Page 45 of Salem’s Rise

I lean one hip against the table. “I was just going to say that you’re surprisingly human around your parents.”

“Is there a question there?”

“Just an observation,” I say. “You actually smile and laugh with them.”

“I’m aware,” he says drily. “These are normal human reactions. Certainly, you’ve seen them before in your life?”

“I’ve just never seen you do them.”

“Well, then, you don’t really know me at all. Do you, Mercer?”

I realize he’s right. I’ve spent the last few weeks convincing myself I know exactly who Silas Blackhollow is, but maybe I’ve only ever known the version he wanted me to see.

“Why do they want you to leave Salem’s Fall?” I ask.

His gaze sharpens.

“Eavesdropping, were we?”

“Sorry.” I shrug. “It’s hard not to when you’re hiding beneath a table.”

He lets out a slow breath and some of the familiar coldness slips from his face. There’s something unguarded in his dark eyes.

“My parents are wary about me spending too much time in Salem’s Fall.” His gaze drifts toward the bookshelves. “After I graduated from high school, they moved to Europe. They’ve spent years trying to convince me to join them. They have their… reasons.” A faint, humorless smile touches his mouth. “And I have my own reasons for staying. We don’t see eye to eye on that.”

“And Lucien stays here with you?” I ask.

“Yes, along with my aunt.”

I think of Damien’s warning.

“But your parents don’t like that he’s the one you’re around?”

“He’s family,” he says simply.

“Why not go with your parents? Sardinia sounds nice.”

“So does silence.” Then he smiles, and I realize he’s teasing me. I didn’t know Silas was capable of joking. “My mother thinks distance solves everything,” he explains. “My father thinks money does. Between them, they’re accustomed to most problems surrendering to their will.”

It occurs to me this is the first real conversation we’ve had where Silas isn’t insulting me, threatening me, or holding a knife on me. I know I shouldn’t push my luck. He’s already been far more generous than I ever expected. But I can’t stop myself from asking about my brother one more time.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about Josh?”

Just like that, the mask slides back into place.

“I told you. I didn’t know him.”

“My brother doesn’t lie,” I say. “He told me you were close.”

“What I can tell you is that your brother had a dangerous habit of digging into things he didn’t understand,” he says. “Rather like you. Perhaps it’s hereditary.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting,” he says.

“Why won’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because your brother kept digging and look where it landed him,” he says with clipped impatience. “I’d hate for history to repeat itself. I imagine your mother would prefer not to have both her children go missing in the same year.”