Chapter 29
By the third week of December, Salem’s Fall University has surrendered almost entirely to winter. Snow blankets the dead lawns and clings to the old stone buildings, the Winter Solstice only days away and Christmas close behind.
I’ve been doing my best to pretend life is still normal, and nothing on a college campus is more aggressively normal than finals week.
Somehow, while I’m fighting to survive the Veil and The Rites, I’m also expected to study for exams. Because apparently facing death at every turn is no excuse for failing a semester final.
I’ve been sitting at the same table in the Ashcroft Library for nearly four hours, surrounded by notes for my Microeconomics final, my textbooks, and a coffee that went cold sometime before sunset.
The library smells like Christmas threw up in it.
Garlands threaded with dried oranges and cinnamon sticks droop above the circulation desk and on bookshelves.
Somewhere near the entrance, instrumental carols play softly enough not to disturb anyone, though the tinny rendition of “Jingle Bells” has repeated so many times that I’m beginning to suspect it was selected as a form of psychological torture.
I should be studying.
Instead, I keep staring at supply-and-demand graphs without absorbing a thing, my thoughts circling everything I’m trying not to think about—Mom, Josh, Silas, and the fact that there are now only eight contestants left in The Rites.
I haven’t seen Mom in weeks. I keep promising myself I’ll go home for Christmas since I missed Thanksgiving. Assuming I’m still alive, that is.
A few months ago, death was something that happened to other people.
I’d carried the quiet, irrational certainty that I had decades ahead of me—that there would always be more time.
Now I think about dying almost every day.
Three trials have passed, and more than half of the twenty people who began The Rites with me are already dead. Most nights, I’m certain I’ll be next.
At least there’s only one trial remaining.
Four directions, four elements—four trials. Silas all but confirmed it a few days ago, after saving my life in the harbor. I don’t know if it was a Blackhollow secret he wasn’t supposed to share, but according to him, there should only be one trial left.
Should.
That’s what Silas was taught, anyway, though he’s warned me the Veil’s rules have a way of changing when you least expect them to.
I lift my gaze from the pages of my books and look around the library.
I picked the quietest table in the place, far away from everyone else, tucked into a darkened corner.
Across the room, students cram for finals, their faces illuminated by laptop screens and green-shaded reading lamps.
One guy flips through a stack of flashcards while two women in SFU sweatshirts share a bag of candy beneath a sign threatening expulsion for anyone caught with food.
No one else is playing a deadly game run by a ruthless secret society and trying to uncover what happened to their missing brother.
Their greatest immediate danger is failing organic chemistry.
For a moment, the sheer absurdity of it all nearly overwhelms me. I’m studying for finals as though my grades matter, when in all probability, I’ll be dead before Christmas.
“You look troubled.”
Georgina’s voice reaches me before her perfume does, something expensive and darkly musky. She stands across from my table in a tailored ivory wool coat, her raven-dark hair smooth despite the snow outside. She doesn’t wait for an invitation before pulling out the chair opposite mine and sitting.
“I’m studying, Georgina,” I say, lowering my voice even though no one else is within reasonable hearing distance. “Was there something you needed?”
She closes the book in front of me, forcing my full attention.
“You know Silas is using you, don’t you?”
Her expression remains composed. There’s no anger in it, no jealousy. It’s as if she’s just stating a fact. Somehow, that makes her words even worse.
I let out a disbelieving groan. “Did you seriously come all the way over here just to tell me that?”
“He loves me,” she says, resting her perfectly manicured hands neatly on the tabletop. “He’s always loved me. Our families made promises long before you ever arrived here.”
The certainty in her voice is so absolute that, for one second, I almost admire it.
“Okay.” I lean back and study her. “Then why did he ask to partner with me? Why didn’t he pick you, if the two of you are so desperately in love?”
A small smile touches her mouth. “Because keeping you close is helpful.”
“Helpful for what?”
“For winning,” she says. “You’re an unknown variable, Jack.
You’re the only one Silas can’t predict.
It’s much easier to make sure someone doesn’t beat you when you keep them within reach.
” She idly straightens the corner of one of my notebooks, as if we’re discussing something perfectly ordinary.
“Once The Rites are over, Silas will take his rightful place as leader of the Veil, and the two of us will rule together. Whatever you think exists between you is temporary.”
“You seem awfully sure of yourself.”
“Because I’m right.”
“Sure.” I fold my arms, refusing to let her see how deeply the word temporary lodges beneath my skin. “So explain something to me then, Georgina. If Silas is using me, why does he keep saving my life?”
Her expression changes, something softening around her eyes. It takes me a second to recognize it as pity. “Oh, Jack,” she murmurs. “He isn’t saving you. He’s playing the game.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of the table as irritation flares into anger.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s a Blackhollow,” she says. “He was raised for this since birth. He knows the structure of The Rites, the old stories, the qualities each trial is designed to expose. You’re stumbling blindly from one test to another while he already knows what answer they want.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“The First Trial rewarded guardianship, so he protected you.” She cuts me off, her eyes narrowing.
“The second rewarded clarity. You recognized the wind and bell patterns, and he trusted you enough to listen. The third rewarded wisdom. Silas understood that the trial wasn’t really about who could stay underwater the longest. It was about knowing when the life of your partner mattered more than winning. ”
Memories of that awful night at the harbor return in a rush. The crushing black water. My lungs convulsing. The bell rope jerking uselessly in my hand, and Silas diving in after me.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “He gave up the Third Trial to save me. He would’ve won if he’d let me drown.”
She lets out a smug little laugh.
“Would he?” she asks. “You still came in second. And Silas walked away looking like the one man who understood the trial better than anyone. No future leader would stand on a dock and watch his partner drown.” Georgina leans closer, a hint of satisfaction entering her voice.
“He knew exactly what he was doing. A Blackhollow always knows.”
A pulse beats hard beneath my jaw. She’s wrong. She didn’t see Silas’s face beneath the water, or afterward, when we finally made it onto land. He was terrified—for me. Whatever Georgina says, he couldn’t have faked that.
Could he?
And then there’s what happened underwater and whatever the hell Silas did to get me out of that chair and back to the surface. Maybe I hallucinated the impossible part. Maybe he didn’t actually control the water. But I didn’t hallucinate him saving my life.
“You don’t know what happened out there.”
“I know Silas better than you ever will,” she says. “Wake up, Jack. You think he chose you? He chose the correct answer.” She rises slowly from her chair. “Leave before the Fourth Trial. You won’t survive it.”
“You know the Veil won’t let me.”
“Then perhaps Silas will solve that problem for you.” She knots the scarf around her neck tighter and slides on her gloves with deliberate care. “Accidents happen all the time in this town,” she says, her smile thin and bloodless. “It is Salem’s Fall, after all.”
I remain perfectly still as she walks away, disappearing into the stacks without looking back.
I know Georgina is jealous. That’s all this is.
Silas chose me as his partner, so she’s trying to make me doubt him.
Perhaps she even knows what happened between us that night at Blackthorn Manor at the gala.
Her little performance is completely transparent. And pathetic.
By the time the library announces it will be closing soon, darkness has pressed itself against the windows, and the snow has thickened into a white curtain beyond the glass. I’m busy shoving my textbooks and notes into my bag when my phone vibrates against the table.
Silas.
My heart gives one eager leap before I immediately tamp it down, annoyed with myself for my reaction.
Can we talk? Come by my room. 9:00.
Another beep a moment later.
Please.
I read the message twice, then a third time, lingering on the final word. I can’t imagine Silas saying please unless something really matters. He isn’t in the habit of ever having to ask for anything.
Maybe he wants to talk about us?
Our conversation by the harbor before the Third Trial didn’t exactly go how I’d wanted. Maybe he regretted it too.
I’m smiling as I leave the library, though the bitter cold wipes it from my face almost immediately.
Silas warned me not to walk alone after dark, but the usual route to the dorms is well lit and busy with students studying late for finals.
Unfortunately, it also adds ten minutes to my walk, and I’m freezing my ass off and eager to see him.