Page 69 of Salem's Fall
The figure in the mask, chasing me.
And then… nothing.
I blink groggily, my vision swimming as I take in my unfamiliar—but undeniably opulent—surroundings. An imposing four-poster bed looms around me, draped in impossibly soft bedding, its heavy canopy falling like a shroud. Soft candlelight from crystal sconces flicker around the room, casting shifting shadows across dark hardwood floors. A plush, intricate tapestry rug stretches beneath me, while deep burgundy velvet curtains hang heavy over the windows, sealing out daylight. It’s all so beautiful and grand, but with a sinister edge, like something straight out of a Gothic horror novel.
“You’re awake… Finally.”
My heart skips as I whirl around to find Damien Blackhollow sitting in a leather chair on the other side of the room.Arms crossed over his muscular chest. Dark, piercing eyes fixed on me. His face holds a look that’s both anxious and… relieved?
But then my attention shifts, and I blink again, certain I’m hallucinating because Lucky is nestled in Damien’s lap. The cat who hates pretty much everyone but me seems completely at ease, eyes closed in utter contentment, purring as Damien scratches behind his ears. At the foot of the bed, I notice my bags from the Cottage, neatly stacked in a row.
“Where… where am I?” I ask, my throat raw as if it hasn’t been used in weeks.
“Blackthorn Manor, of course,” he answers simply, like that explains everything.
A mix of emotions swirls inside me. Confusion. Alarm. Worry.
“How did I get here?” I cough, my chest achy and rattling. I’m sore all over, like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. My right arm throbs, and I glance down to see someone has bandaged it where Hargrove’s knife cut me. “And Lucky? My luggage?”
Damien leans back, one eyebrow arching with a hint of smugness. “Oh, you mean how did I retrieve a cat and a few bags from the B&B? Not exactly hard when you’re a Blackhollow. Let’s just say nobody raised an objection.”
He gently sets Lucky down on the floor and advances a few feet toward the bed, stopping just short. A spark of anger simmers just beneath his controlled exterior, his voice hardening.
“You wereattacked, James—again! Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up when I did?”
I blink, startled. “You… you saved me?”
A muscle twitches in his jaw, dark eyes flashing. “Yes,” he snaps. “I saved you. And it seems like I’m constantly having to save you, doesn’t it? Because you’re too damn foolish and stubborn to listen.” He closes the distance between us, hisvoice rising now. “Iwarnedyou to be careful in Salem’s Fall. I told you not to go to the professor. But you—” His jaw flexes. “You never listen.”
I push myself upright, a hot spike of anger surging through me.
“Wait—you think this is my fault? You think I wanted this to happen?”
“No, of course not, but your stubbornness has nearly gotten you killed.Twice!” His voice is rough, but something else flickers behind his anger, something I wasn’t expecting. Fear. “Damn it, James! Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”
I stiffen, my hands curling into fists in the sheets as I think back to the Wandering Raven and the mask hanging on the wall, displayed like some kind of sick trophy. The mask my attacker wore my first night in Salem’s Fall—and the night I was attacked at Hargrove’s shop. The same mask connected to the Veil. I still don’t have all the answers, but I think I’m finally starting to put some of the pieces together.
“I don’t listen, because all you keep doing is lying to me!” My voice shakes with emotion. “That mugging my first night in Salem’s Fall was the Veil, wasn’t it?”
Damien’s entire body tenses and I see it—hesitation. Guilt. It’s barely there, just a flicker before he schools his expression, but I catch it. And it’s all the confirmation I need.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”
“Don’t.” My voice drops, low and accusing. “That man… he was wearing the Veil Ritual Mask, wasn’t he? I know it’s all connected somehow.”
“James—” A muscle feathers in his jaw, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Let me explain.”
I fold my arms across my chest.
“Please do.”
“That first night… yes, that was me. Or rather, Bennett.” His voice is clipped, reluctant. “I told him to make sure you understood how dangerous this place is. That you didn’t belong here.”
A cold, bitter laugh escapes me.
“You set me up.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to scare some sense into you. That’s all.”
