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."
"No, it isn't," Cassie said. She couldn't stand any more. "It's mine-or at least it's everybody's ..."
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 good, she thought, watching them talk fervently, fired with the discussion. They really had acted with the best of intentions. She, Cassie, was different. She was-evil.
Cassie knew things that they didn't know. Things she could never tell them.
Diana was nice when the time came for Cassie to go. "Adam had better drive you home," she said.
Adam did. They didn't speak until they reached Cassie's house.
"How're you hanging on?" he said quietly then.
Cassie couldn't look at him. She had never wanted comfort more, never wanted to throw herself into his arms as much as she did now. She wanted to tell him the whole story about Faye and the skull, and listen to him say that it was all right, that she didn't have to face it alone. She wanted him to hold her.
She could feel him wanting that too, just inches away in the driver's seat.
"I'd better go inside," she said shakily.
Adam was gripping the steering wheel so hard it looked as if he were trying to break it.
"Good night," she said softly, still without looking at him.
There was a long, long pause while she felt Adam fight with himself. Then he said, "Good night, Cassie," in a voice drained of all energy.
Cassie went inside. She couldn't talk to her mother or her grandmother about this either, of course. She could just imagine it: "Hi, Mom; you remember Jeffrey Lovejoy? Well, I helped kill him." No, thank you.
It was a strange thought, knowing you were evil. It floated around in Cassie's mind as she lay in bed that night, and just before she fell asleep it got weirdly mixed up with visions of Faye's honey-colored eyes.
Wicked, she could almost hear Faye chuckling throatily. You're not evil, you're just wicked... like me.
The dream started out beautifully. She was in her grandmother's garden, in the summer, when everything was blossoming. Lemon balm spilled a golden pool on the ground. Lavender, lily of the valley, and jasmine were throwing such sweet scents into the air that Cassie felt giddy.
Cassie bent to snap off a stem of honeysuckle, with its tiny, creamy flowerheads. The sun shone down, warming her shoulders. The sky was clear and spacious. Strangely, although this was her grandmother's garden, there was no house nearby. She was all alone in the bright sunshine.
Then she saw the roses.
They were huge, velvety, red as rubies. No roses like that grew wild. Cassie took a step toward them, then another. Dew stood in the curl of one of the rose petals, quivering slightly. Cassie wanted to smell one of them, but she was afraid.
She heard a throaty chuckle beside her.
"Faye!"
Faye smiled slowly. "Go ahead, smell them," she said. "They won't bite you." But Cassie shook her head. Her heart was beating quickly.
"Oh, come on, Cassie." Faye's voice was coaxing now. "Look over there. Doesn't that look interesting?"
Cassie looked. Behind the roses something impossible had happened. Night had fallen, even though it was still daylight where Cassie was standing. It was a cool black-and-purple night, broken by stars but not a trace of moon.
"Come with me, Cassie," Faye coaxed again. "It's just a few little steps. I'll show you how easy it is." She walked behind the rosebush and Cassie stared at her. Faye was standing in darkness now, her face shadowed, her glorious hair merging with the gloom.
"You might as well," Faye told her softly, inexorably. "After all, you're already like me- or had you forgotten? You've already made your choice."
Cassie's hand let the honeysuckle spray fall. Slowly, slowly, she reached out and picked one of the roses. It was such a deep red, and so soft.