks were dropping. Only slightly so far, but enough that she wasn't looking forward to that mid-term report.

One by one, the girls set the candles on the dresser. Tonight, Alex added the fourth one--secured in the candleholder that had been Connie's. Alex had showed it to them just this evening, explaining she'd found it in the attic a few days ago. Maryanne presumed that's what Alex had been cradling so secretively when they'd crossed paths that night in the hall.

"That bottom drawer's ajar!" Brooke suddenly said. "I'm sure it wasn't like that last time we were here. Do you think someone else was up here?"

Maryanne could practically feel Alex panicking beside her. Weakening almost. As if her knees were giving out, as if she had a secret.

"I was up here, Brooke," Maryanne lied. "Just poking around."

"Find anything interesting?" Brooke bent to examine the drawer herself.

"Just cobwebs."

Brooke straightened and immediately brushed her hands on her jeans as if they were suddenly covered in cobwebs. She stared at Maryanne. "Would you tell me if you did find anything?"

"Of course I would," Maryanne said, and not without a stab of guilt.

"I was up here too."

Surprised, Maryanne shot a quick glance at Alex.

"That's when I found Connie's candleholder," she continued. "Right there." She gestured toward the dresser. "Bottom drawer. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who left it ajar."

"Of course," Maryanne said. "That makes sense." Except if the explanation was truly that easy, why had Alex freaked when Brooke noticed the dresser?

Brooke turned toward the window. "Let's do this," she said.

Alex joined Brooke quickly, but Maryanne was slower to follow. As usual, Alex wasn't telling the whole story. No doubt she _had_ found the candleholder in the drawer. But maybe she'd found something else? Something she wasn't ready to talk about?

Well, that was a question for another day. Right now, Maryanne couldn't wait to get out of her body.

The three girls positioned themselves at the window. With the brightness of the moon outside, the Madonna's eyes seemed almost alive as they gazed into them. Her smile seemed mysterious now, with the stronger illumination. Maryanne felt a pang for her, the beautiful Madonna who bled amongst the thorns. Yet there was a strength in the way she stood, holding on to that baby. Like Maryanne should have held onto Jason.

Maryanne wet her lips. This was it. She was ready. All that pain--all the guilt--was about to recede again.

"I want out." She was the first to say it, but the other two girls joined in the next time, then all repeated the phrase.

Maryanne was first to cast out. She realized herself outside, realized her body on the floor again with complete co-consciousness. Simultaneously, she noticed Brooke and Alex were still in the house. She tried to reach. As her body flopped a hand on the floor, Alex's head almost jerked sideways to observe it--as if she caught herself mid-motion--yet she never broke the 'I want out' chant.

Within seconds, Brooke was beside her.

_What 's taking Alex so long?_ Maryanne wondered. _Didn 't she feel the same elation when she was out here? Didn't she feel this wonderful sense of... freedom?_

Cast Brooke spoke, echoing Maryanne's thoughts. "What the hell is holding her back?"

Then Alex was there with them.

"In a hurry, Saunders?" she asked, even as she glanced inside at their fallen bodies sprawled on the pillows.

Maryanne laughed. "I know _I_ am! In a hurry, that is." She felt it already. The pull of it, and she moved out quickly from Harvell House, then surged forward again to rejoin Alex and Brooke.

"God, can't you just feel it? Feel the night all around you?" Maryanne laughed, knowing the answers her roomies--her casting sisters--would give. That too was almost a mantra now, part of the ritual.

"The night is ours. We _own_ it!"

Maryanne turned left, then right, to watch Brooke and Alex soaring beside her over the river again. Their shimmering edges helped them see each other, as did the peculiar brightness of their cast vision. But Maryanne trusted the world would see only their black, empty silhouettes. Yet with the moon so bright tonight, the darkness of their casts would stand out.

The mind was a funny thing. On a dark night, anyone who caught a fleeting glimpse of their casts would rub their eyes. Put down their drinks and say they should call it a night. A trick of the mind. That was their ally on most dark nights. But on this bright night? It was late, well past midnight, and most people in this sleepy town would be... well, asleep. But still, they'd have to be careful.

Alex spoke, jarring Maryanne from her thoughts.

"Where are you heading, Brooke?"

They were down the river quite a ways, near an old covered bridge. But instead of swooping under it, over it, or even going right through the old wooden sides, Brooke suddenly turned onto the road. Automatically, Maryanne corrected her course to follow. The idea of Brooke out there on her own clearly didn't sit any better with Alex than it did with Maryanne, because Alex followed, too.

"Brooke?" Maryanne said sharply.

"I have a surprise for both of you." Brooke's voice told Maryanne she was smiling, devilishly. "An adventure!"

Maryanne knew she should protest. Just as Alex was currently doing in a half-assed way, especially as she realized Brooke was leading them toward the Walker Farm. But frankly Maryanne didn't feel like protesting. Not even a little bit. Which brought home again just how different she felt out here. It wasn't just that the grief was set aside when she cast out. Not just the flesh suit back on the attic floor. Other parts of her psyche seemed to compartmentalize themselves away too. Like the fear. The inhibitions.

She saw a Volvo on the road below her.

They were on the Old Road--a narrow road dotted with a very few mailboxes and darkened houses set back from it. And it wasn't just anyone's Volvo puttering below her. It was Mr. McKenzie's. She recognized it from the teachers' parking lot, where she'd seen McKenzie climbing into it many days after school. She'd even made the mistake of waving to him one day when their paths had crossed in the parking lot, early in the school year. Of course, that was before she'd known what a total jerk he really was. Before he'd sent along the extra math homework when she'd taken that sick day.

Maryanne descended.

"What are you doing?" Alex called.

Brooke hadn't turned around.

Maryanne laughed. "Small detour."

"Oh shit, that's Mr. McKenzie!" Alex said. "But why is he going so slow?"

"Good question."

They dropped down, but not too far. Still high enough to avoid detection. They found they could easily follow in the vehicle's wake, but only because it was going so slow. The reason for McKenzie's snail-like pace soon became apparent.

"He's drunk!" Maryanne cried.

Alex pulled closer to the slightly-weaving vehicle. "A little, probably," Alex agreed. "But not completely wrecked, or he'd be all over the place. He's probably just impaired enough to drive with extreme deliberation."

"Or maybe he's stoned?"

Alex laughed. "Now that sounds even more likely. He probably thinks he's flying along."

Maryanne felt her own smile widening. "I'm going to mess with him a little."

"Maryanne! You devil, you," Alex said admiringly.

Maryanne laughed.

"Want some help?" Alex offered. "I have a little more experience at this stuff."

"Oh no. He's all mine." Maryanne put on a burst of speed.

"Don't get caught!" Alex called after her.

"I won't."

She wouldn't. It wasn't like she was going to confront the man. Wasn't about to move through his car, hover over the passenger seat and pull his hair in a Brooke-esque move, though the thought had crossed her mind. All she wanted to do was... Scare the hell out of him.

She pressed harder for more speed. When she'd overtaken the car, she calibrated her speed with his, then descended so that she was right in front of his windshield, hopefully obscuring his view.

The Volvo braked sharply and swerved right, moving partially onto the graveled shoulder. Then McKenzie overcorrected, and the car shot across the road onto the left hand shoulder where it spun out in the gravel and came to rest in a shallow ditch. Maryanne soared up again. From her perspective up above, she saw the passenger door fly open. Below, McKenzie turned the air blue with his curses, and from the hissing noise his vehicle was making, she figured he must have busted his radiator. Laughing triumphantly, Maryanne melted back into the trees so McKenzie wouldn't see her.

"Maryanne Hemlock!" Alex said as she joined up with Maryanne again. "Way to school that bully! I didn't know you had it in you."

She grinned. "Neither did I."

When they caught up to Brooke, Alex filled her in.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to buzz his car?" Brooke complained. "I'da helped."

"Thanks, but it was personal."

"I can understand that," Brooke allowed.

Within minutes they were over the Walker Farm. The large, sprawling home was in darkness, as was the yard. As the girls neared, the Dobermans cowered in their kennel, whining softly instead of raising an alarm.

"No way are you going after Seth again, Brooke!" Alex said, and Maryanne was quite ready to back her up. But Brooke wasn't making a beeline for the house. In fact, she was heading in the other direction.

Her laugh was bitter. "Don't worry, Seth isn't part of this plan."

"You're done with him?" If she was, Maryanne was glad to hear it.

"Done with him?" Brooke answered. "I've only just begun with Seth Walker."

"Oh crap, Brooke!" Alex said. "What are you up to?"

Brooke headed toward the horse barn. "I told you I had a surprise. I promised an adventure, didn't I? Getting back at Seth is just the proverbial icing on the cake."

"Okay," Maryanne asked, "just what then is the cake?"

Brooke slipped into the barn, moving right through the barn's wall. The horses took note of her presence immediately, as evidenced by their shrill whinnies. Maryanne and Alex looked at each other, then with a shrug, followed.

"There, there, good horsies," Brooke was saying. "We'll ride you carefully."

Oh, poor horses. Maryanne could feel the cold fear rippling off them. Usually it was the other way around. She'd taken a few riding lessons back in Burlingtion. A couple of her friends had been absolutely horse crazy, so she'd tried her hand at it and sucked. The animals sensed her fear and had no respect for her. But right now, respect was not an issue. They were absolutely terrified of her! She should feel bad about that. She knew she should, but somehow she didn't feel bad enough to leave.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alex called.

"Going riding!" Brooke didn't go through the gate, but rose above the frightened horse. She'd chosen a pure white stallion. A moment later, she descended onto its bare back, holding onto its white mane. Her black cast legs stood out clearly against the animal's white coat. The frightened horse broke out of the stable.

Wait--broke out of the stable?

_Unlatched!_ Maryanne realized with delight. All the box stalls were unlatched. _But how had Brooke known?_

"That's dangerous!" Alex shouted.

"No, it's not," Maryanne said, moving over a stall and mounting a frightened horse. "Even if the horse throws you, it can't trample you--"

"We simply rise rather than fall." Alex's voice rose with the thrill. And she joined her on the back of the black horse she'd mounted. Alex put her arms around Maryanne's waist and Maryanne felt the strange eerie press of her cast.

The girls laughed as their horse bolted into the night to join Brooke's. And the laughter rolled through Maryanne like it hadn't rolled in months. Not since Jason.

And it felt wonderful--this abandon.

Physically, she could feel it, too. Oh wow, the wind wasn't just blowing through her hair. It was blowing through her! The night's cool breeze coursed through her black cast as the horses raced frantically down the Old Road. The night's scents passed through her; the fine mists did the same, thrilling her. And the horse she rode--Oh, crap! Its heart was hammering. Its breath came in great heaves. Despite the cold Maryanne could feel the sheen of sweat on the animal's back against her legs.

"It's too much for the horses!" she cried out, rising immediately off the winded animal's back. Alex did the same, and the now riderless horse just raced on.

"Brooke! Dismount," Alex shouted.

"Not yet!" Brooke hollered from atop her white horse.

Maryanne and Alex raced to keep up, but even soaring as fast as they could, they weren't fast enough to keep up to the galloping horse. Brooke's horse rounded a corner, the sight of it obscured suddenly by the pines. And moments later when Maryanne and Alex also turned the corner, they saw Brooke's cast hovering there in the middle of the road. The white horse was now a mere ghost of a vision as it raced away in the distance.

"Were you trying to kill it?" Alex's accusation sounded more fearful than fierce.

"No! I was trying to ride it! Have some fun."

"Right! And you just--"

"And I just had the time of my life!" Brooke answered. "Just like the two of you did."

They hovered silently for a moment.

Brooke was right. Riding those horses had been exhilarating. Mind bogglingly wonderful! Yet even in the intoxication of these thoughts, even as Maryanne twisted and turned in the delicious night, even as she distanced herself from her pain and the guilt over her Jason memories, she knew they'd gone too far. And she knew she'd feel it even more tomorrow, long after the elation had worn away.

"Yes," Alex said, suddenly. "Just like us. You're right, Brooke." She turned her face toward the sky. "Time we call it a night, though, don't you think?"

Maryanne could feel it too. The heaviness that always came after they'd been out for a while was seeping in. "Homeward bound," she agreed. "Back to Harvell House." Then a thought occurred to her. "But what about the horses? Shouldn't we... you know... catch them and take them back?"

"They'll be fine," Brooke said. "Besides, that's the icing, remember? I want Seth to have to go out tomorrow to round them up."

The girls laughed and started home.

### Chapter 17

#### Bumps in the Night

_Alex_

SHE WAS LATE. But she'd be here.

Not for a minute did Alex think Maryanne would be a no show this afternoon. Not after the note she'd tucked into Maryanne's hand as they'd passed on the stairs this morning:

_Meet me at Heritage Park after school. And come ALONE._

_We have to talk --A._

Still, Alex waited anxiously, even in this wide-open space. She was sitting in an ancient gazebo at Heritage Park--a little playground about half a mile from school, a mile and a half from Harvell House, which was in the other direction. It was too bitter cold of a day for anyone else to be at the Park. The swing seats had been taken down for the winter, and the old metal slides looked positively abandoned. But Alex was almost comfortable on the wide wooden bench.

They could have talked back at Harvell House, but Alex didn't want to run the risk of being overheard. She could have told Maryanne to meet her at the little mall. It would have been a helluva lot warmer there, and they could have found a little privacy in an empty corner of the food court. But the food court was too closed in. And all those people... Just thinking about it was enough to send Alex's anxiety soaring.

Dammit! She hated that feeling--that need she had now to control her surroundings. To ensure an escape route. To avoid situations where she could be confined or hemmed in. And yes, to be able to run, if she had to.

It was getting worse.

In school, she parked herself at the seat closest to the door in every classroom. Usually front row, to the snide amusement of Leah, who shared a few of her classes. The rare times when she'd had to take a seat in the middle of the classroom, had been torturous. She'd broken into a sweat she was sure everyone had seen. Struggled to keep her breath going in and out, without anyone noticing. She'd fought the panic as she tried to concentrate on what her teachers were saying. Fought it so damned hard.

A sudden gust sent a flurry of dry brown leaves rattling through the gazebo. Many of them got caught with the litter of leaves already inside the structure, and they just seemed to blow around and around the enclosure as if seeking a way out. The rustle they made within the roar of the wind seemed like a whispered plea for release.

Alex stood. She unlatched the gazebo door, swung it open and kicked a bunch of the leaves out onto the ground before she latched the door again.

The bench was cold, but her butt was so numb from having sat on it so long, she barely felt the discomfort when she sat back down. But she did feel Connie's diary rise against her from inside her pea coat pocket as she repositioned herself on the bench. "Hey Connie," she said automatically as she fished the diary out from the assorted pens, balled-up tissues and coins in her pocket.

She let the diary fall open where it would and began reading. Whether by chance or because she'd read the passage so often, it opened to one of the entries where Connie recounted an assault. But this time, the words on the page gave way to sickening, humiliating mind-pictures. Not of Connie's assault, but Alex's own.

She closed the book, wishing she could close off these new memories as effectively.

Yes, it was coming back to her. Another piece had broken back in when her cast returned from that midnight horse ride. Her heart pounded now as she relived it yet again. He'd pushed her face-down on the floor, using the jacket to cover her head and pin her arms as he came down on her, his weight covering her back, trapping her... That goddamned coat! The same one she'd found beside her when she'd wakened. The one she'd wrapped around her nakedness when she'd made her way back downstairs from the attic. She'd shoved that old coat into a black garbage bag and thrown it into the dumpster behind the house. It was long gone. But now, blinking back the tears, Alex wished she had it back.

She'd burn the damned thing.

Alex pocketed the diary as she saw Maryanne approaching.

Maryanne waved widely, as if signaling her presence from miles across the prairie, rather than a few hundred feet across Heritage Park. Alex nodded, but kept her hands deep in her pockets, the left one wrapped tightly around the diary.

Alex would not have been caught dead hanging with a girl like Maryanne Hemlock in her old life. Of course, chances were Maryanne would be making a wide berth around Alex if they'd met last year.

Old life... Had it really been just a handful of weeks ago?

Since the nightmare of the rape? Since she found poor Connie's diary?

Since she'd decided to try to turn her life around?

After a few cyber-silent weeks, Alex had finally messaged her Halifax friends. Well, not every one of them, of course. But Anika and Chelsea.

She didn't tell them--hadn't told a living soul--about the attack, but she'd told them how she was changing her ways. No more drinking every night. No more drugs--and thank God she'd not gone so far down that road that she couldn't turn back. No more crime, petty or otherwise. No more raising hell. Chelsea had messaged back, "Yeah right!" Anika hadn't replied at all. But seven days later, Alex had received a small package in the mail. A tiny, tidily-wrapped cardboard box addressed to Alex Robbins, Harvell House, Mansbridge, N.B. That was all. No postal code, no street address. But that was all you needed in this small town.

She'd opened it slowly, though she knew by the return address that it was from Anika.

It was a pendant. A small silver one with a rose stone quartz pendant attached. Anika had made it herself, of course. Alex had looked up the stone's meaning: _carries soothing energy, provides comfort to those with a wounded heart_.

Leave it to Anika to somehow know without knowing. Alex had worn it ever since, always under her tees and sweatshirts, and when she lay down in her small bed and stared up at the ceiling, she positioned the stone to lay exactly over her bleeding rose tattoo.

Maryanne stopped just short of the gazebo steps, her hand still on the low door's latch. She looked up at Alex huddled inside. "You look pale as a ghost."

"As opposed to dark as a Heller."

Neither of them chuckled.

They were down from it now, the exhilaration of the last cast out. As usual, Brooke had seemed no worse for the wear, but Maryanne had that jittery thing happening again. And Alex... well, she'd had a few jitters too, but hers were from the shock of those new memories. Now came the repercussions of what they had done. Along with that sickening, guilty feeling.

"I see Mr. McKenzie was driving a loaner car again this morning," Maryanne said. "All six-foot-something of him crunched down behind the steering wheel of a Smart Car."

"His sister's," Alex said. "That's what I heard. Rumor has it he had one drink too many, the other night, swerved off the Old Road and into the ditch. Busted the radiator and some other stuff."

"Gotta love those rumors," Maryanne said, then cringed. "I wish we could say the jerk deserved it."

"Sure. The jerk deserved it."

"Come on," Maryanne said. "You know what I mean."

Yeah, she knew. Though Mr. McKenzie was a complete tool, Maryanne's swoop down on him could have had more serious consequences. That's why she'd asked Maryanne to meet her here today, without Brooke. Because the casting was getting out of hand.

But Alex didn't feel nearly as bad about McKenzie's car as she did about the Walker horses.

It took almost a full day for the two animals to be recovered. The white stallion had been found miles down the river, the black one miles beyond that. They both were exhausted, had cuts and abrasions on their legs from running wildly through the woods. And both, according to the vet from Fredericton, were probably ruined now. He'd never seen horses so skittish. Terrified of even a touch. This same vet had just last week checked the animals out and proclaimed them in perfect health.

Not anymore.

It had taken six men--including Seth and Bryce--to get the horses into their trailers and both had nearly knocked themselves senseless against the walls of it as they drove back to the Walker farm. Even back in their familiar stalls, they stood trembling.

"Ruined!"

That's what Seth had said when he'd burst through the door of Harvell House that night.

He'd come looking for Brooke, spouting accusations.

"You did this! You unlocked the gate and let the horses out!"

She'd smiled. Brooke had sat in the parlor, cool as anything, denying Seth's accusations. Denying that she'd been anywhere near those horses, or the Walker farm.

"Really, Seth," she'd drawled. "Whatever would take me way out there to your farm? I mean, now that you're with Melissa. It's not like we've got something going on behind her back, right?"

Seth's face had turned crimson, as if he badly wanted to say something but was forced to stay silent. As if every _second_ of that silence notched up his temperature. And his fury. But Brooke obviously had him by the short and curlies. Which probably meant they _did_ have something going on the side, and if he persisted in accusing Brooke, she'd do some talking of her own. With an avid audience--a room full of teens, not to mention a now-threatening Patricia Betts, and an imposing looking John Smith--Seth had backed down.

Yet as Seth had slammed the door to Harvell House on his way out of the building, the smart-ass smile on Brooke's face trembled ever so slightly.

"Some kids say it was the Mansbridge Hellers that spooked the horses so bad." Maryanne kicked a foot through the small mound of leaves at her feet.

"I doubt if it's just the kids saying it's the Hellers. Lots of superstition around this town. Lots of... old stories."

"Like Ira Walker's stories? Was he the only one who saw Connie? I bet not."

Alex ignored Maryanne's pointed stare. She hadn't called this little meeting to talk about local lore. This wasn't about Connie. It was about _them_.

"We're going too far. This... this casting out is getting out of hand."

Maryanne's foot stilled on the gazebo's floor. Her posture turned defensive. "What do you mean? You're not taking this away from me."

"Don't play stupid," Alex snapped, pointedly looking down at Maryanne's locked fists. "Look, the other night Brooke attacked Seth and that--"

"That was _Brooke_ , not me! Not us!"

"We're terrorizing animals! And running teachers off the road! Maryanne, I'm scared we're going to--"

"What are you really scared of, Alexandra Robbins?"

" _Don 't_ call me that!"

"Answer the question!"

How could she? That question had surprised her. Caught her off guard. Cut her straight down to her gut.

"I've seen the way you look before we cast. I've seen the way you come back in." Maryanne's tone was suddenly lowered, almost sympathetic. And yes, curious. "What happens to you out there?" She turned toward Alex, so they were facing each other on the bench. "What is it that comes back in with you, Alex? That doesn't come back in with Brooke or me?"

Alex started to turn away, but Maryanne shot a hand out to grip her jacket. "Tell me, Alex. What happens to you?"

Alex leapt up, pulling away from Maryanne. "Nothing! Nothing happens to me out there! It's just the same for me as it is for you. Nothing more, nothing less." She took a calming breath. "Look, I'm not saying we should stop casting out. But we have to be more careful. Rein it in. All of it. And Maryanne, you and I have to watch out for Brooke. Watch over her."

Alex stood there while Maryanne studied her for a silent moment.

Finally, Maryanne released her breath on a sigh. "Okay," she said, her shoulders relaxing.

Alex shifted her weight from one cold foot to the other. "Okay what?"

"Okay, I'll stop pushing you."

"And... ?"

Maryanne rolled her eyes. "And okay, yes, you're right. It is getting a little out of control, and yes, we do have to watch Brooke. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Exactly what I wanted to hear." With that, Alex started for the gazebo's door.

"Alex?"

She paused, her hand on the latch. "Yeah?"

"What happened to Connie Harvell? How did she die?"

Alex whirled around, simultaneously patting her coat pocket to make sure Connie's diary was there. It was, shoved in with the tissue and pen and coins. She closed her hand around it.

"Is that why you're scared when we cast out?"

"No," Alex whispered. "That's not it at all." It took every ounce of her strength to turn away again.

"Then tell me. How did Connie die, Alex?"

She stopped in her tracks. Her hand trembled around the diary, and the diary trembled within it. But Alex knew she would have to tell Maryanne and Brooke. She'd known it for a while of course, but she knew it thoroughly now that Maryanne had asked her. Now that it was on the table.

Alex unlatched the door and stepped down onto the brittle grass. She lifted her face to the darkening sky and closed her eyes. "I'll tell you. I'll... I'll read it to you."

With that, she started to walk away.

"When? Alex... when?"

She kept walking, leaving Maryanne's question hanging, but the answer was, _tonight._

### Chapter 18

#### Little Lily Michelle

_Alex_

ALEX SAT IN the attic in flickering candlelight, with Brooke at her left and Maryanne at her right. It was near one o'clock in the morning. They were all tired, irritable. But all had a single purpose in mind.

Tonight there was no banter between them. For a change, the other girls didn't hassle Alex to hurry up or instruct her to leave nothing out. Tonight Brooke sat without pressing and prodding and poking, and Maryanne was as patient as she could possibly be, though she practically vibrated with anxiousness.

Alex opened Connie's diary. She hadn't used a bookmark or, God forbid, dog-eared a precious page. She didn't need to. As if guided by some kind of physical memory from her hand going here so often, she opened the diary exactly where she needed to.

And she began to read.

_It 's been two days since I've been able to pull you close to me again, Dear Diary, and I couldn't wait to hold you and tell you all my secrets. I've missed you--more than I should and more than is logical--but you've been my only companion these last long months in this attic. The only one to know my voice. You and the child in my belly._

_And now I 've heard my baby's voice too._

_That 's right, Dear Diary. My baby girl was born just two days ago._

_She came early in the morning. I didn 't cast out the night before because I knew she was so near to being born. The pain had started in my lower back, just a nagging ache. Nothing new with my big belly. But as the evening progressed, it moved to my stomach, my pelvis, my legs. Bands of pain tightening down on me, then mercifully loosened. Then started again. My labor had begun._

_When Billy came up the stairs with my six o 'clock meal, he found me kneeling on the floor, my face flushed with pain and a pool of water beneath me. He dropped the tray. Dropped it and ran screaming for his father. "It's time, it's time, it's time!" Mother came then too, up the narrow stairway. But she followed several paces behind my stepfather and stood at the back of the room by the wardrobe._

_She didn 't look up at me. She wouldn't meet my eyes--not even once. I wondered if she was ashamed of me or ashamed of herself._

_But my stepfather --that monster--met my eyes. He bellowed about the pain that God himself was giving me for being such a whore. And he demanded again that I tell him who was the father of my bastard baby._

_Billy stood still. Still and threatening behind his father. Smirking. So very sure that I wouldn 't tell. He was right. But it wasn't in fear of him hurting me. What more could he do? It was a different fear that kept me silent. If my stepfather knew the child was his own bloodline--his own grandchild--he might lay claim to her._

_I couldn 't condemn my baby to that fate. Never. I needed to be able to imagine it in the arms of loving parents who'd waited for the miracle of a child. The baby wouldn't be long in my arms. I've known that for quite some time. I'd heard the story in the fall--of what had become of me._

_In my loneliness when I 'd first cast out through the glass, I crept to windows or screened-in porch doors and listened as I hid in the dark shadows. Sometimes all there was to hear was a television. Or a radio. Sometimes all I heard was snoring, but I didn't mind. It was such a human sound. But often I'd hear talking. And I'd listen so carefully. This was how I found out long ago what everyone in Mansbridge thought had become of me._

_I 'd gone to Toronto, so the story went. That's what I heard way back in September when I hovered outside a bedroom window at the Dufty house. Gone to stay with my late father's widowed sister--but only for a bit._

_No one said a thing about a baby --and oh, they would have! So no one knew of the pregnancy outside of Harvell House._

_It was Billy himself who 'd told me what would happen to my baby when it finally arrived. "You can't keep it," he taunted, wanting to hurt me all the more--any way he could. "Father said so and he's the boss here now. He knows people in Montreal. They're coming for the baby as soon as you have it. Coming to take it from you, Connie--you'll never see it again!"_

_" You won't either, Billy!" I thought this, but I didn't dare say it. I didn't want for a moment to put that thought in his head!_

_It was clear that my stepfather 's plan was for me to 'come back home' once my baby was adopted and I'd recovered my girlish form. No doubt he'd say that Toronto was just too big and cold and lonely for a small town girl like me, and I would be allowed to leave this attic at last._

_Then, two days ago, my baby pushed from me, tearing my sanity until I screamed. When my stepfather stood over me, demanding one more time to know who had fathered my bastard, I bit my lip until it bled rather than tell him it was Billy 's._

_I wanted her for my own --of course I did! Despite the circumstances, I'd come to love her more and more as my belly had grown. On lonely nights, I would sing to the bulge of baby inside me, and sometimes when I passed my hand over my belly, a little foot or elbow seemed to follow along underneath. It was heartbreaking, knowing I couldn't possibly keep my child. But oh, how much worse it would be if that evil man decided to keep it!_

_Then my baby arrived. A girl --a beautiful little girl._

_How wonderful and small. And her perfect name was Lily Michelle --if only for a moment, and only in my mind._

_She came out quiet, but cried and screamed when the cold of the attic hit her. I gathered her up in my arms. Amazingly, she actually went completely contently silent as I held her to my breast. Her little hand grabbed my pinkie finger. And I knew there was a bond there already --between this mother and this child._

_Not ten minutes later --because I smiled at Lily Michelle, because he saw that I loved her already--my stepfather took the baby from me. I reached and I cried, but what could I do? Billy walked behind him as he took her down the stairs._

_He let my mother stay with me to wash me, and put me back to bed. And she whispered to me little things --of bonnets for babies, and booties for dolls. And our eyes met then, as the sun was slowly rising through the stained glass window. And as it rose, it shone through the lady's eyes and she joined us in the sadness. And the madness._

_I asked my mother if I 'd ever see my baby again._

_She looked behind her to the attic stairs. Then she shook her head._

_When I asked about the people who were supposed to come from Montreal to take the baby, she didn 't answer me. Her eyes filled with tears and took on a distant look as she sat there beside me on the bed._

_Finally, I fell asleep._

_When I awoke, my mother was gone. And the house was silent. Frighteningly silent. I was weak and in pain, but I climbed down the stairs and began pounding on the attic door. Pounding and screaming like I had not done since they first locked me up here. I heard footsteps and thought it was Billy. But when the door yanked open, it was my stepfather who stood there._

_I begged him to let me see my daughter, to feed her. I told him that my milk had come in._

_He glanced at my heavy breasts._

_At that reminder of my whore body, he backhanded me so hard, my ears rang. But something snapped in me then. I picked myself up and flew at him. I clawed and scratched and screamed at him. I screamed --_You won't get away with this! You locked me up and stole my baby! I'll tell! I swear to God I'll tell the whole town. Then all of them will know what a 'holy' man you are!

_His face changed --he looked like a storm. And I realized my mistake._

_By threatening to reveal what he 'd done, I'd sealed my fate. And dear God, my little Lily Michelle's too! If there really had been a plan to give my baby up to a private adoption, my stepfather would never go through with it now. He wouldn't risk it coming back to haunt him._

_I fell to the floor and repented. I groveled at his feet. I swore I didn 't mean anything I'd said. I wasn't concerned for myself, but I'd have done anything--said anything--to spare my baby. He kicked me away, closed the door, and locked it again._

_That was two days ago. No one has climbed these stairs since._

_And now... now I haven 't got much time._

_I haven 't heard the baby cry from down below. I've heard no one at the door or in the hallways._

_Last night, I went out to look for my Lily. I tapped on the glass and told the lady "I want out" and she let me have my escape. I slipped back into the house. I'd never dared do that before, but I needed to find my precious baby. Needed to see her! There was no evidence of her anywhere. No bassinette. No diapers. No rooms prepared for guests from Montreal._

_There is a heaviness in my heart for little Lily Michelle. A heaviness for me, as well._

_After searching every room I could, I slipped out into the night and went to listen again at the Dufty house. The windows were closed because of the February cold, so I slipped in through a wall and stood in a shadowed hallway._

_I listened to whispers --they were about me._

_Everyone thinks I 'm already dead. Connie Harvell is dead. Died in a house fire in Toronto. No body to bring back home. No need for a funeral. Her poor mother's an awful wreck--she'll never be the same._

_Dear Diary, I know they 're going to kill me. I'm so scared. The fear is like an acid churning in my stomach and turning my limbs to water._

_But I know something else._

_I know why the Madonna bleeds. It 's not because of her thorn-pricked feet. But because of her breaking heart._

Alex closed the book. Her throat ached from talking and ached with tears she would not shed. Not in front of the other girls. Not here in this place. Not onto the precious pages of Connie's book.

"Is that... are those Connie's last words?" Maryanne asked.

Alex nodded.

"Holy crap!" Brooke shuddered. She rubbed her arms as if just then feeling the cold chill in the room. She looked at every corner. "They murdered her. God, they murdered her right _here_!"

"I think I'm going to be sick!"

"Oh, God, Maryanne, _do not_ hurl up here," Brooke said. "We'd have to raid the janitor's closet and haul buckets of water up and down stairs, and we'd be sure to get caught."

"Very supportive, Brooke."

Brooke glared at Alex. "What? It's true."

"Just put your head down for a few minutes." Alex put a hand on Maryanne's back to urge her forward. "Good. Now take a few deep breaths."

After a moment, Maryanne sat up again. "I'm okay," she said.

"I wonder how they killed her?" This from Brooke, not surprisingly.

"Does it matter?" Alex sighed. "It wouldn't have been hard, two grown men against a postpartum mother. She was probably dehydrated and dizzy with hunger, too, since they left her up here for days after the baby came."

"Strangulation," Brooke said. "That's my guess. Or maybe they smothered her. You know, like with a pillow or something."

"Oh, God!" Maryanne cried. "They killed the baby too, didn't they? Just like Connie feared."

"I think so," Alex said.

"Or maybe it just died," Brooke suggested. "You know, of a birth defect or something. Or maybe it got a chill in the attic. Connie wrote that it was cold. Maybe it got hypothermia and just died."

"Babies shouldn't die!" Maryanne's voice shook. Come to that, it looked like her whole body was shaking. "Whether they killed it or just let it die, it's still their fault!"

Brooke raised both hands in the air, palms forward. "Hey, I'm not defending them. The stepfather was a hypocritical church-going tyrant who ruled with his fists. Billy was a bully and a rapist, if not an outright psychopath. And her mother was a useless doormat who didn't lift a finger to help her own daughter." Now it was Brooke who was practically trembling. "They were all a bunch of douches, if you ask me."

"Well, the stepfather and Billy for sure," Alex allowed. "But her mother was likely battered herself. And remember, this was decades ago. Domestic abuse used to be swept under the rug a lot more back then, I'm pretty sure."

They were all silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Alex stood. As if a signal, even to herself, she blew out the candle. She had to get out of there. Quickly. "That's it. Now you know," she said, but not without a tremor in her voice. She moved toward the stairs.

"Wait a minute," Maryanne said, rising to her feet. "Aren't we going to cast out?"

"No," Alex said. "We can't tonight. It's too late."

"So what?" Brooke countered, already placing her candle on the dresser and moving toward the window. "The later the better. I vote we cast. Maryanne?"

Alex stared at Maryanne, silently reminding her of their conversation of earlier today. Silently seeing if she could trust her--really.

With a shaky voice, Maryanne said, "Alex is right, Brooke. We've had enough for tonight. Too much to think about." She looked pointedly to Alex now. "We'll cast out tomorrow night instead."

"But tomorrow's the Halloween dance," Brooke pointed out. "And thanks to me having to get you off the hook with Ty, we're all going together, remember? Which reminds me, we're supposed to have some kind of joint costume... "

"Okay," Alex agreed. "We'll go to the dance, then we'll cast out afterward."

Brooke's eyes narrowed in the moonlight. "Promise?"

"Promise," Alex and Maryanne simultaneously answered.

Reluctantly, Brooke moved with them down the stairs. Maryanne stopped them before they exited the door. "Thank you, Alex. For reading that tonight. For telling us everything."

Alex hesitated before muttering, "No problem." Then she pushed past Maryanne and Brooke onto the silent floor. Back in their room, she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling thinking of the words she'd spoken, and the lie she'd told.

There was more in Connie's diary.

So much more.

Oh, not a lot more writing. Not reams of paragraphs or pages. Just a few more words. But holy crap, what those words had revealed!

Alex didn't sleep at all that night. Not until she saw the sun.

### Chapter 19

#### Trick or Treat

_Brooke_

BROOKE SMILED AT the wolf whistles that followed her as she crossed the cafeteria with three plastic cups of punch--unspiked, sorry to say--to join Maryanne and Alex.

"Wow, who knew Dorothy would be so popular?" she said, as the girls relieved her of two of the precariously balanced cups.

"Are you kidding?" Maryanne said, laughing. "L. Frank Baum is rolling over in his grave right now."

Alex snorted. "Forget about Baum. _Judy Garland_ will be spinning like a top in hers."

"What?" Brooke glanced down at her costume. "White blouse, blue gingham dress, red shoes... " She twirled one of her messy schoolgirl pigtail braids. "I just updated her a bit, is all."

That, of course, was an understatement. She'd given Dorothy a super-sexy makeover. The gingham dress was courtesy of the local public school's drama club's costume department; she'd paid one of the student actors there to 'borrow' it for her. Then she'd basted the skirt's hem to the inside of its own waistband, shortening it to micro-mini length, and taken the bodice in until it hugged her curves like a glove. Brooke's Dorothy had ditched the ruby slippers for four-inch red stiletto pumps, and traded her sedate knee socks for white lace-topped thigh-highs. Dorothy definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore. And the effect was--if she had to say so herself--pretty damned fabulous. She couldn't wait for Seth to see her. Except he and Melissa hadn't shown yet.

"Well, you've got the body for it, anyway," Maryanne said.

"You do too, if you'd ever stop cloaking yourself in those baggy clothes."

"Hey, I like my baggy clothes."

Brooke rolled her eyes. Maryanne certainly did like her sweats. Tonight, though, she actually looked great. Unlike Brooke, she didn't have an inch of skin on display beneath her pristine white Princess Leia gown, but at least it was somewhat form-fitting, and the wide belt nipped in nicely at the waist. She'd bought some of those cheap hair extensions and fashioned a pair of distinctive Princess Leia side buns. It was quite impressive, really.

"Leave the girl alone, Brooke," Alex said.

Brooke turned to Alex. Compared to Maryanne's costume, Alex's was lame. Probably because she hadn't planned to wear a costume at all. But Maryanne had nagged her into it, offering to help her make one. They wound up scrounging some tiny boxes of cereal, gluing them to an oversized shirt and embedding plastic knives in the boxes. And now poor Alex had to endure people coming up to her in puzzlement and asking what she was supposed to be. After the third query, she glared at anyone who approached and growled, "Cereal killer, dammit!"

Brooke shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

They were silent a moment as they watched the dancers. There were a ton of them, the event attended by students from both Streep and the public high school. Come Christmas, the public school would host the Christmas dance. The cafeteria tables had been moved up against the walls to leave the center of the tiled floor open, and the kids were currently dancing to a heinous dance remix.

"Why are there grapes floating in my punch?" Alex asked.

"Beats me," Brooke said.

"I think they're supposed to be eyeballs," Maryanne said.

A guy clothed from head to toe in a tight, black... something... dashed by.

"What the hell?" Alex said.

Maryanne gazed after him. "Was that a wetsuit?"

Brooke grinned. " _Wetsuit_? God, Maryanne, where did you grow up? That's your basic Lycra/PVC fetish catsuit."

"Omigod, really?" Maryanne's face was two shades of red. "But why would someone wear _that_ here?"

"Maybe he's trolling for a date."

"C'mon, Brooke. _Look_ at him," Alex ground out. "He's the Mansbridge Heller."

Brooke looked closer, and holy shit, she was right! If Brooke herself had cast out and walked in here in her cast form, she probably wouldn't look much different than that, except for the exposed face. He'd blackened it, she saw, but it was still nowhere near as dark as the rest of him. And a cast's face, of course, would not show with the same 3D detail as this guy's darkened skin. A cast's face was just... empty and black. At least to non-caster eyes.

And hadn't there been someone else dressed all in black? Yes, two juniors. But their outfits weren't nearly as effective. A black unitard and face-blacking. They hadn't even covered their heads, like this guy had.

"Geez, it must be the costume of choice," Maryanne said. "Look over there, on the other side of the mummy."

"Is that another one?" Alex asked, gesturing toward her left.

Brooke whipped her head around. "Where?"

"At ten o'clock, between Barack Obama and the trampy vampire. With her back to us."

Brooke squinted. "Could be. But what the hell is she wearing over her costume?"

"Looks like a fishnet," Maryanne said. "A fishnet with... what is that? _Pennies_? Why would she have pennies glued to it?"

"Let's go find out." Brooke said.

Without waiting for the others to respond, Brooke took off. By the time she reached the penny-netted girl, Alex and Maryanne were on her heels.

Brooke tapped the girl on the shoulder. "Hey, cool outfit. Are you a Heller?"

The girl turned and Brooke saw that it was Kassidy, Alex's former friend. She also saw that Leah was with her. Literally _with her_. As in Leah had a rope around her neck and Kassidy held the other end.

"Duh," Kassidy said. "Of course I'm a Heller. And this is the soul I've captured." Her gaze skimmed Brooke's scanty outfit. "And what are you? Hooker Barbie?"

" _Barbie_?" Brooke ignored the hooker part and pretended offense at the latter part. "Does no one watch the classics anymore?"

Leah giggled, but shut up when Kassidy shot her an acid look.

Kassidy swung her gaze back, this time looking past Brooke to the other girls. " _Alex_? Oh, God, you did the _cereal killer_ thing!" There was no mistaking the genuine dismay on her face, which, unlike some of the other Hellers present, had not been blackened. She turned back to Brooke, her voice accusing. "What's the matter with you? Friends don't let friends do lame costumes like that."

"Hey, don't look at me," Brooke said. "I had nothing to do with it."

"It was my idea," Maryanne said. "She really didn't want to dress up, but I thought--"

"Don't bother, Maryanne," Alex said. "We don't owe anyone an explanation. Come on."

Brooke and Maryanne followed Alex back across the floor, leaving a sputtering Kassidy and Leah behind.

Before they got far, though, they were stopped by Danielle Mann, who was dressed as a glittering fairy godmother. Dani was another one of the handful of local kids who attended Streep, and shared a Chem class with Brooke and Alex. "Hey, don't listen to Kassidy, Alex. She's just being a bitch. Your costume is great. Made me laugh out loud when I figured it out."

"Thanks, Dani," Alex said, then looked down at herself and started laughing. "Okay, you gotta admit, it's the lamest costume ever."

Dani smiled. "Maybe a little."

"Besides," Brooke said, "it's not like Kassidy's costume was so great. I mean, she doesn't even look like a Heller. Her face wasn't even black, for God's sake! And what's with that cape?"

Dani turned to look back at Kassidy. "Oh, those are pennies."

"Ahhh... figured that out already," Brooke said. "My question would be, _why_?"

"Copper." The other girl turned back to three blank stares. "Don't you know the Heller legend? They're supposed to line their nests with copper. It's supposed to... I don't know... energize them or something. The old lady who babysat me sometimes when I was a kid used to say Hellers stole the pennies off the eyes of the dead in the old days. Kind of creepy, huh? And pennies have copper in them. Or at least they used to. I don't think they do anymore. I mean, they're not _made_ of copper anymore. Just a little copper plating."

"Interesting," Alex murmured, but Brooke didn't think Danielle even heard her. She was too busy laughing when a boy in a Frankenstein costume, complete with green skin, neck bolts and a too-small jacket scooped her up and carried her off.

"So," Maryanne said. "Copper. Suppose there's any truth to it?"

Brooke grinned. "I don't know. We'll just have to see, won't we?" Then she spied Ty Piper making a beeline for them. At first she thought he'd come without a costume, but as he drew closer, she saw that his red striped tie was flipped up--probably with the help of a strategically placed coat hanger--and he wore what must be his father's blazer. "Here comes Ty, and he looks pissed," she murmured, before lifting her punch glass in his direction. "Ty!" she called brightly. "Or should I say Dilbert?"

Predictably, his gaze dropped to give her the once over, then skipped right over Alex to settle on Maryanne.

"Gee, I totally see why you couldn't come with me to this dance, Maryanne." His voice trembled with anger. "Obviously, Star Wars and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and... _Corn Pops_ go together like peas in a pod. Clearly, no one would have recognized what you were supposed to be if you weren't all together."

"Whoa, chill, buddy," Brooke said.

"I'm sorry, Ty," Maryanne said. "Our other idea... um... didn't work out."

"Didn't exist, you mean." He spat the words at them.

Brooke's own anger flared. "Okay, yeah, you're right. It didn't exist."

"Brooke!"

Brooke ignored Maryanne. "She didn't want to go to the dance with you, okay?"

"I got that," Ty said.

Alex stepped forward, pushing between Maryanne and Ty. "Then why don't you move along, Ty."

"Don't tell me what to do, bitch."

The look he directed at Alex was murderous. Alex didn't back down, but Brooke caught the way she flinched. And when she looked closer, she saw Alex was trembling.

Brooke laid a hand on Ty's arm, but he wrenched it away. His oversized blazer slid off one shoulder. He shrugged it back into place and stormed off.

"Well, that was pleasant," Maryanne said.

"Yeah, this whole dance kinda sucks." Alex said. "We should go home."

Brooke was about to argue that she wasn't ready to go yet, but just then she caught sight of Seth and Melissa entering the cafeteria. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw their costumes. Romeo and Juliet.

"Good idea," she said. "Let's blow this Popsicle stand."

They did, but not before Brooke paused to flirt with every guy in the place, including the lone male chaperone, who got very flustered. And she felt Seth's eyes on her all the way. _Hypocritical jerk_. He had absolutely no respect for her. He'd chosen Melissa over her. He _knew_ she'd released his horses! But still he wanted more of her. The knowledge soothed her ego, even as it turned her stomach a little.

Thanks to their early exit, they were home by 9:30. After dissecting everything that had happened at the dance, by mutual agreement, they peeled off their costumes, dressed in their PJs and crashed. Given the sleep deficit they were all running on, napping was never a problem.

A couple hours later, Brooke was the first to waken, and she poked the other girls. "Come on, sleeping beauties, it's time."

They didn't need to be called twice. Within two minutes, they'd gathered their things and climbed the steps to the attic.

Alex lit her candle first, passing it to Maryanne, who lit hers, then on to Brooke. Quickly, they put them in their customary places and went to sit before the window. The evening was overcast, so the Madonna didn't glow as strongly as she had last time, but it didn't matter.

"Are we ready?" Alex asked.

"Yes," Maryanne said, but Brooke didn't need to hear it. She could practically feel Maryanne shaking with the force of her anticipation.

"Brooke?" Alex asked. "You ready?"

"For this? Honey, I was born ready."

"Let's do it, then."

Alex tapped out first, followed by Maryanne. Brooke was right behind them.

They all paused to look back at their bodies sprawled in the nest of pillows on the attic floor. No matter how many times they did this, it was impossible not to look back. Which was silly. Brooke knew her body was okay on the floor because she was still connected to herself in there. Could still feel her original's sensations, the coolness of the attic, the dusty smell. But she still had to look. Once she'd satisfied that need, she allowed herself to feel the night.

The thrill was just as strong as the first time. But better. Familiar. She let herself fully feel it. "God, that's good!" she said. "Let's _own_ this, ladies!"

Maryanne laughed, and Alex completed the ritual "Let's own the night!"

Tonight, Alex picked the route, and Brooke was happy to follow--for now.

They soared low over the dark water of the St. John River, and when they tired of that, they climbed high then dove earthward again like a plunging rollercoaster, pulling up sharply as they neared the ground to slice through the treetops.

It was Maryanne who spotted the moose. None of them had ever seen one up close before and they couldn't resist investigating. And OMG, it was amazing! Huge and gangly, it should have been ugly, but it was one of the most beautiful things Brooke had ever seen. Of course, the moose wasn't equally enthralled with them. As soon as it sensed them, it made an odd, sonorous grunt of alarm and began lumbering through the swampy marsh. The girls glided after it, reveling in the rare sight. But then headlights appeared ahead, and Brooke realized they were driving the big creature in the direction of a road.

"Quick!" she shouted. "Head it off! There's a car coming."

But the other girls had also seen the potential for disaster developing and were already moving to block the big bull's path. Thankfully, it changed course, veering south again. Once they were sure it was well clear of the road, they pulled back and left it to recover.

"That was awesome!" Maryanne said, laughing.

"Amazing," Alex agreed. "Maybe that's as good a note as any to go home on."

Brooke had no intention of going back yet, but she waited for Maryanne to make the case. Much as Brooke loved the freedom of the night, she suspected Maryanne loved it even more. No way would she be ready to go back yet.

"Yeah, you're right," Maryanne agreed. "We should go back."

What?

"No way!" Brooke pulled up in front of the others to block their path. "We just got out, and it's early yet."

"Brooke, it's Halloween," Alex pointed out. "People are likely to be up later, to be out and about. We don't need to risk any more sightings. Let's go back."

No, she couldn't go back. Not yet. She had a visit to pay to Romeo.

"You two go back, then," Brooke said. "I'll be along in a little while."

"No!" Maryanne laid a hand on Brooke's shoulder, causing that strange, heavy sensation they got when they touched in cast form. "It's dangerous to be out here alone. Come back with us, Brooke."

"Sorry. Can't. I have something I need to do."

With that, she shrugged out from under Maryanne's hand and soared up and away, half expecting the girls to follow. They didn't.

_Good_ , she thought. _Great_. The business with Seth was private, anyway. She didn't need someone looking over her shoulder.

Except as she sped toward the Walker farm alone, she couldn't help but feel the sting of abandonment. She'd never leave one of them out here on their own. But that was okay. She had more than a passing acquaintance with that emotion. It wouldn't last long. She'd soon replace it with something much more satisfying.

Anticipation, dark and thrilling and bottomless, flooded her, and she grinned.

"See?" she murmured. "Better already."

### Chapter 20

#### Three's a Crowd

_Brooke_

BROOKE CRUISED THE garage first. Immediately she noticed the big Chrysler 300 that Seth's parents usually took when they traveled together was gone. Seth's car was there, though, as was his dad's big F250, Bryce's wheels of choice. Which meant the parents were probably gone, but the boys were likely at home.

Next, she entered the house through the front door, something she'd never done when she and Seth were dating last year. Thinking about that reminded her what a jerk Seth had been, even then. Fuel to a fire that burned dangerously hot already.

A quick recon confirmed that the only people home were in Seth's bedroom, and judging by the high-pitched giggles, Seth's guest was not his brother. Bryce must have either gone with his parents or stayed at a buddy's house. Or maybe he was out in the horse barn. It had been lit up like Christmas. Brooke had figured that was a security measure, after what had happened to the horses, but then she recalled Bryce used to like to sleep out there, sometimes. They kept an old computer in the office out there, and Seth used to razz Bryce about using it to surf porn, though Bryce insisted he was just playing online games.

Brooke paused outside Seth's door, eavesdropping unabashedly. The sounds issuing from inside were definitely makeout noises, but not sex noises, per se. _Perfect_.

Passing easily through the wall, she floated into the bedroom. The room was very dark, too dark for them to see her, but not too dark for her cast eyes. She clearly saw that Seth and Melissa lay on the bed pretty much as she imagined they'd be doing. Mostly clothed but with their shirts undone, limbs tangling as they fooled around.

Seth, of course, was putting on the full-court press. For a second, Brooke wanted to warn Melissa not to give in, not to give him what he wanted. Once he got it, he'd soon be scraping her off his shoes and moving on in search of a worthier challenge.

Unless he didn't.

Maybe it was just her--Brooke--he found unworthy.

The idea fed her anger until she itched to hurt Seth. Hurt both of them.

She glided closer to the bed.

Seth rolled Melissa so the two of them lay on their sides. It was the perfect invitation. Brooke moved closer, then dragged her nails across Seth's back. He flinched, but not altogether without pleasure. Taking the nail raking as evidence of Melissa's ardor, he ratcheted up his efforts.

From Brooke's perspective, Melissa seemed a little taken aback, a little unsure what to do, but she didn't smack him down or anything. Biting her lip, Brooke floated to the other side of the bed and pinched Melissa's butt through her denims.

She gasped. "Seth! What the hell?"

Seth, who'd been working his way into her bra cups, froze. "What? You don't like that?"

"No, I do not!"

"Since when?"

"What do you mean, since when? Since _forever_!"

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

Apparently mollified, she pulled him close for another kiss, her hands framing his face.

Smiling an evil smile, Brooke switched sides again, moved in close and pinched Seth's ear. Viciously.

She zoomed back as he howled and rolled away, a hand clamped to his ear.

"What the fuck, Melissa? I said I was sorry for trying to get your bra off."

She sat up. "What are you talking about?"

"You pinched my ear. And not the lobe! The _cartilage_. It stings like a bitch."

"I did no such thing, Seth Walker. You're the one who pinched me."

"Like hell I did!"

"You certainly did. Right on the ass. And I'll have a bruise to prove it tomorrow."

"Oh, God!"

Seth dove for a light. The lamp beside his bed must have been one of those that come on if you touch any part of it, because it came on with no fumbling. Much faster than Brooke anticipated. Too fast for her to disappear. And then there they were, looking at each other as the seconds ticked by.

The frozen tableau shattered when Melissa screamed. That seemed to galvanize Seth, who leapt up and grabbed a poker from the fireplace near his bed.

"You! You're the Heller!"

Brooke felt her heart racing--not here, but original Brooke back in the attic. She could feel her original's adrenaline rush, feel her screaming to get out of there, but somehow it just fed Brooke's excitement. She turned to face Seth Walker and his puny poker. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when it passed right through her. She'd let him swing at her, and when he realized the futility, realized just how vulnerable he was, she would open her mouth and unleash the primal scream. She would flay him alive with it. Melissa too. Damn them both!

"This should fix you," he said. Lifting the poker, he swung it at her in a downward arc.

To Brooke's shock, the poker struck her on the neck. The force of it stunned her, driving her to the ground.

Luckily, it must have shocked Seth, too, for he released his grip on the poker. Or maybe it was the effect of Melissa screaming in the background that unnerved him. Whatever the case, he lost his grip on his weapon, which lay propped on her chest. Big mistake on his part. She'd make him pay, and enjoy doing it.

She lifted a hand to brush the poker away, or rather she tried to. But to her horror, she realized she couldn't lift her arm. The blow must have damaged something. Brooke tried shrugging. All she needed to do was jolt the poker and it would roll right off, but she couldn't do that, either. Nor could she roll her body one way or the other.

Dammit, she was immobilized! Trapped by a thin piece of cast iron that she should be able to flick off like it was dandruff.

Panicked, she tried sinking through the floorboards, thinking to escape that way, leaving the poker lying harmlessly on the floor. Except--shit, shit, shit!--all she could manage was to sink her lower body through the floor. Her upper body, the part pinned by the iron poker, wouldn't budge. It was as though the iron had turned that part of her shadowy caster body into corporeal, physical matter, incapable of sliding through the solid floor.

Melissa screamed again. "Oh, God, it's in the floor!"

"Not all of it!" Seth said. "I think we trapped it!"

Okay, nothing left now but the scream. That would drive them away and give her some time to figure out how to get out of this mess.

She opened her mouth and... nothing! She couldn't scream. Couldn't make any noise at all. Defenseless. All her powers stripped.

Oh, God, she was so humped. Too exhausted to keep struggling, her lower limbs floated back up through the floor.

"Jesus, we really did trap it!" Seth's voice rose with exultation.

Melissa just sobbed harder.

"Oh, man, we gotta get some help." Seth raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'll stand guard here and you're going to run out to the barn and get Bryce. He's the one who's read all Grampie's journals. He knows everything there is to know about Heller hunting. He'll know what to do."

Melissa whimpered, her eyes fixed on Brooke's cast.

He turned on her in a rage. "Goddamn it, Melissa, get your ass out there right now and bring Bryce in!"

Without bothering to do up her shirt, Melissa tore the bedroom door open and fled, her feet pounding down the stairs.

A Heller hunting expert. Brooke would have groaned if she could have.

Oh, yeah. She was humped all right.

### Chapter 21

#### Every Dark Bit of Her Being

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE FELT THE heaviness of the late night. Nothing overwhelming, but she was starting to feel the press of it, from being out for so long. And the night wasn't over yet. For any of them. They--she and Alex--were hovering up over the roof of the Walker house. Not sitting on it, of course. That would be impossible; they'd sink right through it if they tried. But still, they were quietly resting close to it. Beside her, Alex hovered quietly, lost in her own thoughts as they waited for Brooke.

They'd followed her. At a distance, because neither she nor Alex had wanted Brooke to think she had the upper hand--that she could force them to tag along as she took off on her own. Poor Brooke. Maryanne shook her head. For such a lonely girl, she did everything she could to push the world away.

But still, they had to watch over her. The dogs had scuttled into their doghouses inside the kennel at their approach. The girls--even Brooke--avoided the horse barn. None of them wanted to frighten those poor animals further. It might kill them. Besides, the barn was well lit tonight. Maryanne and Alex had watched as Brooke made a beeline for the Walker house. Watched as she slipped boldly inside Seth's house, right through the front door.

_But what the heck was keeping her?_

As soon as Maryanne's mind formed the question, it started forming potential answers. She imagined an assortment of scenarios, each involving Brooke wreaking havoc, and each more disturbing than the last. But, oh wow, not nearly as disturbing as they should have been! Not nearly as disturbing as the old pre-casting Maryanne would have found them, considering what revenge Brooke was capable of reaping. Or, as Maryanne had to admit, she herself was capable of reaping. Like running Mr. McKenzie off the road. But Alex's warning from the gazebo was sticking in her mind, at least. And Alex was right. They had to keep this under control, and watch out for Brooke. They all had to cast with caution or else--The train of her thought derailed when the light snapped on below them, and a terrified scream cut into the night.

It wasn't a caster shout that only another caster could hear. Nor was it a primal scream that the world could hear and fear. This was a very high-pitched, frightened, human female scream coming from inside the house.

"What the hell!" Alex straightened beside her.

"That wasn't Brooke!" Maryanne said, rising.

Within seconds the yard light snapped on, and Maryanne saw the screamer all too clearly. A girl. She was screaming Bryce's name now, her pale, bare feet nearly blurring as she beat it across the frozen lawn, long black hair streaming behind her.

_Melissa_ , she realized. Seth's new girlfriend.

Melissa's open shirt fanned out behind her, and her arms pumped wildly as she raced toward the shed beside the horse barn as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. The fear on her face was unmistakable. She'd seen a Heller. Oh crap, she'd seen Brooke!

"What's Brooke done now?" Alex's snapped.

"More importantly, where is she now?" Even as Maryanne asked the question, Alex was already moving down toward the lone lit window. Maryanne followed. A second floor bedroom, she noted immediately. Seth's bedroom, no doubt.

Brooke should be out here. As soon as that light snapped on, she should have fled the house to rejoin the night.

"We have to stay out of the light!" Alex warned.

Maryanne nodded. "If we can." They both stopped outside the window and peered in through the glass.

Brooke! The fear that gripped Maryanne upon seeing Brooke trapped on the floor shocked her. Being out here had done nothing but dampen her emotions, stilling her fears and distancing her from her grief. But now, terror took hold. But not just terror. Seeing Brooke so helplessly entrapped by Seth, hurt and broken on the floor at his feet, cold rage began to burn in her chest.

Back at Harvell House, her body broke into a cold sweat. She felt Brooke's body struggle to move in that attic, just like Brooke's cast struggled on Seth's bedroom floor. But Brooke was helpless in both forms. Trapped with Seth Walker standing over her. The boy was trembling with his own fear, but he stood over Brooke nevertheless.

Maryanne peered closer. Brooke's black cast lay helpless beneath what appeared to be an old-fashioned poker. The depthless, empty blackness of her form didn't detract from the helplessness of it. She could barely move beneath the fire-blackened object, not even to lift a hand or twitch a finger. But she did roll her head to the side to seemingly look to the window. Even through the glass, Maryanne could hear her weakening voice utter its desperate cry.

_Help me._

Maryanne moved forward.

"Don't go through the glass!" Alex cried.

Maryanne held up. "Why not?"

"We don't know what it'll do to our casts!"

With a roar that only the casters could hear, Alex flew in through the wall. She cried out in pain this time--a pain Maryanne couldn't understand.

Until she shot through the wall herself.

It felt as if tiny knives ripped right through her and she cried out just as Alex had. Her original moaned back in the attic.

_What the hell just happened?_

Then she forgot to wonder, as Alex flew at Seth, menacingly close, then pulled back only to rush at him again. She paused out of Seth's reach, pointing to him with a sharp, meaningful finger, then pointed to Brooke on the floor. Repeatedly.

She was trying to scare him! Scare him into freeing Brooke. And he sure as hell looked scared!

Well, while she did that, Maryanne would grab Brooke. She was reaching to knock the poker aside when Alex shouted at her.

"Don't touch the poker! It's iron. You can't move it. And it'll weaken you, or hurt you."

Oh, crap! Alex _knew_ about this? And she hadn't shared it? Was that why she'd felt pain going through the old walls? Iron nails ripping through her cast? "More you haven't told us, Alex!"

"We don't have time for that now!"

Alex was right. They didn't have time for it. But they'd damn well _make_ time for it later. Right now-- _right freakin ' now_--they had to get Brooke out of here before Bryce came in. While Maryanne and Alex might be able to fight off Seth if he suddenly attacked, bent on capturing more Hellers this night, their chances with Bryce here would be greatly diminished. Right now, with Seth alone in his terror, they had an advantage--they had a chance. But Alex's gestures weren't working. Seth was scared, looking at her with unblinking wide eyes and trembling as she soared and pointed. But he wasn't moving. He wasn't releasing Brooke. He was on edge--but not over the edge.

Maryanne knew what she had to do. She _felt_ what she had to do--the pure instinctive, beating, growing, living _urge_ of it. The only thing she really could to save her sister, Brooke. Terrorize this boy some more. Bite at his sanity, shake him to his core. He was hurting her sister--she'd do what she had to do.

She screamed. Maryanne screamed with every dark bit of her being. The walls shook with the sound of it, and so did Seth. He covered his ears with his hands. He closed his eyes tightly and fell to the floor and curled down toward his knees, as if to dampen the sound from every sense.

Alex stood still now, directly across from Maryanne so the two were facing each other. She opened her mouth and unleashed her own unearthly cry. Maryanne looked at her as she did. And their eyes met.

_Their eyes!_

Maryanne could see Alex's eyes! Though etched in gray against the black cast, she could see all her facial features in these moments as they vented their fiercest cries. But she could see more than Alex's features. More than her dark eyes and her snake-bitten lip. She could see her _pain_. The _all-consuming_ pain lined her face as she wailed with her deeply drawn-down mouth. Maryanne could see the depth of her hurt, somehow could see the loss, the anger, the fear on Alex's dark cast face. Gray tears were etched deep into her cheeks. _Oh she 's been so wronged!_ And her eyes _..._ God, her eyes were staring straight at Maryanne's own. And Maryanne had to wonder--she had to know--just what dark depths Alex must be seeing in her own eyes.

Seth screamed. He reached out a hand toward Brooke-- _to free her_ --then withdrew it again. "No, dammit! I... I won't do it! I won't let a Heller go!"

His words were frantic as he lay on his side on the floor. But he wasn't freeing Brooke. Their cries--their two primal screams weren't enough!

But then there was another primal scream, joining in the black cast chorus.

It started from outside, but like lightening, shrieked into the Walker house, through Seth's bedroom wall.

Maryanne and Alex were startled into silence as they watched. The dark cast flew in and hovered directly over Seth and for the moment, they couldn't see its face. The strange cast hovered there--arms outstretched as if to grasp his body, her hands locked in ready claws as if to steal his soul.

Seth looked up. He screamed into the shrieking face before him. The cast turned toward Maryanne and Alex, and Maryanne knew immediately what she had to do. Alex did also, and now simultaneously the three dark casts raged their gut-wrenching screams into the night.

Maryanne was transfixed by the gray-lined cast face before her, revealed with the stranger's cries. As clearly as she'd seen pain and loss and everything else on Alex's cast, she saw the features just that clearly in this strange cast before her. There was a madness. A wildness. An anger struck so deep.

Crying now, Seth moved. He crawled the short distance at the feet of the three shrieking casters to reach Brooke, and he pushed the poker aside. Then he curled into a fetal position and closed into himself again. "Leave me... leave me alone."

"Get up, Brooke," Alex hissed as the casts relinquished their screaming.

A door slammed below them--Bryce was on the way.

"I... I can't," Brooke replied weakly.

Immediately, the strange cast was at her side, wedging herself behind her right shoulder, Maryanne went to the left. Awkwardly, Alex grabbed her legs. There was no weight to Brooke's cast, but the heaviness was somehow deeper. Weary. Draining.

"Hurry!" Maryanne cried. There was thumping on the hallway outside now--Bryce was running toward the room.

The three carried Brooke toward the wall by which they'd entered. They'd almost made their escape when Bryce Walker burst into the room, shoving the already open door wider. The mysterious new caster shrieked and darted toward him. She was going to attack! Maryanne knew as sure as anything. But as the door banged against the wall and back again with the force of the hand behind it, the caster stopped.

"I... Ira?" Her cast voice croaked and trembled as her head bent, looking down at the iron manacles locked in Bryce's hand.

The cast zoomed hastily away as Bryce swung the handcuffs, then further back as he swung his left fist. And it was Alex's hand on the strange caster's shoulder that finally pulled her from the room, through the wall, and into the pitch-black night.

Maryanne and Alex braced themselves for the pain of the exit, but Brooke cried out with it.

Every light in the Walker house came on as the four casters made their way to the woods. Struggling with Brooke and led by the strange caster, they stopped there just within the cover of tall, dark pines, close to the needle covered ground. They could hear Bryce's shouts as he banged out of the house, Melissa's frightened whispers. Seth was in the yard now, too, and he was still crying.

"We're... we're safe?" Brooke whispered. Guilt rode through her question. She leaned back on Maryanne.

"Not until we get home," Maryanne said. And oh, God, what a journey that was going to be. Between them, she and Alex were going to have to carry Brooke's strangely heavy cast, because she seemed unable to soar on her own. It was as though she'd been drained completely by her ordeal with the iron poker, turning her into dead weight. And Maryanne wasn't feeling so good herself. They'd been tired to start with, having been out longer than usual. Then that round trip through the wall with all those old iron nails and the spurt of speed they'd put on to get away had pretty much taken the rest of Maryanne's energy. But at least they had a fighting chance, thanks to this the stranger. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for helping us free our friend. But... who are you?"

The question hung, unanswered.

As Maryanne studied the stranger, the shock of it finally hit home. There was another like them! Another with the power to cast! Another possessed of the secret knowledge they shared.

"Go now," the stranger said in a rusty voice, then started soaring off.

"Wait," Alex called. "Can't you help us? Brooke can't fly by herself and--"

The strange caster paused and turned back. "I know. I'll bring help."

Help? What kind of help? Were there still more like them?

"Come on," Alex said. "We need to haul ass."

Each with an arm under Brooke, they started toward home. Every yard they covered was an excruciating effort of will. Maryanne wanted to talk to Alex, get her impressions about the stranger--God, the _caster_ --but couldn't spare the energy. She could barely think let alone talk. Not if they were going to keep moving forward.

Then the stranger was there again, moving up on Alex's right.

They stopped.

"Here," the stranger said, holding out her hand. "For her."

A jolt of shock zinged through Maryanne when she realized the significance of that outstretched hand. _Holy crap, she held an object!_ Whatever it was, it didn't pass through her dark fingers. How was that possible? Unless... No, it couldn't be iron. It wasn't debilitating her.

"What... what is it?" Brooke asked.

"Take it, Brooke," Alex urged. "It's safe."

The strange caster nodded, and Maryanne found herself joining in the encouragement. Whoever this stranger was, she was like them. One of them who'd come to their aid. She was a caster in the night. She knew their secrets. Knew of this power. And as sure as Maryanne had seen the pain in the others, this caster had seen the pain on their faces--she knew they suffered as she had.

Brooke reached out a trembling hand, but instead of slipping the thin circle into her palm, the caster slipped it around Brooke's wrist.

Brooke levitated under her own power. Not immediately, not with a snap as if shot with adrenaline. But slowly, and definitely, she regained her own strength. Part of it anyway. Maryanne felt her pull away, no longer needing their support.

"Copper," the strange caster croaked in that rusty voice. "Copper... help."

Her voice was childlike. No, not her _voice_. Her speech. It was as if her words were unpracticed, shy almost. But her size was comparable to their own. This wasn't the cast of a child. And hadn't this one known more than they how to fight Seth? How to truly terrorize as she raised her voice in a scream? And hadn't she called out a strange name to Bryce? No, not a strange name! One Maryanne had heard before.

_Ira_ , she'd said. That had to be Ira Walker. When she'd looked into Bryce's eyes, she'd thought she'd seen his grandfather, the Heller hunter.

"Hello, Connie," Alex suddenly said.

The dark cast whirled her head around. "You... you _know_ me?"

"I know you." Alex answered quietly. "I know everything."

Maryanne raised her hands to her head. _It couldn 't be! Connie Harvell was dead! Connie Harvell was murdered! Connie was... here amongst them, in the Mansbridge night._

Bright lights moved through the trees, past them. Instinctively the four casters held very still to blend in with the shadows as the truck lights swept by.

"Bryce," Brooke said, her voice regaining its strength. "He'll be pissed. If he finds us--"

"Can you make it home now?" Maryanne asked her.

Brooke raised a hand to rub the copper around her wrist. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think I can now."

"Copper... helps," the strange caster--er, _Connie_ --repeated. And she produced two more circular twists of thin metal. She handed a small wire circle to Alex, and then one to Maryanne. The girls slipped them around their wrist. "Copper... makes you stronger. Takes the pain... away."

The truck lights swept the woods again before the vehicle stopped and a car door slammed. Bryce was coming; thrashing through the woods.

"We have to go right now!" Brooke said, clearly not looking for another challenge this night.

Alex turned to Connie's cast. "Come with us!"

"No." She shook her head as she rose, and began moving through the trees. "I'll... see you all again."

Maryanne believed her with every dark bit of her being, as the three of them turned and soared off toward Harvell House.

### Chapter 22

#### Hard Landing

_Alex_

"DAMMIT!" BROOKE YELLED, then proceeded to turn the air blue with a few more pungent curses.

The old Alex would have laughed out loud.

Hell, if she wasn't so tired, the new Alex might have laughed, too.

Brooke had just tried to re-enter the attic through the stained glass window, but her outstretched hand had bounced right back, causing her to smack herself in the forehead.

"Apparently copper bracelets do not travel through glass," Alex observed.

"Thank you for that news flash," Brooke fumed.

Brooke had been first to the window, anxious to rejoin her body after the terrifying events of the night. Alex couldn't blame her. But after tormenting Seth Walker again, maybe she deserved that smack upside the head--a wake-up call from the Madonna.

Except--holy shit!--what if Brooke had broken the window when the copper hit it? Would they have been able to get back inside? Or would they all be stuck out here, like Connie's cast? The thought made her shudder, and she decided against mentioning it to the others. They'd had enough jolts tonight.

Alex swallowed hard. God, what a disaster. What happened to Brooke tonight scared the crap out of her. Scared her even more when she thought about what could have happened. Yeah, she should have found a way to stop Brooke, but Alex knew much of the blame for tonight lay squarely on her own shoulders.

Meeting Connie had also added another layer of fear. Though Alex was very glad to have met her, she was nevertheless scared of the implications. Possibly eternal implications.

Then there was that other thing that scared the crap out of her. The one that weighed the heaviest. The one that never left her. What new memories would press in on her tonight?

"What do we do with the bracelets?" The slim band of copper around Maryanne's left wrist disappeared as she covered it with her right hand

"We'll have to leave them out here, I guess," Brooke said. Her voice took on a very un-Brooke-like tremor. "But I hate to."

"I don't think we have a choice." Alex looked around. "That big oak by the river," she said. "I'll hook them on a high branch and we'll get them next time we cast out. Give them to me."

"When will that be?" Maryanne asked. She seemed as hesitant as Brooke to hand Connie's makeshift bracelets over. Clearly, she wanted to keep it close, this giver of strength and taker of pain. Alex knew the feeling.

Alex left the question unanswered as she collected the bracelets and flew towards the dark oak.

_When will that be?_

Soon.

Now that she'd seen Connie, it would be very soon. Even if she had to go out alone.

With all three copper bracelets tucked securely within the oak branches, the heaviness of the night returned to Alex. She soared back to Harvell House where Maryanne and Brooke waited by the window. They felt the exhaustion too, Brooke probably worst of all. It was time for that re-fusion of body and cast.

Brooke was the first one through the glass. From outside, Alex watched as Brooke's cast reunited with her body with a force that sent her skidding back across the attic. Or would have, had she not tried to control the momentum. Alex watched her twist sideways and body-slam into the dresser, grimacing as the lone flame that still burned atop the dresser shook. But the stubby little candle didn't topple. Brooke sat up automatically, wrapped her arms around her knees. The adrenaline rush wasn't making her bounce tonight. No doubt she was still scared, and rightly so. She rocked herself as she sat there on the floor, her head down on her knees.

Maryanne's cast-in wasn't quite so dramatic. Just as fast, but she went with the force of it and slid all the way to the back wall. She jumped up immediately, and went to Brooke. Not to wrap her arms around her--she knew better than to try that. But to sit beside her. To wait with her.

Alex hesitated before she moved through the glass, finding herself looking up into the Madonna's eyes as she hovered there. There was such compassion in the lady's eyes.

She was getting closer to remembering the rape--the rapist. With every cast out and back in, that hammer in her memory would crack through a little more. And while she desperately wanted to know-- _needed to know_ --who had hurt her, facing those brutal truths, bit by bit, was a living nightmare.

Alex braced herself, then slipped in through the window. Instantly, she blasted into her body, blasted into the new memories. The wind knocked out of her as she shot across the floor.

_Hold them._ That was her only thought as she stopped against the back wall. _Hold on to the memories, but hold them down. Just for a little while. Just until you 're alone again._

Her pulse raced, and she could hear the ragged unevenness of her own breathing. When she stood, her knees shook. But Alex walked across the attic to join the other two girls. Maryanne had set the one low-burning candle on the floor beside her and Brooke. The two looked up at her. Even in that dim light, they could all see the wildness in each others' expanded pupils.

"What happened back there, Brooke?" Alex asked. "What did you--"

"What did _I_ do?" Brooke snapped. "For God's sake, Robbins! What did _you_ do? Or _not_ do, I should say. You could have got me--"

Brooke broke off abruptly.

Got her what? None of them really knew the full extent of what could have happened tonight.

"Trapped?" Maryanne offered, and for once her eyes were hard. Clearly, she was not rushing to Alex's defense. Alex couldn't blame her.

"Because you didn't warn us about the iron, you could have gotten her trapped, at the very least," Maryanne continued. "Hurt, maybe? Broken?" Her voice lowered. "Killed, even?"

And there it was, out in the open. What surely the others had wondered all along, but none had dared to voice. Could their casts be killed?

"What would happen, Alex?" Brooke asked. "If my cast was trapped or... or worse?"

Alex shook her head. She sat. "I... I don't know!"

Brooke hissed, only Maryanne's warning hand on her arm stopping her from shouting. "You're going to tell us, Alex! _Everything._ I don't know where you hide that damned diary when you're not carrying it around with you, or tucking it under your pillow at night--yes, I've seen you! But I'll tear this place apart and read it myself if you hold back any more secrets! You could have... "

"Brooke--"

Brooke drew a shaky breath and continued, as though she hadn't even heard Alex. "When Seth came at me with that poker, I could have dodged the blow, but I didn't even try. I thought it would just go right through me. But then he hit me with it. I think the contact scared him into dropping it. I could have bounced then, except the damned poker landed on me. Oh, Lord, I couldn't even _move_ under it. You've no idea how helpless I--"

"Okay, I screwed up!" Alex nearly shouted the words. She owed Brooke an apology. Maryanne, too. The old Alex would never give it. The new Alex came close. "I should have told you about the iron. But I... I didn't think you'd need to know. I just--"

"Wanted to keep everything to yourself," Maryanne said, still with that unfamiliar hard edge.

"Maybe. I just... " Alex lowered her head a moment. Ran her hands quickly through her hair in frustration. "It won't happen again."

Brooke huffed. "Damn right it won't happen again! Is there anything else we should know?"

Alex gritted her teeth. "Yeah. _Leave Seth Walker alone_."

Brooke ignored the dig. "Anything else that works like iron?"

"Not that I know of." Alex drew a breath. "Connie wrote about iron. Ira Walker somehow found out it had properties that she couldn't move through. He grabbed Connie in the barn one time, tried to lock her in the iron handcuffs. Probably the old ones Bryce stormed into the house with. Those were meant for Connie, but she got away. She wrote how terrifying it had been. There were blurred spots on those pages that could only have been made by her tears. I didn't tell you about the iron because it just didn't occur to me. I guess I didn't think you'd have to know."

"No," Maryanne said. "That's not quite true. You didn't tell us because you want to keep Connie all to yourself. You didn't want to break Connie's confidence. It's as easy as that, Alex. You want to keep her to yourself."

"But you can't," Brooke said. "We're in this together. Or so help me, Alex--"

"I know! I know!" She tightened her fist on her knees.

"So, no more secrets?" Maryanne said.

Alex met Maryanne's eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I got that."

"Is there any other danger?" Brooke asked. "Besides iron."

"I already told you, no. At least, not that Connie wrote of."

"Are we safe to go out again?" This time it was Maryanne voicing concern. "Or are we going to be hunted now?"

That Alex didn't know, and it was Brooke who ventured a guess.

"Ira Walker spent decades hunting the Mansbridge Heller," Brooke said. "According to Seth anyway. He said his nutty old grandfather never stopped looking for it. Seth didn't have the time of day for the old man. But Bryce... I guess Bryce was supposedly fascinated by the stories he told. And the notes he kept. Everyone else just thought the old coot was batshit-crazy."

"Except those who saw Connie's cast themselves," Maryanne said. "They'd believe Ira." She turned to Alex. "And as far as Connie is concerned, you read to us that they were coming to kill her. That Connie heard the stories of her death around Mansbridge."

In a faraway voice as she got lost in the moment, Alex repeated the writings:

_Dear Diary, I know they 're going to kill me. I'm so scared. The fear is like an acid churning in my stomach and turning my limbs to water._

_But I know something else._

_I know why the Madonna bleeds. It 's not because of her thorn-pricked feet. But because of her breaking heart._

"That's what Connie wrote," Brooke said, she held herself even closer. "I recognize those words."

"But not all she wrote, is it, Alex?" Maryanne asked.

"No. It wasn't all she wrote." Alex stood. She didn't have to dig the diary out of its hiding place to recall the words verbatim. In the dark she crossed the attic floor to look through the window as she reeled off the last of what Connie had written:

" _I 'm casting out, Dear Diary. One last time, forever. I'll hide you, say a prayer, tap on that window, and join the night forever. They'll kill my body. They will take my life like they've taken my Lily Michelle and everything else! I don't know what will happen to this cast of mine with no body to come back to. I fear being all alone. I fear being hunted. But I will survive._

_One way or the other, I will survive EVERYTHING that they do to me._

"And then she signed her name one last time: Connie Edwina Harvell."

"Oh!" Maryanne gasped. "Her body is really dead? When we met her out there, I thought... "

"Yeah," Alex answered, turning back toward them. "Her body's really dead. But her cast isn't. It's still roaming the Mansbridge night. But I swear I really didn't believe it could still be out there, or I'd have told you. To have survived all this time... I think maybe I didn't want to believe it."

Brooke tilted her head. "Maybe... maybe Connie Harvell's alive. It's possible."

"Did you see her face?" Alex asked. "The gray features when she shrieked?"

"You saw that too?" Brook said "Thank God! I thought I was losing it!"

"No, I saw her face," Maryanne said. "The anger and the wildness." Her glance slid quickly to Alex, then away again. "And the youth," Maryanne said. "The caster I saw was young, like us."

"You're right." Brooke nodded. "I saw that too. But the loneliness that came out... My God, that was the worst."

Alex silently agreed. The loneliness in Connie's cast had been heartbreaking.

"Connie died all right," Alex said. "I'm certain of it. But her cast has survived all these years. With nowhere to go. And Ira Walker hunting her until the day he died. Can you imagine?"

The silence was telling. They could all imagine, too well.

The candle guttered out.

Alex sighed. "Guys, I... I should have warned you about the iron. I should have told you about Connie casting out before she was murdered. I'm sorry."

Brooke stood. "I want to read the diary for myself."

Alex stiffened. "You can't. You'll never find it and I'll never tell you where it is. Just trust me. Iron's the only thing that ever hurt Connie's cast."

"Like you'd tell us if there was more!"

"Of course she would," Maryanne answered.

Alex wanted to give Maryanne a grateful look, but Brooke was still glaring at her across the dark attic and Alex wouldn't blink. No way would she give in on this. No way would she give that diary over.

It was Brooke who eventually broke the silence.

"Fine. But just remember, we're all in this, Alex. It's not just you."

"Yeah," she said, letting the tension drain out of her shoulders. "All four of us now."

They gathered the burned out candles and walked towards the stairs. It was late; they were all tired now. But as if in unspoken, mutual agreement all three stopped before they descended the stairwell to their floor.

"We're not going to give it up? Maryanne asked, anxiously. "The casting out, I mean."

Alex waited for Brooke to weigh in.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. I'm not giving this up."

"Me neither," Alex replied.

Maryanne sighed, more with relief that fatigue "I'm in, too."

Somehow it didn't surprise Alex that neither Brooke nor Maryanne wanted to stop casting any more than she did, despite the danger. Oh, those dangers would have to be weighed and considered, precautions taken. But they were casters now. Each found their relief out there. And yes, a thrilling sense of power. They embraced the night and the night embraced them.

Then there was Connie. Alex had no intention of abandoning her out there.

And Connie wouldn't abandon them.

"How about tomorrow night?" Alex said.

Maryanne pushed the small button on her watch, illuminating it momentarily. "You mean tonight. It's three am."

"Tonight," Brooke said.

"Yes," Alex said. "Tonight."

_And Connie will be there,_ she thought. _I just know she will._

Brooke was first down the stairs and through the door onto the second floor. Maryanne followed close on her heels. But Alex hesitated and looked back over the attic floor where weeks ago she'd lain, abused and bloodied.

The held-back memories were crumbling forward as she stood alone. And now the only thing she was holding back was the tears.

She could almost hear him grunting, the bastard who'd raped her. Through the stupefying shroud of whatever drug he'd used, she could almost hear her own ragged breathing--sobs, almost--beneath the coat he'd covered her head with. She could feel the pain and fear and humiliation. And when he'd spent himself, he'd gotten up and walked away laughing, low and deep. She'd rolled over then, the coat falling away. He'd turned around just at that moment... Oh, God! His face! She could almost see it now. Almost see him laughing there before she'd passed out. It was so damned close, yet still just out of reach!

A lone tear fell down Alex's cheek. She clenched her hands so tightly her fists shook. _Let them shake,_ she thought. _Let them shake with rage like the rest of her!_

She'd remember his face soon enough, and when she did... all hell would break loose. Or rather, all _Heller_. A _shrieking_ Heller. And she wouldn't stop until she'd shredded the last bit of his sanity and left him curled up in a fetal position in a pool of his own piss.

Buoyed by that grimly satisfying thought, Alex walked down the stairs, closed the attic door behind her and slipped through the darkness.

### Chapter 23

#### The Morning After

_Maryanne_

"ARE YOU GOING to tell Betts?"

"Are you kidding?" Maryanne glanced at Brooke, who was examining her reflection in the mirror. With the cooling weather, Brooke had traded in her signature black leather bomber for a gray wool wrap coat that looked like it cost more than the semester's tuition, and she was busy adjusting the belt just so. "She'd be all over me."

And for good reason. Maryanne was planning to skip school again today. A girl could feign a cold, menstrual cramps, and a suddenly sprained ankle only so many times. After missing nine days since the beginning of the school year, Maryanne had pretty much exhausted plausible excuses, not to mention Mrs. Betts' patience. She figured she'd have to test positive for the bubonic plague at this point for the old girl to let her stay home.

"You're going to get caught," Alex said flatly. Her back was to Maryanne as she bent over her bed, packing her book bag.

"Not a chance. I'm going back to sleep." Maryanne sat cross-legged on the bed and punched her comfy pillow for emphasis. "John Smith did the upstairs carpets and bathrooms yesterday. Today he'll do the main floor below. Predictable as clockwork. I'll be quiet as a church mouse--no one will know I'm here."

"Don't flush the toilet," Brooke added, not unhelpfully. "They'll hear the water running downstairs."

"Oh right," Maryanne said. "Thanks on that."

"And I'll bring home the extra math Your Biggest Fan assigns." Brooke smirked.

"Yeah, right." McKenzie would no doubt send home the usual extra pages via Brooke, and Maryanne would do them. Sorta.

Alex zipped up her bag and turned to face her. "You're missing a lot of school."

Maryanne met Alex's eyes, intending to shrug off the comment. But once their gazes met, she couldn't pull away. Alex's eyes were like little red beacons, so tired looking. So strained from the lack of sleep they all felt. But there was another reason for the redness.

When they'd crept back to their beds last night, Maryanne had positively crashed the moment her head hit the pillow. She'd heard nothing beyond the chatter of her dreams--which, not surprisingly, featured Connie--but she would bet any money that Alex had been crying beneath her covers again.

_What 's haunting her?_ It wasn't the first time Maryanne had wondered.

Brooke yawned widely, drawing Maryanne's attention. She still looked like her standard million bucks, with the perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfectly made up face, but even she couldn't hide the dragginess under her $50 foundation.

Right on cue, Brooke leaned toward the mirror for a close-up, then stepped back again in disgust. "Oh man," she said. "It's going to be a long day."

"So skip it." Maryanne almost couldn't believe how easily that suggestion rolled from her. Where was the grade junkie of yesteryear? The last two years in high school, any mark below a 95 was enough to cause a minor panic attack. But now...

"Nah. I'm good," Brooke said, dismissing the idea immediately.

And Maryanne knew why. Brooke hoped to see Seth today.

Though the Walker boys and Melissa Kosnick went to the public school, kids from both schools frequently gathered at the downtown's only mall over the lunch hour. For the kids who didn't want to stomach the cafeteria at their respective schools, or who just wanted to see and be seen, the small food court became the hub between 11:45 a.m. and 1:15 p.m. Maryanne didn't often go there. Nor did Alex or Brooke. But Maryanne knew they'd both be heading that way today.

They were both anxious to see Seth, Bryce and Melissa. But especially Seth.

They'd talked it over this morning. Early this morning. Alex had sat up before the clock radio alarm even went off, blurting out, "Holy-shit! What if Seth saw us shrieking? All of us, even Connie. The grey lines. Our... our faces."

"They were... distorted." Maryanne had tried to keep the worry out of her voice, but knew she hadn't been entirely successful. "And maybe it's only something we casters see... in each other. Besides, even if regular people _can_ see the lines, we don't really look much like ourselves. I mean, if you hadn't known it was me... you wouldn't have recognized me. Right?" She'd been trying to convince all of them. Mostly herself. "It's like the whole Clark Kent as Superman. No one _expects_ to see Clark Kent as a superhero--"

"Of course!" Brooke broke in. "Context! No one will expect to see us as the Mansbridge Hellers."

They'd left it at that, and Maryanne prayed they were right. Hopefully, Brooke and Alex would get a read on that when they saw the Walker boys today.

Still, she'd been anxious enough, she'd almost gotten ready to go to school.

Almost.

God, what was wrong with her? Maryanne had missed more time this term than she had in her whole high school career back in Burlington. And her midterm grades had been lower than she'd expected; there'd even been one D in there, a grade she'd _never_ seen before. Low enough for her parents to phone her outside the usual Sunday night call to ask if everything was all right. Did she want to come home?

How could she go home? After everything.

She shook her head to dislodge the thoughts. She wouldn't go there now. To those thoughts of Jason. She'd stay rolled up in the reprieve of last night's casting as long as she could. And she'd stay rolled up in the blankets too.

"We'll lock the door as we leave," Alex said.

"Why?"

Brooke slung her book bag on her shoulder. "Yeah. Why?"

Alex's face reddened. "Because... because someone might accidentally barge in. And then Maryanne would be caught. Questions would be asked. You know?"

On that lame excuse, Alex opened the door and walked into the hallway. With a little shake of her head after Alex and a wave to Maryanne, Brooke followed. And she locked the door behind her.

Maryanne lay back on the bed, smiled up at the ceiling. She stretched her arms out then folded her hands under her head. But no sooner had she closed her eyes, when they shot open again.

Thumps on the stairs. The doorknob was turning. A key in the lock? Aw, frig! Mrs. Betts? She had keys to all the rooms. Had she been caught after all? Crap. Oh crap oh--

Brooke opened the door and crossed the room to Maryanne's bed with a bottle of orange juice swinging in her right hand. In her left, she carried a frosted sticky bun wrapped in a cloth napkin. "I snuck these from the breakfast room for you."

"Betts didn't catch you? Wonder why you were bringing food upstairs?" Food in the bedrooms was a definite no-no in Harvell House.

"Nah, Betts is in one of her moods again. All mopey and stuff."

Maryanne cracked open the orange juice. "This is nice of you, Brooke."

Brooke smiled, momentarily. But then the smile disappeared suddenly, almost as though she'd just realized it was there. Or more to the point, _unguardedly_ there.

"Well, whatever." She walked out of the room again, closed the door behind her.

Whatever, indeed.

Maryanne only slept till nine. Until _exactly_ nine before she opened her eyes to stare at the mocking bedside clock. That was annoying. Sitting up in bed, she polished off the sticky bun and drank the rest of the juice before she tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom, quietly took care of things there and then went back to the room. She dressed in comfy faded jeans and one of her favorite sweatshirts. The house was creepy quiet, as if it were itself in slumber. Outside, she could hear the November wind gently soughing around the old house's corners.

Now what?

Sneak down the stairs and out the front door to explore Mansbridge some more?

_Or sneak_ up _the stairs?_

As soon as the idea hit her, Maryanne was grinning with it. She'd sneak up to the attic. Explore a bit in the daylight hours. Alex had obviously poked around up there on her own. Brooke too. Why not her?

Maryanne carefully opened the bedroom door. Standing there, she could hear someone--John Smith? Patricia Betts?--walking on the hardwood floor down below. Taking a breath, she glided down the hallway and closed the door to the attic behind her. She turned the handle fully so it would latch silently into place, then climbed the stairs.

The Madonna was in full brightness such as Maryanne had never seen her before. The greens were all the brighter, the white cloth the baby was swaddled in, absolutely brilliant. The roses at the lady's feet were a radiant, almost liquid-looking red. For a moment, Maryanne regretted she wasn't out there in the sunshine. It was obviously a beautiful day outside, particularly considering how late it was in the season. There wouldn't be too many more days as nice as this.

She stood there a moment, trying to persuade herself that she should go outside instead of hanging around the stuffy attic. To no avail. The pull to secretly explore this space was stronger.

Hands on her hips, she looked around. Dust danced in the beams of light that shone through the lone window. Everything else looked gray to graying. Silent and still. But somehow infused with life. She still 'felt' places. And this place--this one particular room--felt... Connie-full.

"Yes. That's it," she said out loud. "This room feels like Connie."

It was true.

The more Maryanne knew of Connie Harvell, and now that she'd _met_ Connie, the more this room truly felt like her. Felt like _hers_. Holding Connie's secrets. There was an old wardrobe in the far corner by the stairs, and as Maryanne turned around, it caught her attention anew. She'd seen it before, of course, a dozen times. One side of it was blocked open by cardboard boxes marked 'Books'. But the other side was firmly closed and she'd never maneuvered around the old furniture and boxes to see what, if anything, was inside it. Something of Connie's, maybe?

"No time like the present."

Maryanne realized she was talking to herself again, and laughed. Quiet would do that to a person. Well to her, anyway.

She almost tripped over a half-crushed wicker basket as she made her way to the wardrobe, but caught her balance. Whew! They'd have heard that downstairs if she'd hit the floor. She resumed picking her path, mentally figuring the best way to move the big boxes without creating a lot of noise. But when she got to the wardrobe, she saw she wouldn't have to move them after all. There was plenty of clearance to get the door open. Almost as though they'd been pushed aside already. All she had to do was pull the door open and find... Nothing.

Not so much as a worn shoe on the floor of it, or wire coat hanger dangling down from the rod above. Maryanne snorted a laugh at herself. All that mental buildup just to find--

The door to the attic creaked open on the floor below.

Maryanne's heart thundered. _Someone was coming up the stairs_! Oh crap, some _ones_! There were at least two sets of footfalls clomping on the stair treads.

Were they looking for her? Had the school called the house?

She told herself there were worst things than being caught jigging school. To which she replied, _Yeah, like being caught up here in the off-limits attic while jigging school!_

Crap! She had to hide, and time was running out.

The wardrobe! It was plenty big enough--and looked solid enough--to hold her. With the footsteps growing louder, Maryanne ducked inside.

Of course, she immediately had visions of spiders. God, she could almost feel them brushing her face as she reached out to pull the door closed.

Well, almost closed. She left the door cracked open just enough to peek through.

Patricia Betts came into her narrow view first, standing on the attic floor. Someone was with her, and it didn't take many mumbling words for Maryanne to know it was the caretaker, John Smith.

Maryanne held her breath as Mrs. Betts looked around, her eyes quickly raking past the wardrobe. And she stopped breathing entirely as she eavesdropped on the conversation.

Mrs. Betts' hand flew to her forehead, then quickly down again. "I'm telling you, John... I don't like it. Why was this door unlocked? He must have... he must have been up here. Why?"

"Patricia, you've got yourself worked up over nothing again. It's his house."

_C.  W. Stanley? _Was that who they were talking about? Had to be. He was the guy who owned Harvell House.

"What business would he have up here?" Her voice was more exhausted than shrill, but there was conviction in it. "None! Kassidy said she saw him--this time she was sure it was C. W.--looking in the parlor window last night. Staring right at her. And I... I saw him on the second floor myself just last week, banging on some floor boards."

"Were the girls around?"

She shook her head. "No. It was during school hours. And for once, everyone had gone to school." She huffed a sarcastic laugh. "I don't know what's going on this year. We always have our girls, but this year even the _good_ ones are cutting class."

Guilt clawed Maryanne as she watched Betts shake her head.

"Well, if the girls weren't around, what's the problem?" John said. "It's C. W.'s house. He may have leased it to the school for a dollar for use as a residence, but he still holds the deed. He's probably just checking on the old place."

"Or checking on me."

And there it was. That frazzled, downcast and worried look on Betts's face. The one she wore too often.

"I've no family, John. No place to go. No savings to speak of. If C. W. wants me gone, I'll be out on the streets."

"Then say nothing about his... visits."

Mrs. Betts slashed at the tears on her cheeks. "But what if... what if I'm right? What if he is... lurking around the girls, leering at them? How do I say nothing? You see the predicament I'm in. If I say anything and I'm wrong, I'm damned. If I say nothing and he... " She let her voice trail off.

John sighed. "Kassidy tells stories. Everyone knows it. C. W. just likes to talk to the girls. Feel young. Feel useful. He sees himself as some kind of surrogate grandfather."

Mrs. Betts sighed. "Maybe."

"Have you ever really seen him do anything wrong?"

Maryanne herself couldn't imagine it. Betts shook her head. She drew a shaky breath as she looked around the attic.

"You'll... you'll watch out for things around here?"

"Always have. Always will."

"I'm probably worrying over nothing."

"I know it."

"And get a new lock for that door!" Mrs. Betts was on the stairs, but calling over her shoulder. "The last thing we need is the girls snooping around up here!"

"I'll do it this very morning," John said.

Oh, damn! A lock on the attic door.

And Maryanne's heart beat harder still.

### Chapter 24

#### Fries with That

_Alex_

IT WAS TWELVE noon and Alex and Brooke were at the mall.

"What do you bet Maryanne's still sleeping?" Brooke asked.

"Either that or staring up at the ceiling, bored out of her mind."

Alex found herself holding her breath as she and Brooke strode--well, Brooke strode, Alex just walked--past the shops and into the food court. Automatically, she checked out the exits. She could see two. One by the smoke shop and one by the cinemas. Good. That was good.

Money in hand, Brooke volunteered to get their orders at Submarine Sam's while Alex found and held a seat in the food court, which was filling quickly.

Alex twisted in her seat, wishing Brooke would hurry. Though she'd never admit that to anyone. Never show it in a million years. Except--crap!--she _was_ showing it right now! She'd been scratching her sweaty left palm.

She stopped immediately and folded her hands on her lap as she sat straight in the chair. Then, realizing how dopey that must look, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her pea coat and slouched down in the seat, throwing her head back.

Better.

It was the crowd.

It was being so enclosed here. Again she checked out the exits.

She sighed. It wasn't abating, this claustrophobic feeling she'd had since the rape. It was still there, ready to erupt the moment the walls closed in.

The only relief she got from it was when she cast out. She never felt a bit claustrophobic when she was out there in cast form. Fear took a back seat. Well, except for worrying about their bodies, so helpless back at Harvell House. If only that insulation from her phobias would last longer when she cast back in.

She looked around the food court--the crowd was buzzing. The cool kids were going with their tall, non-fat, half-caf lattes. Kassidy and Leah were hitting on a couple of guys from the community college. Successfully, it appeared. And everywhere--at every table--people were talking. Yes, this would be the best place to learn what, if any, rumors were flying about the Mansbridge Hellers. And the best person to supply them would be--

"Hey, Alex!"

_Dani Mann._

Alex turned to see Danielle Mann smiling at her. She'd been dressed as a sparkling fairy godmother last night and the occasional bit of glitter still shone in her hair. And OMG, was that a touch of green clinging to the side of her neck? She and Frankenstein must have gotten more than a little friendly.

"Hey, Dani," Alex said. "Have a seat."

Dani slid into the bolted seat across from Alex, settling her poutine and Pepsi-laden tray on the narrow table.

"You guys peaced early last night." Dani's eyes roamed the food court as she tucked into her gravy soaked fries.

"Yeah. Just... not in the mood."

"And after you worked so hard on your costume!"

"Right." Alex grinned. "The dance just seemed... pretty lame."

"Oh, it got better as the night went on." Dani waggled her eyebrows. "Especially for me."

"You and Frankenstein?"

"The one and only. Also known as Huxley Burns."

"Don't think I know him."

"You've probably seen him around, though he doesn't come here much. He's a jock, into health food and all that." Dani saluted the notion with a fork full of cheese. "You'd probably recognize him without the green paint though. At six-two, he's hard to miss. He hangs around with Bryce Walker a lot. You know Bryce, don't you?"

Alex's attention perked, but she just lifted a casual eyebrow. "Bryce Walker? Isn't that Seth Walker's younger brother?"

"Older brother, actually. He's a year behind Seth in school though. Childhood cancer--leukemia. From what I understand it's a miracle he's alive. But he missed two years of grade school because of it."

Oh shit. Alex had known a girl back in Halifax who'd been stricken with leukemia in middle school. She'd recovered and was now studying nursing in Fredericton. But it had been touch and go--mostly go--for a while. Alex felt a pang of sympathy for Bryce Walker, but tucked the feeling away. She was here for gossip. She had to stay focused. "Was Bryce at the dance?"

It was all she needed to say. Dani shook her head. "No, he wasn't out last night. I guess the horses had a scare or something and he wouldn't leave them."

"I saw Seth at the dance. He and his girlfriend... "

"Melissa Kosnick." Dani rolled her eyes. "Those two--all over each other. And I thought Huxley and I were bad! But Seth and Melissa... don't it just make you want to--"

"Hurl." Brooke plopped her tray onto the table as she took a seat beside Dani.

"Er, sorry Brooke." Dani grimaced. "I know you and Seth used to be an item."

"Ancient history. Completely."

"He's so not worth it, huh?" Dani added.

"None of them are."

And though Brooke waved the whole thing off with her hand, Alex didn't miss the look in her roommate's eyes as stared across the room. Alex shifted in her seat to follow Brooke's stare.

Right to the couple in question.

And there was no question they were a couple.

Seth and Melissa were holding hands as they sat across the table from one another. Seth played a thumb over her knuckles, back and forth in a gentle caress. The sight of Melissa's tiny hand in Seth's larger one spoke volumes. But it didn't roar; it whispered. This wasn't Seth paying his dues in the coin of a public show of affection for the benefit of Melissa's friends, so he could reap his reward in private. The connection between the two was palpable. Alex felt the tenderness they had for each other, Seth's protectiveness. This was serious. And nothing, she suspected, remotely like whatever shallow emotion he'd harbored for Brooke.

As they watched, Seth leaned over and kissed Melissa quickly, then pulled back. Gathering both her hands into his, he mouthed something that looked like, "Don't worry."

Alex turned back around. Brooke tore her burning glare away.

Dani, by no means oblivious to the situation, leaned in closer and whispered, "Did you hear what happened over at the Walker place last night, after the dance? Total Halloween shit!"

"What was that?" Alex asked. She clamped down on her excitement as she pulled the paper from her wrap, but couldn't think of eating a bite until she'd heard what Dani had to say.

Dani looked around, as if she were about to share some earth-shattering secret and didn't want to be overheard, but chances were that if rumors were flying half the kids in the food court had heard them already. Mansbridge was that small of a town. The schools were that close together.

"Well," Dani said. "Apparently Melissa saw a Heller last night."

"Oh, one of those costumes with the pennies--" Alex tried to sound casual.

"Ha! She wishes! No, apparently Miss Melissa thinks she saw a real Heller right inside the house. And then a pack of them flying though the sky, she claims, out at the Walker Farm. Scared the crap out of her!"

Brooke raised a questioning eyebrow along with that cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk. "Do tell?"

"Yeah, I guess she and Seth were watching TV late last night and one flew right into the room. Attacked Seth. Melissa too. Then Seth toppled it with a broom--"

"Poker."

Alex shot Brooke a warning glare.

"Well," Brooke recovered. "I _heard_ it was a poker. But you know how stories fly around here."

"Do I ever!" Dani shook her head. "But it probably was a poker, now that you mention it. Sounds more logical."

"Why?" Brooke asked.

"Pokers are made of iron, but I've yet to see an iron broom!"

"And that's significant, why?" Alex asked.

"Oh right, you guys aren't from around here, are you? Legend has it that Hellers are helpless against iron."

For one fleeting second, Alex met Brooke's knowing stare.

"Anyway, Melissa ran for Bryce while Seth stayed with the Heller," Dani said. "Bryce was still out in the horse barn. But while she was gone, the Heller got away."

"How?"

"Apparently, a whole swarm of Hellers came in and attacked Seth."

"Wow," Alex breathed.

"Yeah." A hint of giddiness was unmistakable in Brooke's voice. "Yeah... wow."

"Bizarre or what! But Melissa swears it's true." Dani shook her head. "I'd say someone must have put angel dust in her weed, except she doesn't touch drugs."

Alex fiddled some more with her wrap. "What does Seth say about the whole thing?"

Dani removed the plastic cap from her soda, tipped the cup back and chomped on the mouthful of ice. "Seth isn't saying 'boo'. Nothing at all. His grandfather was nuts, they say, always looking for the Heller, and Seth just hates when people bring it up. So his girlfriend claiming to have seen not just one but a flock of them, must be driving him... well, nuts. But holy crap, he looks terrible."

He did.

Dani continued. "Seth must have talked to Melissa and told her to tone it down."

"Why?" Brooke asked.

Dani shrugged. "Dunno. She wouldn't say a word when I asked her about it myself. Just mumbled 'never mind'. But man, I could see it in her eyes! She believes she saw something. But the cat's got her tongue on the whole thing right now."

"That's not all that's got her tongue." Brooke nodded toward the couple, who were half-standing to lean across the table for another kiss. Brooke smiled, dangerously.

Alex shook her head. "God, why don't they just get a room?" She turned back to Dani. "Did Bryce see anything?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Not that he mentioned to Huxley. And they had hockey practice this morning before Huxley picked me up for school." A smile absolutely lit Dani's face. "Oh, and guess what else happened at the dance!"

"What?" Alex asked out of a politeness she never would have pretended last year, yet she was soon tuning out the drama of who broke up with whom, which cheerleader got pissed at which jock, who puked on the dance floor, and what they were smoking in the boys' john. Her eyes were on Seth and Melissa.

Seth _did_ look like hell. There were dark circles under his eyes on his otherwise too-pale face. As she watched, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and then did so again. Melissa didn't look any better. She wore not a trace of make-up, and her long black hair was pony-tailed up in place. Clearly not the beauty queen's usual attire. As Alex watched, the two stood, looking for all the world as if pulled by a simultaneous thread. They left their uneaten lunches on the table and--oh shit!--started walking this way!

"Be nice," Alex warned Brooke.

She grinned. "Aren't I always?"

Alex's heart pounded as Seth and Melissa drew closer, but they didn't so much as cast a glance at the girls, not even when Dani gave a friendly little wave. No, their eyes were fixed on the exit, on getting the hell out of there.

Brooke's hand on Melissa's arm stopped them as they passed.

"Oh hey, Melissa," she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. "I heard you had a hell of a night. Or, should I say a _Heller_ of a night?"

Melissa's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, only pressed her thin lips more closely together.

"Back off, Brooke," Seth said.

"What?" Brooke asked. "Can't a girl be friendly? Concerned?"

" _You_ can't!" he said.

Brooke ignored the dig. "I heard Melissa saw some sort of boogie-man-thingie--"

"A Heller," Melissa whispered, and Alex's heart went out to the terrified girl. "It was a--"

"It was nothing!" Seth hissed at Brooke "Why don't you just mind your own fucking business, Brooke. Come to think of it, why don't you just do us all a favor and get the hell out of Mansbridge. Head back to New York or New Jersey or whatever city it is you whore around in."

Dani was mercifully quiet, her eyes shifting from Brooke to Seth to see who'd win this showdown.

Brooke would. Alex knew it as soon as Brooke smiled. "Oh Seth, sweetie... there you go, getting all he-man again, protecting your little girlfriend. You must think she needs protection."

"Brooke... " Alex's warning tone was ignored.

Brooke's eyes shifted to Melissa. "Guess that's going to be a full-time job now that the Hellers are out again, huh Melissa? You won't dare cuddle up in the dark now. Heaven knows what'll be waiting there next time. And of course now that they've seen you, what do you bet they come looking for you? Man, if I were in your shoes, I would so not go out at night. And oh wow, if you hear that Heller scream--"

Alex kicked Brooke under the table, rattling the laminate top of it.

Thankfully, Brooke silenced immediately. _But my God! How much she 'd said! So much more than the rumors had!_

"Screw you, Saunders," Seth said, vehemently.

"What, _again_?"

But that last remark didn't seem to reach Seth. Holding Melissa's hand all the more tightly, he stormed toward the exit by the cinemas. Alex watched them walk toward the double glass doors, past the 'now-showing' posters and the little arcade attached to the box office. Seth's arm swung up as he opened the door for Melissa. She stepped through, but he didn't follow.

Instead, Seth stopped suddenly. His head turned slowly as he stared back at Brooke and Alex, an odd look on his face. A pondering look.

A look of narrow-eyed suspicion.

Definitely suspicion.

Her heart pounding against her ribs, Alex looked away.

"There's Huxley!" With a 'k-bye' Dani was out of her seat and heading to the other side of the food court. Huxley was all smiles as she bounced to his side.

"That wasn't too bright," Alex grated under her breath. "If Seth connects us... "

"Damn it, Alex... I know." The tremble in Brooke's voice was unmistakable.

Alex looked down at her uneaten wrap, knowing she'd never be able to eat a bite now. "Let's get out of here."

"God, yes," Brooke agreed.

### Chapter 25

#### Copper

_Brooke_

THEY ALL HAD a key to the new lock on the attic door, but it was Maryanne who produced hers to open it. Fitting, Brooke supposed, since it was thanks to Maryanne that they weren't shut out tonight. Thanks to her, they weren't prevented from casting out.

God, that would have been all Brooke needed, on top of the slip-up today at the food court. They'd talked about it, of course, the three of them. To Brooke's surprise, Alex was really nice about it, minimizing what she'd said. Though Brooke appreciated the kindness, she wound up coming clean with Maryanne. They were all in this together, which meant Maryanne had to know exactly what had been said. It had been worth it to see the surprise register on Alex's face.

While Brooke and Alex had been off trolling the food court for gossip, Maryanne had made productive use of her day off by eavesdropping on a conversation between Old Lady Betts and Old Man Smith. Which is how she discovered their plan to slap a new lock on the attic door. But of course, nothing and no one was going to get between Maryanne and casting out. So Maryanne had waited until the deed was done, then snagged the shiny new key right off its peg in the caretaker's key box almost before it had a chance to cool.

Brooke's attention had perked when she heard 'key box'; one never knew when that kind of knowledge would come in handy. But when she'd asked Maryanne where to find it, she'd just shuddered and said, "Nowhere you'd want to go." Ordinarily, Brooke would have pressed until she got an answer, but that would hardly have been the way to show her gratitude. Because Maryanne-- _who knew she had such serious stones?_ --had snuck down to the hardware store with the key and had three copies made, then slipped back into the house in time to return the original before it was missed.

And all without detection.

Either Maryanne had the skills of a cat burglar, or Betts was in a serious funk again. Brooke was putting her money on the latter.

Once in the attic, there were no preliminaries for a change. No reading, no talking. The four candles were lit and placed in position. The cushions were carefully arranged. Then, after glancing at each other, they tapped on the stained glass window in turn and cast out. Alex first, followed by the ever-eager Maryanne, then finally Brooke.

Not that Brooke was any less eager to cast out than the others. Lord knew she was _always_ up for that. Not quite so transparently as Maryanne, she hoped. But the point of tonight's cast out was to spend some time with Connie, and Brooke just didn't connect with Connie the way the others did. Especially Alex.

The girls peered in at their bodies, lying inside the attic in that strange repose, looking so misleadingly vacant. Then Brooke glanced around. She'd half expected Connie to be out here waiting for them, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"So, what now?" she asked. "Do we wait for Connie to find us?"

"No, she won't come this close," Alex said.

Well, duh. Of course. This was where Connie had been imprisoned. Or rather, where her original had been imprisoned.

Maryanne's head swiveled as she searched the darkness. "Should we... I don't know... yell or something?"

"She'll find us," Alex said. "But first, let's retrieve those copper bracelets."

A moment later, each of them wore one of the thin copper bands. Brooke examined hers closely. It appeared to be the same one she'd worn the other night, but who knew? Maybe they were all identical. Whatever the case, it made her feel good to slide it on, even though it didn't flood her with energy as it had the other night.

Alex turned and soared off in the direction of the river. Brooke and Maryanne followed her lead. In under a minute, they were soaring over the black, glistening waters of the Saint John. The moon wasn't quite full, but it was bright enough for another caster to plainly see them. Sure enough, within a few minutes, Connie joined them.

Strangely, it wasn't Alex who spotted Connie first, despite her relentless side-to-side scanning. It was Maryanne, who spotted the fourth caster coming up behind them. But instead of greeting the newcomer herself, Maryanne put her heavy cast hand on Alex's arm. Alex came to a stop and turned.

"Connie," Alex said, softly. "There you are."

"Yes." Connie's voice was gravelly with disuse. "Connie's here."

"I'm so glad you came," Alex said. "We've been very anxious to talk to you."

Connie pointed to Brooke and said, "Brooke."

"Guilty as charged," Brooke said.

Connie tilted her head.

"She means yes, her name _is_ Brooke." Alex said. "You must have heard us using it a lot while we yelled at her last night, huh?"

"Yes." The voice was still a croak, but there was a smile in there.

"Very funny," Brooke said.

Connie pointed to Alex. "Your name?"

"Oh, sorry! I'm Alex Robbins. Alexandra, actually, but everyone calls me Alex." Alex touched Maryanne's arm. "And this is Maryanne Hemlock. And Brooke's last name is Saunders. We all go to Streep Academy and share a room at Harvell House."

"Harvell," Connie rasped. "My name."

"We know," Alex said gently. "I found your diary."

Connie pulled back abruptly.

"It's okay," Alex said. "No one else has seen it. Actually, I'm the only one who's read it, but I did share some of it with Maryanne and Brooke here. That's how we learned to cast out through your window in the attic."

"No... don't talk about the attic!"

"Okay," Alex said, holding out a soothing hand toward Connie, but Connie just pulled back further.

"I don't think she wants to be touched," Maryanne said.

Brooke snorted. _Maryanne: Master of the Obvious_. "Can you blame her? She probably can't remember the last time someone touched her in kindness."

"God, you people!" Alex said. "She's right here. Stop talking about her as though she's not."

Crap. Alex was right. "Sorry, Connie," Brooke said. "I'm not the most tactful person in the world, as you're bound to discover soon enough."

Connie tipped her head in acknowledgement of the apology. Or so Brooke thought. But with her next words, she thought maybe Connie was just trying to indicate direction.

"Come with me," she said, moving slowly toward the southwest. "Show you something." When she was satisfied that they were going to follow her, Connie picked up the pace.

"Is it far?" Brooke asked. "Because we don't have a lot of stamina yet. We get tired pretty quickly."

"Not anymore," she said, pointing to Maryanne's bracelet. "Copper."

Brooke hoped she was right, because they were soaring at pretty much top speed and covering a lot of ground. She looked down at landmarks that were becoming increasingly less familiar. Make that a _helluva lot_ of ground. If the copper didn't come through by supplying energy, or at least slowing the depletion of it, they might find themselves too far from home to get back. Brooke was not normally hyper-cautious, but this seemed a good time to begin. They didn't really know this caster, did they? Except through those diary entries. Maybe Connie was crazy and intended to imprison them all so she'd have company in her exile.

She was just about to announce this was madness and she was turning back when Connie abruptly started to descend. The other girls followed. Brooke did too, but not without some wariness.

Connie led them across a secondary highway and into the woods. Brooke was fuming about having to push through so many tightly planted young fir trees. Brush your hand through one branch and it felt cool to know the tree on a molecular level. Drag your ass through dozens of them, and it didn't feel so good. Not to mention the tug she felt when the copper bracelet encountered leaves and branches, forcing them to flex and bend to its solidity.

But a moment later, they cleared the trees and Connie stopped. Thank God!

"Home," she announced.

Home? Brooke looked around and saw nothing but trees, thickets and a tangle of weeds. "Um, _where_?"

Connie turned and disappeared into the densest, thorniest bit of thicket. She passed through it without a scratch, of course, but her bracelet caused the leaves and twigs to shiver ever so slightly. Alex, laughing, was the first to follow, and Maryanne hesitated only a second before joining her. Their passage through the thicket caused even more rippling of the branches. Clearly Connie knew every thorn, branch and leaf and was able to manipulate the bracelet through them more effectively.

Brooke hovered there, undecided. Could it be a trap?

Alex poked her head back out. "What's wrong with you, Saunders? Connie just invited us into her _home_. Stop being so rude and get your ass in here."

Okay, not a trap. Probably.

Heck with it, she decided. If it was a trap, they'd all rot in it together. Or more probably, their bodies would rot in that attic. She felt her original's heart leap and pound, and grinned. _Relax_ , she told it. _I 'll come back_.

"Brooke, come see this!" called Maryanne.

Brooke slid through the thicket and found herself in a small enclosure. Overhead, the branches of dozens of trees twisted and twined together, creating a bower of living limbs.

"Oh wow, you must be all but invisible in here, even in broad daylight!" Maryanne said.

"Yes," Connie said.

"What about when the leaves fall off?" Alex asked worriedly.

"I stay in a cave on the cliff until snow comes. Snow makes a good roof."

Brooke looked down. The grass beneath them seemed to be littered with junk. "What's that on the ground?"

"Lay down!" Connie instructed.

_Yeah, right. Sink into the earth so you can pull some kind of crap to trap me there? I don 't think so_. Brooke lifted her chin. "Thanks, but I don't feel like it."

"It's good," Connie said. "Like this."

Connie lowered herself to the ground and rested there.

Rested. Freakin'. There! Atop the ground, like a regular corporeal being.

"Omigod! How are you doing that?" Maryanne asked.

Before Connie could reply, Alex supplied the answer. "Copper! Oh, man! You made a floor of copper and you can actually rest on it. You don't have to be in idling mode all the time, hovering and hovering."

"Yes!" Connie said, obviously pleased that they understood. "Very good rest."

Brooke lifted her gaze from the copper-strewn floor back up to the ceiling of tree branches. "Okay, the floor I get. But how did you get the branches to do that?"

"Copper," Connie replied.

Brooke snorted. "What? You throw some copper on the ground and suddenly trees decide to braid their limbs to give you a roof?"

"No," Connie said. "Like this."

She picked up a pair of copper pipes, the ends of which had been bent into a crude hook, and levitated so she could reach the ceiling. There she demonstrated how she could use the two pipes to grasp a tender new branch and pull and push it into the intricate arrangement.

"Holy shit!" Brooke exclaimed. "Of course! You can manipulate your environment with copper, because you can pick it up. It's solid to you, and solid to everything it touches."

"This is great, Connie," Alex said. "You've made yourself a home."

"Please sit," Connie invited.

They sat. And what an amazing feeling! So easy! Until Brooke rested on the copper, she hadn't really thought about how much energy they expended with all that hovering.

"Wow, copper to rest on, copper to wear while you soar... You must _never_ get tired," Brooke marveled.

"Oh, but I am tired. Very tired. I can't really go home. Connie... my other Connie--the real Connie--is gone."

Crap. Of course. She'd been locked out of her body by those murdering sons-of-bitches. Getting out of body was nice. Better than nice. But Brooke wasn't sure she'd like to be out here indefinitely, with no way back in.

"Do you know how long it's been?" Alex asked softly. "I mean, how long you've been out here. How long since... you were whole?"

"Forty-nine years," Connie answered. "Soon to be fifty. I keep track of every day."

They were all silent a while, absorbing the magnitude of that.

"Where'd you get all this copper?" Brooke asked, looking around.

"Stole it," Connie replied, and Brooke was pleased to hear the smile in her voice. "Copper piping from empty houses. Thousands of pennies. Lightning rods. Grounding bars. Electrical tubing. Cookware."

"Jewelry," Maryanne said, picking up a large brooch.

"Yes, jewelry," Connie said. "If I can pick it up, it has enough copper in it." She leaned closer, as though to confide something. "And those boxes people use? Like typewriters but with a TV screen they stare into all day? There's copper, in them too."

"Computers, you mean?" Alex asked.

"I guess." Connie shrugged. "I reached into one once and felt it. That's how I find copper," she explained. "Some copper too tight." She interlocked her fingers and tugged, demonstrating immovability. "But the copper in these boxes--I can lift it right out."

The processor chips! Brooke laughed in delight. "Good for you, Connie. That's about the best use of a motherboard I ever heard of."

"Motherboard?"

"That's what they call that piece you can pick up."

Connie nodded. "Baby shoes work too," she said, "but I never took them."

Brooke frowned. "Baby shoes?"

"The bronze dipped ones," Maryanne supplied. "You know, electrically plated."

"Almost every house has them," Connie went on, "but I couldn't take them. Wrong."

Brooke flashed back to her apartment in New York and the sweet pair of copper-plated booties that sat in her mother's knick-knack cabinet. Unaccountably, she wanted to cry, but thank God, that wasn't a possibility for a caster. Then--dammit!--she felt her original crying back in the attic.

Brooke felt around for an object on the floor to distract herself and came up with a bundle of wires. "I guess copper wires are in good supply," she said. "There seem to be enough of them in this... " What the hell was it? Oh, hell, a doll! A flipping doll! Her fingers flew over it, feeling its features. Copper tubing for limbs. Copper wire to bind the limbs together. Fine, fine copper wires for hair. Had Connie scratched a face onto it? Back in the attic, tears flowed out of her original like she'd sprung a damned leak. _God, Brooke, grow a skin, why don 't you?_

"Give her to me," Connie said, holding out her hand.

Brooke was only too glad to pass the sad doll off.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"My baby."

"May I see it?" Alex asked gently.

Reluctantly, Connie passed it along.

Alex felt the dolls features much as Brooke had just done. "It's beautiful," she said. "Can I pass it to Maryanne?"

"No!"

For a split second, Brooke thought the protest came from Connie, but it was Maryanne herself who'd said it.

"I mean, that's not necessary. Give it back to Connie, Alex."

Alex handed the doll back to Connie, who cradled it tenderly and cooed to it as though it were a living child.

Brooke shivered.

Eventually Connie looked up and said, "It's okay."

"What's okay, Connie?" Alex asked.

"That you read my diary. I'm _glad_ you did. You wouldn't be here if you hadn't."

"That's right," Alex said. "We would never have tapped the window, never have said the words."

"Did you want out too?" Connie asked.

Alex shuddered. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I did. Desperately."

"Me too," said Maryanne.

"Me too," Brooke agreed.

Again they were silent for a while. A long while.

Eventually, Alex sighed. "We need to get back. We all have school tomorrow."

Immediately, Connie shot up from her resting spot. "Of course. I'll take you back."

The return trip was uneventful. Brooke spent her time searching out and committing to memory landmarks to help her find Connie's... lair, if ever she had to again. From the way the other girls searched the landscape, she was sure they were doing the same.

When they were within a mile of Harvell House, Connie pulled back.

"You can find your way from here," she said.

Alex turned and laid a hand on Connie's shoulder, but Connie flinched back. Undaunted, Alex said, "Come in with us for a while."

"No." Connie shook her head. "Never go back!"

Brooke snorted. "Way to go, Alex. Invite her back to the scene of the crime. That'd be real pleasant for her."

"Shut up, Brooke," Maryanne said.

Brooke shrugged. "I'm just sayin'."

Alex took Connie's hand. Connie pulled back, but Alex gripped her hand tight. "That's okay. We understand."

"Will you... come out again?"

"Tomorrow," Alex assured. "And every night we can. You don't need to be alone anymore."

Brooke could have sworn that Connie gave Alex's hand a reciprocal squeeze before she pulled away.

"Tomorrow," she echoed, then melted away into the night.

### Chapter 26

#### Worry the Woods

_Alex_

SHE REALIZED IT all at once--the crows were quiet. Their raucous calls had followed her from the moment she entered the woods, but they'd fallen off completely now.

Alex's backpack weighed a ton, and she paused a moment to shift it yet again from one shoulder to the other. Well, okay, maybe it didn't weigh a literal ton, but after carting it this far over rough terrain, it sure felt like it.

Of course, it didn't help that she'd carried the damned thing around with her all afternoon at school rather than shove it into her locker. Not that there was much likelihood of anyone breaking into her locker. She still had enough of a badass reputation left over from last year that most kids wouldn't dare touch her stuff. Still, she hadn't wanted to take the chance of someone stumbling onto what she'd hidden in the bag. And part of her just didn't want to part with the precious cargo within it, even for a few hours.

There was a wide fallen tree in her path. Dead branches and pinecones snapped under her booted feet as she straddled it and climbed over. The noise boomed in the cold woods. The silent woods.

The too-silent woods, she realized. It wasn't just the crows that had fallen silent. There were no animals around. They wouldn't venture this close to Connie's home. Hell, she hoped she was close!

At least there was no snow to contend with. They'd had some in Northern New Brunswick, but so far, none in Mansbridge, thank God. Otherwise, she wouldn't have come. No way would she endanger Connie by leaving a clear trail straight to her nest.

A train whistle sounded--the same one she often heard after school when a freight train went through. After these last two years at Streep, the sound barely registered anymore. But today, it sounded unaccountably mournful. So much so, it set an ache of loneliness throbbing in her chest.

Alex encountered another fallen tree. With a determined sigh, she clambered over it and continued on.

Brooke had been waiting for her after school, but they'd parted company on the sidewalk outside the Academy.

"Where you off to?" Brooke had asked, when Alex had said she'd catch her later, and turned the other way--in the opposite direction from Harvell House.

"Just got stuff to do."

"Want me to take your book bag back to the house for you?" she'd offered. It was another small peace offering, for Brooke's screw-up of the other day.

"No, but thanks." Alex had held it all the closer as she'd walked away, and she tightened her hand on the wide strap now. Partly in reflection, but mostly because she could feel herself losing her balance.

Alex's foot slid sideways on a mossy rock hidden underneath the fallen leaves. With an _umph_ , she went down, her hands shooting out automatically to protect herself.

"Crap!" Thank God for her heavy coat; she could have gotten a stick between the ribs. Pushing herself up on her knees, Alex pulled off her bright-orange mittens to examine her palms. No cuts, but there were two good-sized indentations on her left palm that stung like hell. It would have been so much worse without the mittens, an impulse buy at the checkout this afternoon.

Deciding to rest a moment, Alex sat back on her heels and checked her pocket for her compass. If it went flying from the fall, she'd sure as hell want to find it. But it was still there, undamaged, complete with the price tag still on the back.

She'd raced to the mall when the lunch bell rang. Bypassing the noisy, jammed food court, she'd headed for the hardware store that anchored the far end of the mall. She'd shopped quickly and carefully. Then she got in line to pay for her purchases behind a queue of slow-moving senior citizens, all of whom seemed bent on telling the lone cashier their life histories. Seniors discount day, she realized, with a groan.

Almost as an afterthought she stopped into the little, family-owned sporting goods store on her way to the mall exit. She was going to be late for Chem class, and that bothered her more than she was accustomed to, but she snagged the last compass on the shelf.

"Going hunting, Miss?" the gray-haired clerk had asked, smiling in a grandfatherly way.

"No, just... orienteering."

Grandpa had nodded. "Oh that sounds like fun!"

Alex hadn't needed the compass to find her way into the depth of the woods. She'd always had an excellent sense of direction. And though perceptions were different in her caster form, not to mention her visit had taken place in the black of night, she knew she was heading in the right direction. Just the same, she wasn't so stupid as to do this unprepared. On that thought, she pulled the hunter's orange hat further down over her ears.

She heard the muted crack of a rifle shot, way off in the distance, but she wasn't overly worried. No prey, no hunters. And this part of the woods was indisputably barren of wildlife. No fat, thick-furred squirrels rattled the branches above her. No timid deer bounded away from her with the white flag of their tails held high.

She was close to Connie's home. She knew it. She _felt_ it!

Holy shit! And then she _saw_ it!

Alex stood. Without looking down she brushed the twigs and leaves from her sleeves as she walked forward. She swung her backpack high again onto her shoulder.

Connie's hiding place truly looked like a 'nest' to her now, in the light of day, one Alex might have walked right by had she not been looking for it.

Even knowing about it, she might have walked on by if she hadn't tripped.

_Fate,_ she thought, smiling. _It has to be fate between us._

The low canopy of bent branches was hidden down in a tangle of tall, thin, grey-barked trees and strategically scattered branches. Enough leaves still clung to enough branches to enhance the screen effect.

Alex took a few steps forward, but stopped suddenly.

She couldn't just barge in. This was Connie's home.

Alex drew a cold breath. "Connie? Connie Harvell?"

She spoke quietly. Not just to blend in with the day but because she didn't want to startle her. They'd met as casters, but Alex was acutely conscious that Connie had never seen her flesh self before.

"It's me, Connie... Alex. Alexandra Robbins. Remember? We met. We're friends. I was here last night with Maryanne and Brooke."

Alex waited. She hoped. But nothing stirred from within Connie's little sanctuary. Alex's heart sunk and she lowered her head in frustration. All this way and Connie wasn't here. This long trek through the cold, alone and--

There was a dark movement. She caught it in the periphery of her vision and she turned toward it. Alex didn't hear anything, but she saw the empty blackness coming out from the trees, carrying her copper doll.

Despite herself, Alex's pulse quickened. Even though she knew it was Connie, a tingling of fear rode up and down her arms. She knew she stood before a caster--a form she'd so often taken herself. But it was one thing to _be_ a caster and feel the night, and another thing to actually _see_ a caster in the day. To see that complete, black emptiness against the light of day. Alex smiled--no way would she let Connie see her little niggling of fear. Nor her sadness at the sight of Connie holding that doll, knowing she must have fled the nest with her 'baby' when she'd heard Alex approaching.

"Hi Connie," Alex said.

Connie waved--widely--as she came closer. Then she waved widely again as she stood before Alex.

Of course! Anything said by a caster, Alex couldn't hear when she wasn't in cast form herself! This was going to be a one-sided conversation, unless Connie gave that primal shriek. And that, Alex did _not_ want to hear.

Connie reached out a hand. Not to Alex's hand but toward her face. Alex's heart beat all the faster, but she held her ground. She fought down the urge to flinch as a dark finger rose toward her. Without touching Alex, Connie's finger went to first one, then the other, metal ring on her bottom lip. Connie shook her head, pulled her hand away slowly and held it nervously back behind her.

Alex understood. "Oh no, Connie," she said, gently. "It doesn't hurt, at all. It's a piercing."

She seemed to hesitate, her dark head cocking slightly to the side.

"I did it on purpose. Really. I paid someone to do it. It's sort of... a fashion statement, I guess, for some of us."

Connie nodded.

"See this one?" Alex pulled her dark bangs back to show the barbell through her left eyebrow. "That was my first." She had three more piercings--a naval piercing with a simple barbell and two dermal anchors on the small of her back--but she had no intention of baring them.

Connie crooked her baby under her elbow as she clapped her hands.

"I brought you something," Alex said. The fear was gone and her smile was no longer forced. She swung her backpack around to the front and unzipped it fully. Alex pulled out the white plastic bag. She started to hold it out to Connie, then remembering Connie couldn't grasp the bag, opened it herself.

Connie's dark form leaned forward as she peered inside. Her head jerked up again suddenly, and Alex knew she was looking into her eyes.

"It's copper," Alex said. "Copper fittings from the hardware store, all different sizes. And about fifty old pennies I scrounged up. And there's copper wire there too, Connie--a bit of it anyway. I thought, well, maybe you could use it to make things... you know?"

Connie bounced up and down like a kid at Christmas. Alex dumped the copper things from the bag and they both knelt on the ground. Connie set her doll beside her, leaning it up against a tree trunk in a sitting position as if the toy could watch. She tucked a few pieces of the copper under her own knees so she could rest there without hovering. Then she started fingering through the goodies, holding pieces up to her empty face and turning them before her. Every once in a while she'd shake her hands, hunch her shoulders and almost vibrate with excitement.

"Want me to help you take them inside?"

Connie stopped suddenly and shook her head. She pointed at Alex, expanded her arms widely and shook her head again.

"Got it!" And Alex did get it. She wasn't in cast form. She couldn't move through the trees and branches like Connie could to maneuver the copper in through the smallest breaks. Alex would no doubt crash through like the proverbial bull in a china shop--and do more damage than good. But Connie'd left the nest with her doll, so surely she knew how to manipulate the copper through the branches with minimal damage.

Alex laughed as she watched Connie's enjoyment. The other girl twisted her body around to sit cross-legged on the copper she'd been kneeling on, but in the process, her right foot struck Alex's backpack. Instead of passing harmlessly through it, Connie's foot knocked the backpack over onto its side.

Connie froze.

Alex giggled. Even though she couldn't see Connie's expression, the surprise was evident in her posture. "It's all the decorative rivets and grommets on the canvas," Alex said. "They must be made of copper too."

Connie nodded, relaxing into her cross-legged position.

Alex grabbed for the backpack and pulled it upright again. But as she did so, Connie's diary spilled out on to the ground. It flipped open to a page with bold letters across the top-- _So again I faced my own hell. Yes, Billy raped me again tonight._

Connie stopped as if frozen, obviously looking down at the old page that lay open between them--the old memories.

Connie had no tears to shed, in her caster form. But the pain that raked through her was apparent as she wilted there. And the shame that showed as she covered her face was just as obvious.

Alex's heart broke.

"Connie, what happened to you... it wasn't your fault," she said. "It's not your fault at all. I know it. I... I know it all too well."

Connie lowered her hands and faced Alex.

Alex pulled in a shaky breath. Her eyes burned and her throat ached with tears held back. She looked down at her own hands, felt the wilting in herself. But Alex sat up straight again to gaze into Connie's cast face. "I was raped, too. Not long ago.

"And I haven't told a soul, Connie, except for you. I haven't dared. I... I was ashamed. Embarrassed. God help me, I can't even remember who did it. My memories... he drugged me. But I'm starting to remember bits and pieces of it.

"The point is, I was embarrassed and ashamed and I blamed myself. You know, like if I hadn't been so wasted... if only I'd been more careful, or not gone out after dark. All those thoughts. But the more I read your diary, and the more I thought about you... _connected_ with you, I started to see the whole thing differently.

"What that man did to me wasn't my fault. Not one bit. None of it! I didn't ask for him to hurt me. I didn't want him to, and I didn't mean for it to happen. He had no right to rape me. No matter how drunk I was or what anyone may think about me. No matter what reputation I may carry. No matter what I did that night, or _ever_ , that bastard owns the sin completely. The blame and fault are on his shoulders forever, not mine. So is the shame." Alex let a tear spill, but this time, only one. "The pain's mine; I know that and I'll have to deal with that. Somehow I will. Because I've learned a lot from you, Connie Edwina Harvell. Not just what it means to be a caster. But what it means to be a survivor. And you didn't do anything wrong either, as you faced your hell. You just survived it. And you helped me to do the same, through your diary."

Alex struggled a moment with tears. She swallowed down the lump in her throat. "I... I can almost see his face, Connie. I know I'm so very close to that last memory. It scares me. But I want to know... I have to know who did this. And I'm going to make him pay for what he did to me. I swear I'll make the bastard pay for hurting me like he did."

Connie picked up two pieces of copper fittings. Skillfully pinching them, she picked the diary up off the ground and put it back in Alex's backpack.

"Thank you, Connie," Alex whispered. "For everything." She blinked hard to fight the tears and then looked up at the sky.

It looked like it might rain, or worse, snow. The sky was heavy with clouds. Alex glanced around. The shadows had grown deeper in the very short time she'd been here.

"I'd better get back." Alex stood. She dug her compass out of her pocket, looked at it again for the reassurance of its presence. Then tucked it away.

Connie watched her.

"Bye, Connie," Alex said. "I'll see--"

Connie soared above her. Not high above, but just among the tree branches a few feet above Alex's head. She pointed in a direction about forty-five degrees from which Alex had come.

"I shouldn't just back track?"

Connie shook her head no, and pointed more sharply this time.

Alex began walking in that direction.

It was darker than she'd realized as she walked within the tall trees. And the temperature was dropping. There were, of course, no animals around as the caster escorted her. No coyotes to worry about or deer to startle. No crows, but now Alex didn't wish for their cawing comfort. She was walking through strange territory, rougher terrain than before. But she trusted Connie above her; and there wasn't even a whisper of fear when she looked up to see her there.

She saw the twinkle of light through the trees.

That was where Connie stopped, lowered to hover beside Alex.

Alex peered through the opening in the trees. "Oh, I know where we are! We're at Heritage Park."

Connie nodded.

"You'd better go, Connie." She'd already taken a risk, coming with her through the woods. She nearly blended in with the darkened treetops, but not enough for Alex's liking. "Be careful, okay?"

Connie nodded again. But she didn't move away from Alex. She just stood there. Suddenly, she opened her arms wide. Just as she had before when she'd communicated that Alex was too big, too solid to help carry the copper goodies into Connie's shelter. But this time, Connie Harvell--this cast who feared so very much from people--was taking a huge risk. She was asking for a hug.

Alex embraced her.

She didn't know what to expect, but somehow it surprised her that Connie was there. Alex could _feel_ Connie. It wasn't like when people touched people, with the warm solidity of body against body. Nor was it like when casts touched casts, and the heaviness of that caster energy charge. Instead, there was a press back more than substance to the dark form in her arms. A different kind of heaviness. A different kind of force. A warm one, but not the warmth of flesh.

But Alex felt something more.

She felt Connie's compassion reaching out for her--the pure essence of it. She felt her understanding, somehow. Whether it was a caster thing, or a Connie-Alex thing, Alex knew it. Understood it and believed it. They had a bond. As women. As survivors.

But Alex felt so much more than that as she clasped Connie in her arms. She felt Connie's deep, deep loneliness. Dear God, she was so tired! And not just with the heaviness that all casters felt when out. Connie Harvell wanted to rest. Needed her eternal rest. Alex knew it.

She was reluctant to pull away when Connie broke the embrace.

"Thanks, Connie, for everything. For letting me read your diary. For letting me have it. For being strong enough to survive, and helping me to survive."

The cast moved up and away. Waved down at Alex then blended in perfectly with the trees.

Alex stepped out from the woods into Heritage Park. As she walked under the park's tall lights and out to the road, she slung her backpack with its precious cargo onto her shoulder.

### Chapter 27

#### Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept...

_Brooke_

"SO... I'VE BEEN thinking."

Ah, here it was, thought Brooke. The reason behind Alex's offer to buy dinner at what passed as one of Mansbridge's nicest restaurants.

Alex cleared her throat. "We have to find the body."

Brooke put down her dessert fork, glanced around the all-but-empty dining room to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. "Connie's body?"

"No. Jimmy Hoffa's." Alex rolled her eyes. "Of course, Connie's body. Who else's?"

"Her baby's?"

They both glanced at Maryanne. She hadn't even started on her cheesecake yet, and from the look on her face, she wasn't going to be able to eat a bite.

Beneath the other girls' silent scrutiny, Maryanne lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm just saying, there was more than one victim here."

"I know," Alex said.

"But if we find the body--or bodies, plural," Brooke said, "then what? The police will want to know why we went looking for them. Then you'll have to hand over the diary."

Brooke's words had the anticipated effect on Alex, who blanched. "No one is getting the diary!"

"I don't know, Alex." Maryanne frowned. "Brooke's right. If we did find a body, how would we explain why we went looking in the first place?"

Alex dragged a frustrated hand through her hair. "I wasn't proposing we do this for a police investigation," she said. "I'm thinking about Connie's cast."

Brooke blinked. _Holy shit!_ "You think she can get back into her original? If we find the remains, I mean?"

"Whoa!" Maryanne, who'd been hunched over the table, sat up straight. "Wait just a minute here. We just found Connie, and now you want to send her packing? You want to knock her off? I thought you _liked_ her?"

Ouch. Brooke closed her eyes and waited for an explosion from across the table, but what came was Alex's shocked, tremulous voice.

"God, Maryanne! How can you say that to me?"

Brooke opened her eyes to see the last bit of color drain from Alex's face.

"Yeah, it is a bit harsh, don't you think?" Brooke said.

" _Harsh_?" It was Maryanne who exploded, but in a controlled way, thank God. Not the kind of way that brought the help rushing from the kitchen. "Are you kidding?" she hissed. "Harsh is sending that girl to her grave. She's been alone for all these years, going mad with it, unable to touch another living creature. And now she finally has some friends and our first act of 'kindness' will be to send her packing?"

"We'd be doing her a favor," Brooke interjected. "She's beyond tired. Haven't you noticed?"

"But she has all that copper!" Maryanne protested. "It gives her energy. You know it does. We've all felt it. And we can get more for her."

"Yeah, we've all felt it," Brooke agreed. "But then we go home, shoot back into ourselves and sleep like babies in our beds. We're never out there for more than a few hours. We can't even begin to imagine what it would be like never to be able to come home to our bodies. Hell, that copper is probably the only thing that keeps her going."

"Exactly," Alex said. "She needs her rest now."

Tears sprang to Maryanne's eyes. "But Connie put herself out there. She wanted to survive."

"And she did," said Alex. "She survived far longer than Connie probably imagined she would. If she imagined it at all. I mean, it was probably a split-second decision."

"Yeah," Brooke agreed. "A way to sort of survive the lousy fate she saw coming. And she succeeded. But now her cast is tired."

Maryanne blinked rapidly. "How come you guys got that impression but I didn't?"

Brooke shrugged. "I don't know. You _do_ get pretty hard-core out there."

Alex shot Brooke a glare.

"What? She gets into it. That's all I'm saying."

"We all get into it." Alex turned back to Maryanne. "Tell you what, next time we're out, touch her, okay? I don't know--shake hands with her or hug her or just... touch her. And if you don't come away with the same impression, we can talk about it again."

"I will," Maryanne agreed. "But if we do find her remains, no matter what happens, I can't see _not_ calling the police." Maryanne looked at Alex.

"Of course we'll call the police. Eventually. After Connie has a chance to see if she can get back inside. But we'll just have to think up some other reason why we went looking for a body that doesn't involve giving up the diary."

Brooke snorted. "Okay, but if one of us has to pretend to be psychic, it probably should be me. You know, with my reputation for sensitivity and all."

That set the girls to laughing, as she'd intended.

"If it comes to that," Alex said, drying her eyes, "I'll claim to be the psychic. Everyone thinks I'm crazy anyway."

"Not anymore," Brooke pointed out. "Well, except the ones who liked you crazy."

"Gee, thanks, Brooke."

"No problem," Brooke said, but her mind had leapt on, already on the hunt. "So, Maryanne still needs convincing that Connie is ready for this. Fair enough. But there's no reason we can't start looking for the body, is there?"

"Where would we start?" Alex asked. "They could have put her in a sack full of rocks and sunk her in the river for all we know. Or buried her in the woods miles from here."

"Wait a minute--it was winter when they killed her, right?"

"February," Alex answered.

"Well, they couldn't have dumped her in the river, then. It would have been frozen solid, with months to go before a thaw. And they probably didn't cart her body off to the woods. They used to get a lot more snow than we do now, right? So it wouldn't have been easy to get around. The woods roads would probably have been impassable. And the ground itself would be snow-covered and frozen. Hard to bury someone in the dead of a Northern winter."

Alex frowned. "Maybe they stashed her body somewhere in the house over the winter, then buried her somewhere in the spring."

"Or maybe it's still in the house."

At Maryanne's suggestion, Brooke shivered. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe. You read about that shit from time to time. Bones found in the walls when a new owner renovates, or in the foundation when they tear a place down, or in an old sealed oil drum in a shed."

"Omigod," Alex said. "You don't suppose... she wouldn't still be... in the attic?"

"No, not in the attic."

Brooke and Alex swiveled in tandem to look at Maryanne.

How could she possibly know that? Brooke drew breath to challenge her, but one look at the other girl's face stopped her. It also froze the breath in her lungs and sent cold dread snaking through her gut.

"Have either of you been to the basement?" Maryanne whispered.

### Chapter 28

#### Bad Feeling

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE SHIFTED IN the uncomfortable chair, or rather she shifted again. And the hard plastic underneath her butt wasn't the only reason for her squirming discomfort.

She let out a breath of frustration as she glanced at the clock. She crossed her arms in front of her, forearms resting on the desk. Ten minutes she'd been here, waiting in Mr. McKenzie's room for him to show. Liking him less and less as she watched the sweeping second-hand take yet another turn around the clock at the front of the classroom.

_How long was she supposed to wait?_ And the more pressing question, _why did McKenzie want to see her, anyway?_ That thought came in on a yawn.

What a drawn-out day this had been, starting in first-period Math. Mr. McKenzie had paper-clipped a note to the test he'd handed back to her: _See me after school._

That was it; no explanation.

Well, that had set the mood for the day!

But she really couldn't understand the timing of the note. She'd made a decent mark on the test he handed back--88. That was well above the class average, and her own average for that matter. At least this year, anyway. And she hadn't missed a day in the last ten school days, thanks to Alex's nagging.

But today had crept by at a snail's pace for another reason. Maryanne was just that freaking tired after another near-sleepless night. And this time, unfortunately, it hadn't even been because they'd cast out. They hadn't.

The three of them had actually agreed they needed a night without casting. Quite a thing for them to agree on anything, but especially remarkable when it came to this. But there was no way around it. They all needed a full night's sleep to combat the deficit they were all rocking. Eight solid hours had sounded positively heavenly. Even Connie had pushed them into it when they'd last seen her, two nights ago. This despite how much Connie loved being with the three of them. Alex especially--that was obvious. The two of them were incredibly tight. But Connie knew how draining, how exhausting, it was to be out so often and so long, even with the copper bracelets to boost them. They each had three bracelets now hanging on the oak tree by the river, thanks to Connie. She loved to give them gifts.

Connie joined them every time they cast out now. The girls would unlock the door and sneak up to the attic to tap out on the glass almost every single night. And Connie would be waiting for them along the riverbank, in a dark hiding spot or in the shadowed woods. Then the three became four.

Maryanne knew they were taking their chances casting out so often. The more they were out, the more they were in danger of being seen. Rumors were starting to spread around Mansbridge--some pretty far out there, but some pretty accurate--about the Mansbridge Hellers. And not just from Melissa. And although she hadn't mentioned it to Alex or Brooke, Maryanne was suddenly noticing iron horseshoes appearing on a few doors around the superstitious town. Not that the casters couldn't just move around the horseshoes if they wanted in. But they sure as hell would have to be careful not to touch them. Iron was absolutely depleting! Draining of energy in a sudden and almost sickening way. That time they'd encountered the nails in the walls at Seth's place had been enough for Maryanne. She wasn't anxious for a bigger dose of it. But the horseshoes were a sign, if nothing else, that the Heller stories were starting again.

They'd have to be more careful. But they'd never stop casting.

She yawned again. _What the heck was keeping McKenzie?_

Last night, Brooke had been snoring lightly within five minutes of lights out. She'd heard only one tired sigh from Alex then nothing after that. Maryanne had tossed and turned most of the night.

The basement. That was all she could think about as she'd lain there in the darkness.

Why-oh-why had she mentioned the basement to Alex and Brooke back at the restaurant?

_Because you had to_ , came the answer.

Maryanne had snuck down into the basement the day after Halloween, heart pounding harder with every one of those thirteen steps she'd descended. She never would have ventured down there under normal circumstances, but that was the day John Smith had changed the lock on the attic door, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

Hiding in the upstairs hallway, listening by the stairs, Maryanne had heard the door slam when John had returned from the hardware store. She heard him offer a key to Mrs. Betts, then work one onto his own jingling key ring. "There," he said when the job was done. "I'll take the spare to the key box."

"Check the storm windows while you're down there, John."

_Down there._

Well, they were already on the first floor, so that could only mean the basement.

When it was quiet below, she had slipped down the stairs, through the thankfully empty kitchen and into the basement. Hurrying like a bandit, she located the key cabinet. To her relief, it wasn't locked. A homemade affair, it wasn't even equipped with a lock. She opened the small door and took the newest-looking key that dangled there. Not that there was much guesswork involved; it hung from a newly installed brass hook with the letter "A" written beside it in permanent marker.

Key in hand, she jogged to the hardware store on Alder and asked for three copies of it. She'd been half afraid the clerk would recognize the key and demand to see permission before he copied it, but he hadn't even glanced at it. Which made sense, she supposed. A high-security key would surely look different, probably have a number or a code on it at the very least. And it probably wouldn't be stored in an unlocked cabinet for anyone to take. The clerk made the copies quickly. She paid cash for them and got the heck out of there.

Maryanne had felt the I'm-so-smart smile stretching across her face as she slipped back into the basement and returned the key to the key box. But as she'd turned around, as she'd let herself relax a moment in that dim basement, she'd felt it. Not the draft through the mortared stone walls, nor the dampness rising from the dirt floor below her feet. The skeletal-like pipes running across the ceiling and down the walls by the water tank hadn't drawn her attention under the lone yellow light bulb as she looked around. No, it was nothing material that sent the shiver through her.

It was the _vibe_ of the basement. The terrible mood of the place--the violent spirit. Oh my God, the fury, the profound pain that seemed to emanate--no, to _ache_ --from the very air down there.

Evil.

She'd been so scared! Chilled deep, _beyond_ her bones. Taking the steps two at a time, she'd beat it back up the two flights to her bedroom. She'd sat on her bed, nearly hyperventilating, with her knees drawn up and her back pressed hard against the headboard.

That was the last time she'd been down to the basement. Not for lack of trying.

The three of them had tried to sneak down several times, and Maryanne had had to brace herself far more than Alex or Brooke would ever know. But as it happened, they hadn't been able to find the kitchen empty. Maryanne had suggested they all three skip school to try in the daytime, but Alex pointed out that no way would that fly with Betts, or without raising suspicion. They'd tried to sneak down a few nights. But each time someone had been in the kitchen when they'd stopped just outside the door, rattling around the cupboards or sneaking a forbidden smoke. So last night, they'd all agreed, it was time to try something else. Another way into the basement.

The sweeping second-hand on the clock caught Maryanne's attention again, and she shook her head. _3:45_. Mr. McKenzie was twenty minutes late now.

Maybe he'd forgotten he wanted to see her. He'd looked jangled enough this morning as he'd walked into the classroom. It was a possibility.

Or maybe he was on the phone to her parents right now? Oh crap! Maybe that was what was keeping him. She groaned.

Her mom and dad were missing her more and more. They were emailing all the time these days, calling every other night. Just yesterday a large parcel had arrived, packed with pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies--of which Alex scarfed down a half-dozen--and lemon squares. Cradled within the bunch of new socks, flannel pajamas, a new red hoodie and two new pairs of jeans that made even Brooke look twice, was a carefully-boxed, pecan pie. The fragile package had been couriered overnight from Toronto. There was a card inside the box, holding two hundred dollars and a note that read, 'We love you, Maryanne. We miss you like crazy and we want you to come home soon.'

Oh those words had pained her.

The good news was Skip Hemlock and Kelly Webb-Hemlock were healing. Going on with their lives and getting their lives back as much as they could. Remembering Maryanne in it, though of course she'd never really been forgotten so much as set aside for a while, while they grieved, while they survived, they wanted her back.

Maryanne wasn't ready to go home yet, though. God help her, she didn't know if she ever would be. Not after what she'd done to Jason. Her parents loved her now, but if they only knew... Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard. And on the heels of that emotion came the now-familiar longing, powerful and all consuming, to cast out. She had no tears out there.

And casting itself... another reason she couldn't even dream of going home to Burlington. How could she leave that behind? That adventure? The reprieve and glorious freedom? And yes, the power too.

And Connie Harvell. How could any of them leave Connie behind--that poor, lonely caster?

The lonely, _tired_ caster.

Alex had been right. As she'd suggested, Maryanne had held Connie's hand on the very next cast out, and she'd felt just what Alex had described, that profound tiredness. Connie had to rest. Had to end this. And they did need to find her body for her, if they could.

But even if they did find Connie's body, would she be able to rest even then? What if she couldn't cast back in? Or God, what if she could? They truly didn't know what would happen.

But they had to try.

"Oh, you're still here."

Maryanne glanced up to see Mr. McKenzie in the doorway.

She nodded at the obvious.

McKenzie stumbled a bit as he walked into the room, nearly knocking over a chair by Maryanne's desk. His hand shot out to grab it before it toppled. Moving the chair close to hers, he swung it around and straddled the seat, crossing his arms casually over the chair's back.

She smelled the alcohol when he smiled.

"I wanted to talk to you about your math," McKenzie began.

Somehow Maryanne doubted it. "My mark has come up with my last two tests," she said. "Did my parents call you about it?"

"I know you're capable of better," he said, as if he hadn't heard her question. "You could do better."

"I will."

"You could get the highest mark in the class." His smile widened. "If you really wanted it. I mean, if you let me... help you."

He reached over and settled a hand down on Maryanne's right arm. She froze.

_Oh crap, this better not get weirder._

It got weirder.

"Must be hard for you coming all the way from Ontario. Not knowing anyone. All alone in this town. Ever get lonely here in Mansbridge? Need someone to talk to? Need a friend? Someone to watch over you... maybe a man? Not just a local-yokel boy... but a man." With this thumb, McKenzie lightly stroked her arm. "Because I could be more--"

Maryanne stood quickly, knocking her own chair over as she pulled away. "I've got to go." Leaving the chair on the floor, she grabbed her jacket and book bag from a nearby desk.

"We're not done here." Mr. McKenzie's tone was no longer soft, but demanding. "Sit down, Maryanne."

"I'm... I'm on kitchen duty at the house," she lied. "And I'm already late."

"So be later." McKenzie stood, the smile gone now. His face held anger, and even more frightening, determination.

"I can't," Maryanne said, backing away. "Patricia Betts is waiting for me. I'm surprised she hasn't called, wondering what's keeping me." From the front pocket of her book bag, Maryanne pulled out her cell. It was another recent gift from her parents, a just-in-case kind of thing. She'd never even used it, but held it open in her hand now, her thumb hovering over the buttons. "But I called her earlier to say you wanted to see me after school."

"You're not supposed to have a cell phone at school," McKenzie intoned sternly. But he took a step back, and Maryanne knew her bluff had worked. Hidden away in the attic that day, she'd learned how protective Betts really was. Maybe this teacher knew it too.

Maryanne raced down the hall. Behind her, she heard a slam--probably the chair she'd knocked over being righted with excessive force.

She crashed out the door of the school, and didn't stop to throw on her jacket until she was a block away. She snapped her cell--oh wow, her _uncharged_ cell!--shut, and caught her shaky breath.

Alex would have told him off, she was sure of it. Brooke would have kicked his ass. Connie would have shrieked him insane!

"And Maryanne? What would wimpy Maryanne do?"

She was glad now that she'd swooped his car that night. Thrilled that she'd run him off the road. And if she ever saw him again when she was cast out, she would do worse.

The creep!

But she wouldn't see him tonight. Nor anything else of Mansbridge, for that matter. Because tonight when they cast out, they were going to re-enter Harvell House. Tonight they would finally--God help them--explore the horrible basement.

Just thinking of the place sent an echo of the fear and rage she'd sensed there shuddering through her, making her feel raw and tearful. On top of the weirdness with McKenzie, it was too much. She needed to find Alex and Brooke. Telling them what had just happened with McCreepy would help.

So would their company, she realized. Even Brooke's. Wow. When had they stopped being roommates and become friends?

A car passing on the street slowed and Maryanne's heart leapt. Not McKenzie, she realized. Just a soccer mom in a mini-van slowing to let a squirrel cross the road. But that little shot of adrenaline leant her extra speed as she ran the rest of the way home.

### Chapter 29

#### Mirror Images

_Alex_

THE THREE BEGAN in unison, "I want out, I want out, I want--"

But it was Alex's voice that lasted longest inside the attic. Again, Brooke and Maryanne cast out before her and she was left there chanting alone. They'd gone more quickly than ever this time. It was becoming second nature to them. Alex stiffened as she continued to tap and chant. She knew why the delay, of course. Her own fear was holding her back. Full memory of the assault was so close now, so frighteningly close... But she was a caster, dammit! And she wanted--

"--out."

Suddenly she was. As always, Alex looked back at the slump of their three bodies on the attic floor. So defenseless lying there in the glowing candlelight. Brooke's original's right hand flopped to the side, weakly smacking Alex's original on the ribs. That that was the extent of her physical ability didn't seem to bother Brooke. Alex felt the tap, of course. It still was strange to her, this dual consciousness.

"Waving, Brooke?" Alex asked, turning to Brooke's dark cast beside her.

Brooke laughed. "It still strikes me funny. How helpless we are in there, but how powerful we are out here." She straightened her arms, fisted her hands as if they were rockets at her sides and shot up above the roof top. Then, just as quickly, she dropped back down to Alex's side.

"Yeah," Alex said. "Real funny." Not. She loved the power their casts had out here, but God how she hated the vulnerability of the original left behind. Maryanne and Brooke didn't share her worries. Alex hoped they never would.

Maryanne's black form moved toward the river, and Alex turned toward her. She was skimming low to the ground, among the tall grass, which was good. At least one of them appreciated how cautious they had to be, especially now that the Heller rumors were flying. But why was she heading to the river?

"Hey, Maryanne! Where are you going?" she called.

Maryanne stopped. "To the oak tree for the copper bracelets."

"Not tonight," Alex reminded. "You don't want to pull a Brooke, do you?"

"Pull a Brooke?" Brooke asked.

"Bounce your hand off the walls trying to pass through wearing copper and smack yourself in the head."

"Nice," Brooke groused, feigning injury. "Real nice, Robbins."

Alex grinned.

Maryanne rejoined them. "So Connie knows we're not coming tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Alex said. "I told her."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

"Another daytime venture into the woods?" Brooke asked.

Alex shrugged.

She'd let the girls in on her daytime, copper-bearing excursions to Connie's when they'd questioned all the copper now in her nest. But neither Brooke nor Maryanne had asked to go with her on those non-casting trips. She wouldn't have let them anyway. Like so much else, this was just between Connie and her.

And it's not like she went out to Connie's home in the woods every day. She'd only been there in the daytime two more times. It would have been three, except she'd turned back one day, half-convinced she was being followed when she'd heard the sound of branches snapping behind her. She was probably being paranoid. But she couldn't take the chance someone would hurt Connie. Or hurt her all over again.

"You guys ready for this?" There was an edge in Maryanne's voice, as there always was when they cast. Brooke's teasing of her being 'hard-core' out here really was bang on. But tonight there seemed to be a little trepidation in her, too. This wasn't going to be an ordinary casting night. The girls descended to the ground floor, taking care to stay away from the windows.

"Should we try the... kitchen?" Maryanne whispered. They were just off to the side of the wide kitchen window, hiding in the shadowed bushes. Probably the same one Connie had huddled down in on the night she'd watched her mother.

"God girl, you don't have to whisper!" Brooke said. "Only we casters can hear each other unless we're shrieking."

"Oh, right," Maryanne said.

"Nervous?" Alex asked.

She shook her head. "Not as much as I should be. I mean, not as much as if I weren't casting."

Alex smiled. It was totally true. That's why they had to watch themselves. Not carry that abandon too far like they had with the Walker horses. And speaking of watching...

"Brooke!" She was no longer at Alex's side in the bushes, but over at the house. Specifically, she was at the kitchen window, looking in. But her face wasn't just pressed to the glass, it was pressed through the glass as she scoped out the kitchen. Alex's heart jerked. "What the hell are you doing?"

In response to Alex's bark, Brooke withdrew her face. "Relax!" she called. "I'm just checking the place out."

"I thought we agreed to stay away from glass?"

"Hey, it's not like I was going to go through it. I just poked my face in a bit, just enough to look sideways." Brooke soared back to join them. "By the way, Betts is in there," she added conversationally.

Automatically, Alex and Maryanne lowered themselves further into the bushes.

"Holy crap!" Alex swore. "That was six kinds of stupid, Brooke!"

"God, Alex. Chill, already. Betts's back was too me. She's just sitting at the table with the lights out."

"Having a midnight snack?" Maryanne asked.

"More like a midnight nightcap."

"What if she'd seen you?" Alex demanded.

"She didn't!"

"But if she had--"

"Then she would have thought she'd seen a shadow. Worst case scenario, she would have thought she'd seen a Heller."

"The legend lives on," Maryanne grated.

Alex let out a long sigh. She so didn't want to get into a scrap with Brooke tonight. "Okay, okay. Let's just do this."

Alex didn't have to say it twice. When she started around the house, the others fell right in behind her. The three of them glided below the windows as they passed the bottom-floor bedrooms. That would be all they'd need, to have Kassidy or someone else wake the house with screams. But damn it, it was temping to take a peek inside!

They stopped at the front door, which seemed the logical entrance. This late--well past lights out--no one should be standing there to get the shock of their lives.

"Ready?" She turned to ask.

Brooke and Maryanne both nodded, and with a sister on either side of her, Alex slipped into the moonlit foyer of Harvell House.

"This is crazy!" Maryanne said. Except for the Walker place on their Brooke-rescuing missions, they'd never snuck into a house. "I feel like a cat burglar!"

Alex did too. She couldn't help it. She skimmed her hands just into the wallpaper as she moved into the foyer.

Brooke popped into, then out of, the coat closet. "Hey, one of the freshmen kids from Fredericton has a bag of weed in her pocket."

Maryanne shook her head. "No way!"

"She better not get caught with it." Okay, that sounded strange even to Alex's own ears, given her history. Before anyone could remark on it, she added, "And we'd better not get caught here in the house."

She waited for an answer from the other two. There was none.

And when Alex looked behind her to see what they were staring at, she was pretty damn speechless too.

Each one of them faced the tall, oval mirror that stood in the foyer.

The shimmery outlines of their casts, which were so visible ordinarily, were completely absent in the mirror's reflection. All she could see of each one of them, including herself, was the darkness. The complete, utter emptiness. It was one thing to see Connie's cast, during her daytime visits and to know intellectually that her own cast must look much the same. But holy hell, it was something entirely different to actually see herself like that! This was how Mansbridge saw the Hellers. This was what the world witnessed, and feared. The foyer was darkened, but their casts were darker. Depthlessly darker, somehow. Alex felt a sudden urge to race back into her body, and by the tension she felt in the originals beside her in the attic, she wasn't the only one spooked.

Had Connie looked in mirrors over the years at herself and seen this empty sight? How would it feel to know that was all there ever was? All there ever would be?

Alex pushed the nervousness aside. Fought it down. "Are you guys ready?" she asked. "Ready to do this for Connie?"

"Ready." Maryanne's answer came quickly, if a little shakily.

Brooke nodded, then turned back to the mirror again. "But first tell me, do I look fat in this?"

Alex and Maryanne both snorted a nervous laugh, the kind of laugh that could all too easily get hysterical. But Brooke was already moving away from the reflecting surface, sinking down through the floor boards. Alex and Maryanne followed. Carefully, strategically, they moved through the boards, between where the beams of wood should be, so as to minimize the number of nails they encountered. They'd learned the more iron content in the nail, the bigger the ripping pain. In a house this old, the nails probably had significant iron content.

With a minimum of nail exposure, they made it to the basement. Alex felt the change in the air immediately. Felt it shudder _through_ her caster self as they floated downward. It wasn't so much a coldness that a caster could feel, more a lack of warmth. There was a dampness to it too. Not unexpected, she supposed, especially with the earthen floor Maryanne had warned them to expect.

She looked around at the physical space. It wasn't exactly barren, but no one could call it cluttered. It had to be John Smith who kept the place so tidy. Tools were lined up on the pegboard above the workbench, a black-marker outline around each to show where they belonged. There was lumber piled in one corner of the room, left over no doubt from some work he'd done around Harvell House. The yard tools were down here too, save for the lawnmower which Alex knew was stored in the small garage alongside Mrs. Betts's Camry. But she spied rakes, hoes, old spades, and even the flower boxes that would be coming out in the spring.

"Wheeeeeee!"

Alex turned around.

With her hands wrapped around a copper pipe, Maryanne swung from the ceiling, like a kid on the monkey bars over at the park.

"Omigod!" Immediately Brooke joined her, and the two of them moved back and forth, laughing as they banged into each other. "It's copper plumbing, right?"

"Will you guys quit it!" Alex hissed.

Brooke let go, then Maryanne. They floated down to Alex.

"You've got to try that," Maryanne said. "I mean, we're so... weightless."

Brooke agreed. "Except when we bang in to each other."

Alex would try it, but it would have to be another time. This night was about Connie. For Connie. "Maryanne, does it still feel... evil down here? Like you told us?"

Maryanne hesitated before she answered. "I don't know. I mean, yes, it does, but it feels different. Here... but away somehow."

Of course it would feel like that. Everything felt further away when they were out in cast form. Not non-existent, but removed. Even her pain of the rape. It didn't leave her out here, but it was at a distance for a while. How different from when she cast in...

"What do you bet she's buried here," Brooke said. She knelt near the floor, running her hands in and over the dirt of it.

Alex nodded. Connie could be. She really, really could be. She'd known they were coming to kill her. The rumor she'd died in Toronto had been spread around town. Her murderers, faced with the task of getting rid of her body in winter, could so easily have buried her here. Alex was almost sure of it now.

"She could be right below us," Maryanne whispered. No one chastised her now for her lowered voice.

"Somewhere below us, anyway." Brooke said. With that they all scanned the huge basement. "Oh, man, we could dig for a month and never find her!"

Brooke was right. A sickening feeling that felt like lead dropped in Alex's belly--in both her cast and her original--as she realized what she had to do.

"Alex?" Maryanne turned to her. "What's going on? Why is your original suddenly sweating so much?"

They were huddled that close in the attic, able to feel one another. There was somehow an unspoken security in that closeness.

"We're not going to dig up the whole basement," Alex said.

Brooke scoffed. "You're the one so hell bent on finding Connie's body for her. Now you're... " Brooke stiffened as realization hit. "Oh shit, Alex! Don't!"

Alex looked up at her. Then up at Maryanne who stood as still as Brooke did now, and watching her. She looked down at herself.

Her body was partially sunk in the floor, as if she were cut off at the knees. Of course, no dirt had been disturbed around her or beneath her. The lower part of her cast had simply vanished into the earth. And with her legs she could feel the earth as her cast moved through it. Feel the dirt and the stones and the darting of small bugs as they scurried away--even creepy-crawly things were afraid of casters, apparently. There was a bottle cap of some kind too. She knew it as she moved a foot and her toe slid through it.

"Get out of there, Alex!"

Maryanne reached for her, but Alex pulled away. She was determined to do this, though her heart was racing like mad up inside the attic.

"Are you crazy?" Brooke yelled.

"Don't you guys get it?" she said. "We'll never be able to dig up the basement. We don't know where to begin. But if I go down into the ground as a caster, find her body--"

"You are _completely_ batshit freaking crazy!" Maryanne shouted.

Both Alex and Brooke whipped their heads around to look at her. Maryanne _never_ swore.

"What if you find more?" Maryanne said. "What if you find iron down there? Bang into an iron pipe or some old rods or a pile of broken machinery bits... _anything_. Hell, given how superstitious this town is, they could have buried freakin' horseshoes here for all we know! Do you know how dangerous that could be?"

Damn it, Alex had been scared enough before. But she hadn't thought of that.

"You'd be screwed," Brooke said. "Completely and totally screwed! You couldn't move and you'd be trapped underground."

"And you'd dig me up," she said.

"Yeah?" Brooke scoffed. "Wonder where they keep the copper shovels around here?" She turned and pretended to study one corner of the basement. "Let's see, no, not in this corner."

Alex stayed half submerged in the ground. "Then cast back in and dig me up."

"When?" Maryanne asked softly. "When could we do that? It would have to be without anyone else around, because we sure as hell couldn't get anyone to help us."

God, that was true. It wasn't like anyone else could unearth a trapped caster, dig down into that emptiness and find a buried Mansbridge Heller. If she did get trapped down there, she'd be trapped until Brooke and Maryanne could find her, and get her out without being discovered. That might take time. A very long time. What if they couldn't, ever? What if something happened to them--an accident of some kind--and her cast was buried beneath the ground forever, while her original remained in the world? Vulnerable. Helpless. God, if there was any significant iron down there and she touched it, she would be trapped. Trapped with the bones of Connie Harvell.

Poor, tired Connie Harvell.

"I... I have to try," Alex said. "I'll be careful."

"If you're not back in--"

Brooke couldn't finish the sentence.

"We'll get you out." Maryanne crouched down beside her.

Brooke lowered herself too. "Promise. Whatever it takes."

"If I get stuck, don't get caught searching for me," Alex said. "There's... there's a lot riding on this."

Maryanne nodded. "We know."

With that, Alex descended fully into the ground, into the complete darkness of it. The smell changed. And she felt it too, the musty old feeling of the so-long undisturbed earth. She could see nothing, and though her cast didn't breathe air, her original in the attic struggled down a shuddering deep breath for both of them as the claustrophobic feeling of being buried nearly overwhelmed her. She couldn't imagine being actually trapped down here! But if there was iron... Her chest tightened.

Alex fought to conquer the panic, knowing her will would eventually prevail. She'd had lots of practice, after all. Hadn't she fought that claustrophobic press almost every day since the rape?

Yeah, she'd fight it. For Connie and herself.

Six feet under. Wasn't that where people always said they buried bodies? Though she couldn't know for sure of course, chances were they'd buried Connie's body a few feet down at least.

Alex began to move forward through the ground. Slowly, carefully. Stretching her hands out before her, then moving that arm's length through the soil. Again and again she did this. Feeling slightly braver as she went, she began swinging her hands out to the sides as she glided through the earth. Something cold and speedy skittered past her hand. It took all the discipline she could muster not to shoot up out of the ground. It helped to remind herself that flesh couldn't pass through her caster form. Bad enough to have those creepy-crawlies on you.

Finally, she felt the mortared stone wall. Though she was pretty disoriented by this point, she surmised it was the north wall, facing the river. She pressed both hands close to the stone edge of the wall and moved herself along it. Then she ventured again out through the earth.

Her chest was paining in the attic. Honest to God, if she were being chased by a man-eating tiger, she didn't think her heart could hammer any harder. And then a new fear hit her.

_What if I died up there? What if I had a heart attack and died? Would I be a caster --a Heller--forever, just like--_"Connie Harvell!"

Alex almost screamed the name as her fingertips contacted something smooth and solid and round. Beneath her fingers, it felt like a smooth stone, but it wasn't. It couldn't be. Her caster hand would have moved through stone. It felt like... her fingers explored further... a skull.

Oh God, it _was_ a skull! And her caster hand couldn't pass through it. She'd known living flesh could be touched, but had just assumed that bones would be like any other inorganic solid. Well, a solid that wasn't either copper or iron. Except it kind of made sense. Bones weren't just inorganic mineral, if she remembered her biology.

Shivering, she touched the object again, discovering that it wasn't as smooth as she'd thought. There were depressions where there shouldn't be, as though the rounded vault had been bashed. She shuddered, but kept her hand in place. And opened up her mind.

Conviction came instantly. _Yes_. It was Connie's skull, all right. Even though she couldn't pass her hand through the bone like she'd done that pine tree, she knew it. Knew it just as surely as she'd known the essence of the pine. These grieving, sad, terrified and vehemently angry bones could belong to no one else.

_Bones._ So sad. These bones were all that was left of Connie's body now, from when they buried her five decades ago. Where they'd buried her--oh God, no!-- _alive!_

Alex's hand recoiled from the skull, but the residue of Connie's horror continued to echo in her mind. Whether they'd done it deliberately or not, they'd buried poor Connie in this hole even as she'd clung tenaciously to life.

On that horrific and horrifying realization, Alex sobbed and shot up through the dirt. She emerged just beneath Maryanne, toppling her over. As Maryanne fell, Alex opened her mouth as if to draw air but all that came out was a gasp of the unholy terror she felt.

"Did you find her?" Brooke cried.

Alex didn't answer. She just shot up as fast as she could through the basement ceiling.

### Chapter 30

#### Angry Bones

_Brooke_

ALL BROOKE HEARD was Alex's frightened gasp. And all she saw was Alex's cast shooting straight up and through the ceiling like she'd been fired from a cannon. Then Maryanne falling on her ass. Of course, Maryanne didn't land with a thump, but sank several feet into the earth. She flailed and scrabbled like a cat dumped into a swimming pool until her momentum stopped. Then, with a yelp--not a primal shriek, thank God!--she rocketed up through the ceiling in a pretty damned good imitation of Alex.

Brooke was wound almost as tightly as the others, but the sight of Maryanne sinking into the earth floor had kept her riveted. Now, realizing she was alone with her raw fear and revulsion, she shot up after her friends. Straight up through the sitting room, which happened to be above where they'd been searching, through God only knew whose bedroom and into the attic.

Maryanne and Alex were sobbing and retching when Brooke joined them. Unfortunately, she knew just how they felt. Was in fact making some very similar sounds herself.

It was the nails.

Horror from the dead-body-hunting expedition aside, they were reeling from the quick, careless trip through the floorboards of no fewer than three floors. All those nails... Just because there wasn't enough iron in them to paralyze a caster the way that poker had immobilized Brooke, it didn't mean those little nails didn't take their toll. The fatigue of this exposure was pretty damned close to what Brooke had felt in the aftermath of the poker ordeal, and it hurt like the devil.

"Weak," Maryanne said. "Need to get back in."

They all blundered toward their originals, who lay wild-eyed on the floor, limbs jerking spastically. As she looked down at herself, Brooke felt her original's heart pounding like a piston in her chest, felt the nausea in the pit of her stomach, the clammy chill of sweat on her skin.

Alex was the first to try to reunite with her original, but her frantic efforts were fruitless, not to mention totally terrifying to behold. It looked as though cast and original were locked in a battle.

For some reason, this scared Brooke more than the episode in the basement. Nearly mindless with panic, she dove into her own body. Or rather, _tried_ to. Her terror level--in both consciousnesses--blasted into the stratosphere when she realized she couldn't get in.

"We're locked out!" she cried.

"The window!" Maryanne said. "We have to come back to our bodies through the window."

Still ridden by panic, Brooke zoomed toward the stained glass, only to be stopped at the last second by Maryanne's cry.

"No, Brooke! Not that way!" she shouted. "You don't know what would happen if you go out through the window again. Go out through the wall and come back in like we always do, through the window."

Of course! The window was the portal. It was through the window that they left their bodies and through the window that they shot back in.

Steeling herself, Brooke pushed through the wall. It was all she could do to bull through it, and the moment she was outside, she shot to the window and started rapping on it frantically.

"I want in, I want in, I want in!" she shouted.

Her re-entry was more forceful than ever before, throwing her body hard across the room. Her shoulder clipped the leg of the old pedestal table. The good news was the force of the impact didn't budge the table. Middle of the night or not, people would have come running if it had toppled. But that was also the bad news--the table didn't budge. Her shoulder screamed in agony. She didn't care, though. She was back.

She barely had time to sit up when Maryanne came shooting toward her. Brooke rolled on her hip to present her backside and braced herself, letting Maryanne collide with her. The other girl let out an _umph_ as the breath left her body on impact. Still, she obviously recognized it for a pretty soft landing, because she muttered a quick 'thank you'.

Then Alex came sliding toward them. With a lightning fast reaction, Maryanne caught her and pinned her, arresting her slide before she could slam headfirst into the wall.

Maryanne lay partially atop Alex's legs, her arms wrapped around Alex's waist. For a moment, all was silent. Then Alex started sobbing inconsolably, but softly.

Maryanne lifted her head. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"They buried her... "

"I know," Maryanne said, blinking back tears as she hugged Alex. "Right there in their own basement. And left her there all these years."

" _Alive_ ," Alex choked out. "They buried her alive. When I touched her skull... Oh, Maryanne, I just knew it."

"What?" Brooke hissed. "Her own family buried her _alive_?"

Maryanne started to cry. "Those... bastards!"

This time, no one turned a hair at Maryanne's language.

For that matter, Alex barely seemed to hear anything. "They probably didn't know she was alive," she said, her eyes eerily inward looking. "They bashed her skull, I think--it had a big dent in it--so they probably assumed she was dead. But she wasn't. Oh, God, she wasn't."

Brooke felt the tears pouring down her cheeks, but she climbed to her feet and dusted herself off.

"It's okay," she said, as much to assure herself as them. "It was a long time ago, and it must have been beyond horrifying, dying that way. But it can't be helped now." Brooke drew a long, shaky breath. "We're okay, though. We're all okay. That's the main thing, right? And we know where Connie's body is."

The girls just clung tighter.

"All right, make that _I 'm okay_," Brooke said. "I'm not so sure about the two of you." With that, she walked over to the window. The window she'd almost tried to shoot out of. What would have happened? Would the second trip through have transformed her cast into something else? And if so, what? Or might she simply have disappeared, leaving her original to live out her days in a hospital bed?

She pondered that horrifying prospect a while, since it was marginally less horrifying than thinking about a 17-year-old girl going through the tortures of hell, only to have her head bashed in and be thrown in a hole and buried alive.

Behind her, she heard the girls getting up at last. When she turned, they were wiping their faces.

"Sorry about that," Maryanne said. "I guess I lost it there."

"God, don't apologize," Alex said. "You're not the only one. And you must have been a wreck to start with. You must have felt the horror of that place the whole while we were down there. I only felt it briefly, when I touched Connie's bones. Her poor shattered _skull_."

"Maryanne almost touched them too," Brooke interjected, before they could go off on another crying jag. "You knocked her ass over teakettle when you shot up out of there, and she fell right into the ground."

Alex looked at Maryanne. "Oh, crap. Sorry."

Maryanne waved it off. "It's okay. I caught myself before I fell far. And I didn't touch anything. But it did scare the heck out of me. It's a wonder I didn't overtake you on your way back here."

Alex snorted. "Nothing was overtaking me. I have never been that freaked out. I was on edge to start--with the combination of claustrophobia and absolute blackness and crawly things and the fear of encountering some cast-off hunk of iron and getting stuck... Then finding Connie's skeleton, touching her skull and feeling all that horror... "

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick," Maryanne said.

"Suck it up," Brooke warned, even though her own stomach pitched at the thought of being trapped below ground with a corpse. "No puking up here, remember?" Then she turned to Alex. "What'd it feel like? And how can you be so sure it's Connie? Could you tell by how it felt?"

"Oh, yeah," Alex said. "It was Connie, all right. And it felt awful. All that grief. And omigod, the _anger_ for what they did to her!"

Brooke rubbed her sore shoulder. "She's pissed, huh?"

"Righteously. It's as if all her fury... all the horror... stayed with her somehow. Concentrated right into her bones. Maryanne, that must be what you were feeling down there."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Oh, and by the way, we can touch bone," Alex said. "It's solid to us, like copper or iron."

Brooke blinked. "But if you couldn't pass through it, how could you know its essence? How could know it's Connie?"

"Oh, I felt it." Alex shuddered out a breath. "It's probably a good thing I couldn't pass through it. I don't know if I could have stood it. I'd probably still be screaming."

Another silent pause while they thought about that.

Again, it was Alex who broke the silence. "So, I guess we have to dig her up, huh?"

Brooke rolled her sore shoulder. "Why bother?"

"Duh," Maryanne said. "So Connie can try to reunite with her remains, of course."

"The bones wouldn't have to be exposed for that," Brooke pointed out. "Connie can sink down into the ground just as easily as Alex did."

"No," Alex shook her head. "No, we have to be able to see what happens. Unless the bones are exposed, we won't know for sure if she's successful or if she just ran into an old pipe and got trapped down there. Unless you want to be the one to go down and check?"

"Hell no!" Brooke said. "I'm not going down there."

"Then we dig," Alex said.

"In our regular bodies?" Maryanne asked.

"Yep. No copper shovels required."

"But how will we get away with doing that?" Maryanne asked.

Alex smiled wanly. "Easy. American Thanksgiving is coming right up, and this place basically shuts down for four days."

"We get the time off too? Canadian students?"

"Yeah, us too," Alex said. "They pretty much have to close up. As they've discovered, it turns into a ghost town around here anyway, between the American students who go home and the Canadian ones who skip school to rush down to the shopping outlets in Kittery and Freeport for Black Friday. The school calls it a professional development day, but I think all the teachers head across the border too."

"Right," Maryanne said. "Border town. I keep forgetting." She chewed her lip a second. "It'll still be tricky, though, won't it? I mean, Betts and the old caretaker guy must still be here?"

"Not if everyone leaves, which they're strongly encouraged to do."

"Wait a minute--you _have_ to go home?" Maryanne's voice rose with anxiety.

"Relax, Maryanne. They can't make you go home for any of the vacation periods. Well, except for summer break, I suppose," Alex replied, her tone soothing. "But pretty much everyone does take off for Thanksgiving. Or they just go away shopping in the States, like I said. And when the joint empties out, Betts takes off too. That just leaves John Smith, who lives over three miles away, and he only checks in twice a day, at 7:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m., like clockwork."

"Wow, Robbins." Brooke lifted an admiring eyebrow. "How do you know all that?"

Alex lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "I always pretended to go home but didn't. No point going home when my friends in Halifax were away at university, since it's not a Canadian holiday. Well, except for Anika, who goes to Dal right there in Halifax, but she's stuck in classes."

Brooke grinned. "Of course! You stayed here and partied 24-7 with your Mansbridge friends!"

"I used to," Alex confessed. "I'd pretty much just creep back in to rummage for food and to sleep the day away, then head back out again."

"Okay, so we'll pretend to leave, then sneak back into the house to excavate the bones?" Maryanne asked. "Is that the plan?"

"That's the plan," Alex agreed.

"Somebody has to tell Connie," Maryanne pointed out.

"I will," Alex said, to no one's surprise.

"What do we do if we're wrong and she's not ready to do this?"

"She's ready," Alex asserted. "But if for some reason she's not, I think we still dig up the remains, still call the police. At the very least, she'd get a proper burial in the cemetery."

"Where Connie's cast could fuse with her remains any time she wanted," Brooke murmured. "Provided they stick her in a wooden casket, I mean. Not one of those titanium jobs. Who knows what the titanium might be alloyed with?"

"Oh, boy, wouldn't _that_ suck?" Maryanne shuddered. "We'd have to dig her up _again_!"

"I don't think we have to worry about that," Alex said. "I mean, she has no family left, right? They'll probably give her a cheap-assed wooden casket, if not one of those cardboard ones."

"A cardboard casket?" Maryanne sounded horrified.

Brooke shrugged. "Environmentally friendly, I guess."

"Oh, shit." Brooke sucked in a breath. "What if they _cremate_ her? Would she be locked out forever then? Or could she maybe get back into her ashes?"

Maryanne moaned.

"Thank you for that contribution, Brooke," Alex said, then sighed. "Look, I really don't think we have to worry about that stuff. I think she's ready."

"Well, you'd know better than us," Brooke said, not without a little snideness. "You know, with all that extra visiting."

Alex ignored the dig. "So, do we have a plan?" She looked from one to the other. "Are we agreed?"

"Agreed," Maryanne said.

"Agreed," Brooke echoed, already planning ahead.

Maybe Thanksgiving wouldn't suck ditchwater after all.

She'd been dreading going home. Her mom and the step-Fuehrer were going to be away anyway, visiting his relatives, and she'd have been alone. And sure as shit, Herr Kommandant would have cleaned out the liquor cabinet. _The jerk_. But she hadn't seen much alternative. She figured Maryanne and Alex would be off to their respective families, and she'd pretty much burned her bridges with the locals, who looked at her like she was Typhoid Mary, thanks to that HPV gag she'd pulled on Seth. And thanks also to... well... her general bitchiness. That last thought gave her a pang. Maybe she could work on that bitchy thing, at least with her roomies.

Brooke's mind whirled. They could pack their bags and head out in Brooke's rental. Pretend they were all headed to the Fredericton airport to catch flights home. Instead, they could go to a local motel and have a pajama party while the rest of the house emptied out. Give Betts and Smith a chance to satisfy themselves the place really was abandoned. Then the girls could sneak back the next day.

Brooke grinned. This could turn out to be fun.

Well, some of it. Her smile faded as the revulsion she'd felt in the basement echoed through her, making her skin crawl.

Yeah, the pajama party part would be great.

The exhumation of the angry corpse part? Not so much.

### Chapter 31

#### The Worms Crawl Out

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE WATCHED WIDE-EYED as Brooke flipped a middle finger at the retreating Chevy as it spun down Alder.

"What jerks," Maryanne mumbled.

"Totally!" Brooke agreed.

The carload of boys had rolled down the windows to whistle at them initially. But seeing Brooke was part of the duo when they'd gotten closer, the whistles had turned into insults.

_Whore. Slut. Tramp._

The usual.

"Same everywhere," Brooke scoffed. "Always about _that,_ you know? Trip an old lady or drown a sack of puppies... worst name they can think of revolves around your sex. God, I could be the freakin' holy virgin and they'd still come out with that garbage."

"Friends of Seth's?" Maryanne guessed.

Brooke laughed as if the hurled insults hadn't bothered her. "Yeah. And maybe even friends of mine last year."

Maryanne shook her head. "Brooke, sorry that this kind of--"

Brooke waved her off. "Oh, please. Doesn't bother me a bit."

It _did_ bother Brooke. More than a bit. Maryanne knew it, _saw it_ in that New York grin she held just a little too long. But Brooke wouldn't admit that it hurt; that would be a weakness, and she refused to show any. Maryanne sighed, but she knew not to push it.

"Shall we head over to the mall for a latte after?" Brooke asked.

It was the perfect afternoon for it, Maryanne had to admit. A strong, cold wind had met them when they'd left school this afternoon. And she and Brooke had left together. In fact, after what had happened with McKenzie, Maryanne never left school alone. Every day, either Brooke or Alex was waiting there, a safe escort home. Alex's orders. Not that Maryanne would ever accept another instruction to stay late from McKenzie. And not that he'd left her any more notes. On the other hand, he wasn't exactly ignoring her. Every day, he scowled pure hatred her way. And though he couldn't mark her tests wrong--math wasn't that subjective--every check mark he put on the page was a grudging, angry red slash.

"A latte sounds good. Hey, maybe Alex will join us?"

Brooke raised an eyebrow. "Kidding, right?"

"Right," Maryanne said, although she hadn't been. But Brooke was right. They were all casting out tonight, but Alex wouldn't wait to talk to Connie then. She would go alone, on foot, copper offerings in her pocket, and she would give Connie the news that they'd found where her body was buried.

Alex actually seemed to look forward to her solo treks through the woods. Though she was never alone for long, she'd assured the girls. Connie would hear her coming. Hear the dry, dead branches Alex purposely snapped beneath her feet as she made her way to Connie's nest. And Connie, concealing herself the best she could in the branches on these grey days, would come out to meet her.

What was it that pulled Alex so strongly to Connie? Sure, they all felt for this poor, lonely caster. Even tough Brooke had cried the night they'd found her bones. But with Alex, it was... different. Of course, everything was different about Alex Robbins, or so everyone said. She still looked tough, and she had the reputation from last year as a kick-ass hell raiser and party animal, but what Maryanne mostly saw was this fragile, somehow haunted person. Somehow even when she cast out.

"She's an enigma, all right."

"Talking to yourself again?" Brooke asked. She swung the door to the hardware store open.

"Well... yeah," Maryanne said, stepping into the little store. "Lots of people do that."

"Um... not really."

"Bad habit." Maryanne shrugged.

Both girls removed their gloves and blew into their hands to warm them as they looked around the store.

They needed gardening gloves. Heavy-duty ones, preferably. Where to start?

Last time Maryanne had been in here was during her frantic mission to get duplicate attic keys made in record time so she could race back and stash the original in its place before its absence was discovered. She'd gotten the barest general impression of the store that day. But now that she looked around for a specific item rather than making a beeline to the bold yellow KEYS sign hanging at the back, she had time to appreciate the organized clutter of the homey store. There wasn't a lot of stock, but a little bit of everything. Maryanne liked the place. She'd like it even better if they found what they were looking for.

A slow-walking, friendly-looking clerk peered up over his reading glasses as he walked over to Maryanne and Brooke. His nametag read Eustace.

He looked like a Eustace.

"Anything I can help you with, ladies?"

"We're looking for gloves," Brooke said. "Three pair."

"Winter gloves? We got some on aisle three, but they're men's thermal work gloves. Don't know as they'd be what you'd want. Got some indoor work gloves, too, but they'd be too big for you young ladies."

"Gardening," Maryanne said. "We're looking for ladies' gardening gloves."

Eustace smiled at her. "We don't get much call for gardening gloves this time of year. Why would you be looking for those in November?"

Maryanne felt her face flush. She hadn't anticipated an inquisition. What could she say? Certainly not the truth! _Well, you see, Eustace, we 're going to dig up a body from the basement at Harvell House this weekend when everyone's out of town so the Mansbridge Heller can reunite with it, and we don't want to blister our hands._

"Christmas gifts," Brooke said brightly, not missing a beat. "I have three dear old aunts in Florida. Got to send those parcels early."

"What part of Florida?"

"Bonita Springs."

"Nice place." Eustace nodded as if he'd been there. "But still, I'm afraid, all the gardening things have been packed up and--"

Undeterred, Brooke continued her story. "My aunts--bless their hearts--moved down there in June. And poor Aunt Judy, she's the youngest, can't fly home because of a heart problem she developed down there. So none of them are coming home. This'll be their first Christmas away from New Brunswick. They're missing the Christmas concert at our little church. Family dinner at Gam Gam and Papa's and Gam Gam's not well, herself."

Maryanne watched in amazement as Brooke's eyes misted with tears.

"I... I haven't got much money to spend. But I still wanted to get them a gift... something so they'd know how much I missed them all. They just love their little garden and I thought that gloves would be--"

Eustace raised a weathered hand, silencing Brooke. "Say no more. I'll see if I can't dig some gardening gloves out for you. I know we put at least a half dozen pairs away at the end of last season."

Brooke sniffled as though those threatening tears were about to fall. "Oh, I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"No trouble at all, miss."

"Oh, thank you!" She linked her arm into his as they headed toward the back of the store in search of the packed-up gloves. Half turning, Brooke winked at Maryanne.

Okay, well, maybe Alex wasn't the only enigma in Harvell House. The things Brooke could get away with... Maryanne was still smiling as she turned, and the bright-yellow bargain bins caught her eye. Oh wow, she loved this stuff! Even in a hardware store, if you looked deep enough past the packets of tacks and nails and the really cheap measuring tapes, there were often little treasures to be found in the one-, two- or three-dollar bins. Case in point: "Sticky notes!" And they were shaped like little hammers. Treasures indeed. She picked up three packs. The bottom bins looked tempting too. Maryanne squatted for a closer look. Mechanical pencils and gel pens. "I've been meaning to get some--"

"Sorry--were you talking to me?"

She looked up. Waaaaay up at the guy who'd just rounded the corner. By the time her gaze finally reached his face, she realized that she'd lingered a bit longer than necessary on the upward trip.

Blushing, Maryanne stood quickly. "Oh, no. Sorry, I was just... well, talking to myself," she said, half in apology. Oh, man, she could feel the heat in her face now. "I'm told it's a bad habit."

"Not so bad." The young man smiled. "Lots of people do it."

He was good looking. Not in a pretty or polished way, but in a rugged way. He needed a shave, and she found that terribly sexy, and he looked as if he belonged in those jeans, that lined leather jacket opened just enough at the collar. And tall--well over six feet, and with a casual mess of dark brown hair and the most chocolate-brown eyes Maryanne had ever seen. She was sure she'd never met him before--no way would a guy like this slip her mind--but somehow, he looked vaguely familiar.

And the best part was... he wasn't moving along.

"So," he said, "you come here often?" Then he cringed.

And, yeah, it _was_ that bad of a line.

"Twice," Maryanne said. "I've been here twice. Nice little store. Nothing like it back home." There. She'd set that out on purpose. If he asked, then it meant he was...

"Where's back home?"... potentially interested. Yes!

"Burlington, Ontario. Near Toronto."

"You must go to Streep."

"That's right," she said. "I'm a senior, but this is my first year here."

"Oh, I definitely knew it was your first year here. I would remember seeing you otherwise."

Maryanne smiled. Didn't even try to help it. Okay, she was no expert at flirting, and her experience with boys was almost non-existent. She'd been on dates with guys--movies and that kind of thing--but never anything even approaching serious. No one had really interested her. She wasn't sweet seventeen and never been kissed, but pretty close.

"I'm Maryanne," she said. "Maryanne Hemlock."

The guy switched his grip on his purchase from his left hand to his right to extend his hand for a shake. Maryanne reached to grasp it.

"And I'm Bryce," he said. "Bryce--"

"Walker!"

Maryanne startled, whirling to see Brooke standing there with the gloves in her hand and looking none too happy. Oh crap! _Walker_. This was Seth's brother. The one who Melissa had raced out to the barn to find the other night.

_The one with the iron handcuffs!_

That's why he looked so familiar. She had seen him before--but only fleetingly, while she'd fled him in caster form. Maryanne crossed her arms in front of her.

The tension in the little store was immediate as Brooke and Bryce stared at each other.

Brooke smiled, wickedly. "Not enough that Seth sends his buddies around to yell at me on the street, huh, Bryce? He has to send you in here to spy on me too." She laughed. "When will that guy ever get over me?"

"Done deal, Brooke," Bryce grated. "Seth's moved on, as you damn well know. And I didn't come in here to spy on anyone."

"Then why are you hassling my friend?"

Maryanne gulped. "Brooke, he's not--"

"I'm not hassling anyone!" Bryce raked a hand through his dark brown hair. Those warm chocolate eyes now held anger. "Look, I just came in here to shop." He jostled the box in his hands. "Nothing to do with you, Brooke. Believe it or not, the whole town doesn't revolve around you."

She huffed.

Bryce turned to Maryanne. "Nice to... almost meet you. I'll see you around."

Shaking, Maryanne stared after him as he walked away. _That was Bryce Walker! The one who 'd tried to capture Brooke, maybe even kill her. That was Ira Walker's grandson, the one who'd read his grandfather's Heller hunting journals._

And he was the most gorgeous guy she'd ever met.

"Come on." Brooke grabbed Maryanne's arm. That's when Maryanne realized Brooke was shaking too. Maryanne soon knew why as they paid for their purchases and left the small store.

Brooke drew a breath as they walked along the sidewalk together. "Did you see what Bryce was buying?" she whispered.

"No."

"A welding torch. You know... for metal."

"Like iron!" Maryanne nearly choked on the words.

Neither of them could stomach the thought of a latte now. Bracing themselves against the wind, they walked back to Harvell House.

### Chapter 32

#### After Time

_Alex_

ALEX'S MIND WAS wide awake, even though it had been a hell of a long day. She'd been up for over 20 hours now. But as she climbed the stairs to the attic for the second time this night, she wasn't tired at all. She climbed them slowly and quietly, and she climbed them alone. But this time, she climbed them with more purpose than ever before. As she topped the last step to stand on the attic floor, she knew she was ready.

After tonight's earlier casting with Brooke and Maryanne, she truly was.

Tonight, when she'd cast back in, her attacker's face had been just a blur in her memory, a barely there haze that hovered behind the thinnest wall. That was all that remained. She was that close to knowing it all.

Her immediate reaction had been fear, a very real mental push back on that mighty hammer. But even as she mentally fought it, the almost-memory beckoned. Alex just had be to brave enough to let it out.

She'd asked Connie to be brave.

Right after school, while Maryanne and Brooke had gone to buy gloves, Alex had made her trek through the woods to Connie's home. The tone for the trip was set when that damned freight train lumbered through town right on schedule, sounding its warning whistle. It was miles to the north of her location, but the mournful sound carried easily on the crisp fall air. She'd had to swallow down a lump of loneliness.

She'd walked quietly at first, then thrashed her way through the branches as she got closer to the nest. Connie met her, of course, carrying her doll and clapping her hands as she saw Alex to let Alex know she was glad of her visit. Alex hadn't taken much copper with her this time, just a pocketful of pennies. But she had brought along the news for Connie.

"We know you're tired, Connie. Tired beyond belief; crushed by the weight of so many years of being out here, stranded without a body to go back to. I've felt that in you." Alex had pulled a sharp breath, then just let it spill out. "We found where they buried your body. Your... bones. We were thinking maybe your cast can get back in. So you can finally rest. Finally get some peace. God knows, you deserve it. We're going to dig the remains up, so you can try it. If that's what you want, I mean. You can try to cast back in." She'd pause to draw breath. "That _is_ what you want, isn't it?"

Connie had stood perfectly stone still. Even the wind seemed to die down as though holding its breath while it waited to see what she'd do. Connie looked as if she'd turned to an empty statute, completely and perfectly motionless. Though Alex no longer felt fear when she saw the caster in the daylight, she clamped down on a tremor of it then.

She had expected Connie to be happy. In her imagination, the lonely caster had hugged her tightly, clasped her hands in a silent thank you. But when she finally did move, Connie simply looked down at her doll, stroked its head gently. Only then, did she lift her black, empty face to Alex. And nodded slowly.

As tired as she plainly was, as lonely as her world had been, and as ready as Connie just had to be after so many heavy decades without reprieve from her caster existence, it still meant the _end_ of her existence. The end of everything for Connie Edwina Harvell.

When Connie had extended her doll toward Alex, Alex's heart had leapt in her chest as she understood.

"You keep your baby, Connie," she said. "I'll look after her when... when you rest. I promise."

Connie had nodded again.

Later, when Alex had cast out with Brooke and Maryanne, Connie had said little about the plan other than to offer a gentle thank you to each one of them, and to tell them that, when she let herself dare to, she so hoped it would work.

They had stayed out late, soaring through the Mansbridge sky. Even with the copper bracelets, Alex had felt the heaviness coming in as the night wore on. But this was Connie's night--one of the few remaining--and it was as if she wanted to rise her highest as she soared her last with her new-found friends. She showed them the places she'd discovered over the years; the windows she'd listened at where people talked late into the night, the most breathtaking spots along the river. And Connie warned the girls about the places to stay away from.

Like Ira Walker's farm.

She'd whispered to Alex as they'd flown along the river. "I'm scared to go back into Harvell House."

"I know. But I'll be right beside you," Alex had told her.

"Then I'll... I'll try. If you're there, Alex, I'll try."

"I promise I will be."

"And no one will hurt me?"

"No one will hurt you. I promise that too."

Alex breathed deeply now as she walked across the attic. Though her mind still wasn't tired, her body was starting to feel the effects of the late hours, the busy hours. She rubbed a hand over the back of her stiff neck. She walked right up to the window, leaned her forehead against it and closed her eyes. A floorboard creaked as she adjusted her stance. The wood had never made that groan before, but maybe it only protested because she'd stood there for so long in contemplation.

"This is it," Alex said softly. "This is what I want. I want to remember. I'm ready." She didn't so much whisper to herself, but to the stained-glass Madonna who'd been there to witness everything she'd suffered. All that Connie had suffered too. "If Connie can face her fears, so can I. I'll remember everything this time. Everything that bastard did to me. And I'll see his face." She felt the rush of emotion, felt the anger growing. And yes, she felt the fear of knowing her nightmare--of pulling it to her again. But she was more than ready. No longer would Alex fearfully wait for that hammer of memory to finally breach her mental walls. She was ready to grab it herself and smash it through.

Alex opened her eyes and looked up at the lady in the glass. Her colors were muted in the cloudy night, but her beauty wasn't. Nor was her compassion. It seemed to radiate from those magnificent eyes like a balm to Alex's spirit. She placed her hands flat on the glass, feeling the cold of the night on her palms, then she fisted her hands. With jaw-tightening determination, she tapped the window.

"I am ready," she whispered. "And I want out!"

Alone into the Mansbridge night, Alex ventured toward the moment. The memories--the last of them, the darkest of them--would come back in with her. She was ready. She truly was. But before she went back inside to confront the memories, she would take a few minutes to commune with the night around her. Her soul could use the fortification.

For once, as she soared off toward the Saint John River, Alex didn't look back at her body slumped helplessly on the floor. This time--perhaps because her excursion would be so short--the worry wasn't with her.

But it should have been.

### Chapter 33

#### Night of Nights

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE AWOKE ALL at once.

She'd been dreaming. But already the vision was wisping away--a railway line, blue balloons, two old women conspiring as they stood a ways down the tracks. They'd cast cautious glances her way.

Maryanne didn't even try to peddle her mind back to chase that curious dream. Instead, instantly, she pushed herself more awake. More alert. She'd heard a strange sound from above her. A snap or a crack of some kind.

She was almost sure of it. Could still hear the echo of it in her mind.

She looked around the gloom of the room, waiting and blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Brooke half grumbled/half turned in her sleep as if something had invaded her dreams too, though not enough to wake her. Within moments, she was snoring again.

Maryanne sat up, brushing her long hair back from her face. She snapped on the low-wattage bedside lamp and tilted the shade away from sleeping Brooke and over toward Alex's bed.

Alex wasn't in it.

Worry crept into her thoughts.

_Where the heck was Alex?_

They'd all been out so late, traveled so far. Alex had been just as exhausted as Brooke and Maryanne.

_So why wasn 't she in her bed? Had she gotten up to go somewhere and cry alone? Like the attic?_

That was definitely a possibility.

Alex had always seemed lost somehow. Well, at least since Maryanne had known her. Either all alone or suffocating in the world. Those sad eyes had stayed with Maryanne since the day they'd met. But lately Alex had seemed even deeper in thought. Strangely, especially whenever they cast back in. Why? What haunted her so? Was that what pulled her out of her bed tonight?

But what if she were sick? Or hurt somewhere and couldn't cry out? What if something was wrong? Desperately wrong!

She caught the train of her thoughts and slammed on the brakes. _Those were Jason thoughts_. All the worries that raced through her mind now--all the frightening scenarios that she imagined--rose up to swamp her now simply because Jason had died. Because of what she'd done.

But what if it wasn't just about Jason?

What if the worries were founded? If something happened to Alex, it would be her fault all over again. Dear Lord, she couldn't own another death...

"Brooke," Maryanne whispered. She tilted the lamp to shine on Brooke's sleeping face.

No answer. Not even a break in her roommate's snoring.

She whispered again, louder, more urgently. "Brooke... Brooke, are you awake?"

Not so much as a murmur.

Maryanne reached down to the floor for a slipper and flung it at her.

"Uhhh! What the fu--"

"Alex is missing!"

Squinting and blinking, Brooke leaned up on one elbow to look over at Alex's bed. "Where is she?"

Maryanne rolled her eyes. "I don't know where she is. That's why she's missing."

Brooke thumped her head back down on the pillow. "Jesus, Maryanne," she said. "She's probably down the hall to the bathroom."

"I thought I heard something. Maybe from the attic. Maybe she's up there?"

"Then maybe she is. So what?"

"By herself?"

Brooke half sat up again. "We've all been up there by ourselves."

Maryanne couldn't argue with that. But still... it didn't feel right. She bit down on her lip before she asked. "Think we should go look for her?

"Look," Brooke said, groaning. "You know Alex. If we go up there and she's in one of her dark moods or reading Connie's diary again, she'll be pissed to think we're checking up on her. Or spying on her. Hell, Maryanne, she's not a baby!"

For one gut-wrenching moment, Maryanne thought she was going to puke. She could feel the sweat on her neck, between her breasts, gathering on her stomach. "No," she said, softly. "She's not a baby."

"She probably just needs some time alone. This stuff with Connie... it's freaky enough for us, but you know how close Alex feels to her. How possessive she is of Connie... She just needs her space. Now go back to sleep. More importantly, let _me_ go back to sleep."

Brooke turned to face the wall.

Maryanne clicked off the light. She pulled the covers up again and lay back down.

Brooke was probably right. She was probably just worrying over nothing. Maryanne closed her eyes again and almost instantly felt the blessed touch of sleep. Everything would be fine in the morning.

_Like it was with Jason?_

Her eyes flew wide open. She would not sleep again this night.

### Chapter 34

#### Dark Dawning

_Alex_

ALEX STOPPED AT the oak tree down by the river. She wasn't so much resting there as simply _being_ in the quiet of it. She looked up at the gently rustling leaves, looked down at the tall yellow grass blowing in the same wind. Feeling that wind blow through her, yet her caster form didn't so much as waver, nor did the breeze's chill register. It all still fascinated her, this casting thing. Still scared her, too, even as she rejoiced at becoming so completely one with the night. There was so much more to learn... A dog barked from some distance away. Well, more of a bay than a bark, like a hound dog would make. The mournful sound only added to the depth of the night around her. Slowly, Alex moved up the oak tree, through to the branches where Connie's bracelets hung. She wouldn't be donning the copper again tonight. She only wanted to touch the metal because Connie Harvell had made the small bands. Tonight Alex caressed the copper not for the physical strength it could lend her cast, but for the emotional fortification.

But Alex was tough, and she knew it. Strong. Yes, it had taken her a while to get some of that back after the assault. But she had. She wasn't spoiling to get into the fights anymore. Not looking for the most dangerous crowd to run with. She didn't need to do that anymore. Leah and Kassidy thought she'd gone soft, weak. But it wasn't weakness.

She was tough enough to change. Strong enough to face what she had to face.

And tonight she was ready to face the last of the memories of the night she was raped. To grab hold of them. Remember everything that had happened to her. Remember who had done it.

Alex would see that face.

And then she would go to the police. She'd tell them what had happened.

Alex had thought it over long and hard. There would be little, if any, physical evidence, as she'd scrubbed herself practically raw that morning she'd woken up on the attic floor. She'd also thrown away the coat she'd used to cover herself with. But she still had her torn jeans--the ones she'd found in the dresser. Maybe, just _maybe_ they'd help the police. And soon she'd have her memories.

Still, it would be an uphill battle in more ways than one. The police might not believe her. But maybe she wasn't the only one this evil piece of shit had attacked. Maybe another girl would come forward after Alex did. And if it got to trial, Alex would take her chances with a jury. Or a judge.

She was quite aware that her past--the partying, the booze, the dope--would reflect badly on her. But it would be worth it if just a few of them would turn their judgmental eyes on her assailant. That in itself might be enough to stop another rape. Be a victory of some kind for her. She'd be brave enough. Whoever had done this to her _had to_ pay. And if a court of law wouldn't convict him, maybe the court of public opinion would.

But pay for it, he would.

In more ways than one.

Alex pulled one of the copper bracelets free from a branch after all. She held it tightly.

She'd have her caster revenge. Alex had decided this too. It was different from Brooke seeking revenge for love unrequited. Different from Maryanne swooping McKenzie's car and running him off the road. This man had _raped_ her. And all the pain she held inside, she'd shriek out toward him. Let him feel her fury. Let him feel that pain that welled within her. She'd shriek like no Heller before her. Drive him insane. Deafen him if she could. The bastard could have his pain back.

The distant dog bayed again--the sound of it swelling in the night and dragging Alex back from her thoughts. Back to the present and what she had to do.

It was time to grab that memory. She set the copper circle back up on the tree. She'd never be the same, and she knew it. But she knew--somehow--she'd be all right. So damned much like Connie, she was--Alex froze.

Back in the attic, her original held perfectly still, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps on the floorboards. Not the soft, sock-footed steps of Brooke or Maryanne venturing upstairs. No one whispered to her through the blackness. But someone laughed low and deep in his throat as he moved towards her helpless body on the floor.

Her heart hammering in terror, Alex tried to move her body, but all she could manage was a helpless flop of her hand, a feeble twitch of her foot. Her helplessness--she couldn't even turn her head to see him--and her moan of fear only made him laugh all the more. Confidently, he stalked toward her.

In a blur of speed, Alex's cast raced from the river toward Harvell House.

In the attic, Alex heard him kneel behind her head. She rolled her eyes back but couldn't tip her head far enough back to see him. She sobbed again and he laughed a laugh of pure delight.

"You can't move, can you? Oh, what a treat! What a rare, delicious treat!"

He leaned over her to grasp her pajama top by the hem and hauled it up and over her head, dragging her arms from the sleeves and letting them flop back to her sides. Alex's heart pounded in horror and humiliation as she felt his eyes on her bared torso. And oh God, she couldn't catch her breath! The pajama top's material was thin, but the feeling of suffocation was overwhelming. Alex heard him moving around to stand in front of her, then heard the sickening sound of his zipper sliding down. All she could do was lock her muscles and then he was on top of her.

"Damn, that's good!" he whispered, his breath hot, sour and close, even through the material that covered her face. "I usually have to drug my girls to make them like this, but that can cause unconsciousness. I don't like that part. I like it like this. You're alive in there, aren't you, girl? A living, trembling rag doll." He bit hard into the flesh of her shoulder.

_Fuck, no! Not again! Never again!_

She could shriek her caster shriek. Even from outside, it would probably make him pause. But it might make him flee.

This one wouldn't get away.

Alex reached the window.

"I want in!" It only took one rap and she was back inside, slamming into her adrenaline-fueled body with righteous, ferocious rage.

Knowing what was coming when cast and body reunited, Alex shot her hands out and grabbed onto her assailant. With the force of her cast shooting back in, they both plowed across the floor. Rolling, she managed to partially turn them. When they banged into the pedestal table, it was his shoulder that took the brunt, and he let out a surprised _umph_. The table rocked with such force, everything on it--the girls' candles, Connie's candleholder--toppled off, raining to the floor beside them.

Oh, God, she'd _lit_ one of those candles before she cast out!

Alex pulled the pajama top away from her face in time to see her candle's flame gutter out, leaving them with nothing but the moonlight from the window.

"My shoulder... " he gasped.

He still lay partially on her, and Alex shoved him hard. He thumped down beside her on the floor. Instantly, she leapt up. Blood dripped from the wound on her shoulder, but she barely felt the sting. There was no room for anything but the adrenaline-charged fury roiling inside, screaming for release.

She drew back her foot to kick him, but not in the head. And not in his soft, unprotected stomach. Her bare foot caught him squarely in the groin. He retched--hard--and curled into a ball.

"Please," he whimpered. "Oh don't."

She was struggling to shove her trembling arm back into her top when it struck her--that voice... _that familiar voice!_

Clutching her arms around her now clothed self, Alex bent to peer at him in the shadows beneath the table. Even with her caster-wide pupils, it took her a moment to make out the face of her attacker. She reared back again.

"You!" Alex's heart contracted in horror. "Oh God, it's you... _again_! You raped me!" Alex half hissed, half cried. "I remember everything!"

It was him. The one who'd brutalized her in September had come back to hurt her again tonight! He was one and the same. This time she didn't fight the memories, and as she grabbed at them, they smashed the walls all around her.

She'd run into him in the schoolyard. They'd exchanged a few words. She'd been surprised to see the small flask, more surprised when he'd offered her a drink. But she took a drink all the same. Several drinks.

He hadn't taken a drink, she recalled, and now she knew why! He'd roofied her. Somehow brought her here to Harvell House and raped her in this attic. Violated her. Left her half-naked just so the humiliation would be complete.

She fell to her knees, fisting his collar in her hands and squeezing.

"Wait!" His voice was a scratch. He coughed, begged. "Don't... don't hurt me!"

"Don't hurt _you_?" She could, she realized. She held him tightly, twisting his shirt closer and closer around his neck. She lowered herself, practically hissing in his face. "What? You don't like being the one who's helpless, huh? Don't like being too damn weak to move, just like your--"

Her last word was lost as pain shot through her head. She heard a sickening crack and knew it was her skull. Alex slid to the floor.

Panting, the man rose, holding Connie's candleholder in his right hand, his left grasping his pants. But the silver candleholder was dark, she saw. Why was it dark in some places?

Blood, she realized dimly. Her blood.

Her blood all over again... "Look what you made me do!" he hissed down at her. "This is all your fault! You reap what you sow. Reap what you deserve! Whores always do. Every single one of you will. I'll make damn sure of that!"

The edges of her world were turning to blackness. And the last sight Alex saw was his head turning suddenly as if he'd heard something. Someone coming, maybe? The man pocketed the candleholder and dashed from her fading vision.

_Way to go, Robbins. Get yourself killed. Who 'll look after Connie now?_

_Who 'll look after her baby?_

That was her final thought before darkness came down completely.

### Chapter 35

#### And Then There Were Two

_Brooke_

"BROOKE! DID YOU hear that?"

She'd heard it, all right. She'd been pretending to sleep, fake-snoring in the hopes of getting Maryanne to chill and go back to sleep. But she'd heard a definite thump/crash, from directly above them in the attic. Could still hear it echoing in her mind.

Maryanne was already standing in the center of the room. "Come on! Let's go."

Brooke threw off the covers and sat up. "Before the rest of the household gets there, you mean?"

"Oh, crap! Yes! If anyone's still awake, they probably heard it too. Let's go."

"Give me some light, will ya?"

Maryanne obliged by hitting the switch on her lamp. Brooke located a pair of sweats and pulled them on to cover her bare legs. Then both of the girls raced from the room.

If anyone else had heard the commotion, they hadn't come to investigate. At least not yet. The hall was empty. They found the door to the attic unlocked. No surprise there. Alex would have done that on her way up. They pulled the door shut behind them and started creeping up the stairs.

"Alex?" Maryanne called softly. "Alex, are you okay up there?"

"She probably just had a hard landing," Brooke said.

"Probably," Maryanne allowed. "But why is it dark up there?"

_Good question_. Brooke shrugged before she realized the gesture was lost in the darkness. "How should I know? Maybe her candle burned out."

"Wait--" Maryanne's arm shot out and grabbed Brooke. "Was that a noise?"

Brooke froze. She'd heard something too, but she wasn't entirely sure it came from the attic. "Yeah, I heard it," she said, "but it almost sounded more like it was on our level, maybe lower."

"Man, I hope no one comes. We don't need to be caught up here."

Maryanne was the first to top the stairs and enter the attic. She went straight to the window, presumably to see if Alex's body lay there.

Pulling a Bic lighter from the pocket of her sweats, Brooke flicked it on and went straight to the table to light the candles. Except there were no candles on the tabletop. Could they have fallen off? Was that the thump/crash they'd heard from their bedroom?

"Nothing over here," Maryanne said in a loud stage whisper from the window. "If she went out, she's come back again."

"And I can't find the candles over here," Brooke said. She lowered her arm to scan the floor for them. She yelped and swore.

Maryanne raced over. "What? What is it?"

Brooke lowered her lighter and pointed, unable to speak with the way her heart was pounding. Shit! She was hyperventilating!

Maryanne rounded the table to see Alex's still body lying half beneath it.

"Alex!" she cried, dropping to her knees. "Alex, are you all right? Can you hear me?" When Alex made no reply, Maryanne seized her wrist and felt for a pulse.

Brooke's wet lips gone suddenly dry as the Sahara. "Is she... is she alive?"

"She has a pulse, but I don't know... it seems kind of... slow. Crap, I think it's too slow. We'd better get help."

Brooke's heart rate had started to level out a little, and her thinking process cleared. "Wait. First let's make sure she didn't just faint. She must have cast back in and hit the table. Pain can make you faint. And maybe when you faint, your pulse slows down."

"We'll need better light, then," Maryanne said. "There's a penlight in my headboard bookcase."

Brooke glanced around, spying one of the three candles which had rolled several feet away. "How about a candle instead?"

"That'll do."

Brooke dove for the candle. It took two tries with her shaking hands to light it. Maryanne took it from her with equally shaky hands and bent over Alex. Brooke's heart sank at Maryanne's sob.

"Her head! Brooke, I think she cracked her skull on that table leg!"

Brooke knelt close to Alex's head. "Oh, man, that's a lot of blood," she said. "We definitely need to wake Betts and get some help up here. Although I don't know how we're going to explain how she hit her head on the leg of a frigging _pedestal_ table. That's pretty hard to do unless you're sliding on the floor with some speed."

Brooke started to get up, but Maryanne barked an order. "Wait!"

Brooke froze. "What?"

"Her shoulder... it looks like she might be hurt there too, from the blood on her nightshirt."

Brooke bent close again, tugging the material away. Yes, there was a wound there. How in hell had she managed _that_? The table leg couldn't have done it, nor would a falling candle. It looked more like a--

"Shit!" Brooke leapt up. "It's a bite mark. It's a human bite mark!"

"No way!" Maryanne took the candle from Brooke and bent down to examine Alex's now exposed shoulder. "Oh, God, it _is_ a bite mark. Which means her head injuries aren't accidental."

Brooke barely heard Maryanne's words. She was too busy scanning the attic's shadows. "He could still be up here," Brooke croaked, her heart hammering painfully again. "Oh, God, the noise we heard! We have to get out of here!"

"What about Alex? We can't leave her."

"We can't move her, either. She has a frickin' _head injury_. Maybe a bad one."

"You go fetch Betts," Maryanne said firmly, but the elevated pitch of her voice gave away her fear. "I'll stay here with Alex."

Brooke's eyes searched the shadows again. He could be hiding here still. He could be in that damned wardrobe! "No way am I leaving you here."

"C'mon, Brooke, one of us has to go. Alex needs help!"

"Oh, I'll get help," Brooke said. "I'm just not leaving you here."

Brooke went to stand at the top of the stairs, where she started stomping on the floor and screaming for Mrs. Betts.

### Chapter 36

#### Still

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE WATCHED THE rain, falling to roll dejectedly against the window pane of Alex's hospital room. Falling as though it were just going through the motions. Much like Maryanne herself as she sat slumped at her friend's bedside. The snow outside didn't stand a chance, even against such a listless rain. There'd been less than a centimeter of the white stuff on the ground this morning, and it wasn't the kind that stayed.

Maryanne dragged her gaze from the window to the monitors, tubes and other equipment surrounding Alex's bed. She'd seen a lot of medical dramas on TV, but never had she seen a person plugged into this much technology. Of course, most of the characters on those dramas weren't comatose, head-injured patients.

At least Alex was breathing on her own. A mechanical ventilator would have been too hard to take--listening to it, watching Alex's chest rise and fall with each artificial breath.

Maryanne dropped her gaze from the forest of equipment to look at Alex herself. She looked so tiny in that bed. Tiny and defenseless, with her head swaddled in white bandages. Her trademark razor-cut bangs peeped out from under the bandages, but Maryanne was pretty sure they'd shaved parts of her head to suture her wounds. Thankfully, she hadn't required brain surgery--no depressed fractures, no pieces of skull to be dug out of her brain. But Maryanne was thankful not just for Alex but for herself. A neurological patient they could handle at this newly-constructed, state-of-the-art local hospital. But a neuro _surgical_ case would have been shipped out to a larger centre where they were equipped for neurosurgery, and Maryanne wouldn't have been able to visit.

Sighing, Maryanne rubbed her temples. She'd been here for a couple of hours, and would be here a while yet. She and Brooke took turns spelling Mrs. Robbins, who'd flown in from Halifax as soon as Mrs. Betts had contacted her. Poor woman. She left Alex's bedside only when Maryanne or Brooke could fill in, and only to snatch a few hours' sleep at her motel, shower and eat. And of course, to phone home to talk to Alex's dad, who'd opted to stay home with Alex's little sister, to keep life as normal as possible for her.

Maryanne turned back to the window to watch the rain again. The low humming of the monitors had made their way into white noise. Even the murmur of voices and steps in the corridor beyond the closed door faded into the background as Maryanne got more and more lost in the rain. Lost in the time. Oh so lost in her thoughts.

With eyes sore from crying, she turned her gaze back to Alex's white face.

She and Brooke had talked to so many nurses over the last three days since Alex had been admitted. And they all advised the same thing. "Talk to her. About big things and little things. She might be able to hear you, even though she's in a coma."

Coma. Maryanne still couldn't believe it.

Okay, talk. She drew a deep breath. "So, Mr. McKenzie asked me about you," she said. "And not in his usual snide way. A lot of the teachers wanted to know how you were, Alex. Lots of the kids too."

Maryanne looked at the monitors. Glanced at the numbers as if they'd have something to tell.

"Your mom's been great. Of course, you know that. She's here all the time, right? Your dad and sis are worried about you. Your mom updates them a couple of times a day. Oh, and poor Mrs. Betts--she's been a wreck since this happened. And so have I, in case you haven't noticed."

Maryanne's eyes filled with tears all over again. For Alex's sake, she tried her best to keep them out of her voice. "The police asked Brooke and me if we saw anything. Asked all kinds of questions about how we found you. But we didn't have any answers. And... we didn't tell them about Connie's missing candlestick. How could we without telling... " Maryanne lowered her voice, glanced at the door. "About Connie.

"But I did tell them that I heard something. That I woke up when I heard a thump that I thought was coming from the attic. And that I saw you weren't in your bed at that time." She paused. "Do you know what one officer asked me? She... she asked me why I didn't go looking for you then, when I saw you were missing. You should have seen Brooke when she heard that." Maryanne half smiled with the memory. "She just about took that cop's head off. The officer actually apologized. She said of course, I had no way of knowing... that none of this was my fault. But, Alex... if only I _had_ done something. Followed my instinct." Maryanne's fingers went to the ring on her right hand, the one her grandfather's friend had given her, but there was no solace to be had from it. "If only I hadn't failed you. But I did. I failed you... just like I failed Jason."

Maryanne felt the emotions flood in. She couldn't have stopped them if she tried. Not now, not with everything hitting so close to home, and the flood gates, too long dammed up, were opening. She was swamped by it, drowning in the grief and guilt.

_Jason._

She'd not said that name out loud in so long. But now that that much--just the name--had tripped from her lips, more would follow.

She looked into Alex's still face and prayed to God for her sake, Alex could somehow hear what she was saying. And though terrified to admit it, Maryanne half prayed that for her own sake, no one ever would.

"Jason was my baby brother. He was barely a year old when he died. And it was my fault that he did."

Maryanne swallowed hard. She'd never said those words to anyone. "My parents went into Toronto for the evening. Something they did every so often. It... it was one of those big dinners Mom's firm held, and she just had to be there. I'd babysat Jason before. It was no big deal. It... it should have been no big deal.

"He'd been whiny all evening, ever since Mom and Dad left around five. Really whiny and clingy. He wasn't sick, just running a bit of a temp from teething. He wouldn't take his bottle. Didn't want his soother even. I put him to bed at 7:30--that was his bedtime--and that wasn't a moment too soon for me. I was more than a little frazzled by the time I tucked him in. Tired of hearing him crying. Calling _Me-anne, Me-anne, Me-anne_ over and over and over. Even after I put him to bed, I must have gone back into his room a dozen times. No, two dozen! But I couldn't stop his crying. Couldn't fix anything. It was coming on to nine o'clock and he still wasn't asleep! So... so I decided to just let him cry it out. Cry himself to sleep. My grandmother Webb swears by that--and she raised six kids. He kept crying. Kept calling my name. Then I heard a thumping on the wall... some kind of a clatter.

"I thought he was throwing his crib toys again. Just having some sort of tantrum and kicking at his crib railing. And... I was so tired. So very tired of the crying. So I... I just didn't go to him as he screamed and cried 'Me-anne.' Not even... when his crying changed."

Maryanne could almost hear him. Almost hear that little voice calling out all over again tinged with fear. Gagging. Oh, what she wouldn't give to hear him crying again, now. She would run to him like a bat out of hell. But it was her tears that were falling now, her voice that was hitching now in her throat. Her head down in her hands. "And... he did stop crying. I remember thinking, ' _Finally_ , he's asleep!' That I was right to let him cry it out. Wouldn't Grandmother Webb be proud of me! Oh, how smart. I was the most amazing babysitter. World's most brilliant big sister.

"I... I was wrong.

"You know how I feel the mood of rooms? Well, soon the feeling in that living room as I sat with my popcorn and soda changed. It felt colder. Depleted somehow, yet heavy. Oh Lord, strange as this sounds it felt as if the walls were watching me. When I realized it, I jumped off the couch and ran up the stairs. Something was wrong! I felt it. Not just a niggling feeling now--but a thumping, hammering one. Something was _horribly_ wrong in the house.

"I saw him, Alex. I saw my baby brother. Tangled in the blinds. His little face was turned toward me as he dangled helplessly there and I'll never forget that sight. I don't know how I did it, but I snapped the blind cord with my bare hands and ran with Jason to my parents' room. I was already giving him CPR while I called 911. I begged my little brother--please, please be okay. Please, J-Bug, I begged him, please be okay. I screamed up to heaven!

"Heaven didn't hear me. Jason... he wasn't okay. He was gone. He was gone and his last thoughts were why wasn't I coming to save him? Why didn't I come to help? The last person he looked for was me. And I just let him choke to death."

Maryanne looked into Alex's unopening eyes. Looked at her unflinching face. She'd never spoken this sorrow to anyone. Never told another being this truth that shredded her soul.

"The paramedics came and raced my baby brother away in the ambulance. The police came, asked me questions, looked at the bedrooms. One officer stayed with me until my parents finally came home. But... my parents didn't really come home, not like before. Mom and Dad were already lost to me. Lost to each other.

"Alex." Maryanne lowered her gaze, unable to look her friend in the face as she confessed the rest. "I... I told my parents, the police, _everyone_ that I didn't hear any crying. Not so much as a peep. No one knew that he called out to me and I ignored his last cries. That I let him just die. I told the police, my parents and everyone else that I hadn't heard a thing. The lie never got easier. It only got harder and harder every time I told it, and yet I could never untell it!

"It's all my fault. I ignored the feeling and sat down on the couch. I was so damn mad at Jason. Tired of running up there all night. Tired of his crying and whining. And in a moment of hellish frustration I answered that feeling out loud with 'oh so what!'. That's _exactly_ when the crying stopped, as if to catch those words on my lips forever and ever and ever. Of course I didn't know something was wrong--that he was choking. But if I had just listened to that feeling, my brother would still be alive."

Maryanne's head shot up as she looked over at Alex. The tears kept streaming down. "And if I'd paid attention to that feeling the other night, maybe you'd be okay. Not in this coma! Maybe you'd never have been attacked. And if you die, Alex. If you... if you don't make it back up from this... I'll own that too."

It was the footsteps behind her, not the swinging of the silent door that caught Maryanne's attention. The nurse smiled kindly, yet sympathetically, at her. She had to know that she'd been crying, still Maryanne wiped a hand across her eyes.

The nurse went to Alex's bedside. She checked Alex's pulse, shone a light in her eyes. She changed the IV bag, made sure the lines were clear and then looked at the same monitors Maryanne had studied earlier, writing down the numbers on the chart at the foot of the bed.

"The numbers are higher than they were before," Maryanne said.

The nurse answered, "A little higher."

"Bad higher?"

"Just higher." She smiled again. "Alexandra's awfully lucky to have a good friend like you." The door swung closed behind her.

Maryanne stood slowly, looked up at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see how much time had passed. She'd missed supper at Harvell House. Mrs. Betts would be having a fit. But there was something else she had to do. One last thing she had to tell Alex Robbins.

"We're going ahead with our plans." She turned to make sure the door was still closed, then turned back to Alex. "We're going to dig up Connie's body this weekend when everyone's away. And everyone _is_ going away. Betts is pretty insistent that no one is staying home after what happened to you in the attic. So Brooke and I are going ahead with the plan to stay at a motel, and then sneak back into the house. We have to do it now, before the snow comes to stay. Black casters against white snow... we'd lose so much of our ability to hide.

"We're doing it for you too, Alex. Because we know you'd want us to finish this. To give Connie the chance to finally rest. Find peace." She drew a last shuddering breath, leaned over and brushed Alex's dark bangs back to kiss her on the forehead, just below the bandage. "Yeah, I know." She laughed weakly. "You'd shoot me for that if you were awake."

Shouldering her book bag and wiping her eyes one last time, she headed home to Harvell House.

### Chapter 37

#### Digging up Bones

_Brooke_

BROOKE PAUSED A moment, arching her back to ease the ache.

Maryanne had just started her turn in the pit, which was inching close to three feet deep now. They'd both dug for a while, but it soon became obvious one of them was going to have to move the displaced soil away from the edge of the hole, as it was quickly becoming too hard to lift each new shovelful clear of the last. So they'd started taking turns, one in the pit, one beside the pit moving the soil back a few feet.

Another load of dirt hit the pile, some of it tricking down to land on Brooke's runners. _Break time 's over_. She drove her shovel into the unearthed soil, hefted it, and tipped its contents several feet to the left. Then repeated the process, again and again and again.

They'd kept up a conversation of sorts for the first fifteen minutes, but they really didn't have a lot to say to each other. They were all talked out, after last night in the motel.

Brooke and Maryanne had been the last of the students to leave for the American Thanksgiving weekend. Mrs. Betts had ushered them out to Brooke's car, suitcases in hand, with obvious relief. After the assault on Alex, absolutely no one was being permitted to stay back this year. Nobody wanted to.

So they'd gone to the motel as planned. Not the low rent spot she'd invited Seth to before school had started, but the nice new motel out by the highway. Her mother had sent her plenty of extra money to see herself through this holiday alone.

Initially, after hearing about the attack on a student at Harvell House, her mother had wanted her to come home for the break, offering to cancel her vacation plans. Talk about irony! Her mother finally putting her first and she couldn't go home. Not with what she and Maryanne had to do. So Brooke had reassured her mother that security--at the school, at the residence and in the town--had been tightened to the point of ridiculousness. When her mother persisted with the protests, Brooke had said she'd made friends here in Mansbridge and no offence, but she wanted to spend the holiday with them. There was enough truth in the words that her mother bought it. With Brooke's blessing, she'd gone back to anticipating her getaway with Herr Kommandant.

But the whole motel thing, which Brooke had so been looking forward to when she originally hatched the idea, was a bust. Predictably. With Alex still lying comatose in a hospital bed, neither of them had felt much like partying. Nevertheless, Brooke had drunk half a bottle of Grey Goose vodka just on principal. They'd been so busy with the casting, she hardly ever managed to get drunk these days. Even Maryanne had had a drink last night--a very weak screwdriver--joining Brooke in a toast to Alex. And then another to Connie. And then they'd talked. And talked and talked.

So this morning, the conversation dried up pretty quick. As they fell into a rhythm, they let their shovels do the talking.

The pit work was the worst, of course. The digging was hard, and the shovel had to be lifted so high. Even the sound of the shovel driving into the compacted earth was different. It made a very solid _thunk_ sound when it bit in, compared to the lighter _scritch_ sound the same implement made when it plunged into the loose soil. But no matter whether you were in the pit or up above, the sound of a shovelful of soil hitting the ground was the same. _Plop_.

On and on they shoveled. _Thunk-plop_. _Scritch-plop_. After a while, the sound sort of drove out thought. _Thunk-plop_. _Scritch-plop_. _Thunk-plop_. _Scritch-plop_.

_Thud_.

At the new sound, Maryanne dropped the shovel and scrambled out of the pit.

"So, switch off again, I guess?" Brooke said dryly. They'd just switched five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry, Brooke. I just... can't."

Of course she couldn't. Brooke was surprised she'd lasted this long. Given the way Maryanne felt the cellar's vibes, just coming down here was enough to set her nerves on edge. And the deeper the pit grew, the grimmer Maryanne looked. Fortunately, Brooke suffered from no such sensitivity. Squeamishness, yes. She really wasn't looking forward to dealing with bones. But at least she didn't feel them the same way Maryanne seemed to.

"Don't sweat it." Brooke lowered herself carefully into the pit and picked up Maryanne's shovel. "Okay, let's see what it is you hit."

A few scrapes of the shovel and she had her answer. _Wood_. A rough, unfinished plank.

They'd actually improvised some kind of coffin for Connie. Given all the awful things they'd done to her, Brooke would not have been surprised to find the girl's remains without so much as a burlap sack between her and the soil.

"Is that a casket?"

Brooke glanced up at Maryanne, who'd crept close enough to peer into the pit. "Effectively, I guess," she said. "Though don't be expecting any satin lining."

"Oh, thank God! I was worried about our shovels smashing into her bones."

Brooke had thought about that too, but what the hell? It wasn't like anyone could hurt the girl anymore.

"Step back," Brooke said. "We're on the homestretch, and the dirt is gonna fly."

Within eight minutes, Brooke had entirely exposed the lid of the crate--now that she'd seen it, she refused to dignify that mean little box by calling it a casket. Face flushed from exertion, heart pounding from grim anticipation, she looked up at Maryanne. "Ready?"

"No," Maryanne said. "But I don't suppose I'll ever be. Go ahead."

Brooke moved to one side, wedged the point of her shovel between two planks and pried. The wood, surprisingly vital after all those years in the ground, protested against the nails that held it in place. She withdrew the shovel's point, repositioned it closer to one end and pried again. This time, it came loose. Or rather, one end of it did.

_Okay, Brooke. Showtime_.

Heart thudding so hard she could hear it in her own ears, she propped the shovel up, grasped the board with both hands and wrenched the other end free. She pushed the plank aside, and peered in.

"Oh, God, I can see her!" came Maryanne's voice from up above. "She's really in there."

"Well, duh. Of course she's in there." On the words, Brooke expelled the breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, but when she inhaled again, she drew a very shallow breath, half expecting to be assaulted by the hideous odor of decay. But there was very little of that. At least, nothing that wasn't overpowered by the earthy smell of the soil they'd been digging.

She'd also expected that after all these years, there'd be nothing left but a bare skeleton, but she was wrong. While the gleam of white bone was very evident, the body still appeared to retain some mummified tissue, especially around the joints. Ligaments, she supposed. They'd be tougher than other tissue, wouldn't they?

"Okay, we found her. Get up out of there, Brooke! Let's go get Connie."

"Just give me a sec," Brooke said. "I'm going to take the rest of this lid off."

"I can't watch." The words came out thick, and Brooke knew Maryanne was battling nausea.

"It's okay. Just move back. It'll only take me a minute."

It took a couple of minutes, actually. The last board was hard to raise, since there wasn't much to leverage her shovel for prying. She had to resort to hooking the top edge of the shovel under the board and yanking upward. A couple of grunting reefs and the nails gave up their grip. Repeating the process on the other end of the plank, she pulled it free and stacked it on top of the others.

"Done," she announced. Tossing her shovel up onto the soil pile, she levered herself out of the grave. She removed her gloves too, tossing them down beside the shovel as she peered into the pit. "God, that's sad. She was just a kid."

"Almost exactly our age, according to the diary," Maryanne said.

"Well, guess we better go fetch Connie's cast, huh?"

Maryanne bit her lip. "One of us should probably stay here, with the remains."

Brooke slanted Maryanne a look. "Right. By which you mean I should stay here."

"We could draw straws," she said gamely.

"Forget it. You go and I'll stay here. I'll just go up and make myself an instant coffee and wait for you in the attic," Brooke said.

"Oh, no! I meant someone should stay down here, with the bones."

"Screw that. I don't mind staying, but I'm not gonna do it down here. Those are just _bones_ , Maryanne. They don't need me hanging around for company."

Maryanne's lips thinned. "I'll stay, then. You go get Connie."

Brooke's eyes shot open. "You're _volunteering_ to stay down here?"

"Someone should be here," she said pointedly.

Brooke shrugged. "Suit yourself. Can I get you anything before I go?"

"No," she said. "Just bring Connie back. Fast."

"That I can do."

Within minutes, Brooke stood in the attic, peering out the stained glass window. It was early yet--barely 5:30 p.m. The snow from two days ago had gone with the rain, so the ground was dark, and there was no moon to speak of as yet. Nevertheless, there was still a lot of diffused light in the overcast sky, as though the cloud cover caught all sources of light and bounced it back. Her black cast would stand out against the bruised, dull grey sky if any residents of the town were to look up as she soared past.

"Let them look," she murmured.

Let them _all_ look. And then let them run for the safety of their well-lit houses. The night was _hers_.

Smiling, she tapped on the window. "I want out, I want out, I want out!"

And then she was out, soaring off toward the tree by the river to retrieve a copper bracelet.

### Chapter 38

#### Cold and Lonely, One and Only

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE WATCHED THROUGH the small basement window--the one that faced the river. She could barely make out Brooke's cast against the evening twilight as she moved to the river behind the house, hurrying up the oak tree for the copper bracelets. Maryanne suspected--hoped!--she could only see Brooke's cast because she was really looking for it. But Brooke was far from hidden in the early-evening darkness. She bit down on her lip, hoping Brooke would hurry back. For Brooke's sake. For Connie's. And yes, absolutely for Maryanne's own. She just wanted to get this over with.

With a tight sigh, Maryanne turned. She couldn't help but stare at the open grave where Connie's remains lay. In one of those I-could-kick-my-own-butt moments, she wished she'd let Brooke stay after all. But it passed that quickly.

Brooke had been surprised when Maryanne insisted on staying with Connie's body rather than leave it alone. Heck, _she_ was surprised. How could she explain it to Brooke when she barely understood it herself? Well, not that it was based on a heck of a lot of logic. But it was the helplessness of Connie's remains... that's why she had to stay. To watch over them. And the poor soul had been alone for so long. To leave her alone again... as nonsensical as that thought was, it just about broke Maryanne's heart.

Taking a wide berth around the grave as she crossed the room, Maryanne rubbed the chill from her arms. She'd been working up a sweat as she'd dug, and had shed her hoodie hours ago in favor of just the light grey t-shirt she'd worn underneath it. But now, even as she pulled her fleece sweater back on, it wasn't just the cold of the basement that had her rubbing away at the goose bumps. Nor was it merely from being in the basement with the body.

She needed to cast. With the assault on Alex and the inevitable crackdown at the dorm, and the hours spent at the hospital, they'd not been able to cast out for days now. And she was more than longing for it. More than craving to tap on that window and soar into the night. Her skin was practically crawling with the need of it.

"Soon," she said. "After Connie reunites with her body, before we call the police, I'm casting out. After today, I need it." She'd battle Brooke over it if she had to, but knowing Brooke, Maryanne didn't think too much arm-twisting would be involved.

_What if Connie couldn 't reunite with her remains? What then?_ That intrusive thought was never far away, but she couldn't think of it now. They'd deal with it when the time came, if they had to.

Maryanne sat down on the basement stairs with her back to the door above her, and the grave off to her left. The old wood of the coffin planks now lay beside Connie's grave. She shuddered as she looked at one heavy nail poking through the wood. Thank God, Alex hadn't run into that when she'd slid her cast down there! It would have been very draining, slowing her down while she was under the earth. That would have been a nightmare.

Maryanne arched her back. It was just beginning to feel the stiffness settling in, while her shoulders had been feeling it for a good hour now. Though nervous about being down in the basement, at least she could rest. At least it was quiet. Too quiet. Scary quiet. And as she did so often, she broke the silence with the sound of her own voice. "Here I am, in this angry basement with a corpse."

_Way to break the silence, Maryanne! Not!_

Usually Harvell House was filled with noise--too much of it. What she wouldn't give to hear someone shouting right about now in the kitchen above her. Or pots clanging as Mrs. Betts started supper. Wow, even the phone ringing would be a welcome intrusion.

But then Maryanne did hear something, and the noise was far from welcome and comforting. Fear of a different kind rode through her.

A door creaked open, and slammed closed. Boots thumped on the doormat. Automatically she turned and looked toward the basement door as someone crossed the kitchen floor above her. Maryanne jumped to her feet.

Brooke? It couldn't be. No way in heck could she have gone to get Connie and returned that fast--not even at caster speed. And Brooke would be coming down the stairs from the attic when she returned, not walking in through the kitchen door! Was it Mrs. Betts? John Smith? One of the girls? If Alex used to stay in town and party while pretending to be home in Halifax on holiday weekends, what's to say one of the other girls wouldn't do the same?

Maryanne's hand flew over her mouth as she gasped. Oh crap! What if it was the man who'd attacked Alex? Here to find another victim... A line of light shone through the crack below the basement door, as the kitchen light snapped on and the footsteps fell again.

Heart pounding, pulse hammering, Maryanne raced away from the stairs to the other side of the basement. She didn't just take a wide berth around the grave now, but in a wild, fleeting, fear-fueled fantasy, pictured herself in it. Dammit! There was no place to hide! Palms tight to the hard stone, she pressed herself flat against the basement wall furthest from the stairs. And, she realized too late, far away from the shovels that lay mockingly out of reach at the edge of Connie's grave. Crap! She didn't even have a weapon!

The crack of light spilled further down as the basement door slowly opened. She heard the sound of footsteps thumping, then suddenly stopping. Fear rose up in her throat as she saw the booted feet on the step. And the horror nearly consumed her completely, as those feet again started descending down into the basement.

### Chapter 39

#### Going Home

_Brooke_

BROOKE THOUGHT FINDING Connie would be the easy part. Not so much. Perhaps the caster had grown tired of looking for them night after night and gone back to her solitary haunts. Brooke could all too easily imagine how she felt. After having grown accustomed to hooking up nightly, she'd be feeling abandoned all over again. That sucked. But how could she not? It had been days and days since they'd been out, thanks to Mrs. Betts' watchful eyes, and the snow, not to mention the long hours spent at Alex's bedside, relieving Alex's exhausted mom.

Oh, crap. They hadn't been out since before the attack on Alex. Which meant the task of telling Connie would fall to Brooke. Great. Add that to the things she was ill equipped to do, like persuading Connie to come back to the house.

Maryanne should be here right now. She'd be so much better at this. But no way was Brooke gonna give in. No way would she hang around that dirty basement standing guard over something that was already dead.

Sighing, Brooke called Connie's name again, as she had been doing for the last fifteen minutes. And why not? No one else could hear her but Connie. Unless there were other casters out and about... Oh, man, wouldn't that be neat? What if there were others like them who--

"Brooke? Is that you?"

Brooke whirled to see Connie floating toward her across the meadow, the same one the three girls had chased that moose across so many weeks ago.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Alex?" Connie asked, coming to a stop a few yards away. "Maryanne?"

"Maryanne's back at the house. But about Alex... Connie, there's something I have to tell you."

Connie shot forward until she was practically right up on Brooke. "What's wrong with Alex?"

"She's in the hospital. In a coma, actually."

Connie fell back as though stricken. "Coma?"

"They think she'll recover," Brooke hastened to assure. "Probably. I mean, with any luck. But the longer it goes on, the trickier it gets. We've been sitting by her bedside these evenings, talking to her and trying to get a response."

Connie made a small, wounded cry.

"Don't worry," Brooke said. "I'm sure she'll be all right. Apparently her head injuries aren't as bad as we first thought when we found her."

"Head injuries?" Connie zoomed close again. "Tell," she commanded. " _Everything_."

Brooke shrugged. "There's not a helluva lot to tell. One night last week--actually, the last night we'd come out to see you--Alex cast out again, this time by herself, after Maryanne and I had gone to bed. She snuck up to the attic and cast out on her own. At least that's what we think happened. That's where we found her, anyway. At first, we thought she just hit her head, you know? From the force of casting back in. But then we saw the bite mark on her shoulder, we knew--"

Before Brooke could get another word out, Connie started keening. Not Heller shrieking, but wailing, as in weeping and moaning.

Great.

"It's okay, Connie." Brooke laid a clumsy hand on Connie's back, feeling the strange solidity and weird heaviness of the other caster's form beneath her own hand. "He didn't rape her, if that's what you're thinking. She fought him hard. Hard enough to wake us up with the noise of the struggle. I think we might have scared him away when we came to investigate, but damned if I can figure out how he got out of there without going down the stairs. There's only one door."

"Dumbwaiter," Connie said dully.

Brooke's eyes widened.

"For sending things up and down."

"Crap! Of course! That's the noise we heard as we climbed the stairs. We had no idea."

"I'm going to the hospital," Connie said. "Brooke, show me the room with Alex."

Brooke shook her head. "She's comatose, Connie. She'd never be able to hear or feel you. Besides, it's too risky. Her mother stays in that room every night, and you'd never get there in the daytime. Even if you could, there's so much traffic--nurses coming and going, testing her reflexes and writing on charts. Therapists who come to do stuff to her muscles."

Connie was silent a moment as she absorbed this. When she spoke again, she said, "The attic... not safe."

"Yeah, we pretty much got that memo," Brooke allowed. "No more going up there alone. No casting out alone." _Unless you really, really need to_.

"That whole house... not safe."

"Ah, speaking of the house," Brooke said. "That's why I've come. To bring you back. We're ready, Connie. It's time to come back to the house."

Connie shot away, as if Brooke might handcuff her in iron and compel her to come.

"Hey, wait," she called. "Hear me out. Remember Alex talked about you casting back in?" To Brooke's relief, Connie stopped her retreat. "We've unearthed the body... your body. It's time to try."

"No." Connie shook her head vigorously. "Don't want to go back to that house. It's a bad place. I... I can't go back without Alex. I can't! Alex said no one would hurt me. And if she's not there... I can't!"

Dammit! Maryanne would know what to do here. What to say to ease her worries. But Maryanne wasn't here, was she? It was up to Brooke.

"It's okay," she said in her most soothing voice. "We can't wait for Alex to get better, Connie. That may... that may take some time. But the house is safe. The house is empty. I promise. Everyone has gone away for the American Thanksgiving weekend. The students, the house mother, Mrs. Betts. The caretaker, John Smith, only comes twice a day, and he's due at 7:30 or so. Even that old futz C. W. hasn't been puttering around."

"C. W.?" Connie's voice was sharp. "Charles William? _Billy_?"

Brooke shrugged. "Could be. He's just C. W. Stanley to me."

Connie's form stiffened. "Where's Maryanne?"

"Funny you should ask. She's standing guard over your open grave right now."

"Quick!" Connie cried the word from over her shoulder as she sped off toward Harvell House. "We have to get back there, _now_!"

Oh, crap. This could not be good. Not if it upset Connie enough to make her voluntarily return to her own personal house of terrors.

Back in the attic, Brooke's arm flopped spontaneously in panic as she heard the door downstairs open and close with a bang.

Something was wrong!

Brooke put on a surge of speed, catching Connie before they cleared the meadow.

_Hang on, Maryanne. We 're coming!_

### Chapter 40

#### Unearthed

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE HELD HER breath, waiting for the owner of Harvell House, C. W. Stanley, to speak first. Silently, he picked up Maryanne's gloves from where she'd left them on the stairs. He turned them over in his hands, almost sadly, studying the dirt worn into them. C. W. looked over at Connie's grave, the planks of wood, the shovels--both of them--and then turned his head to rake the entire area. Finally, his eyes fell hard on Maryanne. She didn't know what to expect when he finally opened his mouth to speak. Shock at the scene he'd found, certainly. Anger over the digging, no doubt. But the last thing Maryanne expected when he opened his mouth were the words that spilled forth.

"You found the diary."

It wasn't a question, and she met his statement with silence.

"I always suspected Connie kept one, hidden somewhere in this old house. I couldn't find it in the attic where Father kept her. But years ago it hit me--maybe that mother of hers wasn't so spineless after all. What if she let Connie out at night? That damn diary could be anywhere."

Cold swept through her.

"I've looked for it all over the place. Moved back to Mansbridge and paid too much for this damnable house, just so I could find it! Today I thought I'd give it one more try, while the house was empty. I just came down here to grab the keys to the rooms. Imagine my surprise to find you here, Miss Hemlock. " He turned bitter eyes on her. "So where is it now? Where's the diary?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking--"

"Yes you do. Don't even try to pretend otherwise."

Maryanne shook her head. "I don't know where the diary is. Alex hid it. I'm not even sure it's still in the house. She may have even burned it." How much she was making up, and how much was the truth, Maryanne wasn't sure. But even if she did know where Alex had hidden Connie's diary, she'd never tell. Not anyone, but especially not C. W. It was more than a niggling feeling, one she had to listen to. "Alex might have even gotten a safety deposit box," she lied. "She said she was going to do that."

"Damn it all to hell!" He cursed in pure frustration, pure anger. A full minute later, C. W.'s shoulders slumped inside his trench coat. He sighed as if in resignation, and nodded at whatever thoughts he held, as if the conclusions were inevitable.

Maryanne watched him under the dim yellow light of the basement. The shadows under his eyes deepened as he stood there. His eyes seemed to darken, and he clenched his shaking fists tightly as he stood before Maryanne.

_Oh Dear Lord,_ she thought. _He 's insane._

Maryanne had to get out of there. She had to talk her way out.

"Mr. Stanley, I--"

"We had to kill Connie Harvell," he said coldly. "Father and I. We had no other choice. The little whore threatened to tell."

Maryanne's words came out in a gasp. "You're Billy."

"Billy." He almost chuckled and tossed the gloves aside. "I haven't heard that name in years. Not since I left this little town almost fifty years ago. I worked the oil fields in Alberta, back then, saved money. I started going by C. W., short of course, for Charles William." His sadistic smile rose slowly. "But you can call me Billy.

"I came back. I just couldn't stay away from Mansbridge--from this old house. Too many memories. Too many secrets. I had to have it back."

C. W.-- _Billy_ --took three steps forward to stand at the edge of the freshly-dug grave. "We should have buried her deeper. I told Father that. But the old man never listened to me!" Gazing down at the grave, C. W. continued. "Your friend... Alex Robbins. She reminded me a lot of Connie. Spirited. Same gray-blue eyes, dark hair. And so... helpless. Weak. At least the first time."

Maryanne felt her knees weaken. "The first time?" she whispered.

C. W. looked up at Maryanne. "Girls like her, like you... all the girls in this house. Rejects on 'Reject Row'--I know that's what they call you. The fallen ones. Drinking and causing trouble. The ones no one wants to bother with. The whores who'll always, _always_ , reap what they sow!"

"The helpless ones," Maryanne said, anger overriding her fear, at least for the moment.

"Yes." He smiled. "That's why I drugged your little friend Alex."

"You drugged her?" Maryanne couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I like them to lie still. Still as the grave." His lips twisted in a smile of genuine amusement.

Dear God, he really was mad! This was a nightmare.

"She'd come back to Mansbridge before any other students. I found her out drinking alone. I gave her some whiskey I'd laced with GHB, brought her back to the house and up to the attic by that old dumbwaiter. Then I gave her what she deserved."

Maryanne thought she was going to be sick. That was the reason for Alex's profound sadness. For the agitation that absolutely screamed from her when Maryanne had first met her. That was the fear she'd seen in those pale eyes. That was the horror.

"You raped her!"

C. W. scoffed. "You can't rape whores! You take. You teach. You mete out justice. And whores suffer their due at the hands of the righteous. They reap just what they sow." With his left foot sliding sideways, he kicked earth down into Connie's grave. It rattled down on her bones. "But the second time I came for Alex... she wasn't so helpless. I thought she was when I found her on the attic floor. I wasn't even looking for her. I'd just been roaming the house as I do. Sometimes, I just watch the girls. Sometimes... sometimes I do more. And this second time I found Alex, it was like she was waiting for me. She reminded me even more of Connie that time. Of how Connie had been so often when I took her. Barely moving. _Barely there,_ somehow. But then something happened. The little bitch suddenly grew strong. Incredibly strong. She knocked me across the room." He looked at Maryanne, incredulous. "Imagine. Fighting back!"

Maryanne's heart stormed in her chest as C. W. took a step toward her. He was insane. Truly and completely mad. Truly and completely dangerous. She had to keep him talking. "So you tried to kill her? Because she fought back?"

He stopped his advance. "From what I hear, I came pretty damn close. They're transferring her to Halifax. Did you know that? I stopped in at the hospital before I came here to see her poor mother, ask if there was anything I could do. I shook her hand, tipped my hat, and expressed my deepest concerns." C. W. laughed as he gave a little, gracious bow. When he straightened, he'd pulled an object from the depths of his trench coat pocket.

The candleholder!

Connie's heavy silver candleholder! He held it menacingly.

"And soon enough," he said, "I'll be expressing my deepest sympathies to _your_ parents, Miss Hemlock."

Wielding the candlestick, he advanced on her slowly, his arms outstretched, his hand high, ready to strike her. He was going to kill her. Take her life from her, like he'd tried to take Alex's. Like he'd already taken Connie's! The evil bastard was going to take Skip and Kelly Hemlock's last child from them. The madman was laughing now as the tears rolled down Maryanne's face.

"Like hell," Maryanne grated. She wouldn't make it easy for him. She wouldn't be an easy victim.

She took a step toward him and his laughter was replaced by a look of shock.

But a second later, both of them held perfectly still when they heard the thumping way, way above them, coming from the attic.

C. W. threw down the candlestick and pulled a gun, small but deadly looking, from his pocket.

Oh, crap!

### Chapter 41

#### Connie's Justice

_Brooke_

IT WAS ALL Brooke could do to keep up with the other caster on the mad rush back to Harvell House, but she wasn't worried. She figured there'd be hesitation on Connie's part once she actually reached the stained glass window. Some gathering of courage or careful focusing of thought before the attempt was made.

Not so much.

Connie rushed up to the window, hammered a hand down on it, and roared, "In!"

Just like that, Brooke found herself alone. She put on a press of speed to reach the window maybe twenty seconds behind Connie. Cursing, she tore off her copper bracelet and dropped it to the ground. Then she rapped on the glass and uttered the words that were second nature now. "I want in!"

Then she found herself back in her body and shooting across the room with more force than ever before. Covering her head with both hands and curling up, she managed to present her back to the far wall before impact. If it hurt, she barely felt it. She was flying too high on the adrenaline her body had been pumping out in her absence.

She leapt to her feet and began scanning the attic frantically. Where was Connie?

_Duh_. The only place she _could_ be. The only place a cast could go on tapping back in. Connie must have gone back into what was left of her body.

If it worked.

And if it didn't? What would happen then? Could her caster-self survive the attempt? And if so, could she get out of the house again? Shit, what if she couldn't? What if she were trapped in this house of her horrors forever? Oh, Jesus, what had they done?

She tore down the steps, heading for the basement. It was only when she heard raised voices--C. W.'s and Maryanne's--that she remembered Connie's panic.

C. W.--Charles William. _Billy_. In the basement with Maryanne.

Brooke paused in the kitchen long enough to grab a knife, which she promptly dropped once she spied the meat cleaver. Much better.

Cleaver concealed behind her back, she glided to the basement door and started down the steps.

Her attempt at stealth was wasted, however. She knew this because Maryanne cried out, "Brooke! Don't come down! He's got a gun."

Brooke froze, taking in the tableau before her. C. W. held Maryanne by the hair--none too gently, from the look on her face--and held a small pistol to her head.

"Oh, do come down, Miss Saunders. I'm so glad you could join us. It saves me the inconvenience of searching for you."

Brooke's heart thundered in terror, and the adrenaline in her system screamed for her to run. Of course, he'd just shoot her with that pistol if she tried. Besides which, she wasn't leaving Maryanne to this monster. Together, maybe they could take him. On that thought, she slid the cleaver blade into the back pocket of her jeans and let her hands fall to her sides.

"Come down here," he ordered. " _Now_!"

"No, don't!" Maryanne shouted. "He's the one who attacked Alex!"

Oh, God! This old geezer cracked Alex's skull? _Bit_ her? The bastard!

At Brooke's hesitation, C. W. gave Maryanne's hair a vicious tug, making her gasp.

"Disobedience is so unflattering in a lady," C. W. clipped. "And you don't want me to take my... displeasure... out on your friend here, do you?"

"Whoa! Chill. I'll come down." Brooke lifted her hands, palms out, to show she bore no weapons. "But I feel it's only fair to warn you that I'm no lady."

"No, you're a whore, just like your friend, Alex. Like the rest of the little whores in this house."

"Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far," Brooke said, trying to keep her voice from quavering. "Maybe we can find some middle ground."

"Get your smart mouth down here!" he shouted, driving the barrel of the pistol into Maryanne's temple.

Well, okay then.

Praying the cleaver wouldn't fall out of her shallow pocket and clatter down the steps--damn her low-rise jeans--she started down the stairs. Then stopped dead on the last step.

Holy shit!

A bony hand appeared at the edge of Connie's grave. As Brooke watched, another hand mashed flat onto the dirt floor beside it. Then Connie's body--her mummified, largely skeletonised body--rose from the grave. But, oh God in heaven, it was more than a mere body now! It was a vehicle for Connie's cast. The empty eye sockets that had so freaked Brooke out on first glimpse were no longer empty. They glowed now with a fierce, angry white light.

As Connie crawled from the pit that had held her all those years, Brooke's mouth fell open.

"Miss Saunders?"

When she failed to reply, C. W. turned to see what could possibly have a stronger claim on her attention than his threats. The old man's whole body jerked with a reaction that would have been comical in other circumstances. "No," he whispered. The gun dropped from his hand, landing on the earthen floor with a soft thud.

Maryanne broke free from his suddenly lax grip and scuttled over to join Brooke at the base of the stairs, but C. W. hardly seemed to notice the loss of his hostage. He couldn't tear his eyes off the vision of bone and sinew standing there with those glowing, rage-filled eye sockets.

"No!" This time, it was a cry not a whisper. As Connie's corpse advanced on him, he clutched one hand to his chest and backed up, extending the other in front of him as though to ward Connie off.

"You're dead!" he said.

Connie grabbed the shovel.

"We killed you!" C. W. took another stumbling step backward, not seeming to realize that he'd put himself in a corner. Connie kept advancing.

Maryanne clung harder to Brooke, and Brooke hugged her right back.

"This isn't happening! It can't be happening. Father _killed_ you. I saw him do it. I helped him bury you."

"Alive!" Impossibly, a croaking, terrible voice rattled out of Connie's body. "You buried me _alive_!"

Unable to move back any further, he shrank before her horrible fury. "I'm sorry... we didn't know. I didn't know. I swear I didn't."

"You killed my baby! My little Lily Michelle!"

"That was Father's doing, not mine," he cried. "Not me."

Connie just kept advancing remorselessly.

Cornered, C. W. fell to his knees. "Connie, please don't do this," he begged. "It was bad, what I did. It was such a long time ago. I... I was just a boy myself."

"Alex wasn't a long time ago. You weren't a boy when you hurt my friend."

"But--"

He didn't get a chance to rationalize his actions.

Connie grabbed him, then opened her skeletal jaw impossibly wide.

"Get ready," Maryanne whispered to Brooke. She knew what was coming, and she and Brooke held each other tightly. They braced themselves. Braced their minds.

And Connie shrieked. Long and loud and mind-rending as the rapist crumbled before her. She shredded C. W.'s sanity. Broke him, mind, body, and soul. He dropped to the floor, and curled up in a shaking fetal position, urine darkening his trousers and soaking the soil around him.

Then--oh God!--Connie swung the shovel in a wicked downward arc, striking C. W.-- _Billy_ --squarely in the head. Connie stopped her shrieking just in time to hear the sickening yet glorious _thunk_ as the shovel bashed his skull.

After a few stunned seconds, the girls pulled themselves apart.

Brooke rushed to pick up the gun. C. W. didn't look like he was about to get up again, but she'd watched too many horror movies. The bad guy always had one last gasp in him.

After a minute, Maryanne was at his side, her fingers searching for a pulse, first on his wrist, then on his scrawny, old-man neck.

Brooke held her breath.

Maryanne looked up, first at Connie, then at Brooke.

"He's dead," she said.

### Chapter 42

#### Beholding Eyes

_Maryanne_

"I SAW HER when she came for her body," Maryanne whispered to Brooke, who now knelt beside C. W.'s body with her. "I saw just the dark whoosh of it, down through the ceiling, into the grave. C. W.'s back was to her, but I saw. And I knew... " Maryanne's eyes were wide as she stared at Brooke, then went wider as Connie shuffled closer.

"Did I... scare you?" Connie asked.

"Oh, no, Connie." Maryanne stood, not even blinking at the lie. "Never you."

Brooke stood too.

"He's dead? Billy's dead?" Almost disbelievingly, Connie's words rattled forth, so slurred and sluggish now that Maryanne could barely understand her.

"He is," Maryanne reassured her.

"Good," Connie said. There was no remorse in her tone. Maryanne wouldn't have expected it. "He won't hurt anyone again. He won't hurt me. He won't hurt any of you. You three are my friends."

Steeling herself, Maryanne went to her. Connie was growing weaker, not just in her voice, but in her skeletal remains. They trembled. The light in her eyes was dimming, but that was to be expected. That was to be _hoped_ for. That Connie would find her rest.

"I'm... so, so tired," she said. Maryanne caught Connie as she stumbled. Holding onto one bare arm bone, she didn't flinch. _Wouldn 't_ flinch as she supported the corpse, wrapping her hands around the cold bone. She looked into the skeletal face of Connie, into those fading eyes. And Connie looked back.

"Then rest, Connie," Brooke said. Without hesitation, she too took one of Connie's arms to support her. "You deserve to rest."

"Do I?" she asked. "Do I really?"

"You saved me," Maryanne said. Her eyes filled with tears and she just let them spill down her cheeks. "You saved me, and who knows how many other girls you saved from C. W.--Billy."

Connie nodded. "And there... there was a little boy once, years and years ago. He almost drowned in that pond. But... but I saved him too. I pulled him out. My life... my existence. It was... "

"It was right. It was just," Brooke said. "Not just because you saved others. But because you saved yourself. You survived what you had to survive."

Through crying eyes Maryanne looked at Brooke, and she could almost swear she saw tears brimming in Brooke's eyes too. "You're a strong one, Connie Harvell," Maryanne said. "You always were."

"Now," Brooke said softly, "it's time for you to rest."

Connie lowered her head. "Yes. I'm ready. Say goodbye to Alex for me." Maryanne had to lean her head closer to hear Connie now. "Tell her I love her. Love all my soaring sisters. So much."

Maryanne watched as the light dimmed completely from Connie's eyes. Her frame went limp and the two girls eased her to the floor. Then Maryanne and Brooke carefully lowered her back into the ground. They scrambled back up and sat beside the open grave looking down at the silent bones.

"Is she at peace?" Brooke asked. Somehow even she'd come to respect Maryanne's feelings.

Maybe, Maryanne thought, she should respect them more herself.

Maryanne closed her eyes, let the pulse of the room pour into her. She let herself accept the intuitive feeling around her. She didn't grab for it, but she didn't run from it. She felt it in every last cell. And Maryanne absolutely did not dismiss it. She knew.

"Yes. She's at peace. She did it. Connie made it back it to her body." Maryanne blinked back tears. "And the anger and bitterness I felt before, concentrated so powerfully in her bones? It's all dissipated now. Gone. She's at rest."

A full five minutes later, it was Brooke who broke the silence, articulating for both of them the next step. Another dreaded step. "We have to call the police."

She stood, pulling her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans as she walked to the steps. She sat and she flipped the phone open. But she waited before she punched in the numbers. "I killed C. W. Stanley," she said. "That's what we tell the cops. We both found Connie's body. I went upstairs... to the bedroom to grab my phone. It took me a few minutes to find it. When I came back down, C. W. was holding a gun on you and saying he was going to kill you. That's our story, Maryanne. Our _unshakable_ story."

Maryanne slowly nodded. There could be no other way--the truth would be kept between them--she and the other casters, forever.

Holding Brooke's steadfast stare, Maryanne picked up where Brooke left off as if they were talking to the police already. "Billy... I mean, _C. W_.--came down the stairs and found me by Connie's grave. While Brooke was up looking for her phone, he confessed to having attacked Alex the other night. And that this was his step-sister's grave. He killed Connie Harvell long ago--he and his father. Thank goodness Brooke came back when she did. She snuck up on C. W. and clocked him with the shovel. He had a gun. He would have killed me if she hadn't done it."

Brooke chewed her lip a moment. "But how... how did we know to dig for a body?"

"We found an old diary."

"Who found an old diary?"

"You and me. Only you and me."

"Where?" Brooke asked. "Not the attic. The less people snoop around up there, the better."

Maryanne lowered her head into her hand for a moment, then looked up with the sudden answer. "Buried in an old tin can, out by the old oak by the river, way back in September. The ground is frozen over now. We read, and found out that the diary belonged to Connie Harvell. Connie wrote that she knew they were coming to murder her--Billy and her stepfather. We just thought they may have buried her in the basement since they killed her in the depths of winter. We decided to see if we were right. And we just... just found the body."

"The first place we dug?"

"Yeah," she gulped. "Lucky us."

Brooke wet her lips, but she nodded her approval.

Maryanne didn't know how she could do it--remain so calm. So... Brooke-like!

"Where's the diary now?" Brooke asked, continuing the practice cross-examination.

"C. W. found it," Maryanne said. "He told me he found it. We... you and I... hid it in our room and he found it there a week ago. He used those keys to search the rooms." She pointed to the key box on the wall. "But he told me he burned the diary to get rid of all the evidence of Connie's confinement and torture at his hands."

Brooke had one final question. "And if the police don't believe us?"

"They will," Maryanne answered shakily. "They'll have to believe us when we tell them about Connie's baby. Lily Michelle must be buried here too. They'll dig up the whole damn basement--find that skeleton too. And C. W.'s prints will be on the gun."

"Yeah, along with mine." Brooke grimaced.

"Well of course you picked up the gun! Before we knew he was actually dead. But his prints will be on there too."

"And he bit Alex," Brooke said. "The police will be able to match that bite, and whatever other forensic evidence the bastard left behind."

"Right," Maryanne said. "So... so we've got this covered?" Oh, God, she wanted desperately to cast out. Just for a few minutes, just to fortify herself against what was about to happen. Just one quick cast! But there was no time. John Smith could be here any minute. And any more delay would look suspicious.

"We've got it covered." Brooke drew a shaky breath, forced a smile. She looked down at her phone. "We'll be okay, Maryanne. We just... we just have to get through this. Stick to the story, no matter what, and just get through it."

"I know." Maryanne bit out one last question. One she simply had to ask and simply had to ask now. "What about you, Brooke?"

She looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone in Mansbridge will know that you killed Mr. Stanley. Even if it was to save me, you'll have his blood on your hands. You know how everyone around here will look at you. How everyone will talk about you. Stories take on a life of their own in Mansbridge--you know that as well as I do. As far as this town is concerned, Brooke, you'll be the girl who killed a man. Who bashed his brains in with a shovel. You'll be--"

"I'll be a legend in this town." Brooke's eyes shone with the promise. "Yeah, I'll be a damned _legend_! In every way imaginable. And I'm quite all right with that."

Maryanne stared at Brooke as she dialed.

"Come quickly," Brooke sobbed into the phone. "Something horrible's happened at Harvell House!" With that she snapped the phone shut, and smiled at Maryanne. Within a minute they heard the sirens.

"It's going to be okay," Brooke reassured again as the doors to the house flew open. She ran to Maryanne and held her close, as if they'd been consoling each other. "It'll be over soon."

In one way it would be over soon. But Maryanne knew, bone deep, that the soaring sister who held her now, _would_ be a legend in this Mansbridge town. In every way imaginable, and then some.

It had only just begun.

"Down here!" Brooke called.

The basement door burst open, and a police officer, gun drawn, came cautiously down.

### Chapter 43

#### Look Up

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE LET THE sobs come. She didn't even try to stop them. Not this time.

Today, she would let those tears fall and fall and fall. Right here beneath the sunlit Madonna on the attic floor.

She should be in school. She _had_ been in school at least briefly. But she'd left about fifteen minutes into first period, telling Mr. McKenzie that she wasn't feeling well and was going home for the day. He must have seen it in Maryanne's eyes that she was ready to burst out crying. Or burst out with something else--like how he'd drunkenly come on to her. Because all at once his sneer vanished, and he released her from class.

Maryanne had started walking toward the hospital as she left the school. It was Alex's last day in Mansbridge. As C. W. Stanley had said, they were transferring her to a hospital in Halifax, closer to her family. Alex's mother had already left Mansbridge, since her daughter would be transported the next day by ambulance. Mrs. Robbins had stopped into Harvell House to say good-bye to Maryanne, Brooke and Mrs. Betts before she caught the bus out of town.

Maryanne had to see Alex one more time. If only one more time. And going to that hospital had been her full intention as she'd walked down the school steps.

Yet her feet had started to drag before she'd gotten too far. God, she was a wreck! She couldn't visit Alex like this. She had to cry it out first. With tears burning in her eyes, she'd raced back to Harvell House.

She'd snuck back in the front door while Betts was in the kitchen, and John Smith was who-knows-where, and then up the stairs to the attic.

It was a major operation these days to get up to the attic. She and Brooke each still had their keys, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Harvell House had become a very strict place now. Mrs. Betts saw each of the girls out the door to school in the mornings with a check list in hand. Cell phones were to be left on--no exceptions. Betts had been a wreck this last week, but in some ways, a surprisingly strong one. She'd arranged counseling for the girls who wanted it, and she'd called every parent herself.

Clearly, Mrs. Betts blamed herself. Anyone could see that, even if Maryanne hadn't overhead her tell John Smith as much. She'd had a bad feeling about C. W., and she should have listened to it. John Smith had consoled her to the best of his ability.

Maryanne felt so bad for her.

Patricia Betts had sworn she'd never let it happen again, and the watch she kept on the girls now was positively stifling. Though, oddly, a little comforting.

Maryanne and Brooke had dared to cast out only once in the last week since Connie's body had been unearthed and C. W. had been killed. While most of the police officers left the house at night, one officer sat up with his coffee in the kitchen and another played solitaire in the parlor, just to make sure no one went down to the basement and compromised the crime scene. But on one of those nights, Brooke woke Maryanne from her fitful sleep. "Come up to the attic. We'll cast out for a bit."

It had been risky. It had been wonderful.

They'd gone to the old oak tree by the river, put on the copper bracelets, and just soared a little ways along the dark river, which had not yet frozen.

Maryanne had caught Brooke watching her as they soared together.

"Better?" Brooke asked.

"Yeah," she had answered. She'd _needed_ that cast out. That reprieve from it all.

It had been an awful few days. There was police everywhere, and questioning everyone--especially Maryanne and Brooke. Both girls stuck to their stories. It didn't hurt that both of their mothers had arranged for lawyers to be present at all but the initial questioning. Though neither Maryanne nor Brooke had really been suspected of anything. And the forensic evidence backed up their story; the bones in the basement had been there for at least half a century. C. W. Stanley was Billy Stanley, who'd left Mansbridge about five decades ago. He had been Connie Harvell's stepbrother. The police had eventually found a baby's skeletal remains wrapped up in a tarp. Just as damning, the bite mark on Alex's shoulder was forensically matched to Billy. And once word of that got out, four other girls had come forward. All former residents of Harvell House. They too had been attacked at the house. Drugged. Three of them bitten. All of them left half-naked, alone on the attic floor.

"Alex was lucky she wasn't raped," Brooke had said to Maryanne one night. It was about ten minutes after lights out when her comment broke the silence.

Maryanne recognized a leading statement when she heard one, but she'd wet her lips in the dark and answered, "Yeah, she sure was."

From what C. W. had said before Brooke and Connie arrived, Maryanne knew C. W. _had_ sexually assaulted Alex, way back in September. But that was Alex's secret to tell. She'd tell it when she was ready. If she was ready.

Thankfully, Brooke had seemed satisfied.

Maryanne swiped her tear-wet face, then pulled a tissue out and blew her nose.

Her dad had flown down to Fredericton, rented a car and driven to Mansbridge. He'd spent two evenings at a pricey hotel and two days practically begging Maryanne to come home again, but she'd refused, telling him point-blank that she couldn't bear to go home. It had broken Maryanne's heart to hurt her father like that, but she really wasn't ready to go back to Ontario. Nor was she ready to leave what she'd found here. She regretted being so harsh with her father, but if she hadn't done it, he'd still be here, cajoling her. She'd tried to soften it by telling him she just needed to be with her friends now, but that she'd be ready to come home soon.

Friends, she'd told her father. Except after today, that would be friend, singular, when Alex's parents took her home. Maryanne desperately wanted to pound something at the thought, but that would only bring Mrs. Betts.

Poor Alex.

She might never come out of her coma.

Maryanne eased herself down onto the attic's floor, letting the tears roll down the sides of her temples. She pulled a wad of tissues from the front pocket of her jeans and blew her nose. Then she lay for a few minutes with her swollen eyes closed, one hand flung above her head, the other flat on her belly. She tried to steady her breaths.

"Snap out of it, Hemlock," she muttered. "You're going to stop crying. Then you're going to step up to the plate and go see Alex one last time. You're going to go and say good-bye to your friend, and pray it isn't a final one."

She opened her eyes, but didn't immediately jump up. Instead, she looked up into the dust that danced around in the light coming through the stained glassed window. She looked way up through the haze of it. Way up to the rafters.

"What the heck?"

Maryanne wiped her eyes. She blinked a good half dozen times. There _was_ something up there. It looked like yellowed edges of paper--a book! _Connie 's diary!_ It was Connie's diary, and it was tucked into what looked like a carved-out notch in the wooden beam. She never would have seen it had she not been lying on the floor.

She had to work quietly. She carried the old rocking chair over to the spot just below the book. Then, bit by bit, she 'walked' the heavy dresser over beside it--lifting one side, then the other, and setting it down carefully each time on its sturdy legs. When she had it in place, Maryanne climbed up on the rocker, then onto the dresser. She reached up and dug Connie's diary free.

Carefully, soundlessly, she stepped down. Maryanne sat crossed-legged on the attic floor and began flipping through the yellowed pages of Connie's handwriting, those heartbreaking words. Some familiar, others not. But then as she flipped through further and further, the handwriting changed.

"This is Alex's writing!" she realized. Pages and pages of it dating back from early September, before Maryanne had even arrived. From when she'd first woken up in the attic, a victim on the floor looking up to find the diary.

She closed her swollen eyes a moment, biting down on her bottom lip. "I know I shouldn't do this. But... what if... what if something in here can help Alex?"

For once, she didn't ignore the niggling feeling.

She began to read.

### Chapter 44

#### I Am Legend

_Brooke_

THE FINGER-POINTING AND whispering started almost before Brooke climbed out of the driver's seat of her car. Guess the boring gray Intrigue wasn't invisible anymore.

Ironically, she wouldn't mind a little invisibility right now. They were taking Alex away soon--back to Halifax. Brooke was going to miss her more than she'd ever admit to anyone. Certainly not to those in town who watched her so closely. On that thought, she blinked back her tears, put on her best screw-you smile, climbed out of the car and slammed the door.

Shouldering her bag, she locked the car with her remote and crossed the parking lot to the mall.

She was headed for the little coffee shop opposite the food court, more to get a sense of public opinion than for the pathetic excuse for coffee she would get there. Their idea of cappuccino involved a sad-looking blob of foam floating on top of poorly extracted espresso. Brooke was no barista, but even she could do a better job with a home espresso machine than these rubes could do with professional equipment.

By the time she reached the mall doors, she had a small following behind her. And by the time she reached the cafe, she'd collected enough curious onlookers to double the population in the food court.

_Yes! Now we 're talking._

Concealing her jubilation beneath a bored expression, she ordered her drink--a straight shot of espresso; she'd long ago learned that was the best bet, followed closely by the Americano--and sat down at an empty table.

"Hey, Brooke!"

She glanced up to see Danielle Mann, who was hailing her from a nearby table.

"Come sit," she invited.

Perfect. Dani would give her the straight dope on what people were saying. Brooke got up and joined her.

"Thanks. I feel less like a lab specimen, sitting with someone I actually know." She indicated the crowd with a tilt of her head. "My money was on the science fair nerd to make the first contact."

Dani scanned the crowd. "Oh, yeah, he's very hot to meet you, but he's way too inhibited to approach. I was betting on Cathy Wilks, to your right, wearing the Lolita skirt and the thigh-highs. Biggest gossip in town. Well, next to me."

Brooke grinned. "Thanks for saving me."

Dani grinned right back. "Yeah, like you're intimidated by this attention."

"Okay, you got my number," Brooke said, laughing. "I really don't mind. And to tell you the truth, I don't even care what they're saying."

Dani's face sobered. "Mostly, they think you're a hero. I heard that old bastard C. W. assaulted quite a few girls over there at Harvell House, and spied on a bunch more. Not to mention what he did to Alex." She picked up a spoon and toyed with it. "I hear Alex's mom is arranging to have her transported back to Halifax."

Brooke nodded. "It's true. Originally, I think they thought she'd come out of the coma within a matter of days, but the longer it drags on, the less hopeful they are. So they've decided to move her closer, so her mom can get back to the rest of the family."

"That sucks," Dani said. "She really seemed to be turning it around this year. It was like she'd found some purpose beyond the partying."

_You have no idea_ , Brooke thought. She cleared her throat. "So, if I'm mostly a hero, what is the flip side of that coin?"

Dani laughed. "You _would_ ask, wouldn't you?"

"Naturally."

"I think they're a little scared of you, actually. Maryanne, too. I mean, you guys dug up a freakin' body! Most people, once they'd read that diary, would probably have just called the police and let them search for it."

"So everyone knows about the diary, then?"

"Hello? This is _Mansbridge_. Of course they know. Too bad that creepy short-eyes C. W. destroyed it."

"Yeah," Brooke said. "So, you were saying... folks are a little scared of us?"

"Awed might be a better word."

_Awed_. That was a good word. A damned good word. Brooke let a small smile curve her lips while Dani continued.

"Like I said, most people would have called the cops. But no, you guys went down there and literally exhumed a body. That took some serious cojones."

Brooke shrugged, then rolled out the message she and Maryanne had agreed to put out there. "Yeah, well, you know how it is. What if the diary we'd read was a fake? Some Reject Row resident's idea of a practical joke? We'd have been the laughing stock of the town if the cops had dug the shit out of that basement and found nothing. Hell, they probably would have charged us with public mischief. None of us needed that."

"So instead, you became the girl who put down a pedophile and a murderer with one swing of a shovel."

"Hey, it's not like I did it on some vigilante bullshit head-rush. It was self-defense. He was waving a _gun_ around."

"So I heard." Dani grinned. "Speaking of which, I guess a nickname change is in order, huh?"

Brooke frowned. "How's that?"

"You're going to have to retire Miss Gun-to-a-Knife-Fight in favor of--"

Brooke groaned. "Oh, God, I can see it coming."

"--Miss Shovel-to-a-Gun-Fight."

The two of them dissolved into giggles. "Do me a favor, okay?" Brooke said after she'd wiped the tears from her eyes.

"What's that?"

"Give me an escort to the drug store. I need to buy toothpaste."

Dani snorted. "You know, they're just going to mob me after you leave, demanding to know all the juicy deets."

That suited Brooke fine. As appealing as it might be to hold court with a fascinated audience, it really didn't fit with the legend she wanted to build. Aloof. Untouchable. And yeah, a little scary.

"And you'll hate that, right? You being so shy and retiring."

Dani laughed delightedly. "Okay, I guess I can overcome my introverted nature to handle that." She drained her coffee mug. "Come on, then. Let's go."

As they stood, Brooke caught a glimpse of Seth in the crowd. Well, she spotted Bryce first--he was considerably taller--but her eyes went straight to Seth at his side. And God it hurt. Still. That she'd wanted him so much, loved him so much, and he'd just discarded her like garbage. They both regarded her now with stony, implacable faces. Safe to say they weren't among her new fans. Would never be fans, no matter what she did for the town.

Well, that was okay with Brooke. Better than okay. If they weren't such jerks, she'd feel guilty about continuing to haunt them. And continue she would. The night was _hers_ , and she wasn't done with Seth Walker. Not by a long shot.

### Chapter 45

#### Every Rose

_Maryanne_

MARYANNE LOOKED AT the time on her cell phone. It was nearly 2 a.m. At least the phone wasn't ringing now. Mrs. Betts's last call had been at ten p.m.

_Yes, she 'd take a taxi home to Harvell House first thing in the morning. Yes, Alex's doctor was being very kind and understanding in letting Maryanne stay the night with Alex. Absolutely, the nurses had given her one of those roll-in cots and that extra blanket. Thanks, Mrs. Betts, for asking them to._

A line of light shone underneath Alex's hospital room door. Green numbers glowed from the equipment, still humming by Alex's bed. The last nurse who'd been in there, a matronly type, had left the bathroom light on for Maryanne. She'd started to close the room's curtains, but Maryanne had asked her to leave them open. She found a comfort now in the night beyond. And with Connie's diary tucked under the blankets with her, Maryanne lay quietly.

She'd read Alex's words. Every one of them. She'd read some of the pages over several times, especially the last few. And her own tears had fallen on the paper to join Alex's that had dried there.

_Talk to her. About big things and little things._

Those instructions that the nurses had given in the early days of Alex's coma rang through her thoughts once again. And Maryanne knew she might never get another chance to talk to Alex Robbins, about anything.

She sat up, tossed aside the blanket, and looked down at the yellowed diary that rested on her thigh. Maryanne touched the drawing of the tiny rose on one of the lower corners.

_Big things it was, then_.

"I... I read the diary, Alex. Most of Connie's words, and all of yours. It wasn't just curiosity. I had to.

"I'm so sorry for what you went through, and that you thought you had to go through it alone. No one should. But I guess I can understand that--keeping it inside like you did. You're a good writer. I know this is just a journal, but you're good with putting your thoughts down. No wonder you love English class so much!"

Maryanne turned to the back of the diary, the very last page that Alex had written on. She got up from her cot to sit on the edge of Alex's bed. She pulled the chain to snap on the light over Alex's head, watching her eyes carefully. But Alex didn't flinch under the sudden glare.

"This is what you wrote, Alex. Remember?"

_Oh, please remember_.

Maryanne cleared her throat, twice, before she began reading Alex's words.

_I 've got almost all of it now. The memories of that night trickle in bit by bit each time I cast back into my body, until finally it's about to become clear. The last critical bit. I just have to be brave enough to face it. And I'm ready to. I'll tuck you away in a minute, dear diary, and then, by myself this time, I'll cast out and then cast back in. And then... then I'll know everything._

_Scared? Shitless! But I will remember. And when I do, I 'll go to the police and do what I have to do. And I'll no doubt scream, and I'll absolutely cry, but I WILL survive this no matter what. I know I will--I SWEAR I will. If Connie Harvell taught me anything, she taught me this._

_Sometimes survival 's all we have to start with. All we have to build on. But we find our strength in such strange places! Like way down deep inside... or way out in the darkest nights_...

"Alex," Maryanne whispered. "Come back to us."

She closed the book. Maryanne stared down at Alex and gently pushed the dark bangs back on her forehead. The bandage was gone now; the bruises were subsiding.

A flash in the periphery of her vision caught her attention. Maryanne's head snapped toward the wide window. Nothing. Just a flicker of reflection on the glass no doubt, from when she'd moved her hand. She stared into the glass. Alex's room faced the back of the hospital, toward the woods. There were no street lights to shine against the glass from the outside. The full moon barely glowed in the sky on this cloudy night. But the lights shone bright in the hospital room. And so in the window, Maryanne could see the bed, the monitors, and much of the room dully reflected in the glass. And she could see herself and Alex reflected there too.

It felt suddenly strange. Yet it was nothing out of the ordinary, just the play of the light on glass she'd seen a million times before. There was always a kind of emptiness there at night when a room was well lit and you peered a certain way through a window into the darkness outside. And so it was tonight. One moment Maryanne could see their pale faces--hers and Alex's--reflected in the glass, then a moment later, when she looked a different way, she could see _through_ their images to the outside world. It was just a visual shift. But there was a kind of emptiness there, when you looked through. Not pitch black emptiness like a caster emptiness... but maybe one that could be.

_Oh, God, could it be_... _?_

Maryanne jumped up quickly. Finding the brakes on the hospital bed, she disengaged them. Carefully, she began rolling the bed closer to the window, a process that also involved rolling some of the equipment Alex was tethered to. Fortunately, everything was on wheels. Eventually, she managed to get the hospital bed close enough to the glass.

"This is nuts! This won't work in a million years."

Maybe this was a million and one.

Maryanne held Alex's hand in her own, raised it up to the cold glass. She held her breath, then she tapped Alex's hand on the window.

"My sister wants out," Maryanne whispered, her voice thick with tears, yet with an underlying conviction. "Please... she wants out. She wants out. She wants out."

Maryanne could feel it--she could see it as it happened. In a whoosh, Alex was out.

Alex's cast was there. Beyond the glass, that glorious black cast emptiness hovered in the Mansbridge night. While her original still lay motionless on the hospital bed, outside, Alex's cast looked around, disoriented. Maryanne, who sat crouched on the bed, put both her hands flat to the window pane. Seeing her, Alex came close. She set her own hands on the glass, opposite Maryanne's, but of course, they pressed right through the glass. Maryanne smiled at the strange, heavy press of Alex's caster hands on hers. Though she couldn't make out Alex's features in her empty face, Maryanne could tell that she was looking at herself lying so helpless on the bed. Then slowly, Alex nodded.

_Please let this work! It has to work_! Maryanne moved aside, clearing the way for Alex. She waited. She hoped!

Alex's cast shot through the window and into her body. She'd have shot right off the bed if Maryanne hadn't been prepared. As soon as she'd seen that dark rippling, Maryanne had flung herself atop Alex, pinning her to the bed. Even at that, the bed lurched several feet backward.

Alex's whole body was trembling. Maryanne peeled herself off her friend and stood again.

"Alex? Are you okay?"

Alex sat upright, still shaking, and pulled in what looked to be a painful lungful of air. Her hands went to her chest as she panted. She drew air, deeply, deeply down in. With a look somewhere between terror and elation, she stared at Maryanne. Her pupils were caster wide, but her eyes were open. She was alert. Out of the coma.

She was back.

"Connie!" Alex croaked.

Maryanne nodded. "It's okay. We did it. Connie's at rest now."

Alex barely relaxed a moment. "C. W. Stanley. He was the one who--"

"He's dead. Connie killed him and she saved me. He was the one who attacked you in the attic, we know. And he was the one who abused Connie all those years ago. It was one and the same guy! C. W. was Billy! Can you believe it? But he won't hurt anyone ever again."

"I don't understand. C. W. is Billy? He's dead? _Connie_ killed him?" Alex held a hand to her throat, which probably felt like hell. It certainly sounded like it was full of gravel. "How is that even possible?"

"It's a long story, and I'll tell you everything," Maryanne promised, "but I've got to get your bed back over there where it belongs so we can call a nurse."

"The nurse can wait," Alex rasped. "I need to hear what happened."

"I'm not sure the nurses will wait," Maryanne said, already pushing the bed. "God knows what your monitor readings are saying out there at the nurse's station, if anyone cares to look. They could come running in here any second."

"Okay." Alex laid her head back against the pillow. Her breaths were coming steadier now. Her shaking was subsiding. "Put this sucker back in place, and let's get the medical circus over with."

Maryanne grinned. "Amen to that."

The silence lasted just a moment before two nurses raced into the room.

### Chapter 46

#### December

_Alex_

"SO WHERE'D YOU go this morning?" Maryanne asked.

Alex suppressed a groan. That was about the umpteenth time Maryanne had asked that question since Alex had returned at noon. It was now after midnight! Shouldn't she give it a rest?

Alex gave her the same answer she'd given all day. "Out."

"I could have gone with you."

Alex said nothing, her jaw set so tightly it ached as she walked ahead of Maryanne across the attic floor to the old dresser. She bit back the answer she really wanted to give Maryanne-- _None of your business_. But Maryanne was just being concerned. Everyone had been so concerned about her since she'd come home from the hospital. Okay, maybe justifiably so. But it was killing her!

"Excited about tonight?" Maryanne asked. She was changing the subject, Alex knew, in an attempt to change the mood.

"Yeah." she answered, and she was.

Though Brooke and Maryanne had been out on short excursions, this was the first time Alex would be casting out since coming out of the coma. And yes, she was excited, but she was also nervous. She really had no idea what would happen. _Would it be different this time? Back at this original window? What if somehow, weirdly, it sent her back into her coma?_ She glanced over at the smiling Madonna and the night beyond the window.

Alex was a caster. How could she not take that chance?

She'd been out of the coma for almost three weeks. Of course, her family had rushed to her bedside immediately--the _whole_ family this time, not just her mom. And then they'd whisked her off, over her objections, back to Halifax, where they insisted she undergo a battery of medical tests. Finally, in the face of overwhelming evidence, they'd had to concede she was perfectly fine. And eventually, Alex convinced them the best thing she could do was return to Streep. Based on her academic performance this year, not to mention the fact that she was finally staying out of trouble and running with a much more responsible crowd, they'd had to agree. On the condition that she phone her mother twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. That was a small price to pay to get back, and frankly Alex didn't mind that much.

Things were... getting better all the time. Still, everyone was too damned nervous around her. At Harvell House and beyond its walls, she was the talk of the town. Well, she, Maryanne, and especially Brooke. However, they'd been bumped, at least briefly, from the top of the rumor mill leaderboard.

There'd been a horrible accident today. A fatal accident.

Seth Walker had been killed--trampled to death under the feet of his white horse, in the wee hours of yesterday morning. The whole town was in shock.

They were saying it was a tragic accident. That the prize stallion had been skittish for weeks now, since that night it and the other horse had escaped. Seth's father had told both of his sons not to go into the barn alone. But Seth had.

John Smith had brought the news early as the girls sat around the table for their Saturday morning hot breakfast. All eyes had turned on Brooke. She'd set her fork down carefully. Picked up her coffee cup and said over the brim, "Sucks to be him."

But Alex, who sat beside her, picked up on it, if no one else did, that smallest tremble in Brooke's voice.

"We made that horse skittish," Maryanne had whispered to both Alex and Brooke once they were back in their room after breakfast.

None of them could deny it.

That was upsetting enough. But the little bit of extra news from Danielle Mann was even more upsetting.

She'd stopped by Harvell House late in the afternoon, on the pretense of seeing how Alex was doing--actually bringing her a get-well stuffed bear! But more to the point of her visit, Dani had brought gossip.

They'd sat--Brooke, Alex and Maryanne--in their upstairs bedroom while Dani shared what she knew.

Huxley and Bryce were the ones who found Seth. It was still dark out when Hux had gone in his truck to pick Bryce up, on their way to a hockey tournament in Moncton. Bryce was in the yard when Hux got there. The horses were neighing loudly, and after Bryce threw his gear in the truck, the boys went to check it out. Seth was on the barn floor inside the stallion's stall, just by the opened door as if he'd tried to crawl away. The horse itself had been pressed up as close as it could be to the wall at the back of the stall. Seth's rib cage had been trampled in.

"And you want to hear something strange?" Dani asked, lowering her voice in a most conspiring tone. "When Huxley and Bryce found him, Hux thought he saw something drawn on the floor. Scrawled into the dust, really--that's what he said, right by Seth's hand. Bryce stayed with his brother's body while Huxley ran to the house to get his parents. But... " And here Dani faltered. Alex watched as she bit down on her bottom lip in a moment of wondering if she should go on after all. "Huxley swore me to secrecy, guys, so _please_ don't tell a living soul what I'm about to tell you."

Dani Mann had actually paled, and though she had a reputation for gossip, maybe this time her secret would go no further.

Once they all swore it, Dani went on. "When Huxley and Mr. Walker returned, those letters were gone. Dusted away."

"Well," Brooke said. "What did Huxley think he saw?"

Dani wet her lips. "He thought he read the letters _BR_."

Maryanne knocked lightly on the old dresser, grabbing Alex's attention and dragging her back to the present. "So, did you go up to the hospital this morning? Is that where you went? Maybe you weren't feeling well, and headed up there without telling anyone? Or did you have more tests?"

Argh! The girl was relentless!

Alex growled more than groaned. She flicked her lighter and lit all three of the candles. One for each of them. Brooke would be here soon. She should be here soon, anyway.

Pocketing the lighter, Alex turned to Maryanne. "Look, I went for a walk, okay? Just a long walk, by myself."

Maryanne looked at her skeptically.

Well, Alex wasn't _technically_ lying. Though the truth wasn't that simple. But Maryanne would throw a fit if she knew where Alex had really gone.

She'd gone deep into the woods. Alex had left within a half hour of breakfast, packing her backpack with her compass, a flashlight, a couple bottles of water, some energy bars just in case, and her cell phone. Though there wasn't much snow on the ground--only a couple of inches--the forecast was calling for the first major snowfall of the season to start within the next 24 hours. She had to do this today.

After all, she'd promised.

Alex had pulled on her heavy mitts and hat, buttoned up her pea coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Then she'd walked through the now-fairly-familiar woods to Connie's house. No dark caster came out to meet her. She spotted a few thick-furred squirrels around the trees near Connie's nest. The animals were coming back, now that the caster was gone.

_Not gone --at rest._ Connie was at rest. That made the lonesome easier.

But as she neared Connie's home, Alex's heart sank. Connie's bower had been destroyed, the small trees snapped at the base. The copper had been collected and removed, so the Heller couldn't carry it off to line a new nest. Someone had even made a small fire, and the branches that Connie had used to cover her nest had been reduced to ashes.

They'd destroyed a Heller's nest. People were looking for the Hellers again and someone had found Connie's nest and destroyed it. They'd been hunting for her. No, not specifically Connie. They'd been hunting for _them_. And now that the stories had started again, that hunt wouldn't end any time soon.

Alex had felt sick at the sight. Sad and so angry! And she'd sunk to her knees by the big tree--the one where she and Connie had knelt the first day Alex had brought all the copper. As she leaned on the tree, her hand slid down the trunk, right at the place where Connie had rested her copper doll as she'd gone through her gifts. And miraculously, she'd felt a little wire poke through her mitten. When she bent to look closer, she found a tiny copper X shoved in the bark at the base of the tree.

X marked the spot.

_Oh shit, could it be... could Connie have_... Alex scattered the snow with her mittens, then, using a half-burned stick, scraped away the hard layer of earth until she saw it--Connie's copper doll! Alex drew a grateful breath. Her baby had been buried there.

No, not _buried_ there--not this time. Connie had _hidden_ her doll.

Around the doll's body was a copper bracelet. A thick one--thicker than the other ones that Connie had made for the girls. And on this copper band, scratched meticulously were Alex's initials--AR, a heart, then Connie's initials too.

Connie hadn't buried her baby. She'd protected it. She must have known the Heller hunters were rising again, rising anew--looking for her, looking to destroy her nest. Connie had hidden her baby away for safekeeping until Alex could take her.

The doll--Lily Michelle--that had to be her name now--was now hidden in the girls' bedroom, underneath two wide floorboards Alex had pried up one day during her convalescence. She had needed a place to hide the diary. And for now, Lily Michelle rested there too, wrapped in the softest hand towel Alex could find, with a folded face cloth for a pillow.

If people knew this, every one of her old friends--bar none--would think she was off her nut!

Snorting a laugh, she wondered herself.

"I wonder where Brooke is?" Maryanne asked. She walked to just below the Madonna. Earlier in the day, she'd dared to bring more pillows up to the attic to make their body landing softer. She scattered them, strategically, on the floor now.

"Who knows? She's been doing that a lot lately--slipping out."

"Got to be hard on her, Seth dying."

"I can imagine." Alex looked pointedly at Maryanne. "I can imagine lots of things."

After a moment's hesitation, Maryanne nodded. "We have to watch out for her. She's... " Maryanne let the sentence die on her lips.

"She's her own worst enemy," Alex said.

"She's our friend."

"Yes she is. And I only hope she remembers that. But this caster thing... this caster power... and now this thing with her killing C. W.--"

"I know. She's a legend in this town, and she's good with that. Too good." Maryanne took a seat on the floor. "We can't let her get carried away. Get lost in the power--all of it. We have to watch out for her. We have to watch out for each other."

Alex stared over at Maryanne, who seemed lost once again as she looked to the stained glass window. There was sadness still in those big brown eyes. All that grief. And it suddenly turned to alarm.

"Did you... did you hear people talking to you, Alex? When you were in the coma? Did you hear me?"

They'd talked a lot while Alex had been in the coma. And Alex had been moved by how much Brooke and Maryanne had done for her, especially Maryanne. But this was the first time Maryanne had asked this question. This was the first time that she'd dared.

And it deserved a careful answer.

Alex walked over and sat down beside Maryanne.

_How much did Maryanne really want to know about what Alex remembered? How much did Alex really want to tell her?_

"I remember bits and pieces," she offered with a shrug.

"Nothing major?"

Alex knew the anxious look on Maryanne's face. Surely it was pretty damn close to the one she'd worn herself when Maryanne had handed back Connie's diary. It was a look that pleaded, " _Please don 't know._" One that begged both a lie and the truth.

"No," Alex said. "Nothing major." But she turned her eyes away from Maryanne as she said it.

They heard quiet footsteps coming up the stairs.

Brooke. Finally--she was here. She shrugged her coat off at the top of the stairs and walked quickly across the floor.

Alex could feel the cold coming off her as she approached.

"Where were you?" Maryanne asked.

Argh! Well, at least Alex wasn't the only one getting Maryanne's overprotective attention.

"Just driving around." She'd been crying, clearly, but Alex knew better than to mention it.

Apparently so did Maryanne. "You got past Betts!"

So obviously pleased with herself, Brooke almost smiled. "Always."

"How are the roads?" Maryanne asked.

"The snow's just starting." As she said this, the few flakes that had dotted Brooke's hair melted away, making it almost glisten in spots.

_Snow_. Casters in the snow was a daring mix.

But it was now or never.

Wordlessly, she and Maryanne stood. With Maryanne on one side of her and Brooke on the other, Alex took the few steps toward the window.

"Oh, wow. The snow's more than 'just starting', Brooke," Alex said. "It's really coming down."

"Yeah," Brooke said. "But I'm casting."

"Me too," Maryanne added.

They both turned their attention to Alex. She could feel it on either side of her.

_Was she ready for this? Was she ready for... all of this new life?_

Alex looked up into the Madonna's face. It was a beautiful picture with the large petals of snow falling behind her. She walked--this beautiful lady--through those roses. Regardless of the thorns.

Well, _to hell_ with the thorns.

"Me too," Alex said. She looked first to Brooke, then Maryanne. "We're casters. Let's do this."

The three raised their hands to the glass. Together they tapped, together they chanted, _I want out, I want out_ --And suddenly they were out again, joining with the night.

Giddy with the sheer joy of it, they soared off through the falling snow into the Mansbridge night.

### Got Castermania?

Haven't had enough of the Casters? Visit our blog at <http://castersthebooks.com/wordpress>, click on the thread "Castermania", and join the discussion. We have downloadable Book Club Questions that you can riff off, or pose your own question or comment for discussion.

Please read on for an excerpt from Enter the Night, Book 2 in the Casters Series.

Other books by the Wilson-Doherty writing team:

_Casters Series_

Enter the Night--coming February 2013

Embrace the Night--coming Summer 2013

Forever the Night--coming Fall 2013

_The Gatekeepers Series_

The Summoning--Book 1

Ashlyn's Radio

About the Authors

The Wilson-Doherty writing team consists of Norah Wilson and Heather Doherty, both of whom live in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada. Norah's previous publications include romantic suspense and paranormal romance novels targeted to the adult market. Heather is previously published in literary fiction and is currently also writing young adult literary and child lit. They love to hear from readers! Learn more about them at their website.

Connect with the Authors:

Email: theauthors@castersthebooks.com

Website: <http://castersthebooks.com>

Blog: <http://castersthebooks.com/wordpress>

Twitter: <https://twitter.com/#!/wilsondoherty>
Excerpt from

### Enter the Night

_Book 2 in the Casters Series_

### Ink

#### Maryanne

_O H CRAP, ARE we really doing this?_

"Oh geez, am _I_ really doing this?" Maryanne Hemlock mumbled.

Great. Back in Mansbridge less than three hours and she was already talking to herself again. Not that the habit had left her over the Christmas holidays, but one could always hope.

Brooke--the only one within earshot at the moment--turned to shoot her a grin as they neared the tattoo shop. Alex was way ahead of them, already inside and no doubt staring up at the walls lined with designs. They paused outside, looking in through the window.

"Yep, we're really doing this," Brooke said.

It had been Alex's idea, the tattoos. Well, actually it was Alex's belated Christmas gift to them all, happily announced when the three of them had reunited at the Fredericton airport.

Maryanne's flight had been the first to touch down. And like a kid with her nose against the glass, she'd waited there for her friends to arrive. She'd stuffed her hands into her sweatshirt pockets, then pulled them back out again. Repeatedly. She sat down, then jumped back up over and over again. She watched the clock on the wall.

Then they announced the flight from Halifax.

Alex had chosen to fly back. As Maryanne watched her plane taxi up the terminal, she realized just what a feat of courage that must have been for her friend. The plane was a puddle jumper, just right for the short hop from Nova Scotia to New Brunswick. But Maryanne had had the dubious pleasure of flying in one years ago, and knew how claustrophobia-inducing it could be. From the outside, the aircraft basically looked like a cigar tube with wings. From the inside... well, it pretty much felt the same. Just one seat on each side of a narrow aisle, with the aircraft's roof curving close above your head.

She'd watched Alex appear in the aircraft's doorway, pause and draw a deep breath. Then Alex had descended the plane's stairs and crossed the short stretch of tarmac. By the time she'd entered the tiny airport's arrivals area, she wore a victorious grin. Maryanne had been so glad to see that confidence after what had happened to her. They'd all been affected by the horrors they'd unearthed at Harvell House, but Alex more than the rest of them. Of course, Alex didn't know how much Maryanne knew about what had really happened to her.

Half an hour later, Brooke Saunders had arrived on her flight from New York via Toronto, stepping off the plane like she owned it and the airport too.

They'd hugged and high-fived in arrivals. Then they'd driven back to Mansbridge in Brooke's rental, which she'd left in the airport parking lot over the holidays. Dumping their bags off at Harvell House, they'd headed straight for the tattoo shop.

Yep, the girls were back in town. The three musketeers.

No, they were more. The three caster sisters.

"Yeah, a tattoo," Brooke said. "My mother will be so mortified. Bonus! It's a gift that keeps on giving."

Maryanne laughed. That was so... Brooke.

Yes, it was good to be back together--the three of them. And she couldn't wait until they were casting out again! Standing before the blue-eyed Madonna in the attic window... But too, Maryanne was just glad to be back in Mansbridge. Her smile faded as she thought of those long days over the Christmas holidays back home in Ontario. Her parents had tried. They'd done their best to make it a good Christmas. As always, her mother spent way too much money, but this year the gifts weren't over-wrapped with the usual amount of glittery ribbons and bows. Her father had cooked up a storm. There were enough mincemeat pies and shortbread cookies for half the neighborhood, and then some. But Maryanne knew it was just therapeutic for him. Something to keep him busy rather than thinking about Jason.

But of course, he'd thought of the little boy. They all had, while carolers sang their way along the block, but skipped the Hemlock house. They'd thought of Jason while Frosty the Snowman played on TV, knowing this would have been the year he'd have loved it. And the artificial tree wasn't hauled out of the basement till Grampy Webb had come and done it himself on Christmas Eve. Maryanne had taken it down again on Boxing Day.

They all missed Jason--her little J-bug.

"You're not chickening out?" Brooke was staring at her, obviously taking her lost-in-the-past moment for apprehension.

"No," Maryanne said. "I'm still in."

To emphasize the point, she opened the door of the tattoo shop for the both of them.

The shop was clean and spare. Hardwood floors, track lighting, and the hospital-like smell of disinfectant. The walls were largely covered with art. Tattoo art. A glassed-in cabinet displayed jewelry, presumably of the piercing variety.

The room felt welcoming. Awakening, somehow. Of course, that might have been the eggplant purple walls. All in all, not the hole-in-the-wall establishment she'd feared.

Alex was scanning some designs on the walls. Brooke and Maryanne joined her.

"Is this all they have for flash?" Brooke asked.

Alex glanced at her. "It's a custom design shop. What flash they have is made here by the artists, not that generic crap."

Maryanne looked at a page of smiling skulls and shuddered. Way, way too dark and scary for her tastes. Her gaze went to another page. Too masculine. The next sheet--ack--too naked. The fourth, fifth and sixth sheets, thank goodness, were more appropriate, although none of the roses or fairies or cute little owls called out to her. Besides, they were all too big. While her folks might be okay with a small tattoo, they'd definitely not be thrilled to see their daughter coming home with a large peacock on her arm or a flock of birds on her back.

"I know what I'm getting," Alex announced.

"Let me guess," Brooke said, moving closer to Alex so she could look closer at the artwork on the wall. "That one." She pointed.

Alex did a double take. "The bunny?"

Maryanne looked at the cute, flower-holding, cartoon bunny and snorted a laugh. Not exactly what Alex needed to go with the snakebite piercings, the jagged black scene hair and heavily lined eyes. Nor did it fit in with the existing bleeding rose nestled below her collarbone.

Brooke rolled her eyes. "No, not the bunny, dumb-ass. The one beside it--the dark star. That's gorgeous. Hey, we could all get one." Brooke looked at them hopefully.

Okay, that made sense--a dark star. And in the silent few seconds beyond Brooke's suggestion, Maryanne knew it was making sense to Alex too. Dark star. Dark nights. Dark casters.

Alex said, "I like it. But maybe for another time. No, I'm getting those vines."

There were two artists behind the counter. One looking totally bored with her nose stuck in a book, and the other a well-muscled guy with more metal in his face than Iron Man, who watched the girls avidly. Not lecherously, Maryanne realized. It was like he was anxious to get going.

"I see you've picked something," he said, coming forward.

Alex swiveled to smile at him. "Yeah. The vines."

"What were you thinking? Around the arm or the ankle?" He pushed his sleeves up even farther on his muscular arm exposing even more ink. Maryanne couldn't help but stare. His name was Zeek. At least that was the name burned in the wide black scroll on his arm.

"Neither," Alex answered. "I have a tat here." The guy watched impassively as she unbuttoned two buttons, pulled her black bra strap sideways to expose the bleeding rose tattoo.

"Good work," Zeek said, admiring the artwork.

"Thanks." Alex nodded. "Halifax last summer."

"And you want the vines added to this?" Zeek pushed the edge of her shirt back to get a better look, but he did so as clinically as a surgeon might wield a retractor. "Do you want them bleeding too? I can do that. Just a matter of--"

"No," Alex said. "Not bleeding. Live and healthy ones. Buds and leaves and... life. You know?"

Zeek nodded, cocking his head to the side. "So is that life going into or coming out from the rose?"

Wow, what a profound question. One Maryanne herself would never have thought of. Maybe that's why Zeek was the tattoo artist and she wasn't. Well, that and the fact that he could draw.

Alex thought for a moment. "Both."

"Brilliant." Zeek nodded. "Okay, come with me and I'll sketch something for your approval."

Alex bit her lip, glancing toward Brooke and Maryanne. "Will it take long to draw?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe. Once you're happy with it, we'll put it on transfer paper and get down to business."

"Go on," Brooke gestured for Alex to go with Zeek. "If we're done first, we'll wait. Don't sweat it."

Alex tossed a grin over her shoulder as Zeek led her to the back of the small shop and swung the leather curtain across. All Maryanne could see of him now was his black army boots as he presumably sank into a chair.

It was great to see Alex so excited. And the vines! New life... now that was something to celebrate. "I think she made a great choice."

Brooke gave one of her patented shrugs. "Beats the hell out the cartoon bunny."

Maryanne laughed.

As if pulled up by strings--or maybe she'd just finished the chapter she'd been reading--the second clerk stood. She set her book on the counter. Dostoyevsky's _The Brothers Karamazov_. Not exactly light reading.

"Either of you ready?" she asked, casting her glance between Maryanne and Brooke.

Maryanne drew a breath. "I've decided." And in the few minutes she'd stood there looking, she had, without even knowing it. Or maybe she'd decided before she'd even walked into the shop

"This one," she said, pointing to what she wanted, which actually was just a tiny detail occupying a corner of a larger tattoo design.

"Oh come on!" Brooke jeered. "That's not a _tattoo_. That's a frickin' mole. A freckle. A--"

"A bug," Maryanne said. It was her J-Bug. She wet her lips, drew a breath. It wasn't that she'd been looking for something quite so... micro, but once she'd seen it, she knew it was what she wanted. Something to memorialize Jason--his short life, and her part in his death. It was never far from her, this grief. Now it would be even closer. A constant reminder.

And a constant punishment.

"Bottom of the foot," Brooke suggested. "Then you can tell people it's just a tiny pebble that got stuck there."

Maryanne ignored her. "Over my heart," she told the artist.

"What color?" the woman asked.

"Blue-grey." Jason's eyes had been blue-grey.

"Any other modifications?"

"I guess it could be a bit bigger. Like... fifty percent bigger, maybe?"

The clerk nodded. "Give me a minute," she said, and disappeared back to where Alex and Zeek had gone.

"What about you, Brooke?" Maryanne asked. "Decided?"

"Still thinking," she said.

But Maryanne knew better. She could tell by the look on Brooke's face that she'd already made her decision. But in true Brooke-esque fashion, she was keeping it secret for now.

Well, that was okay. Everyone had their secrets.

"You know, this might be the record," Brooke said. "Even if they enlarged that... _dot_... by two hundred percent, it might still go down as the smallest tattoo ever."

"No doubt," Maryanne acknowledged.

But while she might be getting the smallest tattoo of the three of them, it would almost certainly be the heaviest. This memorial to her little brother, the one she'd lost.

The one she'd killed.

Maryanne swallowed hard past the sudden lump in her throat. She needed to cast. Desperately.
