Chapter 24 #2
Silas Blackhollow is dangerous. He has lied to me, frightened me, manipulated me, and even admitted to arranging my kidnapping. A well-fitted tuxedo and a moment of sincere flattery do not erase any of that.
I just wish my body agreed with my brain.
“Just remember, this is not a date,” I say, though I probably need the reminder more than he does.
“I’m aware.” He exhales through his nose, suspiciously close to a laugh. “I believe I was the one who established that.”
The silence between us is unexpectedly comfortable as we drive out of town.
I watch Salem’s Fall pass by in a wash of snow and warm light, Gallows Street even lovelier now that winter has fully settled over it.
Horse-drawn sleighs move beneath snow-covered wreaths, while horned-beast ice sculptures and Krampus figures stand guard in places Santa Claus would in any other town.
Even at Christmas, Salem’s Fall never quite abandons its spooky roots.
Before long, the wrought-iron gates of Blackthorn Manor emerge from the darkness ahead, draped in garlands and thousands of tiny lights.
Fresh snow blankets the estate grounds as we drive inside, ancient oak branches heavy with it.
The manor stands just beyond, immense and majestic, every window glowing amber against the night.
Smoke curls from the chimneys and disappears into the dark sky.
“I still can’t believe you live here,” I say, in awe of so much beauty.
“It’s less impressive when you know half the rooms are impossible to keep warm.”
I laugh. “If you’re trying to make Blackthorn Manor sound relatable, you should just give up now.”
“I’m simply warning you not to use the rooms in the east wing.”
We follow the caravan of luxury vehicles and limousines down the drive and stop at the valet stand. Silas helps me out of the car and leads me toward the covered entrance. The last time I came here, I snuck in through the side like a criminal. Tonight, I walk through the front door on Silas’s arm.
Warmth closes around me as we step inside, along with the scents of pine, mulled wine, and something vaguely sweet like homemade gingerbread.
We pass beneath crystal ornaments hanging from the grand chandeliers, catching the light like icicles, and then weave between towering arrangements of evergreen, deep-red poinsettias, and the same vivid orange roses that fill the gardens outside the manor.
Beside the grand staircase, a Christmas tree nearly two stories high towers over the crowd, decorated in silver and black glass ornaments.
Someone takes my coat, and tuxedoed waiters greet us with crystal flutes of champagne as we follow the music into the ballroom, where a twelve-piece orchestra plays a classic Christmas song.
Elegant guests mingle on the dance floor and around the bars, a healthy mix of New England socialites, politicians, and even a few actors and athletes I recognize from TV.
Wren spots me, her face brightening as she crosses the room with Lena and Micah close behind. She wears a deep red satin dress while Lena is in a silver suit tailored sharply enough to qualify as a weapon. Micah has somehow acquired a dark charcoal dinner jacket and looks delighted with himself.
“Wow! You look incredible, Jack,” Wren says, taking my hands and pulling me into a hug.
“So do you,” I say.
Micah looks a bit shocked as he notices Silas at my side. “Should I even ask?”
“Please don’t,” I say. “I’m already regretting this.”
“I’m standing right here,” Silas says.
“Hence my regret.”
Silas chuckles, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. My friends look at him, stunned. I’m not sure they’ve ever heard him laugh before. Until recently, I wasn’t entirely sure he knew how.
After my friends wander off to get drinks, I smile over at Silas. “I’m surprised they made the guest list,” I say. “They don’t exactly run in Blackhollow circles.”
“I thought you might enjoy having your friends here tonight.”
I straighten, my mouth falling open. “You invited them for me?”
His lips curve slightly as he reaches for another glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Don’t make a thing of it, Mercer.”
Shit.
My chest tightens uncomfortably. That’s really… sweet. And thoughtful. And unexpectedly UnSilas. It’s giving me those damn warm and fuzzy feelings I don’t want to have for anyone—least of all him.
Thankfully, my friends return moments later, and I do my best to stamp out any pesky emotions.
Micah complains that the canapés aren’t as sweet as he likes while Wren points out that he’s eaten twelve of them.
Silas recommends a table near the conservatory where the Blackhollow pastry chefs have hidden the best desserts for the biggest donors.
A new song begins, something slow and melancholy. Lena looks toward the dance floor, blinking hard.
“Are you okay?” Wren asks, squeezing her hand.
“I’m sorry,” Lena says. “I was just thinking about the last time I was dancing—with Jonah.”
I wrap an arm around Lena and pull her against me. Wren moves in on her other side, and for a moment, the three of us just hold on to each other, the sadness settling over us. Jonah should be here too.
Micah notices the change in us but doesn’t quite understand. “He never did like parties but always enjoyed dancing, huh?” he asks. “I hope his parents let him come back next semester.”
Lena’s mouth trembles into a smile. “Wherever he is, I just want him to be happy.”
The orchestra shifts into a faster, more upbeat song, and Micah wipes his sticky hands on a napkin, then discards it and gives Wren a shy smile. “Would you like to dance?”
Wren blinks. “Me?”
“No, Silas,” Micah says, deadpan. “Yes—you.”
Silas looks offended. “Shame. I was about to accept.”
That gets another laugh from my friends as Micah leads Wren toward the dance floor. Lena follows, finding a pretty girl in a gold gown and asking her to dance.
My eyes catch on Lucien, moving among his guests with effortless charm, first dancing with an elderly female donor, then kissing the hand of a university trustee.
Flanking him are Georgina’s parents and the Ashcrofts, all charming smiles and old money.
In the same circle, I recognize the governor, two U.S.
senators, and a professional athlete from one of Boston’s major sports teams.
I lean close to Silas. “Are they all Veil?”
“Some.”
“Which ones?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
I roll my eyes. “Ha ha.”
Most of The Rites competitors and their families are here too. I spotted Van and his brute partner watching me earlier with open hostility, while Rowan and Georgina dance together now, their gazes occasionally drifting toward Silas and me with obvious displeasure.
Silas seems unbothered by any of it. Almost… happy.