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scrambling over in the other direction, almost falling on his head. The dog lay down and whined pitifully,

ignoring the doughnuts.

"Let's go," Chris yelled. "Come on, Doug! We don't need to kill anybody!"

Between them, he and Cassie bundled the protesting Doug into the jeep and Chris drove off. The

pumpkin-seller ran after them with his shotgun, but when they reached the road he gave up the chase.

"Ow," Chris said, shaking his foot and causing the jeep to veer.

Doug muttered to himself.

Cassie leaned back and sighed.

"Okay," Chris said cheerfully, "now let's go to the Witch Dungeon."

The Salem Witch Dungeon Museum looked like a house from the outside. Chris and Doug seemed to

know the layout well, and Cassie followed them around the house, where they slipped in a back

entrance.

Through a doorway Cassie glimpsed what seemed to be a small theater. "That's where they do the witch

trials," Chris said. "You know, like a play for the tourists. Then they take 'em down here."

A flight of narrow stairs plunged down into darkness.

"Why?" Cassie said.

"It's the dungeon. They give 'em a tour. We hide in the corners and jump up and yell when they get close.

Some of 'em practically have heart attacks," Doug said, with his mad grin.

Cassie could see how that might happen. As they made their way down the stairs it got darker and

darker. A dank, musty odor assaulted her nostrils and the air felt very cool.

A narrow corridor stretched forward into the blackness, which was broken only by tiny lights at long

intervals. Small cells opened out from either side of the corridor. The whole place had a heavy,

underground feel to it.

It's like the boiler room, Cassie thought. Her feet stopped moving.

"Come on, what's wrong?" Doug whispered, turning around. She could barely see him.

Chris came back to the foot of the stairs and looked into her face. "We don't have to go in there yet," he

said. "We can wait here till they start to come down."

Cassie nodded at him gratefully. It was bad enough standing on the edge of this terrible place. She didn't

want to go in until she absolutely had to.

"Or ..." Chris seemed to be engaging in some prodigious feat of thought. "Or . . . we could just leave,

you know."

"Leave now? Why?" Doug demanded, running back.

"Because ..." Chris stared at him. "Because . . . because I say so!"

"You? Who cares what you say?" Doug returned in a whispering shout and the two of them began to

scuffle.

They're not really scary after all, Cassie thought, a little dazedly. They're more like the Lost Boys in Peter

Pan. Peculiar, but sort of cute.

"It's all right," she said, to stop their fighting. "We can stay. I'll just sit down on the stairs."

Out of breath, they sat down too, Chris massaging the toe of his boot.

Cassie leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. She could hear voices from above, someone talking

about the Salem witch trials, but only snatches of the lecture got through to her. She was drained from

everything that had happened today, and this dreadful place made her feel sick and fuzzy. As if she had

cobwebs in her brain.

A woman's voice was saying, ". . . the royal governor, Sir William Phips, established a special court to

deal with the cases. By now there were so many accused witches . . ."

So many fake witches, Cassie thought hazily, half listening. If that woman only knew about the real

witches lurking in her dungeon.

". . . on June tenth, the first of the convicted witches was publicly executed. Bridget Bishop was hung on

Gallows Hill, just outside of Salem.. ."

Poor Bridget Bishop, Cassie thought. She had a sudden vision of Jeffrey's swinging feet and a wave of

nausea passed over her. Probably Bridget's feet had been swinging when they hung her, too.

". . . by the end of September eighteen other people had been hung. Sarah Goode's last words ..."

Eighteen. That's a lot of swinging feet. God, I don't feel well, thought Cassie.

". . . and a nineteenth victim was pressed to death. Pressing was a form of Puritan torture in which a

board was placed on the victim's chest, and then heavier and heavier rocks were piled on top of the

board ..."

Ugh. Now I really don't feel well. Wonder how it feels to have rocks piled on you till you die? Guess I'll

never know since that doesn't happen much today. Unless you happen to be caught in a rockslide, or

something ...

With a jerk, Cassie sat up straight, the cobwebs swept out of her brain as if by a blast of icy wind.

Rockslide. Avalanche. Mr. Fogle, the high-school principal, had found out what it was like to have rocks

piled on you till you died.

Weird coincidence. That was all it was. But...

Oh, my God, Cassie thought suddenly.

She felt as if her entire body were plugged into something electric. Her thoughts were tumbling over each

other.

Rockslide. Pressed to death. Same thing, really. And hanging. The witches were hanged . . . just like

Jeffrey Lovejoy. Oh, God, oh, God. There had to be a connection.

"... never know how many died in prison. In comparison to the conditions there, the swift oblivion of a

broken neck may have been merciful. Our tour will now take you-"

Broken neck. A broken neck.

Kori's neck had been broken.

Cassie thought she was going to faint.

NINE

The voices from above were getting nearer. Cassie couldn't move; a gray blanket seemed to have

enfolded her senses. Chris was pulling at her arm.

"C'mon, Cassie! They're comin'!"

Faintly, Cassie heard from above: "If you'll line up in single file, we'll be going down a narrow stairway ..."

Chris was pulling Cassie off the narrow stairway. "Hey, Doug, give me a hand here!"

Cassie made a supreme effort. "We have to go home," she said urgently to Chris. She drew herself up

and tried to speak with authority. "I have to go back and tell Diana-something- right now."

The brothers looked at each other, perplexed but dimly impressed.

"Okay," Chris said, and Cassie sagged, the grayness washing over her again.

With Doug pulling in front and Chris trying to prop her up from behind, they led her rapidly through the

dark, winding corridors of the dungeon. They seemed as comfortable in the darkness as rats, and they

guided her unerringly through the passageways until a neon sign announced exit.

On the drive north, the pumpkins thumped and rolled in the back seat like a load of severed heads.

Cassie kept her eyes shut and tried to breathe normally. The one thing she knew was that she couldn't tell

the Henderson brothers what she was thinking. If they found out what she suspected about Kori,

anything might happen.

"Just drop me off at Diana's," she said when they finally returned to Crowhaven Road. "No-you don't

have to go in with me. Thanks."

"Okay," Chris said, and they let her off. Then he stuck his head back out the window. "Uh, hey-thanks

for getting that mutt off me," he said.

"Sure," Cassie said light-headedly. "Any time." As they rolled away she realized they had never even

asked her why she needed to talk to Diana. Maybe they were so used to doing inexplicable things

themselves that they didn't wonder when other people did.

Mr. Meade answered the door, and Cassie realized that it must be late if he was home from the office.

He called up to Diana as Cassie climbed the stairs.

"Cassie!" Diana said, jumping up as she saw Cassie's face. "What's the matter?"

Adam was sitting on the bed; he rose too, looking alarmed.

"I know it's late-I'm sorry-but we have to talk. I was in the Witch Dungeon-"

"You were where? Here, take this; your hands are like ice. Now start over again, slowly," Diana said,

sitting her down and wrapping her in a sweater.

Slowly, stumbling sometimes, Cassie told them the story: how Chris and Doug had picked her up and

taken her to Salem. She left out the part about the pumpkin patch, but told how they'd gone to the Witch

Dungeon, and how, listening to the lecture, she had suddenly seen the connection. Pressing to death

rockslides; hanging-broken necks.

"But what does it mean?" Diana said when she'd finished.

"I don't know, exactly," Cassie admitted. "But it looks like there's some connection between the three

deaths and the way Puritans used to punish people."

deaths and the way Puritans used to punish people."

"But that wouldn't account for Kori," Diana protested. "We didn't activate the skull until after Kori was

dead."

Adam was pale. "No. But I found the skull the day before Kori died. I took it out of the sand . . ." His

eyes met Cassie's, and she had a terrible feeling of dismay.

"Sand. To Hold Evil Harmless,'" she whispered. She looked at Diana. "That's in your Book of Shadows.

Burying an object in sand or earth to hold the evil in it harmless. Just like-" She stopped abruptly and bit

her tongue. God, she'd almost said, "Just like you buried the skull on the beach to keep it safe."

"Just like I found it," Adam finished for her. "Yes. And you think that when I took it out, that alone

activated it. But that would mean the skull would have to be so strong, so powerful . . ." His voice trailed

off. Cassie could see he was trying to fight the idea; he didn't want to believe it. "I did feel something

when I pulled it out of that hole," he added quietly. "I felt dizzy, strange. That could have been from dark

energy escaping." He looked at Cassie. "So you think that energy came to New Salem and killed Kori."

"I-don't know what to think," Cassie said wretchedly. "I don't know why it would. But it can't be

coincidence that every single time we interact with the skull, somebody dies afterward, in a way that the

Puritans used to kill witches."

"But don't you see," Diana said excitedly, "it isn't every time. Nobody used the skull right before Jeffrey

died. It was absolutely safe-" She hesitated and then went on quickly. "Well, of course I can tell you

two-it was safe out on the beach. It's still buried there now. I've been checking it every few days. So

there isn't a one-to-one correspondence."

Cassie was speechless. Her first impulse was to blurt out, "Somebody did too use the skull!" But that

would be insane. She could never tell Diana that-and now she was utterly at a loss. A shaking was

starting deep inside her. Oh, God, there was a one-to-one correspondence.

It was like that slogan, Use a gun; go to jail. Use the skull; kill somebody. And she, Cassie, was

responsible for the last time the skull had been used. She was responsible for killing Jeffrey.

Then she got another terrible jolt. She found Adam's keen blue-gray eyes fixed on her. "I know what

you're thinking," he said.

Cassie swallowed, frozen.

"You're trying to think of a way to protect me," he said. "Neither of you likes the idea that my pulling the

skull out of the sand had something to do with Kori's death. So you're trying to discredit the theory. But it

won't work. There's obviously some connection between the skull and all three deaths-even Kori's."

Cassie still couldn't move. Diana touched his hand.

"If it is true," she said, her green eyes blazing with intensity, "then it isn't your fault. You couldn't know

that removing the skull would do any harm. You couldn't know."

But I did know, Cassie thought. Or at least I should have known. I knew the skull was evil; I sensed it

was capable of killing. And I still let Faye take it. I should have fought her harder; I should have done

anything to stop her.

"If anyone's to blame," Diana was going on, "it's me. I'm the coven leader; it was my decision to use the

skull in the ceremony. If the dark energy that knocked Faye over went out and killed Mr. Fogle and

Jeffrey afterward, it's my fault."

"If anyone's to blame," Diana was going on, "it's me. I'm the coven leader; it was my decision to use the

skull in the ceremony. If the dark energy that knocked Faye over went out and killed Mr. Fogle and

Jeffrey afterward, it's my fault."

Adam looked from one girl to the other, then burst into strained laughter and dropped his head into his

hand.

"Look at us," he said. "Trying to clear each other and each take the blame ourselves. What a joke."

"Pretty pathetic," Diana agreed, trying to smile.

Cassie was fighting tears.

"I think we'd better stop thinking about whose fault it is, and start thinking about what to do," Adam went

on. "If the dark energy that escaped at the ceremony killed both Mr. Fogle and Jeffrey, it may still be out

there. It may do something else. We need to think about ways to stop it."

They talked for several hours after that. Adam thought they should search for the dark energy, maybe do

some scrying around the graveyard. Diana thought they should continue combing all the Books of

Shadows, even the most indecipherable ones, to see if there was any advice about dealing with evil like

this, and to learn more about the skull.

"And about Black John, too," Cassie suggested mechanically, and Diana and Adam agreed. Black John

had used the skull in the beginning, had "programmed" it. Perhaps his intentions were still affecting it.

But all the time they were talking, Cassie was feeling-outside. Alienated. Adam and Diana really were