Page 67 of Salem's Fall
“I’m not sure I understand…”
“It’s better if I show you.” Hargrove straightens and stands. “I think you’re finally ready to see for yourself.”
He starts toward a door behind us and motions for me to follow. A jolt of unease makes me hesitate for an instant. The rational part of my brain tells me I have no reason to fear Hargrove—he’s a respected professor and has been nothing but friendly and helpful in every encounter—and yet, I can’t ignore that something today feels wrong.
He’s too intense. Too eager. It’s a bit unsettling, though I don’t know why exactly.
But then I remember all the unanswered questions, the mysteries half-revealed. My career is on the line. My family. And I have to admit, even though I shouldn’t be so invested, I’m dying to know the truth about Damien too. I have to understand what’s really going on.
So I follow Hargrove through a narrow, shadowed corridor and into the tiny backroom. The air is colder here, heavy and still. A single hanging light bulb swings from the ceiling, casting strange shadows. The sickening scent of something coppery like blood has grown so strong it almost overpowers my senses. In the center of the room is an altar, cluttered with candles, herbs, and things that look ominously ceremonial. Symbols—the Mark of the Veil—are carved into the floor beneath.
A faint, muffled whimper cuts through the stillness.
I whip around, my stomach lurching as my gaze lands on a bound figure in the corner. A woman, eyes wide with terror, gagged and tied. Her wrists and ankles are raw and bleeding, the ropes biting into her skin. Her blood…
That must be what I saw on Hargrove’s sleeve…
“Professor,”I breathe, my stomach clenched with terror.The reality of the situation seeps into my bones, a sense of betrayal flooding over me. “What is this? What’s going on?”
“Please understand, James,” he says, locking the door behind us, trapping me inside. “They took everything from me. I should’ve been the most renowned occult studies professor in the country, but because of the Blackhollows, I was dismissed. Humiliated. Forced to work in a tiny little curiosity shop, begging for scraps. They made me into a joke!” His eyes narrow, fury radiating off him. “But now”—a dark, twisted smile spreads across his face—“I finally get it all back. Even better, the Veil is going to give it to me.”
“I… I don’t understand.”
“I needed proof and now I have it,” he says. “You’ve told me the rituals are real, that they work. I can have what they have.”
I back away slowly, chest tightening with fear as I realize exactly what he intends to do. He’s going to kill this poor woman right in front of me.
“But you can’t,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “It won’t work like this. It takes four sacrifices—each on Halloween—on Veil Night. You told me that.”
He chuckles, though his gaze is cold and resolute.
“Oh no, James. I see you haven’t been fully paying attention.” His hands clutch the book from earlier,The Book of Eternal Rites, and I see he brought it in here with us. “That’s for the Ascension Ritual—to lead the Veil, remember? For my purposes, a single, precise offering at any time will suffice.”
“Please, you can’t do this,” I plead. “You can’t kill her. This isn’t right.”
The woman in the corner whimpers louder, fighting desperately against her bonds as if she’s just realized how much danger she’s in. Hargrove barely looks at her. It’s like she’s little more than an object, a component for his crazyexperiment. Then his gaze shifts back to me, a terrifying glint of excitement there.
“You’re absolutely right, James. It isn’t right. Not when the better sacrifice—a Tether—stands before me.” He smiles as he says the words, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.“You.”
A cold, sickening dread crashes over me as I realize this man doesn’t just have an unhealthy fascination with the Blackhollows and the Veil—he’s obsessed. Unhinged. Professor Hargrove is totally and utterly bat-shit crazy.
His hand shoots out, locking around my arm like a vise.
Panic surges through me.
“Please! Don’t!” I gasp, struggling against him.“Let me go!”
My hand brushes against something cold on a nearby table. Without thinking, I grab it—a small vial of some strange liquid—and smash it against his face. He stumbles back, growling in pain, his face now bloody and gashed from the broken glass. I rush for the door, but I can’t get past him, can’t reach it.
And then he’s coming toward me, blade in hand. That’s when I realize where the ritual knife from the glass case went. It’s been down here all along, waiting to be used for this very moment.
“Don’t fight me!” he cries, his eyes filled with a fevered light. “You’re going to be part of something meaningful. Something beautiful. I’ll never forget your sacrifice for me.”
My heart races, a wild, erratic beat that fills my ears as the realization sinks in. This is the end for me. I’m going to die here in this shitty hidden room inside the Wandering Raven, and no one will ever even know what happened to me.
Maddie and Lucky will be all alone.
I won’t be able to save my father.
