I had never seen Miss Raglan so angry.

“This cannot be tolerated!” Her face was mottled and red, and she scanned the faces of the uneasy Wyldcliffe students with something close to loathing. “Someone has taken an antique letter opener and a very valuable book. They are both the property of the school, and I will have them returned!”

Part of me wanted to laugh at her impotent rage as she spluttered like a dictator who had suddenly lost control of an army. It wasn’t really funny, though. Now that Miss Raglan and the coven had discovered the loss of the Book and the dagger, I knew that I would be top on the list of their suspects.

“Never, in our long history, have we had thieves at Wyldcliffe,” she blustered. “I will not put up with this while I am responsible for the school. This is the second time this term that there has been an incident like this. The book in question was an extremely rare volume of great interest. If the culprit does not come forward, I will be forced to call in the police.”

Yeah, right, I thought. It wasn’t very likely that Miss Raglan would run to the police with everything that she had to hide. She was bluffing, and I knew we were still safe. The Book was hidden in Agnes’s secret attic, and so was the silver dagger. Let her storm, I thought. As long as she was angry, I knew that she was empty-handed.

Miss Raglan stumped out of the dining hall and the girls split up into little groups, slightly shocked over the scene we had just witnessed. I felt kind of sorry for them. Those blond, pretty Lucys and Camillas and Carolines would never dream of taking something that didn’t belong to them, and yet they had been harangued like common street kids. First the High Mistress had disappeared; now there was a thief at Wyldcliffe. Their little world was beginning to show cracks. Celeste and India were holding court, giving out their opinions in silky voices that were full of spite.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past Helen Black,” Celeste was saying. “She’s completely nuts, and everyone knows she hasn’t got any money at all. If this dumb book really is worth a fortune, she’d be only too happy to get her hands on it. Personally I wouldn’t have these scholarship girls at Wyldcliffe.” She glared in my direction. “It really lowers the tone, don’t you think, Sophie?”

Sophie blushed scarlet and mumbled, “I can’t believe anyone from Wyldcliffe would steal stuff from the school…. I really can’t.”

“I think you’re right, Sophie,” said India smoothly. “Helen Black and her crowd are too stupid to pull off a stunt like that. I blame outsiders. I’m sure the missing book is down at that horrible Gypsy camp at this very moment. Everyone knows they are thieves, and worse—look at what they’ve been doing with those dead animals on people’s doorsteps; it’s completely sick.”

Sarah had been listening in disgust, and she couldn’t contain herself any longer. “How dare you say that? There’s no proof that any of this is connected to the travelers. Just because people are different from you—and thank God some people are—you automatically despise them.”

India laughed. “Oh, listen to Saint Sarah, always defending the weak. But I happen to think that the weak have only themselves to blame.”

“Come on, Sarah,” said Helen. “It isn’t worth arguing with her.” She dragged us both away and we headed for our next class. It was history with Miss Scratton. I took my seat in the familiar classroom in the old wing, with the narrow lattice windows and the whitewashed walls. The poster of the witches from Macbeth was still displayed behind Miss Scratton’s desk. Ironic, I thought bitterly. She was worse than any witch. I couldn’t even take an interest in her lessons anymore, though they had previously been my favorites. I wanted to get out there and out of her sight as quickly as possible.

“When Henry the Eighth dissolved the monasteries and the great religious houses in the sixteenth century, there was a period of great upheaval and uncertainty, even rebellion….” Her monotonous voice droned on as we took notes. “For the ordinary people, places like our own Abbey had for many years been sources of education, charity, and medicine—the sisters would have cared for anyone who needed healing.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over me. I could hardly concentrate.

“Of course, even in pagan times the people would have valued their healers. Long before the Abbey was built, the ancient settlers who worshiped on their hilltop temple would have had their wise women….”

The light in the room dimmed. I sat up and gripped the edge of my desk, willing it not to happen. But everything was changing again, just as it had once before, when I had first glimpsed Agnes in her long-ago schoolroom. The colors and sounds swirled into a confused blur…. It was happening again….

The low lattice windows and the whitewashed walls dissolved and faded. I was in simple wooden building, hardly more than a shelter. A young child wrapped in a rough woolen cloak lay on the straw-covered floor, and his face was gray with pain. His mother held his hand and tried not to weep. Another woman, who wore a silver amulet around her neck and a veil over her hair, was tending the child. She wiped the boy’s face and gave him sips of a bitter-looking mixture, while repeating some secret prayers. The boy’s pain seemed eased, and he fell into a deep sleep. The woman with the amulet turned to me, and though her face was half-hidden by the veil, I saw her eyes burning with fierce intelligence and pity…a healer…a wise woman…a holy sister….

Miss Scratton’s harsh voice jolted me back to the present. “Like the Wyldcliffe nuns, the wise women would be highly respected as teachers and holy sisters—”

“No!” I couldn’t help crying out. How dared she talk about sisterhood when she had betrayed every ideal of learning and love and loyalty?

“What’s wrong, Evie?” Miss Scratton said, looking up at me. “Do you disagree with my views?”

“I…I’m sorry,” I stammered, trying to cover my confusion and find something to say. “It’s just that, um…at my old school, um…the teacher said that in the old days women weren’t important…. They just had babies and did the cooking and stuff….”

“And isn’t having babies and caring for a family important? But in any case, I think you’ll find that if you look deeper, women have always done much, much more. Oh, yes, women have always wielded great power,” she added softly, “even if it largely went unseen.”

Unseen power…the great sisterhood…the Mystic Way… I felt dizzy as her eyes stared unrelentingly into mine.

“But that would be an interesting topic of discussion for another time.” She seemed to lose interest in me and turned away abruptly. “Right now I want you to read the source material on page thirty-two of the textbook and then plan your written report.”

My head was bursting. What had I just seen? Was there some clue in the vision? Perhaps I needed to connect with the women of the deep, unknown past—perhaps they had some ancient knowledge that would help Sebastian. Perhaps he needed to drink the herbal mixture, like the boy. But how would that be connected with the fire token? If only I knew what it all meant!

I bent over my books and pretended to do my work, but I was really scribbling down anything that could trigger the answer I needed: Fire—heat—flame. Red—red rose? Ruby? A ruby ring. Red—sign of blood. Healing potions—look in Book. To cleanse blood? Poppies. Crimson. Scarlet. Fire. A token. A love token. FIRE.

Think, Evie, think, I told myself, but my mind was blank, as empty as the mournful hills and the gray, gray sky.