Page 39 of Salem's Fall
“It looks like a hotel!” I exclaim. “Is that where you stay when you’re in town?”
He snorts. “Of course not. The main house is mine,” he says, like I’m being ridiculous. “Well, the entire estate is, actually. It was passed on to me after my father’s death.”
“Not your mother?”
“No. Blackthorn Manor always passes down the male line.” He smirks, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “She prefers the pied-à-terre in Newport anyway.”
I don’t even ask. Of course, his family also has a place in old-money, self-important Newport.
Bennett parks the car at the front of the main house, and it takes everything in my power not to gape like a fool. Everywhere I look are signs of old-world wealth, though it also seems to exude an air of mystery like most ancient things do, the sort of place where whispers from the past still cling to the walls and every corner holds untold secrets.
“You really live here?”
“I do.” He nods. “Though I’m not home as much as I’d like to be.”
“Oh my God.” A startled laugh bursts out of me before Ican stop it. “I can’t believe you have all this, and you’re staying next door to me at the Cottage. You’re actually insane, you know that, right?”
He grins. “Well, someone has to keep you out of trouble.” Before I can say anything else, he’s already stepping outside. “Bennett will take you to Lucien’s.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“Lucien and I—we don’t get along very well, I’m afraid,” he says, though he doesn’t look too sad about it. “You’ll have better luck if I’m not around.” He exhales a short, knowing laugh. “Especially since my brother is a sucker for a pretty face.”
A blush creeps across the back of my neck. Mentally, I’m aware this is improper and I shouldn’t want compliments from a client, and certainly not a client like Damien, but my body seems to feel completely different about the matter.
“Be careful, James.” Damien turns to me, his tone suddenly serious. “Lucien is… slippery. Get what you can, but I wouldn’t trust everything he says.” His hand hovers over the door handle. “I’ll see you later. I have a few matters to take care of inside.”
I arch a brow. “Oh? Super secret cult business?”
Damien smirks. “The All Hallows Gala is coming up, and I need to finalize a few last-minute details.”
I blink at him, surprised. “You’re not seriously thinking of going?” I ask, remembering my conversation with Katie. She’d warned me about the possibility of Damien attending, but I’d forgotten all about it with everything going on.
“Of course I am. I never miss it.” He says it casually, like this is any other year and not one where he’s the prime suspect in a major murder case.
I let out a groan. “This is a terrible idea. Have you cleared it with Quinn?”
“I think you keep forgetting something, Counselor.” Hisvoice is smooth, droll. “You and Quinn work for me. Not the other way around,” he says and disappears inside.
Bennett drops me off at Lucien’s house next, where a housekeeper greets me and leads me inside.
The interior of the West House is like stepping into another century. Old, luxurious, and dripping with wealth and history. Dark wooden panels line the walls, and grand antique colonial chandeliers hang from the high ceilings. A grandfather clock ticks softly from the parlor as I walk past, its sound muffled by richly woven antique rugs that stretch across the hardwood floors, their burgundy and gold patterns faded gently by time. Without hesitation, the housekeeper ushers me into Lucien’s office, saying he’s been expecting me. She gestures to the large, imposing dark walnut desk at the center of the room, and I take a seat. The air is heavy, like it’s been holding its breath for years.
I take out my laptop and pull up my witness interview outline, racing through the questions in my head once more. I feel ready. Prepared. And then Lucien Blackhollow walks in, and every thought falls right out of my head.
Tall, dark, and handsome, the man is every bit as good looking as his brother, but there’s something about the older Blackhollow sibling that immediately sets my nerves on edge. Every muscle in my body tightens, as if my brain is now on high alert that a predator is in my midst. Although withthatface, a small part of me wonders what it would feel like to be caught in his sights. If I might even enjoy it.
“Miss Woodsen,” he says, his voice smooth as he crosses the room with a calculated grace. His gaze drags over me—not in the sleazy way some men look at women, but with the sharp, assessing interest of a man who enjoys pulling people apart just to see what makes them tick. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” I say, forcing a smile as Iextend my hand. His eyes shift downward, briefly, like he wasn’t expecting me to be so forward. He avoids the contact and takes the seat across from me.
“Depends on who you ask,” he says. “Let’s begin, shall we? I have an appointment in thirty minutes.”
“So soon?” I ask. “I was hoping we’d have more time.”
“Unfortunately, my schedule is packed.”
“Okay, I understand. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” I glance up at my outline and begin taking notes on my laptop. “I want to start with the night your brother’s fiancée, Ms. Van Buren, was murdered. You were in Boston, correct?”
