Page 16 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

Salem’s Fall, Massachusetts

L ucky purrs against my pillow, curled into a tight little ball at my head as the early morning light filters through the windows of my room at the Cottage.

I lie in bed, my body aching from the events of the night before.

I still can’t believe I was attacked on the streets of Salem’s Fall, which is both terrifying and shocking.

But even more shocking? Being saved by Damien Blackhollow.

Why is he here?

How did he find me?

Lucky snuggles in closer, as if he knows I’m still a bit rattled. I reach up and scratch him behind the ears, feeling the comfort of his sleek, soft fur under the pads of my fingers. The light vibration of his purring relaxes me.

That is, until my phone blares with an incoming call.

“Woodsen!” Quinn barks, his voice sharp. “What the hell is going on?”

I wince, holding the phone away from my ear.

“Good morning to you too, Quinn,” I say, sitting up in bed. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and squint at the screen. It’s barely 7 a.m. “Everything okay?”

“Blackhollow called me last night. Said you were attacked.” Quinn’s voice is strained, like he’s been holding back his frustration all night. “What’s wrong with you? I told you to be careful!”

I groan into the phone.

Fucking Damien.

Any gratitude I felt toward the man for the rescue last night vanishes. No doubt, Quinn is going to order me back home immediately, unless I can somehow talk my way out of it.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it under control,” I say, keeping my tone even. “It was nothing. Just a mugging. Damien showed up, and the guy ran off.”

“ Just a mugging? Are you insane?” he sputters. “You need to come back to Boston. Now, Woodsen.”

“Listen, Quinn. I’m close to something here,” I say, balling the bed sheets into my fists. “The meeting with Professor Hargrove went great last night. I’ve got some real leads now. Hargrove mentioned a place—Strega’s Hollow—that might be connected to all of this. I need to check it out.”

“Blackhollow said you could’ve died last night.

” Quinn’s frustration is palpable, but I can hear the concern beneath it.

“And now I’ve got him in my ear, telling me my junior associate is running around Salem’s Fall, half-cocked, jeopardizing the case—and her own safety—while being targeted by God knows who. ”

“I’m not jeopardizing anything!” I snap. “You have to trust me, Quinn. Give me a little credit, please. I’m telling you, if I don’t follow up on this lead, we could be missing something important.”

He’s silent for a beat, and I can tell he’s trying to rein in his emotions.

“Fine,” he says at last, his voice softening a bit. “Strega’s Hollow and then home right after. No more unnecessary risks. Okay, Woodsen? ”

“Sure,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back like a little kid, because something in my gut tells me this may be a lie.

I have no idea what I’ll find at Strega’s Hollow, but I have a feeling my work in Salem’s Fall is far from done. There’s something here, I just know it, and I don’t think I’m going to find all the answers in just a few hours.

He sighs into the phone, and I can tell I’m not fooling him. Quinn knows me way too well. It’s a problem.

“James—”

“I’ll report back after Strega’s Hollow.” I rush to hang up before he can say anything else. “Gotta go. Lucky’s whining for breakfast.”

I drag myself out of bed, yawning as Lucky now waits expectantly by his food bowl.

The cat is too smart for his own damn good.

The dish clinks as I fill it, and he purrs, rubbing against my ankles before devouring his breakfast. Once he’s settled, I turn to my own tasks, sifting through a flood of emails and drafting a case memo for Quinn, detailing everything I’ve uncovered in the last twenty-four hours.

By the time I glance at the clock, it’s nearly noon.

I hop into the shower, getting ready for my visit to Strega’s Hollow.

As the warm water pours down on me, my thoughts revert back to last night.

After Damien appeared and took down the masked man with shocking ease, he helped me back to the Cottage without a word, just a steady hand at my back.

He saw me safely inside, promised we’d talk in the morning, and then vanished again back into the dark.

Hours later, I still can’t seem to shake the image of him emerging from the shadows to save me—calm, controlled, and lethal.

How in the world was he able to get the upper hand on a dangerous thug? Unarmed, no less? He’s tall and muscular, sure, but he’s just a rich playboy businessman.

After I dry off and put my hair into a bun, I apply a bit of mascara and some gloss, and pick out a suit.

It’s a plum-colored wool skirt set, professional but cute, perfect for the cool autumn weather.

I pair it with tights and my favorite chunky Mary Jane platform shoes.

I’m overdressed for the day, but it never hurts to look professional.

One thing I’ve learned—people are quick to dismiss someone who looks like me.

Young. Blonde. Female. Dressing to be taken seriously doesn’t always fix the problem, but it helps.

As I step into the Cottage lobby, I’m greeted by the scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice.

The place has a warm, lived-in charm. Dark wood paneling lining the walls.

Worn leather couches and comfy-looking armchairs.

Dried cornstalks and mini pumpkins set about as decorations.

Tourists are everywhere, decked out in chunky sweaters and scarves, chatting excitedly about their plans for the day.

Activities like ghost tours, tarot readings, and visiting witch memorials.

I stride over to the self-serve coffee bar and pour myself a steaming cup from the industrial-sized pot. There’s a bottle of pumpkin spice syrup on the counter, but I pass, opting to keep my coffee strong and simple.

I take a long sip, letting the bitter taste warm me completely, and grab a freshly baked pumpkin muffin from the food tray nearby. With my coffee and pastry in hand, I feel ready to take on the world. But the moment I step outside the Cottage, I freeze.

Damien Blackhollow leans against the side of a sleek black Mercedes Maybach, arms folded across his chest. His eyes flick up to meet mine, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips like he’s been waiting for me.

“Damien?” I take a step back, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens, his tall frame casting a shadow across the cobblestone street. “Making sure you don’t get yourself killed. ”

“Are you following me?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

“I don’t keep stumbling upon you by chance, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shrugs, unbothered by the accusation in my tone. “Quinn said you hadn’t left town yet—despite my clear orders. I came to escort you back to Boston. It’s not safe for you here.”

My jaw drops, incredulous at his nerve.

“So you decided to stalk me?”

He chuckles softly. “Stalking is a bit of a stretch.”

I cross my arms, stepping closer. “I assure you, Damien, I’m a grown woman and can handle myself just fine,” I say. “I know you’re the client, and I respect that, but you need to respect that I have a responsibility to do my job—the job you hired me for.”

His expression hardens, morphing into something more serious.

“You think you know what you’re dealing with, but you don’t. You have no idea what’s going on here,” he says.

“Then tell me.”

“Come with me back to Boston,” he says and opens the car door, motioning me inside, “and perhaps I’ll consider your request.”

“You’re impossible!” I shake my head, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m trying the best I can to help you win this case. If you have information, why in the world wouldn’t you share it with me? Unless—” I hesitate as a dark thought occurs to me. But no, I can’t say that.

“Unless what?”

I know I should keep my mouth shut. Even if it feels like the lines between us are growing fuzzy, he’s still the client. But I can tell by his expression that he’s already guessed my thoughts.

“Unless it’s something you don’t want us to know…”

“Careful, James. ”

I can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something just beneath the surface.

“Why are you really here?” I ask.

He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “I told you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He sounds sincere, but something feels off. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not about my safety at all, but that he’s worried about what I might uncover here in Salem’s Fall. I’m certain Damien is keeping something from me—but what?

“I’m not some damsel in distress, and I don't need a bodyguard.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “I would’ve thought last night—your little scare—would’ve sent you packing. It should’ve been enough for any sensible person with even a shred of self-preservation, at least.”

“Some random mugger?” I frown. “Why would that make me leave town?”

His gaze flickers, lingering a second too long.

“Oh. Is that what it was?”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach twist. I think back to last night, to the way the masked man had appeared out of nowhere. He hadn’t tried to grab my purse or anything. Just lunged straight for me. That was strange for a mugging, sure, but what else could he have wanted from me?

I back away from Damien and his fancy car. “Listen, thanks for your chivalrous offer, but I’m staying. Besides, I have my own ride,” I say. “I drove here with Lucky, and he’s still sleeping.”

Something tightens in his jaw. “Lucky? I wasn’t aware you were… attached.”

If I didn’t know better, I would think Damien was jealous.

I smile lightly. “He’s my cat.”

“Oh.” His expression brightens. “I love cats. ”

“Really?” I raise a brow. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Is that so? And what type do I seem like to you?”

Dark. Dangerous. Possibly murderous.

But, of course, I can’t say any of that out loud to a client. Instead, I shrug and avoid his question.

“Thank you for your help last night and for checking on me today,” I say, inching away from him. “But I’m afraid I must be on my way now.”

“And where exactly are you going?” he asks, lips twitching.

“Strega’s Hollow. I was told it might be important to your case.”

His eyes narrow. “Strega’s Hollow, you say? I’ll go with you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I must insist,” he says. “If I can’t persuade you to go home, then I’m coming with you.”

Annoyance flickers at me, but I have to tread carefully.

“It will be faster if I go alone. Clients don’t usually accompany us on investigations,” I say. “Besides, I don’t want to bore you. This is just a kitschy little witch memorial. A tourist trap.”

“Strega’s Hollow is more dangerous than you realize.”

I feel the hairs on my arms rise.

“Dangerous, how?”

“During the trials, it was a place where witches performed some of their most brutal rituals. That kind of… activity… leaves scars on the land.”

“There were no witches.” I scoff. “Just innocent people accused of crimes they didn’t commit.”

“Is that right?” His gaze sharpens, his voice dropping lower.

“If you keep poking around Salem’s Fall, digging into things you don’t understand, bad things will happen.

” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch lingering.

“You need to be more careful. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…

not like what happened to poor Mark, your coworker.

” A slow, deliberate tongue click. “Pity.”

My breath catches. “That was an accident.”

Damien holds my gaze, studying me in a way that sends an uneasy pulse through me. “Was it?”

I try to keep my face impassive, but my mind is racing.

Okay, yes, even though the official ruling from the authorities was a car accident, I still have my own doubts about the circumstances surrounding Mark’s death.

I’ve suspected something far more nefarious ever since the threatening email I received.

But Damien wouldn’t know about that, right?

I certainly never said anything to him. I never said anything to anyone except?—

“Quinn told you?” I stare at him, a bit annoyed.

“Of course, Quinn told me. He works for me. As do you, though you seem to keep forgetting that,” he says, taking a step closer. “You want to go to Strega’s Hollow today—fine. But you’re not going alone.”

“You may be my client, but you can’t tell me what to do?—”

“I can and I will,” he cuts me off. “And if you want to keep working for me, you’d better learn to be a bit more accommodating .”

He says it in a way that makes it crystal clear I don’t have a choice. Not if I want to stay on the highest profile case of the decade with the firm’s most important new client.

“Fine,” I mutter, “but don’t get in my way.”

He smiles, a dangerous, magnetic smile that sends a jolt of electricity through me. “I’ll do my very best.”