Page 122 of Salem’s Rise

He kisses me then. It’s not desperate or consuming. There’s nothing performative about it, nothing meant for any remaining Veil members in the chamber who might still be watching us. His hand simply comes to rest lightly against my face, and his mouth touches mine with a tenderness that feels almost impossible from someone capable of so much danger.

A deliberate throat-clearing sounds behind us, mid-kiss.

Silas pulls back slowly, his arms still wrapped possessively around my waist. I turn to find Lucien standing several feet away, watching with an expression that is not quite amusement and not quite disapproval.

“Uncle.” Silas inclines his head.

The single word carries more weight than I understand. Gratitude. Challenge. Forgiveness, perhaps, though neither man seems willing to make it easy on the other.

Lucien studies him for a long moment. “Veil Leader,” he says to Silas. “Well done.”

Silas nods once.

That is all.

For them, it appears to be enough. Something passes between them, subtle but unmistakable. The tension I have always sensed in their relationship is still there but altered now. Less like an open wound and more like a scar—something neither of them can erase, though perhaps they’ve finally stopped pretending it does not exist.

“I’m proud of you, Jacqueline,” Lucien says, turning to me.

Without the distance of the altar between us, he looks older than he did during the ceremony. Still as handsome and regal as ever, but tired. As if these past few months have taken a toll on him as well. It is the first truly human thing I have seen in him.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Your father would have been proud of you too.”

My throat tightens. I glance around the chamber, trying to picture my father here. What had this place meant to him? What memories had he made within these walls?

“I wish I’d known him.”

“I wish that too. For both of you.” Lucien’s expression changes, grief crossing his face briefly. “Welcome to the Veil, my dear. We’re honored to have you.”

He gives me a hug then, and it’s a little awkward but also unexpectedly kind. I wonder how many times he hugged my father like this. How many victories they celebrated together. How many losses they mourned. It occurs to me then that there is someone who can tell me about the man I never got to know—stories my mother has never been able to bring herself to share. Maybe one day, when we’re both ready, I’ll ask him.

A faint smile touches his face as he turns to leave. “Go home, Jacqueline,” he says quietly. “You’ll find what you’ve been searching for.”

“Do you know what he meant?” I ask Silas after Lucien is gone.

“Not a clue.” A grin tugs at his mouth. “Go find out. I have things to deal with here.”

“You were nearly burned alive an hour ago.”

“And now I have a meeting. Official new leadership business, you know.” He gives me a wink. “I’m a very important person now and in high demand.”

I hesitate, almost unwilling to leave him. I have this irrational thought that if I leave this chamber, things will somehow go back to how they were before.

What if I lose him again?

As if he can read the fear in my mind, Silas takes my hand again, his fingers closing reassuringly around mine. “I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

The words settle between us.

This time, I believe him.

December 23 (2 Days Until Christmas)

By the time I reach Millbrook, snow is falling again. It drifts lazily through the beam of my headlights as I turn onto my street, gathering along the curbs and softening the familiar row of tired, dilapidated houses. Christmas lights blink from half-broken porch railings, while others hang tangled in shrubs with the reckless enthusiasm of people who surrendered to holiday spirit halfway through installation.

My mother’s house sits near the end of the block. The porch light is on. A crooked strand of colored bulbs frames the front window, exactly as it has every December for as long as I can remember. Half the red bulbs are dead. The plastic wreath on the front door hangs slightly sideways.