Page 49 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)
Boston, Massachusetts
T he quiet, comfortable hum inside the walls of Whitehall & Rowe feels almost surreal, the thick glass windows of the building holding back the roar of the Boston streets below like a barrier between the rest of the world and me.
I never thought I’d be so relieved to be back in my office, the smell of old, dusty files and printer ink surrounding me.
Outside, people are just beginning their Saturday mornings, walking dogs and going on coffee runs.
I got in early today to get some work done, but I won’t be staying late.
Not like I used to.
One thing I’ve realized these past few weeks is that there are other things more important than my career.
Like friends. Like family. I’ve promised myself a night out on the town tonight and plan to meet Katie and Maddie for “girls’ night” at Maddie’s favorite restaurant.
I don’t feel guilty about it anymore, like I used to, or like I should be doing anything else with my time.
Lucky curls himself underneath my desk, his soft, rhythmic purring echoing in the quiet office.
I smile and reach down to scratch him behind the ears.
He’s been super dramatic with separation anxiety ever since we got back from Salem’s Fall.
He’s like my little shadow, following me around the house and even sneaking into my work bag in the hopes I’ll take him to the office with me.
Today, I gave in, knowing we’ll be out of here well before any of the partners show up later.
The letter to the District Attorney I’ve been working on sits on my laptop screen, almost finished.
My hand trembles as my fingers hover over the keys.
It’s a formal statement of “new evidence,” presenting what we’ve uncovered in Damien’s case, tying the Veil to the murder of Damien’s fiancée, and clearing him of all charges.
If all goes well, I’ll be working on my father’s appeal next, representing him pro bono to get him released from prison based on what I’ve uncovered about the Veil’s illegal activities and involvement in my mother’s death.
Quinn and the firm have already given me their full blessing.
Each word I type feels charged. The weight of everything I’ve uncovered these past few weeks presses down on me like a layer of fog.
It turns out that Damien and Lucien were both telling the truth.
Neither of them had played a role in the prior sacrifices of Damien’s fiancée or the other murdered women, nor were they responsible for the death of their father, Ian Blackhollow.
It had been the Veil all along—at least, a small faction of it—pulling the strings.
I’m optimistic that once the DA’s office looks into things, they’ll be able to put the pieces together and release Damien of all charges. He’ll be a free man any day now.
Free, but not innocent.
I’m not a fool. I know it’s entirely possible he has Mark’s blood on his hands—in some manner—and who knows how many others I’ll never know about.
Then again, Damien never claimed to be a good man, just not a man that hurts the people he truly cares about.
He’s still dangerous. Possibly a killer, and who knows what else …
I know I should move on, but try as I might, my complicated feelings for Damien Blackhollow won’t go away no matter how much distance I put between us.
When I close my eyes, I can still see him.
His face half-cast in shadows. His touch lingering like a ghost. The haunting way he looked at me when I told him I had to leave Salem’s Fall and didn’t know if I would—or could—ever see him again.
After our escape on Veil Night, Maddie, Lucky, and I stayed with Damien at Blackthorn Manor. At first, it was like a fantasy. I was surrounded by every luxury, with people catering to my every need, wrapped up in Damien’s attention and protection.
But eventually, Lucien returned. Late at night, I would hear the brothers whispering their secret plans to one another.
Lucien was now the rightful leader of the Veil, and Damien would be pardoned and able to rejoin again, if he wanted to.
Lucien sought revenge on the Veil members responsible for all the recent murders and claimed to want to take the Veil in a different direction—though I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Lucien even promised my safety, and Maddie’s too, swearing we’d be under his protection if we stayed at Blackthorn Manor.
My thoughts about Damien’s brother are frustratingly complex, the lines between ally and enemy blurring whenever I think of Lucien.
I didn’t see it coming, that he would be the one to save us all.
I still don’t know how, but I’m certain he was the one that created the chaos that allowed us to escape Veil Night.
I remember reading during my research that fire was one of the four elements sacred to the Veil, a calling to ancient sacrifices from Salem’s Fall’s darkest days, the days of witchcraft.
Lucien must have used that link to fire to his advantage, I just don’t know why or how.
Why would he risk everything for us ?
Whatever his reasons, I wasn’t sure we could trust him. I knew it was time for Maddie and me to leave Salem’s Fall.
Besides, Maddie and I had to get back to our real lives.
Even if Damien—and Lucien, if he was to be believed—were willing to protect us from the Veil, they still had their hands full with their own problems without worrying about us.
Damien was still a Blackhollow. Still about to become a Veil member again.
Even if I could somehow figure out how to safely be with a man like him, I didn’t know if it was fair to expose Maddie to that world. Whatever world it really was…
I still don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.
I don’t trust the things I’d seen with my own eyes—supernatural things that should never be possible, like a knife claiming lives, and fires starting spontaneously with the sweep of one’s hand.
I’ve tried to convince myself it was all a figment of my imagination, and for the most part, I’ve succeeded.
The mind has a way of erasing, of washing out the horror and the unbelievable, turning it into logical fragments so they’re easier to live with.
Damien didn’t take my leaving Blackthorn Manor well, but he let us go, reluctantly promising to give me space. Since then, he’s vanished without a word. Even though it’s what I asked for, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Perhaps what we had was always meant to stay hidden in Salem’s Fall.
A text alert jolts me back to reality.
See you at six! Can’t wait—and DO NOT be late!
Maddie’s message flashes across the screen, and warmth blooms through me.
P.S. And yes, I’m wearing a dress. No, I’m not bringing a coat. Fashion over function, Jamie !
I muffle a laugh and shake my head, already picturing my sister shivering in one of her tiny little outfits in the December cold. All the while insisting she’s fine, before somehow talking me into giving her my coat. I type out a reply with a blue freezing-face emoji:
At least wear tights, you terror.
Another beep.
P.P.S. Ew! No, grandma!
I grin as my screen floods with an over-the-top avalanche of snowflake emojis. Classic Maddie. Some things never change.
With a smile still lingering on my lips, I turn back to my computer screen and my DA letter.
The firm is thrilled with how things have turned out and are eager to have a win this huge in their column.
Damien’s exoneration will make every paper in the metro area, maybe even the nation.
And thanks to Quinn’s high praise, I’m also back in good standing.
The partners are already talking about putting my name up on the senior associate board for next year.
I’m genuinely appreciative, but there’s a dullness in the excitement that would have once been bright and all-consuming. An emptiness I can’t shake. I don’t know if it’s from everything I’ve seen or if I’ve simply changed too much, but my job is no longer the end all be all it once was.
I still haven’t decided about Quinn either.
Since I’ve returned to Boston, he’s made it very clear that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to be with me, even leave the firm.
Quinn is everything I should want. He’s stable, smart, handsome, and wealthy by anyone’s standards.
I try to focus on how wonderful he is, on how much he’s been there for me.
Quinn could be the one who makes everything right, who pulls me back from the shadows I’ve waded through.
It’s almost perfect.
A few moments later, I finish my letter. It’s succinct, each word sharp and clear. After I attach it to an email and hit send, I check my inbox and find a new case assignment is already waiting for me. A pang of doubt gnaws at the edges of my mind.
Is this really what I want? To bury myself in cases, in wins, climbing the corporate ladder, all while pretending the past month didn’t happen?
Can I truly be happy going back to the promise of a “normal life” and a future with someone like Quinn, perfect as he may be?
It’s what I always thought I wanted, yet here I am, feeling like a stranger in my own office with the realization that maybe I don’t want this after all.
But then… what do I want?
I’m still thinking about it all as I step outside my apartment building later that evening and onto the busy Boston streets to meet Maddie and Katie for dinner.
The crisp December air hits me, carrying the unmistakable scents of roasted chestnuts and pine needles and the faintest hint of cinnamon from a nearby café.