Chapter 18
Iwake before my alarm. For several seconds, I lie perfectly still beneath the old threadbare blanket in my dorm room, staring into the gray November light outside my windows.
The radiator clicks on. Rain taps softly against the glass. A normal morning in Salem’s Fall. Nothing appears different. And yet… everything has changed.
It has been five days since Veil Night.
Five days since I discovered that nearly everyone I trusted belongs to the secret society I’d spent months trying to uncover—a society responsible for my brother’s disappearance.
Five days since Rowan betrayed me, a room full of people debated whether to kill me, Silas prevented them from doing so, and Lucien Blackhollow entered my name into a competition where death is not merely possible but highly likely.
I still know little about what The Rites entail, though I’m not sure knowing more would help me. Charles Alden—Georgina’s father and apparently a senior “elder” in the Veil—had been appointed to chaperone me home after Veil Night because I had no recognized family representative at the ceremony.
I had to give the Veil credit. They might be ruthless killers, but they did have manners.
During the drive back to my dorm, Alden had explained the minimum their laws required me to know about The Rites.
He had done it without softness, but not without integrity.
There had been something judicial in the way he delivered each fact, as though fairness mattered.
For all Georgina’s hostility, her parents seemed surprisingly decent.
I learned that the Veil was governed by whichever house prevailed in The Rites.
For generations, that meant the Blackhollows.
They were considered the strongest and the most capable of maintaining order among the families.
Most recently, leadership of the Veil had passed from Lucien’s grandfather to his father, Ian Blackhollow, whose murder fractured the organization and nearly sparked an internal war.
A faction of the Hawthornes was responsible.
Van’s parents. They believed Ian had grown weak and that the Veil required different leadership.
During the subsequent power struggle, Lucien had ultimately taken his father’s place and has ruled as Veil Leader ever since.
If the Blackhollows retain power after The Rites, Silas will presumably inherit that position.
But not everyone believes the Blackhollows should continue to lead.
Some think their reign has lasted long enough.
Others resent Lucien’s rule. And then there are families like the Aldens that don’t openly oppose the Blackhollows—they simply recognize an opportunity to claim leadership for themselves.
The Rites last approximately seven weeks, ending on the Winter Solstice—the Dark Solstice, as the Veil calls it. During that time, every claimant will be tested during trials for strength, judgment, ability, and leadership potential.
Whatever the hell that means.
Alden did not tell me how many trials to expect, what form they would take, or how competitors would be ranked.
Maybe those details aren’t known ahead of time.
Or, more likely, he isn’t obligated to tell me.
The trials are not announced in advance.
When one is ready to begin, I will receive a summons telling me where to be and when.
I cannot withdraw. I could die—many contestants will. And, above all, if I tell anyone outside the Veil about any of this, the punishment is death.
I am so completely screwed.
Every other claimant has known about The Rites their entire lives.
They have families who trained them, histories they were taught, rules they understand without explanation.
They know how the Veil thinks. They know what the trials are meant to reward and what mistakes get people killed.
They have friends and allies within the competition.
I have a few “borrowed” occult books, and a growing list of people who want me dead.
Van, certainly. Georgina, probably. Rowan—I’d trusted him, and he personally delivered me to the Veil for a public execution. Whatever the reason, it is safe to say he does not have my best interests at heart.
Then there are Wren, Lena, and Jonah, the people I thought were my friends.
All three knew the Veil existed and lied to my face for months.
A part of me can understand why they couldn’t tell me about the Veil now that I know revealing its secrets means death, but understanding does not restore trust. In a few days—or hours—they will be expected to compete against me.
They may decide friendship matters less than survival.
And then there’s Silas.
He’s the most confusing of them all.
He saved my life. That is a fact I keep returning to, no matter how much I distrust the reasoning behind it.
He had every opportunity to remain silent on Veil Night and allow my execution, but he spoke up for me.
Perhaps because he knew I had a legitimate claim to enter The Rites, whatever that means.
Perhaps he wants me alive because he needs me for something I don’t yet know.
Or maybe he’s just a sadist who wants to play with me a little longer before watching me die.
And somewhere inside all of this is Josh.
That is still the question no one has yet answered.
I know now he was at Veil Night last year, but there were no Rites then.
He must’ve been at another type of ceremony.
Either he went voluntarily or he was forced against his will or tricked like I was.
Maybe he is being held by the Veil now, either as leverage or as part of the competition.
Alden had told me there are twenty claimants in The Rites, but I have no way of knowing who they all are. Some were wearing masks on Veil Night.
What if Josh was there, and I just didn’t see him?
Or what if my worst fear is true? What if Josh went to Strega’s Hollow last year and never left?
Everything I have done so far has been for my brother, but I thought Veil Night was the answer. Now I realize it was just the invitation. I am no longer trying to understand what the Veil is. I am inside it. Now I have a new goal: survive The Rites long enough to find my brother.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in Principles of Microeconomics.
Rain streaks the classroom windows as Professor Ames lectures about shifts in demand and the factors that cause the demand curve to move.
Somehow, this feels like the most surreal part of all.
I’m competing in a deadly contest to determine who will rule a centuries-old secret society, and I’m still expected to understand price elasticity.
Throughout class, I keep expecting the doors to open and someone to announce that I have thirty minutes to report to the First Trial. Every person that stares at me a bit too long or smiles strangely is now a perceived threat.
Are they in the game?
Are they plotting my demise?
The uncertainty is the worst part. At least if I knew when the First Trial was and who all the competitors were, I would know what to fear.
The day drags on with lectures I have to fight to stay awake through and meals I can barely force down.
I eat alone in Winthrop Commons because I have no interest in sitting with Wren, Lena, and Jonah.
I watch as Micah joins them in blissful ignorance, unaware of all the secrets his “friends” are hiding from him.
He laments about the pumpkin muffins he baked that morning before ultimately declaring them inedible and helping himself to half of Wren’s fries instead.
I can’t decide whether I envy him or pity him.
After dinner, I return to my dorm and find an envelope pushed beneath my door.
It’s heavy and cream-colored, sealed with dark red wax stamped with a curved spiral, jagged lines radiating outward to intersect an inverted pentagram.
The Mark of the Veil. My mouth goes dry as I lock the door behind me and read.
The First Trial of the Watchtower of Earth begins tonight.
All claimants will present themselves at the Old Town Cemetery by midnight.
The North is watching.
There is no signature. No explanation. No indication of what waits below the cemetery or what I should expect.
At eleven twenty, I drive myself north through steady rain until I arrive at the cemetery.
The trees have already been stripped nearly bare by the upcoming winter season.
Weathered gravestones rise unevenly from the wet ground, some tilted so far, they appear to be sinking back into the earth.
Near the rear of the cemetery is one lone mausoleum that looms above the graves, pointing north, its roof black.
Two figures in dark robes wait beside the open iron door.
Neither asks my name as they gesture toward the stairs descending inside.
Of course there are stairs beneath the cemetery.
Once inside, I count nineteen other contestants gathered along the walls, most in clusters, talking with one another.
Some are students I’ve seen around campus.
Some are older, perhaps in their late twenties or even thirties.
A few are younger. I recognize the pretty blonde junior from my first dinner in the Commons.
Nicole, I think. She looks surprisingly relaxed given the situation, as if she’s been trained to conceal fear for years.
Wren. Lena. Jonah. Georgina. Van. Rowan. Silas. They’re all here too.
But no Josh.
The disappointment is so strong, I have to look away before anyone notices the moisture gathering in the corner of my eyes. I knew it was a long shot, but still… I had hoped.
“Jack.” Wren approaches, Lena and Jonah following close behind. None of them looks rested. “There you are,” she says, relief crossing her face. “I was worried you wouldn’t show.”
“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” I say.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” Lena says, almost accusatory. “Are you doing okay?”
The question is so ridiculous that I nearly laugh.