Page 40 of Salem's Fall
Lucien leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly. The way he watches me reminds me of a cat with a bird. Curious, mildly entertained, but ultimately unimpressed.
“I was at the All Hallows Gala, yes.”
“And did you happen to see Ms. Van Buren while you were in town that day?”
“I did not. I was… otherwise occupied.”
“When was the last time you saw her—before the murder?”
“Earlier that week, probably. I saw Vivienne frequently. More than my brother did, if we’re being honest.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but the way he glances at me makes it clear he’s referring to the sordid nature of his relationship with Damien’s fiancée.
“Are you referring to an affair with the victim?”
I keep my tone neutral, trying not to let my disgust show. I don’t know Lucien or the victim, and I don’t want to think ill of the dead, but after what my ex put me through, I’m not fond of cheaters.
“Damien has always had an eye for exquisitely beautiful women,” he says, his gaze flicking to my face for just a moment too long before he continues. “Though their character?Well… that’s another story. Let’s just say Vivienne wasn’t the innocent flower everyone thinks she was.”
“And yet you were with her—your brother’s fiancée,” I say, watching carefully to see his reaction.
Lucien’s arrogant smile fades. “I suppose some temptations are hard to resist,” he says and gives me a knowing look. “Isn’t that right, Miss Woodsen?”
A flicker of heat rises in my cheeks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” he says silkily. “In any event, you’re not here to judge me, Miss Woodsen. You’re here to figure out who killed Vivienne.”
“Okay, so, who do you think killed her? Do you think it was Damien?”
“Oh, Damien is capable of most anything. Murder? Definitely.” He chuckles darkly, tapping his fingers against the desk. “But no, not her. Not Vivienne. I don’t think he loved her enough to get his hands dirty.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not following,” I say, the bitterness in his voice catching me off guard. “What do you mean by that?”
“Enough about Damien.” Lucien leans forward, his gaze piercing. “You really came here to ask about the Veil, didn’t you?”
My pulse quickens.
“What can you tell me?”
“More than Damien has told you, I’m sure.” Lucien smiles coldly. “He’s always been secretive about our legacy.”
He walks over to the bookshelf, pulling out an old, leather-bound book, and bringing it back to the desk. As he flips through it, I see the yellowed pages are covered in strange symbols, like the ones I saw in the murder scene photos.
“The Mark of the Veil,” I whisper, recalling its name.
“Yes.” He nods. “The Veil is about power, Miss Woodsen. Power through sacrifice. For generations, my family hasmaintained their wealth and influence through evoking the ancient Veil rituals. You see, each generation is required to perform a new series of sacrifices in order to maintain our family’s status and place within the Veil.”
“Sacrifices such as…?”
His gaze sharpens, dark amusement dancing at the edges. “Oh, Miss Woodsen. I think you know exactly what type of sacrifices I’m implying.”
My blood curdles, my hands shaking on the keyboard as I type.
He’s talking about killing people!
Not that this is entirely new information. Professor Hargrove had said as much, but it’s a whole other thing to hear Damien’s own brother practically confirm it.
“The Blackhollows have always been a prominent part of the organization’s leadership,” Lucien continues. “Grandfather Blackhollow was the rumored ‘high priest’ within. After him, our father took over and continued the traditions before his…untimely… death a few years ago.” He straightens in his seat. “And now another Blackhollow must rise up and carry on the legacy.”
