Page 25 of Salem’s Rise

“Vanished became an online phenomenon because it required different kinds of intelligence,” he continues. “One player might understand colonial history. Another might recognize a cryptogram. Someone else might notice that two maps, when layered together, revealed a location.”

“Is that why the university recruited him?” I ask.

“The university saw an opportunity to study that sort of work to see if it could be used in an academic setting.” Professor Pemberton folds his hands loosely in his lap. “But Lucien Blackhollow took a special interest in the project. Anything involving Salem’s Fall tends to attract his… attention.”

“How did Josh’s work continue when he came here?”

“At first, Josh did exactly what we expected,” he replies to me. “He built timelines, tested puzzles, and started applying them to his game. His Salem’s Fall round was supposed to revolve around the disappearances that took place during the witch trials. A group of accused witches vanished before their executions. The players were to determine whether they were secretly killed or whether they escaped, and if so, how and where they went.”

“I remember.” I nod along. “When I talked to him last, he was stuck on level four of the game.”

“His work started to change then,” Professor Pemberton says. “It morphed into something else.”

“What do you mean?” Rowan asks, angling toward him. The shop grows silent as if the room, too, is listening for whatever comes next.

“He found contradictions in town records.” Professor Pemberton’s gaze darts toward the front door before continuing. “Names that appeared in private texts but vanished from official histories. References to families that no longer existed, although land and property records suggested otherwise.” His fingers tighten around the arm of his chair. “Josh became obsessed. Began to believe the inconsistencies were deliberate, and the town was covering up some centuries-old conspiracy. He started asking for access to restricted materials. Spent entire nights in the Ashcroft Library and even secured permission from Mr. Blackhollow to review the private collection at Blackthorn Manor.”

My pulse quickens as I think of Josh’s last visit home, the way he kept checking the windows and lowering his voice whenever his phone rang.

“Did he tell you what he found?” Rowan asks.

“Only that the Salem’s Fall round was going to be different.” Professor Pemberton looks at me, something grave and unsettling in his expression. “He said players wouldn’t simply solve the mystery. They would become part of it.”

A chill moves across my skin as I remember the email I found on Josh’s computer.

“Did he ever mention something called the Veil?”

Professor Pemberton goes completely still, face paling.

“I’m afraid he didn’t.” He rises so abruptly that the legs of his chair scrape against the floor. “I’m sorry. I think we’re finished here.”

“But I still have questions⁠—”

“I’ve told you everything I can. You should both leave,” he says and unlocks the front door, practically shoving Rowan and me out into the street. “I am sorry about your brother.” He gives me one last sad look. “Josh was talented and curious but also reckless. Whatever he found, I suggest you don’t repeat his mistakes.”

When Rowan and I reach campus twenty minutes later, evening has settled over the grounds. He insists on escorting me to Winthrop Commons so I can grab dinner before we part ways.

Students cross the paths in front of us carrying backpacks and takeout bags, the windows of the Commons glowing ahead as we approach the entrance.

“So,” Rowan says as we walk together, “did Pemberton give you the answers you were hoping for?”

“Enough to confirm I’m on the right track.”

“Cool,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and giving me a wry grin. Those adorable dimples make another appearance. “Who should we talk to next?”

“Look, I appreciate your help today, but we’re not going to be friends, okay?”

“We aren’t? Why not?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

I shoot him an exasperated look. “Less than four days ago, you and your buddies drugged and kidnapped me. I got hurt, I bled—you get that, right?”

“But I already told you⁠—”

“Right. I know.” I snort. “Maybe you didn’t do the actual hurting, but you were there. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m not ready to rush into some detective partnership or whatever”—I make a motion between us—“you’re trying to make this be.”

Rowan lets out a long, pained sigh.

“You hate me. I understand.”