Page 83 of Salem's Fall
“You never loved Viv, not like I did.” Lucien lets out a short, humorless laugh. “To you, she was just a toy—a plaything.”
“I didn’t love her, that’s true. But I didn’t want her dead,” Damien says, low and grim. “I didn’t want any of them to die.”
A tense silence stretches between them. For the first time, Lucien hesitates, and I see the raw vulnerability on his face, like he’s trying to take this all in and process it. His shoulders slacken slightly, and for a moment—just a moment—I see something almost like regret. But then, just as quickly, it vanishes, his features smoothing into something cold, impenetrable.
“So what, then? You expect me to believe you’re some innocent bystander?” His voice is laced with contempt. “That all this carnage just happened around you?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you should believe, because it’s the truth!” Damien’s dark brow furrows like a new thought is now occurring to him. “Lucien, take a minute here andthink. There’s something we’re not seeing. Isn’t it strange that these deaths line up so perfectly with the Ascension Ritual, yet neither of us admit to having a hand in them?”
The room falls deathly silent.
For the first time, I’m absolutely certain Damien had nothing to do with the murder of his fiancée or any of the other women. He’s so close to death now, he has no reason to lie. But if it wasn’t him, and if, for once, Lucien is telling the truth—a rare possibility, but not impossible—then whoisresponsible? Who is capable of something like this?
And why?
I look around the chamber at the masked men surrounding us. It has to be someone in the Veil, right? Someone here right now in the room?
Both Blackhollow brothers seem so powerful, more powerful than any person I’ve ever known, the idea that someone else may have been pulling the strings all along shakes me, leaving a cold, hollow feeling in my chest. If even the Blackhollows aren’t in control, then who is?
“Nice try. You always find a way to twist things so you look like the noble one, the savior. But not this time.” Lucien seizes the ritual knife from Damien but pauses, his gaze flicking to me. His eyes glitter with something dark and mad as he holds the blade out toward me. “Why don’t you do the honors, Miss Woodsen? You’d be doing everyone here a favor.”
The room spins, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
“What? No!”
“You’ve been craving power your whole life, haven’t you? The prestige, the ambition, the opportunity to become someone important.” He places the knife in my hand. “Well, here’s your opportunity—join me.”
“Join you?” I ask, not sure I understand. “You mean become part of the Veil?”
“Why not?” he asks, gripping my wrist and angling it toward Damien’s chest. “All you have to do is make the right choice.”
Maddie shakes her head beside me, a muffled cry slippingthrough her gag. “No!” she manages, her voice hoarse with horror.“James, don’t!”
“Enough,” the Veil member closest to Maddie snaps, tightening the ropes with a sharp pull.
I’m fully aware this is more of Lucien’s twisted game, to turn me into something monstrous, just like him. And yet, as I stare at the knife, my fingers gripping tighter around its handle, I can’t help but wonder what it might feel like to use it.
An image flashes in my head, and for a moment, I can see the life I’ve always dreamed of. Success. Power. I would no longer need to prove myself to Quinn. To the firm. I would never have to prove myself to anyone ever again. I can have a life without want. Without fear. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of is within my grasp.
I know it’s wrong to think like this, but isn’t Damien a lost cause anyway? Even if it’s not by my hand, won’t Lucien or the Veil take him? Or the knife even?
The image of Professor Hargrove ripping the blade through his chest, killing himself against his own will, comes back to me in a horrible rush. The knife must have its victim, right? If this is all inevitable, why not take what’s mine?
Why let it all go to waste?
“He’s right,” Damien says quietly, a heaviness in his voice. “Do it. It’s what you want.”
Our eyes meet, and I see Damien’s quiet strength, the way he’s willing to give up everything in order to keep me safe, to give me what I want in life. He would sacrifice everything for me, let me kill him, and take all that the Veil offers.
But all the power in the world is worth nothing if I have to lose my humanity to achieve it.
“No, Lucien,” I say, my voice shaky but resolute. “I won’t become a monster like you just to satisfy my ambition.”
Lucien’s smile falters. “Shame,” he says, a flicker of something almost like surprise—or maybe grudging respect—passing over his face before it hardens back into that mask of cold resolve. “You had such promise.”
A cruel smile twists his lips as he rips the knife from me and lifts the blade, turning to face the rest of the Veil. A ripple of excitement moves through the room as several members step forward, lifting their hands toward Lucien in silent reverence. The others begin to sway in unison, their chanting beginning again, louder, more feverish. The sound vibrates through the cold stone walls, echoing through the chamber. Even if I still can’t understand the language, I’m certain of the purpose now.
They’re death chants.
