Page 39 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

I walk closer and see the collection has been titled “Progression.” What startles me most is the date they were created. How is it possible she created artwork that eerily matches what she's going through... four years ago?

"Weird," I mutter, moving away from the artwork and deciding it's probably best to let Willow know I've finally found her. Turning my back on the portraits, I make my way over to the stairs that lead to where the music is blaring from. I take them two at a time, the clanging of my shoes hitting the steps suffocated by the soundtrack she’s blaring. Who even needs their music blastingthatloud? Doesn't she know she left the door open? Anyone could get in, and she would be none the wiser. I mean, I got in here, didn't I?

Just before I reach the top step, I see Willow on the floor, bent over something I can't see from this angle. She's still wearing my sweatpants and Bishop's shirt, which really shouldn't give me any of the satisfaction I briefly feel at the sight. Her hair is still a mess on top of her head, and she's shoeless.

Taking the last step, I keep my eyes on her and watch when she pauses. Her head rises languidly and her hands slow down, all before she lifts herself until she's sitting on the heels of her bare feet. She drops whatever is in her hands, and I watch her shoulders heave as though she's sighing. Does... does she know I'm here? How? I can't even hearmyselfover the music. I watch her with narrowed eyes. There's no way she can hear me. Not a chance. So how does she tilt her head like she’s listening for something?

As if she has all the time in the world, her head turns until her chin almost brushes her shoulder as she looks at me from her peripheral. She's not giving me her full attention, but I know she's waiting for me to say something. I would. If my ears weren't on the verge of bleeding fromhow loud the fucking music is!

Crossing my arms and raising my eyebrow, I wait her out. I watch her make the motions of sighing again, and I'm pretty sure I would be able to hear her roll her eyes if she'd knock the tunes off. She leans over and presses the screen of the cell I didn't realize was beside her, and the room goes deathly silent.

Instead of turning to face me again or give me any of her attention at all, she picks up whatever it is she put down and begins moving over what's in front of her. I don't know why that bothers me as much as it does, but I feel my face quickly twist into a scowl.

"What do you want?" she asks, the tone of her voice sounding a little too icy for my liking. What the hell happened in the time that she passed out to now? We've helped her, given her a place to stay and clothes to wear. Hell, I've even come out in the rain looking for her. Yet the reception I'm currently receiving is far from pleasant.

"Came to retrieve a runaway," I quip, walking closer to where she seems to be working hard on another piece of artwork, I assume. Moving around to see over her shoulder, I say, "Want to tell me why you made your great escape at the ass crack of dawn without telling us you were leaving or where you were going?"

Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Especially since her entire body tenses and the grip on the paint brush tightens. Through gritted teeth, she snarks, "What are you, my keeper? Last I checked, I wasn't a prisoner."

Okay, seriously. What's going on with her? I would have thought a friendlier encounter would have been in the cards, not the cold shoulder I'm finding myself at the receiving end of. Sure, I wasn't all that pleasant when she first met me, but I helped her. I got rid of her dead bodies. She stole my damn jacket. That calls forfriendly, damn it.

I spot a sleek computer chair off to the side and decide to make myself comfortable even though Willow hasn't offered that courtesy. Dropping into my newly claimed seat, I watch as Willow gets back to work. "You went through a lot last night. I would have thought you'd have questions or something."

She doesn't respond. Doesn't even make any indication that she's heard me talk. I actually hear the sigh she releases this time, and she taps her phone again. Instead of the gentle tones of Fleurie, Willow slams on a metal band I've never heard of before. I'm pretty sure she did that on purpose, trying to make sure she can't hear me at all. Then she goes back to working, pretending I'm not even sitting opposite her. Fine. If that's how she wants to be, she's going to learn how stubborn I am today. Guess I'm going to be waiting here until she's ready to talk.

Leaning back in my chair, I stretch my legs out and fold my hands over my stomach, content to just watch her create something. I can't really tell what it is since the canvas is upside down.

I lose track of time while Willow makes her art, listening to song after song and finding I quite like the taste of the stuff she's played since trying to drown me out. I'll have to find this playlist on her Spotify.

She works tirelessly, as if she's on autopilot. Like she's not really here, her mind a million miles away as her hands whiz over the canvas, her paintbrush quickly dipping into the pot of ink beside her before she trails curved lines on the canvas with practiced ease.

More time passes, and Willow finally comes to the end of her work. She puts the brush down and twists a lid on the pot of ink before looking up to face me, finally giving me the attention I've weirdly wanted from her since finding her. "I have a lot of questions. A stupid amount, really. But there's one in particular that I'd really love the answer to."

She stands, brushing her hands on my pants before crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes are calculating, and the frosty chill I'm still feeling from her hasn't warmed at all. If anything, it's gotten colder. I don't like this. I don't like the look in her eye, the way she's watching me as carefully as I'm watching her. My beast really doesn’t like it, pacing back and forth in my mind with a frustrated huff.

Bracing myself, I shrug and say, "Ask away."

"How long have you been keeping an eye on me?" she asks firmly, not once dropping her gaze from mine. The question feels like a trap, more so when she raises her eyebrows as if she's daring me to give her a bullshit answer.

Understanding dawns on me pretty quickly. My eyes widen in surprise, and I cringe internally, because I’ve just worked out why I’ve been given that icy attitude since stepping a foot in the building.

She knows we've had her on our radar for longer than a day.

She knows we knew her before yesterday.

She knows we've been lying to her.

Shit.Why is this my morning right now?

Chapter 21

Willow

Aleric standsthere gaping like a fish, his mouth moving though no words pass through his parted lips. He's quick to recover, I'll give him that.

"How long have you known?" he asks, his eyes turning accusing. He has to be joking right now. If anyone should look at anyone with accusation, it's me.

"I don't think that matters much, do you? Whatdoesmatter is that you knew me well before I was even aware of your existence. Youandyour brothers," I tell him sternly, crossing my arms to hold in the pang of hurt I feel with the realization that even Micah took me for a fool. Once. Just this once, I was really hoping an attractive man found me interesting and was spending time with me because hewantedto, not because hehadto. I feel utterly ridiculous.

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