Page 35 of Salem’s Rise

I frown. “Uh, what does that mean?”

“It’s another old ghost story. Want to hear it?” Rowan leans back, looking eager to tell me.

Jonah rolls his eyes. “Here we go.”

“Legend says,” Rowan begins, ignoring Jonah, “that on the first night of autumn, the dead test the doors of every house in town. If you hear three knocks after midnight, you’re not supposed to answer.”

“Why three?” I ask.

“Because the first is memory. The second is grief. The third is permission,” he says.

The fire pops behind us, and I flinch. Something moves in my peripheral vision. I whip around toward the dark window, but there’s nothing there.

“And what happens if you open the door?” I ask.

“They come home,” Wren answers.

Lena groans. “Enough, guys. You’ll scare her out of Salem’s Fall before October even arrives,” she says. “You don’t want her to miss all the fun. Especially the Blackhollow Halloween Ball.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“The Blackhollow family hosts an absolutely insane party every Halloween,” Wren explains. “It’s a big deal. Invitation only. Most of us don’t make the cut.” Her eyes move across the room to Van. The look they exchange is almost vicious.

“So you’re going?” I ask Rowan.

“I never miss it,” he says.

“Doesn’t really sound like my thing.” I sit back. “Not that I’d get invited, anyway. Silas Blackhollow hates me.”

“Oh, you’ll get invited,” Wren says, a knowing look on her face.

I laugh. “Why would I get invited?”

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Lena smirks. “Just because Silas hates you doesn’t mean every guy on campus does. Even if you don’t get your own invite, someone will ask you as their date. Trust me.”

The front door opens just then and cold air sweeps through the bar, stirring candle flames and turning several heads toward the entrance. As if our conversation has summoned him, Silas Blackhollow walks into the bar.

Silas is dressed in all black as he strolls into the Witch’s Brew like he owns the place, looking like every woman’s worst decision. A heavy wool coat hangs open over a fitted shirt, and the wind has left his dark hair just messy enough to look effortless. It’s infuriating how gorgeous he is. One of life’s greatest injustices is that people who are ugly on the inside aren’t just as ugly on the outside.

A woman is on his arm.

I blink, taken aback.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him with anyone. And this woman… she’s breathtaking. Tall and slender, wrapped in a cream cashmere coat belted neatly at the waist. She moves through the room with the calm assurance of someone who knows exactly how beautiful they are. Pale skin the color of winter snow. Light hazel eyes. Dark hair that falls in glossy waves. Huge diamond studs sparkling on her earlobes. The whole effect appears effortless but in the way that requires enormous amounts of money.

Silas guides her toward the lacrosse table, his palm resting lightly against the small of her back. Van stands to greet them, as does the rest of the table. Instantly, two of the younger players give up their seats for Silas and the woman. Silas pulls out a chair for her, and she sits in it with a graceful tilt of her head, as if men have been moving furniture for her since birth. Drinks appear almost magically before them, and Silas takes the seat beside her, stretching one arm comfortably along the back of her chair.

His girlfriend, then?

The realization shouldn’t bother me. Silas is an arrogant asshole with an almost pathological need to antagonize me. He can date every beautiful woman in New England for all I care.

As if he hears the lie in my head, he looks across the room and his eyes find mine. The corners of his mouth lift, and for one suspended heartbeat, the distance between us seems to vanish. I stare back, momentarily stunned.

Holy shit. Silas Blackhollow is smiling.

At me.

Some kind of temporary insanity takes hold of me, and I forget everything he is and smile back.