Chapter 9 #3
Professor Endicott’s eyes drift to one of the nearby exhibits.
“During the witch trials, a small circle of the accused were members of Salem’s Fall’s wealthiest and most powerful families,” she explains.
“Some say they banded together, not only to survive the trials but to ensure their wealth and influence endured long after. They called themselves the Order of the Veil. Legend says its members have quietly ruled this town ever since.” She pauses for a moment, tapping her cane gently at the floor.
“According to the ancient texts, the Blackhollows control the Veil, the Ashcrofts make it influential with their political power, and the Hawthornes brutally protect it.”
“So it’s a secret society, like the Freemasons or Skull and Bones at Yale?”
“Yes and no.” She shakes her head at me.
“Many believe that what began as a pact for self-preservation gradually became something far darker.” A few pictures on the wall stir despite the absence of wind.
Professor Endicott continues as though she hasn’t noticed.
“They say the Veil began to perform rituals—blood sacrifices—to harness supernatural power.”
“Come on, Bea. Are we seriously doing this again?” Rowan lets out a mocking laugh. “You’ve been trying to convince me my family was part of some deadly cult since I was a kid.”
“Mr. Ashcroft, I think we can all agree your family has had a supernaturally successful run in politics,” she says. “For hundreds of years, the Ashcrofts have enjoyed great power and prestigious positions as mayors, judges, senators, and even a few presidents. That cannot be just coincidence.”
“Nothing supernatural about it.” Rowan flashes a pearly white smile. “Ashcrofts just happen to be naturally charming.”
“What about the Fourth House?” I ask. “What does this have to do with them?”
“The what now?” she asks, her brow furrowing.
“The missing house, Professor,” I remind her. “You said you’d heard a theory why they went missing?”
“Oh yes.” She clasps her hands together. “They say the Fourth House was the moral compass of the Veil. It kept the other houses in check. Then, at some point, certain members wanted to resurrect the old ways and ancient rituals. The Fourth House objected, and not long after—poof!”
“Poof?” I repeat, confused.
“Gone. Vanished,” she says. “And whatever remained of their history disappeared with them.”
Behind her back, Rowan catches my eye and slowly circles a finger beside his temple.
I give him a warning look. Okay, so Professor Endicott may be a little off her rocker, but at least she’s forthcoming. She’s the only one at Salem’s Fall so far that’s been willing to talk about the Veil.
“What about Veil Night?” I ask, remembering the name of Josh’s uncompleted fourth level in Vanished. “How does that fit into all of this?”
“Hmm.” Professor Endicott frowns as she searches her memory. “I’m not sure I’ve heard that term before.”
“It was an unfinished part of Josh’s game,” I say.
“Perhaps he invented that part, then?” She shrugs. “He was a very creative student, always coming up with such unique and interesting concepts for his game.”
I glance at Rowan. “Your family never told you about any of this?”
“Why would they? It’s preposterous.” He rolls his eyes, letting out a laugh. “You should know Bea also believes my great-great-grandfather married a ghost.”
Professor Endicott pinches the bridge of her nose. “How many times do I have to tell you? That was your great-great-grandmother.”
“Oh right,” he says with a groan. “How could I forget?”
“Did Josh find anything concrete?” I press on. “Any actual evidence to support this theory about the Veil being a supernatural cult?”
“He claimed to find records I’d never seen.
” Professor Endicott’s expression turns thoughtful.
“Lucien Blackhollow granted him special access to review the private collections at Blackthorn Manor. I believe he may have found something of interest there. He also spent a great deal of time in Special Collections in the Ashcroft Library. He had help.” She taps one black nail against the table.
“A student worker. Eleanor Graves. Lovely girl. Very sweet. She helped retrieve a few books for him the weeks before Halloween.”
The room seems to contract, cold prickling across the back of my neck.
“Did you say… Eleanor Graves?”
“Poor dear.” Professor Endicott makes a sad clucking noise in the back of her throat. “She seems to have had an unfortunate accident, I recently heard.”
I shiver, seeing the bloodless stillness of Eleanor’s face again in my head.
“That was my roommate.”
“Oh no.” Professor Endicott’s face falls. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“What books did she help him access?”
Professor Endicott opens her mouth, then looks past me, and all the color drains from her face as she spots someone moving through the gallery beyond the staff alcove. I catch only the silhouette of a tall man passing between the display cases.
She rises abruptly. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this another time,” she says, apologizing. “We have an important donor visiting.”
“Professor Endicott—”
“Monday.” She cuts me off, her smile warm but strained. “Come to my office in the afternoon. We’ll speak more then.”