Chapter 24
Snow finally comes to Salem’s Fall on the first day of December. As I step outside my dorm, large, slow flakes drift through the dark, catching in the bare branches and whitening the shoulders of the stone gargoyles above Wintermere Hall. It’s the kind of snowfall people write holiday songs about.
The buildings of Salem’s Fall University glow beneath strands of white lights wrapped around columns and archways.
Evergreen wreaths hang from nearly every door.
Somewhere across the lawn, someone plays a Christmas carol on a guitar while a group of women sings along.
A snowball narrowly misses a frat guy carrying a six-pack from the market.
He promptly abandons the beer on a bench and tackles the culprit into a snowdrift.
I stand beneath the awning and watch them in envy. Normal people celebrating a normal winter. What must it be like to be them? How would it feel not to worry that each new day might be your last?
I can barely remember what normal feels like anymore.
Thanksgiving came and went without me going home because I just couldn’t fake everything being okay and eat microwaveable turkey and stuffing with Mom while wondering what life-endangering trial was up next.
I’d fed her some vague story about a big research project and an impossible professor that required me to remain on campus.
She’d believed me because she wanted to, or perhaps because I’ve become distressingly good at lying.
I still don’t know when the next trial will come, but at least I know it won’t be tonight.
This evening is the Winter Solstice Gala, a fundraiser for the Blackhollow Foundation and the fellowship program Lucien funds—the same one that brought Josh here.
According to the website, the money raised tonight supports exceptional students and researchers from around the world, giving bright young minds the opportunity to continue their work at Salem’s Fall University.
Naturally, there’s no mention that at least some of them are probably selected because the Veil believes they might be valuable.
Silas insisted I attend the gala with him.
Not as his date—a point he made sure to clarify multiple times—but because as The Rites playing field narrows, contestants have a tendency to eliminate one another outside the trials.
Though this is forbidden under Veil law, that only means people do it discreetly rather than not at all.
Silas claims being seen with him will discourage opportunists and make it clear I am under Blackhollow protection.
At least it gives me an excuse to wear a gorgeous dress.
I glance down at my emerald velvet gown, lifting the edge of my coat enough to see the rich color catching the early evening light. The neckline is elegant without being modest, the waist fitted, the skirt falling in a clean line to the floor. The color is nearly identical to my eyes.
I spent an irresponsible amount of money on it, but facing death on a weekly basis has altered my understanding of fiscal restraint. When there is a reasonable chance you may be murdered before the credit card bill arrives, extravagance begins to look less like irresponsibility.
My hair is down, curled softly over my shoulders, and I’m wearing the nicest jewelry I own, a pair of small, thin gold earrings my mother and Josh gave me for Christmas a few years ago.
I feel beautiful.
Though I’d never admit it out loud, I’m curious to know if Silas will agree.
I’m still trying to decide what that says about my sanity when something brushes against my ankle.
I look down to see the black cat with yellow eyes, gazing up at me as though he’s been waiting all evening to see me.
Snow has gathered along his back and between his ears, but he appears entirely unconcerned by the cold.
His eyes remain fixed on me with the same peculiar attentiveness as always.
I haven’t seen him in weeks and am happy to see he’s okay. I was a bit curious where he went, though I assumed his owners—whoever they were—were keeping him indoors more as the colder winter months of New England approached.
“Well, hello there, boy,” I say, crouching carefully, scratching beneath his chin.
He begins to purr with enough force that I feel the vibration through my glove. Again, I am struck by how much he resembles the cat in the painting at Lucien’s house at Blackthorn Manor, though I know logically it cannot be the same cat.
Headlights sweep across the quad and a long black town car glides to the curb. The chauffeur gets out, but before he can reach the rear door, it opens and Silas steps onto the snow. My heart does something violent and deeply unhelpful as he comes into view.
He is breathtaking in a tailored black tuxedo with a black shirt open at the collar rather than fastened with a tie. The lack of formality makes him look more human, less like the heir to a dangerous secret society that may or may not want me dead.
His gaze finds me and stops. For a moment, he simply stares, his eyes widening slightly as they take me in and sweep over me. Then he seems to catch himself and walks around the car, a frown settling over his handsome face.
“You’re outside,” he says. “Alone.” His jaw tightens before he adds, “At night.”
“I’m ten feet from the dorm.”
“That’s still outside, Mercer,” he says. “I warned you not to take any unnecessary chances. If you need to go somewhere alone after dark—don’t. Call me and I’ll make arrangements for someone to accompany you.”
“I was under the impression you were giving me a ride to the gala, not giving me a lecture.”
His lips twitch. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”
The cat presses impatiently against my knee.
“Stop being rude, Blackhollow,” I say, glancing down and smiling at the creature, “and say hi to my friend.”
Silas follows my gaze, and he stills again, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. It lasts only a heartbeat, so slight that I might have missed it if I hadn’t spent the past several weeks paying close attention to him and the emotions he tries to conceal.
The cat rises onto his hind legs and plants both front paws against Silas’s knee. Silas lets out a quiet laugh and scoops him into his arms with surprising ease.
“Hey, buddy,” he says.
“You know him?”
“You could say that. I’ve… seen him around campus.” The cat settles against Silas’s chest as though they’ve done this a hundred times. Silas scratches him behind one ear. “Hello, boy. You look well.”
I stare, the tenderness in his voice catching me unprepared.
He glances up at me. “What?”
“I just never imagined you as an animal person.” Something warm tugs at me at the sight. “It’s adorable. You’re holding a snow-covered cat like an infant.”
His brows draw together. “He started it.”
“That defense is not helping.”
Silas looks back down at the cat snuggled in his arms and smiles. Not the faint, controlled grin he uses when mocking someone. A real smile, warm and almost boyish. In that moment, it is impossible to connect the man in front of me to the man who ordered me kidnapped.
“I like animals,” he says. “I find they’re considerably more tolerable than most people.”
The admission catches me pleasantly off guard. “Me too,” I agree. “I begged Josh for a pet when we were kids, but he said feeding ourselves was expensive enough.”
A faint crease appears between his dark brows. He looks almost sad for me. “You never had one?”
“Nope.” I shrug. “It’s okay. I survived all right.”
His gaze turns teasing. “Debatable,” he says, and then rubs underneath the cat’s chin. “When I was a kid, I used to rescue injured rabbits and squirrels at Blackthorn Manor and spend weeks nursing them back to health. My mother thought it was sweet, but my father and Lucien were less amused.”
“Wow.” I stare at him. “Silas Blackhollow has a heart. Who knew?”
“Try not to sound so shocked.”
“Shocked? My entire understanding of reality has just shifted off its axis.”
“Very funny.” His expression turns wry. “At one point, I told my father I might become a veterinarian. But, alas, he informed me that running Blackhollow Industries was a more appropriate career path.”
I can’t help smiling. I like this version of Silas—the boy who rescued injured animals and once dreamed of doing something with his life that had nothing to do with the Blackhollow billion-dollar empire or the Veil.
An instant later, the cat twists free of his arms, landing lightly in the snow and then running beneath the hedges without so much as a goodbye.
“See? The cat agrees.” Silas chuckles. “I suppose animal care isn’t in my future.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask, watching with concern as the cat disappears into the night. “It’s getting cold. He shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Silas watches the hedges for a second.
“Don’t worry. He knows how to take care of himself.” He takes my hand and leads me to the car, opening the rear door before helping me out of my coat as I slide inside. “You look nice,” he says casually, almost as an afterthought.
I wait for more.
I spent almost two hours on my appearance tonight, something I never do. I even curled my hair and painstakingly applied more makeup than I ever wear. After all that effort, you look nice feels irritatingly inadequate, and I’m even more annoyed with myself for caring.
“That’s all?” I press.
His eyes move slowly over me, lingering on the way the emerald velvet molds to my curves before lifting to my face. Heat follows his gaze as surely as if he had touched me.
“Jesus, Mercer. You know you’re gorgeous,” he says roughly, swallowing hard. “You really don’t need me to say it out loud, do you?”
Something soft pulls beneath my ribs. The way he’s looking at me makes me want to melt into a pathetic little puddle at his feet. I want to fall into his arms and have him kiss me again, the way he did at the ball. And that tongue. Oh God, that tongue—
Wait.
What the hell is going on here?
No. No. No.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.