Page 124 of Salem’s Rise

Blackthorn Manor looks like a gothic winter fairytale castle, something lifted from another century, every stone dusted white, every window glowing gold against the blue-gray evening. The holiday decorations from the Winter Solstice Gala are still up. Wreaths hanging from tall windows, garlands winding along stone railings. Hundreds of tiny white lights shimmer across the grounds, reflecting against the snow until the entire estate seems suspended somewhere between winter and darkness.

Presently, I’m inside the media room, curled up on one corner of the enormous sofa, a fire crackling softly in the fireplace. My new favorite holiday movie, Krampus, is paused on the TV. The signature florals of the estate—orange roses—are everywhere. Fresh arrangements fill crystal vases throughout the house, their warm color bright against the dark wood. I still don’t know how the gardeners manage to keep them blooming in the middle of winter, but I’ve stopped asking about the weird things that occur in Salem’s Fall and just started accepting them. A soft cashmere blanket is pulled up to my waist, and I’m wearing the coziest black cable-knit sweater in existence that absolutely does not belong to me.

Silas notices the second he walks into the room carrying two mugs. “You’re wearing my favorite sweater,” he says. “Again.”

I look down as though I’m surprised.

“This is yours?” I ask innocently, batting my eyes at him.

“You seem to have a problem stealing things at Blackthorn Manor. We may need to get you help.”

“I think it’s called ‘borrowing’?”

“You are impossible.” He sighs, but there’s too much affection in his eyes for me to take him seriously. Then he sets both mugs on the coffee table and drops onto the couch beside me.

I take a sip of my drink, savoring the richness of the cocoa. The black tourmaline ring now on my finger catches the firelight as I lift the mug. Silas insisted I wear his ring the moment I got back to town. For protection, he’d said. And power. It once belonged to his mother, a gift from his father many years ago for much the same reason. Apparently, some traditions are worth repeating.

It starts to snow harder outside, but the fire fills the room with enough warmth that the windows have begun to fog around the edges. Or maybe that’s just the heat coming from Silas.

I can’t get enough of him.

In the three days since I got back to Salem’s Fall, we have barely made it out of his bedroom—or the shower, or once, memorably, the kitchen counter before Edward Jottingsworth the Second nearly walked in on us. I’ve become insatiable where Silas Blackhollow is concerned. He only has to look at me a certain way, low and heavy-lidded, and I forget entire trains of thought mid-sentence.

“So,” Silas says, lifting his drink, “I imagine Josh is excited to come back to Salem’s Fall in a few weeks. Lucien said he’ll be able to resume his studies.”

Warmth spreads through me at the thought. “He’s ecstatic.”

The first few days after Josh came home, I don’t think any of us slept. Mom and I kept expecting him to disappear every time we looked away. She cried every morning for five days straight.

As far as Mom knows, Josh was kidnapped by a bunch of crazed Vanished superfans. It was such a thin, ridiculous cover-up story, but she chose to let it go or believe it. I’m not sure which. Now that I know all about my father and his connection to the Veil, I’m certain she knows far more than she lets on. But if she wants to ignore the topic, I don’t want to push her.

Josh doesn’t seem to recall much after Veil Night.

Or if he does, then he doesn’t want to share it.

He claims the last year was like one long peaceful dream. That sounds so lovely, I want to believe it’s true. For once, I decide not to look too closely or ask any more questions.

“Josh says he wants to finish his game. He also informed me he’s removing the Salem’s Fall round,” I say. “He claims his next project is going to be much safer.”

Silas raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yep. He’s doing the Bermuda Triangle instead.”

He considers this with complete seriousness.

“I suppose, statistically, he’s correct. The survival rate is probably higher.”

I laugh softly. “I told him the same thing.”

For a moment, I just sit there smiling, still amazed that I can talk about Josh like this. Like having him back is somehow normal again. But there is something I’ve been wondering ever since he came home.

“Did you know the Veil would give me the boon? I thought it belonged to you.”

“We both won The Rites, but I was chosen to lead,” Silas says, his mouth curving faintly. “I suppose the Veil decided awarding you the boon was only fair.”

I smile into my cocoa.

Of course. Ruthless killers, sure. But I always did say the Veil had manners.