The Secret Circle: The Complete Collection by L. J. Smith

!”
    “I spent a single hour with him alone—”
    “It isn’t fair —”
    “And since that hour, my days are laced with fire.” Faye looked up. “That’s it. What do you think, Deborah?”
    “It stinks,” Deborah said, then gave a little wrench to Cassie’s arms as Cassie tried to tear away. “It’s stupid.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I liked some of the imagery. About fire, for instance. Do you like fire, Cassie?”
    Cassie went still. That lazy, husky voice had a new note in it, a note she recognized instinctively. Danger.
    “Do you think about fire, Cassie? Do you dream about it?”
    Dry-mouthed, Cassie stared at Faye. Those honey-colored eyes were warm, glowing. Excited.
    “Would you like to see a fire trick?”
    Cassie shook her head. There were things worse than humiliation, she was realizing. For the first time this week she was afraid, not for her pride, but for her life.
    Faye snapped the piece of paper in her hand, forming it into a loose cone. Flame burst out of one corner at the top.
    “Why don’t you tell us who the poem is about, Cassie? This boy who awakened you—who is he?”
    Cassie leaned away, trying to escape the blazing paper in front of her face.
    “Careful,” Deborah said mockingly from behind her. “Don’t get too close to her hair.”
    “What, you mean this close?” said Faye. “Or this close?”
    Cassie had to twist her neck to evade the flame. Little glowing bits of paper were flying off in every direction. The brightness left an afterimage, and she could feel heat on her skin.
    “Oops, that was close. I think her eyelashes are too long anyway, Deborah, don’t you?”
    Cassie was fighting now, but Deborah was astonishingly strong. And the more Cassie struggled, the more the grip hurt.
    “Let go of me—” she gasped out.
    “But I thought you liked fire, Cassie. Look into the fire. What do you see?”
    Cassie didn’t want to obey, but she couldn’t help it. Surely the paper should have burned up by now. But it was still blazing. Yellow, she thought. Fire is yellow and orange. Not red like they say.
    All her senses were fixed on the flame. Its heat brought a dry tingle to her cheeks. She could hear the crumple of paper as it was consumed; she could smell the burning. And she could see nothing else.
    Gray ash and yellow flame. Blue at the bottom like a gas burner. The fire changed shape every second, its radiance streaming endlessly upward. Pouring out its energy . . .
    Energy.
    Fire is power, she thought. She could almost feel the charge of the golden flame. It wasn’t the vast quietness of sky and sea, or the waiting solidity of rock. It was active. Power there for the taking . . .
    “Yes,” Faye whispered.
    The sound shocked Cassie out of her trance. Don’t be crazy , she told herself. Her fantasy about the flame collapsed. This was what happened when you didn’t get any sleep. When the stress became unbearable and you got to the end of your resources. She was going insane.
    Tears flooded her eyes, fell down her cheeks.
    “Oh, she’s just a baby after all,” Faye said, and there was savage disgust in her voice. Disgust and something like disappointment. “Come on, baby, can’t you cry any harder than that? If you cry hard enough, maybe you can put it out.”
    Still sobbing, Cassie tossed her head back and forth as the blazing paper stabbed closer. So close that tears fell on it and sizzled. Cassie was no longer thinking; she was simply terrified. Like a trapped animal, a desperate, pathetic trapped animal.
    Dead meat dead meat dead meat dead meat . . .
    “What are you doing ? Let go of her—now!”
    The voice came out of nowhere, and for an instant Cassie didn’t even attempt to locate it. Her whole being was focused on the fire. It flared up suddenly, dissolving almost instantaneously into soft gray ash. Faye was left holding only a stump of charred paper cone.
    “I said let her go!” Something bright came at Deborah. But not bright like fire. Bright