Page 11 of Salem’s Rise

Rowan gives a small, almost amused shake of his head. “Jesus, Silas,” he says lightly, “must you scare off every pretty woman who dares to talk to you?”

Silas smirks. “I find it saves time.”

The three of them turn their backs on me, dismissing me as easily and thoroughly as everyone else at this damn school has been doing for months by phone, email, and now in person. It should piss me off. Instead, my pulse kicks up as Silas’s words replay in my head.

You don’t belong here, and neither did your brother.

He knew Josh. And he just lied to my face.

“I’m not giving up,” I call after them. “Not until I find out what happened to my brother.”

Silas turns back one last time, the cold indifference he wears so well briefly gone from his face, replaced by something else unmistakable. Not pity. Not regret.

A warning.

After my last class of the day, I make my way across campus to the Office of Residential Life. I checked one item off my list today—albeit unsuccessfully—which was finding and talking to Silas Blackhollow. The next is figuring out what happened to my roommate, who still hasn’t shown up despite today being the first day of classes.

The woman behind the front desk has an air of practiced efficiency, her dark hair twisted into a neat bun. She smiles politely as I approach.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“I hope so.” I set my phone on the counter and pull up the housing email I received over the summer. “I moved into Hallowell Hall over the weekend. I’m in Room 321. According to this, I was assigned a roommate named Eleanor, but she hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Hmmm. Let’s take a look.”

She begins typing, the quiet clatter of the keyboard filling the silence between us. After a few moments, she nods to herself.

“Yes, you’re right. I see it right here.” She taps at the computer screen. “Room 321 does appear to be assigned to two students.”

I wait for her to say something else, to give me some further explanation, but she offers nothing.

“So…” I prompt. “Where is she?”

She leans back in her chair with a small shrug. “I’m not sure.”

I stare at her. “You’re… not sure? Uh… shouldn’t someone try to reach her?”

The woman looks genuinely puzzled by the question. “Reach her?”

“You know—call her or call her parents? Make sure everything is okay.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. This sort of thing happens more than you’d think.” A pleasant smile spreads across her face. “Students arrive late. They change their minds. Sometimes they disappear for days before resurfacing.”

She says the last part so casually, it takes me a second to process it.

“They… disappear?”

“Quite often, actually.” She sighs. “College students these days. They’re so unpredictable.” She gives a dismissive little wave of her hand. “I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually.”

I look back down at the email on my phone. Eleanor Graves. A name. A real person. What if something horrible has happened to her? And why doesn’t this woman seem to care?

“But what if she doesn’t?” I ask.

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear. I’m sure everything will work itself out,” the woman says, already returning her attention to the stack of folders beside her keyboard. “And look on the bright side. Maybe you’ll get a single.” She looks up one last time and gives me a little wink. “Wouldn’t that be lucky?”

I thank her and head back toward the door, the uneasy feeling growing stronger with each step. Something is very, very wrong here in Salem’s Fall.

If a student failed to arrive on the first day of classes, most schools would be looking for them. And if another student disappeared over Halloween the year before, like my brother did, you’d think someone would at least be asking questions.