As silently as a ghost, I entered the staff common room and shut the door behind me. Two tall windows overlooked the front drive. Their shutters were open and a cold shaft of moonlight spilled into the room. There was a large wooden table in the middle, and a group of easy chairs by the fireplace. A pile of essays and academic journals had been left on the table, next to a bag of knitting. It was orderly and calm, just as you would expect from a bunch of old-fashioned schoolteachers.

Between the windows, there was a low bookcase with a glass front. I hurried over and rifled through its contents: dictionaries and reference books, and the odd volume of crosswords. Then I heard voices outside in the corridor, coming nearer, creeping closer like a black mist.

I sprang up and looked around in panic. On the wall that faced the fireplace there was a large cupboard, like a wardrobe. I wrenched open the door and climbed in. It was full of the dark academic robes that the mistresses wore. I pulled the door to, leaving just a crack, and held my breath.

I could make out the movement of five or six women gathering around the table, their backs toward me in the gloom. One of them placed a heavy candlestick in the middle of the table and lit its four black candles, intoning, “Fire of the south, air of the east, earth of the north, water of the west, protect our gathering. May the light be no light, may the darkness be our guide, may our hearts speak, yet our tongues guard our secrets.”

The woman who had lit the candles moved over to the fireplace and seemed to tug at a carved block of marble in the center of the elaborate chimneypiece. There was the sound of stone scraping against stone, and the block moved, revealing a black space. She reached in and lifted out an object that was wrapped in tasseled cloths. I peered through the crack in the door, desperate to see what was going on. The woman removed the cloths and I stifled a gasp. It was the Book, ancient and mystical, just as I had thought. She placed it on the table and chanted: “By the word we learn, by the word we curse, by the word we shall conquer.”

Then all the women bowed to the Book, and one of them stepped forward into the light.

“Thank you, Sister,” she said. It was Miss Raglan. So we had been right about her all along. She was part of Wyldcliffe’s secret coven. Miss Raglan was standing with her back to the fireplace, her hands resting on the table. From my hiding place I could see her face in the dull glare of the candles. “Thank you all for answering my summons tonight,” she said. “You have served our coven long and faithfully. It is you who must help to decide our next step.”

“What is there to decide?” said a cloying, unpleasant voice. My heart squeezed inside my chest. Miss Dalrymple. Fussy, smiling, and utterly treacherous. “Our way is clear,” she was saying. “Lord Sebastian, wherever he is hiding, cannot survive much longer in human form. He is on the brink of failure and destruction. If we do not act now, it will be too late for him to achieve immortality and take us with him into that eternal glory. Our High Mistress, too, has failed us. She has left us empty-handed.”

“Yet the girl is still here, among us!” hissed the woman who had set out the candles. I couldn’t see her face and didn’t recognize her voice, but she sounded furiously angry. “She must still have the Talisman. But what are we doing about it? I sent her those warning messages, but nothing seems to dismay her. She even evaded us when I had her surrounded in the ruins.”

“You should not have approached her without me!” replied Miss Raglan. “It was foolhardy.”

“We need the Talisman, and I was prepared to take a chance to get it.”

“But you failed!”

“All the more reason now that we should tear the school—and the girl—to pieces in order to find it,” the other woman urged.

“We have already searched the whole school for the Talisman, when we staged those thefts as an excuse to go through the girls’ possessions,” Miss Raglan replied testily. “We cannot do more than that at this moment. Not all of the mistresses are part of our deep sisterhood. They know nothing of our true aim, and some of them are already complaining about my appointment and my ways. Wyldcliffe may be strict, but it is not a prison, and any more heavy-handed dealings with the students will meet with resistance.”

“Then do not involve the other students!” said the angry woman. “What do we care about them? Get this girl alone and seize her! We should force her to reveal the Talisman’s hiding place and make her lead us to our so-called lord before it is too late.”

Miss Raglan paused. “You may be right, Sister. The time has come for decisive action.”

“But what can we do against the girl without the High Mistress?” Another voice. This time plaintive and fearful.

My stomach twisted again. I was sure this was the voice of the tired-looking woman in the school kitchen. I had talked to her and worked with her and never suspected for a moment that she was mixed up in this. “She attacked us last term in the crypt when we expected to overcome her easily,” she was saying. “Why risk that again?”

“Because without risk there is no gain!” Miss Raglan replied. “I see now that the time has come for a new approach. If we sit and wait for our precious High Mistress to return we will be waiting until old age and infirmity overtake us all. I say that Celia Hartle is dead, and a new High Mistress must take her place. We must act now!” She suddenly banged her fist on the table and glared at the others. Her gaze swept over the door of the cupboard and I shrank back, terrified that they would find me.

“Who knows that she is dead?” said a quiet, dry voice. I had to stop myself from crying out. It was Miss Scratton, here in this room, in this deadly gathering. I didn’t want to believe it; I would not believe it; this couldn’t be happening—yet I would have recognized her voice anywhere. I froze and listened, straining every nerve.

“You are very keen to name a new High Mistress,” Miss Scratton said. “I suppose you wish to fill that role yourself?”

“And who would you suggest?” Miss Raglan sneered. “We all know your ambitions. You barely concealed your rivalry with Celia Hartle when she was with us, so don’t pretend to be devoted to her now that she has gone.”

“One of the first rules of any sisterhood is loyalty,” Miss Scratton flashed back. “I have never betrayed my sisters or my appointed superior. I would not want to be in your place when the High Mistress returns and finds you installed in her robes.” She paused and lowered her voice. “And believe me, she will return.”

“Then why does she send no sign?” asked Miss Dalrymple impatiently. “Does she no longer need us?”

“If she does return, perhaps she will find that we no longer need her,” replied Miss Raglan. “The Book has been in our possession for some time. We have studied its mysteries. We are not without powers—why use them simply to serve the High Mistress when she has abandoned us? Why not seize the moment and force Sebastian to do our bidding? The Book will aid us to seek him out, and the precious Talisman, if we let it.”

“The Book was not meant for those who seek to serve themselves, however deserving the cause. You twist its words at your own peril,” said Miss Scratton.

“So what do you suggest?” asked Miss Dalrymple, her voice as silky and smooth as a poisoned drink. “You are so wise, Sister, so patient, so full of cunning. What do you suggest, now that Sebastian is on the brink of the demon world and everything we have worked for is about to be snatched away?”

There was a long pause; then Miss Scratton began, “I am not a leader. I would wait for the true High Mistress to show herself—”

“Wait? Wait?” Miss Raglan snarled furiously. “I cannot wait. I am getting old. We cannot simply wait and wait, then die as our mothers and grandmothers did. I have no daughter to take my place. I want the reward for our labors that Sebastian Fairfax promised, here and now, without further delay. Nothing will stop me—not you, not Celia Hartle, and certainly not that stupid redheaded girl. She holds the key to all this.”

“We cannot approach her openly,” said Miss Scratton, “She has no idea of our identity. We should keep it that way.”

“And she has remarkable powers,” protested the woman from the kitchen.

“That was nothing more than beginner’s luck. She will not withstand us again.” Miss Raglan smiled coldly. “We must shake off our timidity, separate her from her little friends, and seize her. Then she can be used to revive Sebastian enough to enable our plans to come to fruition. We will steal her soul and then discard her, presenting the Talisman to Sebastian as a final gift. He will not be able to refuse us then. We will achieve what the High Mistress could not.”

My leg was cramped awkwardly, but I was too scared to move, too frightened to breathe. I was sure they would hear my heart beating, betraying me to them.

“But if she dies…how would we hide her death?” said the fearful woman.

“An accident. A novice rider thrown from her horse. Any story will do. She is nothing.”

“And was Laura nothing?” asked Miss Scratton. “People are beginning to talk.”

“Then you must silence them! I claim stewardship of this coven,” Miss Raglan declared. “I am the High Mistress now. We will use our energies to seek out Sebastian from his hiding place. And at the next new moon we will gather our whole Sisterhood together and call upon them to confirm my claim. Then I will be strong enough to move openly against the girl.”

“So be it,” said Miss Dalrymple eagerly. One by one, the others agreed.

“So be it.”

“So be it.”

Miss Scratton hesitated. “So be it,” she said.

“In the meantime, the girl must be watched,” Miss Raglan continued. “We need to know if she is trying to communicate with Sebastian, and where she is hiding the Talisman.” She turned to Miss Scratton. “You will do this. It will keep you from meddling in other matters.”

“I shall be glad to undertake this task, Sister,” replied Miss Scratton. “I believe she trusts me a little. I will watch her. Evelyn Johnson will not sleep or breathe or move without my being aware of it.”

“Then this gathering is ended, until we meet at the new moon, two weeks from now,” Miss Raglan said with a self-satisfied sigh. “May the shadows of night be our wisdom, and may the darkness protect us.” She blew out the candles, and there was the sound of the Book being hidden away. I heard the shuffle of feet leaving the room, and finally the click of the door.

Silence.

I waited, terrified, but no one came back.