Page 47 of Salem's Fall
“It’s my family.” I sigh. “My father... he has ties to the Veil that I didn’t know about until recently.” Hargrove’s eyes widen slightly, but he says nothing, waiting for me to continue. “My mother was killed in connection with some sort of sacrifice for the Veil—the Blood Rite. I don’t understand it all, yet. I’m still trying to figure everything out, but I need to know what theserituals are about. I have to know what really happened to my family.”
Hargrove is silent for a moment, his face a mask of contemplation.
“All right, James.” He sighs reluctantly and gives me a slow nod. “I’ll tell you what I know, but you’re not going to like it.”
He straightens, his voice lowering. “I told you about the Veil’s rituals during the witch trials and how they kept their members safe from persecution. And how I believe the rituals continue to this day and have gotten far worse.” He swallows hard. “But what I haven’t told you is that these present-day power rituals don’t require just any sacrifice anymore, but the murder of a beloved innocent.”
I swallow, the knot in my stomach tightening. “So both my mother and Damien’s fiancée were killed in these rituals?”
“Yes and no,” he says. “Most likely your mother was sacrificed during a Blood Rite, but Damien’s fiancée was something different. I believe she was part of the Ascension Ritual.” Hargrove’s lips curl into a humorless smile. “Some rituals, like the Blood Rite, require only one victim to complete the offering. But Damien is the Blackhollow heir. If he is to take over the Veil as its new leader, he must complete the far more complex Ascension Ritual—a series of four sacrifices, one per year, each on Veil Night. The killings escalate in violence, each more gruesome than the last. I suspect his fiancée was the third. The final sacrifice—the most important—will happen this year.”
My blood runs cold. “Veil Night? What’s that?”
“It’s the most sacred night of the year for the Veil. It’s when the barrier between the worlds is at its thinnest, allowing dark forces to cross over.” He gives me a thin smile. “Us regular folk call it Halloween.”
“And this fourth sacrifice—this murder—you’re certain it’s going to happen on Halloween?”
“If it doesn’t, Damien’s ascension is at risk, and someone else could take his place. The Veil must have a new leader.” Hargrove’s eyes darken. “Either way, blood will be spilled.”
“Do you know who the final sacrifice is?”
Hargrove’s eyes lock onto mine, his voice dropping. “I don’t know for sure, but there are whispers,” he says. “It must be someone in Damien’s orbit. An innocent. Someone he’s close with, someone he cares about.”
My heart pounds in my chest, the pieces slowly falling into place.
The final sacrifice.
Halloween. Veil Night.
Just a few short weeks away.
I don’t know who the next victim will be, but I know one thing. I’m running out of time, and I’m in too deep to walk away now.
Ireturn to my room at the Cottage just before nightfall. I shrug off my jacket, letting it slip to the floor, and drop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The shocking events of the day play a constant loop in my head:
The visit with my father.
My fight with Damien.
Hargrove’s startling revelation about Damien’s Ascension Ritual.
Lucky jumps up on the bed, nuzzling into my side, his soft fur brushing against my skin. He’s been sticking close ever since we arrived at Salem’s Fall, more than usual. I stroke his head absentmindedly, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease, though it never completely fades. The cat looks at me, his wide eyes filled with concern. Even Lucky knows something is terribly wrong.
“Thank goodness I have you,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. But his presence, comforting as it is, can’t drown out the gnawing feeling that I’m in way over my head.
I reach for my phone and scroll through my missed messages and calls. Maddie is asking for more money for food. Apparently, the casserole I made for her is gone, and she’s already blown through the two hundred I left her just a few days ago. I suspect the request is really for alcohol and clothes,but I’m too tired to argue about it. Instead, I Venmo her a few hundred dollars to hold her over until I return, whenever that is.
Quinn’s name also pops up. Repeatedly. His texts are terse and to the point:
Get back to Boston. NOW!
He’s called too, and Quinn rarely calls. That’s how I know it’s bad. His angry voicemails are more of the same. The client—Damien, I suppose—is furious. The firm is losing patience. They think I’m wasting time and money here in Salem’s Fall, and I’m on “thin ice.”
I thumb through more messages. Katie has texted me too, cryptic and worried. Her words land like ice in my veins:
Been hearing things at the office. Blackhollow is dangerous. You need to come home!
It seems like everyone wants me to turn tail and run back to Boston. Am I a fool to stay here?
