Page 66 of Salem's Fall
My mind reels, grasping for explanations, for logic, for anything that could explain this. Had it been a warning? A staged scare? Or something else entirely? Had someone meant to really hurt me that night? Maybe even kill me…?
“James?”
I jerk back from the mask as Hargrove emerges from the back of the shop, his face brightening with a warm, welcoming smile.
“What a lovely surprise!” he says, clapping his hands with delight. The scent of cloves and incense grow stronger as he approaches. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
His friendly hug is comforting, and I shake off my wariness. I notice he looks rather dashing today, dressed in a dark tweed suit that seems a bit overdressed for a normal day at work in the shop.
“You look nice. Are you going somewhere?” I ask.
“Me? No.” He gives me a little wink. “You look nice too.”
“Thanks.” I grin. “So, I think I found out something important about the Veil and the Ascension Rituals you mentioned.” My voice is eager, almost breathless. “I need to talk to you about it.”
He stills, his gaze flicking toward the back of the store. Quick, uncertain. Like he’s checking for something—or someone.
“Right now?”
I take a step back, worrying I’m interrupting something. “Oh. Are you busy?”
“No, no. Now is fine.” His voice is steady, but something feels off—a tension just beneath the surface. He takes me by the elbow and leads me to the small wooden table where we’ve sat before.
I spill everything—how Ian Blackhollow used the Veil’s rituals to transform his bankrupt business into a kingdom of wealth, how Damien seems to be moving along the same dark path, with three sacrifices already in his wake: the Blackhollow nanny, his college sweetheart, and, of course, his most recent fiancée.
Hargrove listens with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving mine. His smile widens larger with every revelation. He’s eager, almost a bit too much, as he drinks in the details. Rather than the horror I felt upon uncovering all this, he seems excited by the gruesome information.
“And you’re absolutely certain Ian Blackhollow’s business turned around after the fourth sacrifice?”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s what the article said, at least.”
His eyes gleam with something I can’t quite read. “You’re telling me these rituals actually work? There’s real proof?”
There’s an almost hungry edge to his words.
“I don’t know if you can say that exactly.” I shrug, trying to downplay it. “I don’t believe in the supernatural or anything like that.” Then I hesitate, remembering who I’m talking to. Hedoesbelieve, and I don’t want to insult him. “I mean, don’t you think it’s all just a coincidence?”
My excitement over what I’ve uncovered dims. He’s not reacting at all how I expected. Instead of focusing on the real-world implications—that the Blackhollows could be a family of killers—he seems more interested in the rituals themselves. In whether they actually work.
His hand caresses the open book in front of himabsentmindedly. My gaze shifts to its faded pages, and I spot the Mark of the Veil. That same oddly familiar, dark, twisted design I’ve now come to know.
“This is a unique piece,” he says, following my gaze. “The Book of Eternal Rites. It’s from a much older collection of the Veil’s artifacts. It’s kind of a manual, so to speak.”
“A manual for what?”
He ignores my question. “Have you told Damien or his brother about what you’ve discovered?” he asks, shutting the book with a loud thud and pushing it aside. Some blood stains dotting the cuff of his white sleeve catch my attention.
“Did you cut yourself, Nick?”
I watch as blood slowly drips down the tips of his slender fingers and onto his clothes and the surface of the old wooden table. Something about it puts me on edge. He looks down, his eyes widening in surprise as he notices it too.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and rolling up his sleeve.
“Right…” I drag my focus back to what matters. “I guess what I don’t understand is what happened with my family. My dad said he had the knife, that he was ready to go through with the Blood Rite ritual. But if these rituals are real—if they actuallydosomething like you say—then why didn’t it work?” My hands go cold in my lap, heart pounding. “Whatever that ritual was supposed to do… it failed for him.”
Hargrove’s face changes. His brows draw together in concentration, his lips thinning thoughtfully as though he’s calculating something important.
“Of course… I see it now. Your father’s ritual must have failed because it was missing a Tether—someone bound to the Veil by blood, oath, or love,” he murmurs, a spark of something intense flaring behind his eyes. “The Book of Eternal Ritesmakes reference to this. It’s clear the person sacrificed can’t be random; it has to be a Tether. Your parents probably lackedany true connection to the Veil. Without that bond, the ritual is meaningless. It’s just theatrics.”
