Page 70 of Salem’s Rise

Lena’s eyes mist up and she blinks hard, looking away. “I miss him so much already.”

“Jesus, guys, relax.” Micah laughs and rolls his eyes. “It’s just a leave of absence. I’m sure he’ll be back next semester.”

Wren and I make agonized eye contact, but there is nothing more we can say in front of Micah. He’ll never know the truth about Jonah’s death. Either Jonah will just fade away, never heard from again, or if people ask too many questions, perhaps the Veil will give him a mysterious death next semester like some of the others.

A bell rings from the far end of the square, and the crowd shifts forward as performers in faux fur-lined dark coats enter carrying birch switches and iron chains. Following them comes an enormous figure, nearly eight feet tall, covered in shaggy black fur beneath a tattered red cloak, with wickedly curling horns, cloven feet, and a grotesque face pulled into a permanent snarl. A wicker basket is strapped to his back. An involuntary shiver crawls down my spine, even knowing it’s someone in costume.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

Micah gives me a bewildered look. “You don’t know Krampus?”

“No.” I frown. “Should I?”

“Krampus is the horned demonic counterpart to Santa,” Wren explains, gesturing toward the towering creature. “Santa rewards good children, but Krampus punishes the naughty ones. Although the local legend in Salem’s Fall is a bit different.” Her gaze follows the creature as it stalks through the crowd. “Here, people say Krampus wasn’t a demon at all but a witch. The townspeople cursed him into that shape, and every winter he returns to punish anyone who’s forgotten the town’s witchy ways.”

Micah leans toward me. “Krampus is a big hit around here,” he says with a grin, eyes sparkling mischievously. “The kids love him.”

A little girl beside us bursts into tears.

“Clearly,” I say, and we all look at each other and laugh. It’s the first time I’ve laughed since Veil Night. The sound is small and fractured, but real.

It feels… nice.

When the tree lights ignite moments later, the entire square glows. Thousands of colorful holiday bulbs spread through the black branches, reflected in nearby shop windows and wet cobblestones. Bells ring from the church tower and a band starts to play “Silent Night,” while everyone around us joins in singing. Someone passes around cups of hot cocoa.

“To Jonah,” Lena says, lifting her cup toward the tree.

Wren’s mouth trembles. “To Jonah.”

“To Jonah,” I repeat solemnly.

Micah snorts. “Really? You guys are so dramatic,” he says, but raises his cup and is a good sport about it. “To Jonah—I guess.”

For several minutes, surrounded by winter lights and holiday music, I forget the tunnels underground and the horrors of the past few days. Not completely. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget them fully, but the memory loosens enough for me to breathe.

Later, back in my dorm, I get ready for bed, grateful for one peaceful night and quietly wondering how many I have left. I change into comfy flannel pajamas, wash off my makeup, and climb into bed with Ceremonies of the Veil open across my knees. I have read and reread the occult books I borrowed from the library and Lucien’s home, searching for more references to The Rites, their rules, or anything that might help me survive. So far, I’ve come up empty-handed.

A few minutes before midnight, someone knocks on my door.

I freeze.

I remain in my bed, heart racing, dread coiling through my body as I wait for another Rites summons to slip beneath the door.

But no note comes. Instead, whoever is standing outside knocks again, harder this time, more impatiently.

Almost… annoyed?

I force my shaky legs out of bed and open the door, only to find someone I never expected standing in the hallway.

“Silas?”

His dark hair is windblown, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and tiny droplets of condensation cling to the shoulders of his cashmere coat. He looks tired, though Silas’s version of tired is still more gorgeous than any man has a right to be. The lines of his mouth are sharper and there are faint shadows beneath his eyes.

“Can I come in?”

My hand remains on the doorknob, ready to shut the door in Silas’s pretty face.

“If you’re here to threaten or scare me, you’ll need to be fast,” I say. “I’m busy.”