Turn around, idiot. Get out of here. Now.
She whirled, clumsily, straining her dark-adapting eyes, looking for the deeper blackness of the stairwell –
And light shone suddenly, streaming into her face, blinding her. There was a creaking, wrenching noise and more light burst into the room. Through a window that had been boarded up, Cassie realized. Someone was standing in front of it now, holding a piece of wood.
She turned toward the stairway again. But someone was standing there, too. Enough light shone into the room now that she could see features as the girl stepped forward.
“Hello, Cassie,” said Faye. “I'm afraid Sally couldn't make it. But maybe you and I can help each other instead.”
Eight
“You sent the note,” Cassie said flatly.
Faye smiled her slow, terrible smile. “Somehow I didn't think you'd come if I used my own name,” she said.
And I fell for it, Cassie thought. She must have coached that girl Tina on what to say-and I swallowed it.
“How do you like the little presents you've been finding?”
Tears came to Cassie's eyes. She couldn't answer. She felt so drained, so helpless-if only she could think.
“Haven't you been sleeping well?” Faye continued, her throaty voice innocent. “You look awful. Or maybe your dreams have been keeping you awake.”
Cassie turned to cast a quick look behind her. There was an exit there, but Suzan was in front of it.
“Oh, you can't go yet,” Faye said. “I wouldn't dream of letting you.”
Cassie stared at her. “Faye, just leave me alone…”
“Dream on,” said Deborah, and she laughed nastily.
Cassie could make no sense out of this. But then she saw that Faye was holding a sheet of paper. It was smoothed flat, but it had once been tightly crumpled.
Her poem.
Anger blazed through her exhaustion. Blazed so bright that for an instant she was full of energy, lifted by it. She lunged at Faye crying, “That's mine!”
It took Faye by surprise. She reeled back, dodging, holding the poem high out of Cassie's reach.
Then something caught Cassie's arms from behind, pinning them.
“Thank you, Deborah,” Faye said, slightly breathless. She looked at Cassie. “I suppose even a little white mouse will turn. We'll have to remember that. But just now,” she continued, “we're going to have an impromptu poetry reading. I'm sorry the atmosphere isn't more-appropriate-but what can you do? This used to be the science building, but nobody comes here much anymore. Not since Doug and Chris Henderson made a little mistake in a chemistry experiment. You've probably seen the Henderson brothers-they're hard to miss. Nice guys, but a little irresponsible. They accidentally made a bomb.”
Now that Cassie's eyes had adjusted again, she could see that the room was burned out. The walls were black with soot.
“Of course, some people think it's unsafe here,” Faye continued, “so they keep it locked. But we've never let a little thing like that stop us. It is private, though. We can make all the noise we want and nobody will hear us.”
Deborah's grip on Cassie's arms was painful. But Cassie started to struggle again as Faye cleared her throat and held up the paper.
“Let me see… 'My Dreams,' by Cassie Blake. Imaginative title, by the way.”
“You don't have any right-“ Cassie began, but Faye ignored her. She began reading in a theatrical, melodramatic voice:
“Each night I lie and dream about the one-“
“It's private!” Cassie cried.
“Who kissed me and awakened my desire-“
“Let me go!”
“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…