Epilogue
New Year’s Eve arrives beneath another wave of fresh snow.
Blackthorn Manor looks like a gothic winter fairytale castle, something lifted from another century, every stone dusted white, every window glowing gold against the blue-gray evening.
The holiday decorations from the Winter Solstice Gala are still up.
Wreaths hanging from tall windows, garlands winding along stone railings.
Hundreds of tiny white lights shimmer across the grounds, reflecting against the snow until the entire estate seems suspended somewhere between winter and darkness.
Presently, I’m inside the media room, curled up on one corner of the enormous sofa, a fire crackling softly in the fireplace.
My new favorite holiday movie, Krampus, is paused on the TV.
The signature florals of the estate—orange roses—are everywhere.
Fresh arrangements fill crystal vases throughout the house, their warm color bright against the dark wood.
I still don’t know how the gardeners manage to keep them blooming in the middle of winter, but I’ve stopped asking about the weird things that occur in Salem’s Fall and just started accepting them.
A soft cashmere blanket is pulled up to my waist, and I’m wearing the coziest black cable-knit sweater in existence that absolutely does not belong to me.
Silas notices the second he walks into the room carrying two mugs. “You’re wearing my favorite sweater,” he says. “Again.”
I look down as though I’m surprised.
“This is yours?” I ask innocently, batting my eyes at him.
“You seem to have a problem stealing things at Blackthorn Manor. We may need to get you help.”
“I think it’s called ‘borrowing’?”
“You are impossible.” He sighs, but there’s too much affection in his eyes for me to take him seriously. Then he sets both mugs on the coffee table and drops onto the couch beside me.
I take a sip of my drink, savoring the richness of the cocoa.
The black tourmaline ring now on my finger catches the firelight as I lift the mug.
Silas insisted I wear his ring the moment I got back to town.
For protection, he’d said. And power. It once belonged to his mother, a gift from his father many years ago for much the same reason.
Apparently, some traditions are worth repeating.
It starts to snow harder outside, but the fire fills the room with enough warmth that the windows have begun to fog around the edges. Or maybe that’s just the heat coming from Silas.
I can’t get enough of him.
In the three days since I got back to Salem’s Fall, we have barely made it out of his bedroom—or the shower, or once, memorably, the kitchen counter before Edward Jottingsworth the Second nearly walked in on us.
I’ve become insatiable where Silas Blackhollow is concerned.
He only has to look at me a certain way, low and heavy-lidded, and I forget entire trains of thought mid-sentence.
“So,” Silas says, lifting his drink, “I imagine Josh is excited to come back to Salem’s Fall in a few weeks. Lucien said he’ll be able to resume his studies.”
Warmth spreads through me at the thought. “He’s ecstatic.”
The first few days after Josh came home, I don’t think any of us slept. Mom and I kept expecting him to disappear every time we looked away. She cried every morning for five days straight.
As far as Mom knows, Josh was kidnapped by a bunch of crazed Vanished superfans.
It was such a thin, ridiculous cover-up story, but she chose to let it go or believe it.
I’m not sure which. Now that I know all about my father and his connection to the Veil, I’m certain she knows far more than she lets on.
But if she wants to ignore the topic, I don’t want to push her.
Josh doesn’t seem to recall much after Veil Night.
Or if he does, then he doesn’t want to share it.
He claims the last year was like one long peaceful dream. That sounds so lovely, I want to believe it’s true. For once, I decide not to look too closely or ask any more questions.
“Josh says he wants to finish his game. He also informed me he’s removing the Salem’s Fall round,” I say. “He claims his next project is going to be much safer.”
Silas raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yep. He’s doing the Bermuda Triangle instead.”
He considers this with complete seriousness.
“I suppose, statistically, he’s correct. The survival rate is probably higher.”
I laugh softly. “I told him the same thing.”
For a moment, I just sit there smiling, still amazed that I can talk about Josh like this. Like having him back is somehow normal again. But there is something I’ve been wondering ever since he came home.
“Did you know the Veil would give me the boon? I thought it belonged to you.”
“We both won The Rites, but I was chosen to lead,” Silas says, his mouth curving faintly. “I suppose the Veil decided awarding you the boon was only fair.”
I smile into my cocoa.
Of course. Ruthless killers, sure. But I always did say the Veil had manners.
“Though I imagine your little magic trick controlling all four elements didn’t hurt,” he adds, eyes glinting with amusement. “Quite impressive.”
Apparently, wielding all four elements makes me something of an anomaly.
I’m still learning how it all works. Magic is yet another closely guarded Veil secret.
The elders don’t talk about it with younger members, not until they’re old enough for their abilities to begin surfacing.
Some gifts appear on their own. Others don’t awaken until someone is pushed to their limits—and some members never manifest magic at all.
“Little trick?” I laugh. “Careful, Blackhollow. I can go all-powerful Fourth House on your ass anytime I want.”
“There’s my feisty girl.” He reaches over and brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch now is so familiar that I lean into it automatically, without thinking.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get a boon too.”
Silas is quiet for a moment. “But I did.”
I look up at him. “What? But I thought you just said—”
“You.” His eyes hold mine. “You were always what I wanted most.”
My heart does something embarrassingly stupid inside my chest.
“That’s disgustingly romantic, Blackhollow,” I say. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
He looks almost offended. “I pour my heart out and all I get is mockery. You’re the cruel one, Mercer.”
I smile. “I love you too.”
His palm settles lightly against my cheek, tilting my face up to him as his mouth finds mine with quiet confidence.
The kiss is sweet at first but quickly deepens, his other hand curling around the back of my neck as he pulls me closer until there’s no space left between us.
He shifts, guiding me back against the cushions, his weight settling over me in a way that pulls a small groan of need from somewhere low in his throat.
I answer it with one of my own, my fingers curling into his soft hair.
His mouth starts a hot trail from my lips to the corner of my jaw, unhurried, like he has every intention of taking his time with me.
Then a hand slides beneath the hem of my sweater, warm against my bare skin, fingers splaying low across my waist like he’s testing how much he can play with me before I break.
One teasing stroke of his tongue against mine and heat pools low in my stomach.
My hips lift greedily toward him, and he chuckles at my eagerness, deep and warm and throaty. The movie plays on, some distant, meaningless hum we’re no longer paying the slightest attention to, drowned out by the sound of his breath going as ragged and unsteady as mine.
His hand drifts lower, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of my pants—
“Enjoying the movie, I see?” a deep voice calls from the doorway.
I jerk away from Silas, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Silas’s parents—Damien and James—are standing in the hallway.
Damien Blackhollow is every bit as unfairly handsome as his son, his dark coat still dusted with snow from outside. Beside him stands his wife James, equally gorgeous, long bubblegum-pink scarf hanging loosely around her neck, blonde hair swept off her face with a matching pink headband.
“I’m going to pretend,” James says with perfect composure, “that I didn’t see any of that.”
Silas deadpans without missing a beat.
“Please do, Mother.”
James laughs first, and Damien follows. She crosses the room and, to Silas’s visible annoyance, ruffles his hair.
“Mother, please.”
“What, can’t I show affection to my baby boy?” she asks.
“Baby? I’ll be twenty-three next month.”
“You’ll always be my baby. I raised you,” she says. “I fed you.”
“Jottingsworth fed me,” Silas corrects.
“Silas, leave your poor mom alone.”
James grins, turning toward me. “We’re so glad our Silas found you, Jacqueline,” she says, and a pleased warmth rises to my cheeks. She glances affectionately at her husband. “You know, a Blackhollow man needs a strong woman.”
Damien slips an arm comfortably around his wife’s waist, smiling in that effortless, deeply familiar way that only comes from decades of choosing the same person over and over again.
“We sure do,” Damien agrees, gazing adoringly at his wife.
Silas groans. “I would like the record to reflect that this conversation is becoming unbearable.”
“You’ll survive,” Damien says. The four of us share an easy laugh as Damien squeezes his wife’s hand. “Well then, we’ll leave you two alone. See you at dinner.”
Silas’s parents disappear down the hallway still laughing together. He drops his head back against the sofa. “I apologize on behalf of my entire bloodline.”
“Oh, stop.” I bump my shoulder playfully against his. “Your parents are adorable.”
A soft thump lands on the cushion beside me. A large black cat with glowing yellow eyes has entered the room, jumping onto the sofa without the slightest concern for invitations. He circles once, headbutting me with bossy persistence until I reach down and pet him.
“Well, hello to you too, boy.”
It’s the same cat from Salem’s Fall University.
Almost impossibly, he showed up at Blackthorn Manor the day after I arrived, wandering around the snowy grounds, mewling and crying, until we let him inside the house.
He hasn’t left since, feasting on home-cooked gourmet meals Jottingsworth has prepared for him, as if he’s been here living in Blackthorn Manor forever.
I sort of suspect maybe he has.
The cat purrs loudly, accepts a few scratches beneath his chin, then decides I have served my purpose. A moment later, he hops into Silas’s lap, curls into a perfect black ball, and immediately falls asleep.
As I watch them together, I think of all those times Lucky appeared, seemingly trying to protect me from danger or help me find answers.
Suddenly, they feel considerably less coincidental.
I begin to wonder if it had something to do with the beautiful man whose lap the cat is currently sprawled across.
“You know we have to talk about this,” I say, giving Silas a meaningful look.
He looks up from absentmindedly scratching behind the cat’s ears.
“What?”
“I understand now that magic exists,” I say.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I understand witches exist.”
He nods. “Correct.”
“I understand my brother died and somehow the Veil brought him back.”
“Something like that, yes.”
I point at the cat. “So I think you can finally tell me the truth about this. Why does your mother’s dead cat Lucky keep following me around?”
Silas slowly closes his eyes. One long, theatrical sigh escapes him. “I’ve been hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”
I burst out laughing. “No more lies,” I remind him. “Truth only from now on.”
Instead of answering, he leans over and kisses my forehead as Lucky stretches contentedly between us.
“Another time,” he says. “It’s a long story.”
Inside, the fire begins to burn low, the light reflecting off the orange roses that brighten the room. The people I love are finally safe, and for the first time in a very long time, I am not wondering what comes next or chasing a mystery I need to solve.
I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.