Page 50 of Salem's Fall
And for what? The things I found were a tad bizarre, sure—but ultimately, nothing. A rich, powerful man having a fancy-looking knife and a prescription for Xanax? Not exactly damning evidence of any wrongdoing.
My eyes flick over to Lucky, curled up next to me. He looks so peaceful, so oblivious to the constant chaos that has now become my life. I envy him.
I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand, scanning. Nothing news breaking, just more missed texts from Katie and another voicemail from Quinn, wondering why I haven’t called him back and demanding an update. Some part of my brain registers Quinn’s calls are a problem, but I don’tlet it get to me. I have bigger things on my mind than Quinn’s wrath—like how the hell I’m supposed to piece together this twisted puzzle and solve this case.
I glance toward my phone again, pulling up Maddie’s number. I still need to tell her about my conversation with our father and what I found out yesterday. She deserves to know the truth too.
My call goes straight to voicemail.
I tell myself not to worry. It’s early and she’s probably still sleeping, hungover from whatever shenanigans she got herself into last night. I’ll call again later.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and climb out of bed. There’s no time to waste.
Hargrove said there were at least two other murders tied to the Ascension Ritual before Damien’s fiancée was killed, and if that’s true, I need to learn more about them. There may have been others back when Damien’s father, Ian, rose to leadership of the Veil years ago, too. If I can find out more about the previous rituals and uncover commonalities and patterns in all these past killings—and my mother’s death too—I might really have something to go on.
The best shot I have is starting with the more recent murders. Those are probably still open cases. I can try to get information about them at the local police station or the courthouse, if they occurred in Salem’s Fall. The older, long-buried cases, the ones possibly tied to Damien’s father, will be cold cases. That means painstaking hours of digging through dusty files and microfiche at the local library archives or old court records.
It’s going to be a long day…
I head for the bathroom, pulling my long blonde hair back into a loose but neat ponytail. Today calls for a put-together look. I’ll likely be charming police detectives, court clerks, and librarians.
I pull on a fitted blouse in a soft ballerina pink color, pairing it with high-waisted slacks that look more expensive than they are. Over it all, I slip into my favorite cream pea coat, tailored just right, with polished buttons and a flattering collar. It’s warm enough for the chillier weather, but still feminine and stylish. A simple gold necklace and small studs finish the look.
After I give Lucky a quick breakfast and some ear scratches, I head downstairs to grab a much-needed cup of coffee before I start my day. The Cottage lobby is quiet as I walk in. The tourist crowd must all still be asleep. It’s so still, so calm—like the moment right before a brewing storm hits.
The scent of fresh coffee draws me toward the food counter, but then I stop dead in my tracks. Sitting in one of the old-fashioned leather armchairs, legs crossed with a casual ease, is a Blackhollow—just not the one I was secretly hoping to see.
Lucien Blackhollow.
His presence slams into me like a chilling gust of wind, setting my nerves on edge. Cold, steely eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Though Lucien and Damien share the same gorgeous features—the dark hair, the aristocratic jawline, the powerful presence—Lucien’s darkness is sharper, more menacing, like a deadly cobra snake. Damien’s darkness is magnetic; it pulls you in. Lucien’s makes you want to run.
“Good morning, Miss Woodsen.”
Lucien stands and beckons me over with a slow, predatory smile, like he knows exactly what I was just thinking. I swallow hard, my pulse racing as I force myself to walk over to his table. Despite my fear, my curiosity is too great.
“Lucien? What are you doing here?”
“I thought we might have a chat,” he says smoothly, his voice like silk dipped in venom.
“What kind of chat?”
“About my brother,” he says, his eyes glinting with some emotion I can’t quite place as he steps closer. His gaze sweeps over me, boldly assessing. There’s something in the way he looks at me. It’s like he’s cataloging every reaction, every breath. A slow, deliberate study. Not unlike Damien, but different. Damien watches me like he’s trying to understand me. Lucien watches me like he already does.
“Okay, but first, I want to know why you sent me to see my dad.” I cross my arms, glaring at him. “You wanted me to find out about his connection to the Veil. Why?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure that must have been very painful.” Lucien sighs, almost regretfully, though I’m not sure I believe he really feels badly. “I wanted you to learn about the connection my brother has to your family’s… tragedy. I thought if you knew, you’d understand how dangerous he is.”
“Why do you care what I think about Damien?”
“You shouldn’t be with him,” he says. “It’s not safe for you.”
A surge of anger flares up inside me. Because, of course, this is what people always assume, and I’m so damn sick of it! The partners, the associates, the judges. They take one look at me and decide I must be sleeping my way to the top. That I can’t possibly be where I am because I worked my ass off. That I can’t be in the same room as a man like Damien Blackhollow without falling into his bed.
And now Lucien is doing it too.
It’s infuriating.
“I’m notwithyour brother, Lucien! He’s my client.” I clench my fists, my frustration boiling over.
