Page 55 of Salem’s Rise

“You should really try to be less clumsy.”

Van has always unsettled me, but tonight, something about him feels different. Less amused. More menacing.

“What is it?” I mutter. “Asshole Night?”

The faintest smile touches his mouth. “Enjoy the ball while you can.”

Something in the way he says it makes my stomach tighten.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes hold mine for a beat. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

“You’re a fucking psycho!” I shoot back. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

As I make my way back to the ballroom, my unease grows. I already knew something bad happened to Josh last Halloween, and the occult books I’ve been studying all point to something big happening tonight. Now everyone around me is acting completely unhinged. Georgina, a woman I barely know, cornered me outside the ladies’ room to threaten me, and Van just tried to shove me down a flight of stairs. And Silas…

Silas has spent weeks trying to keep me away from all of this—from Salem’s Fall, from the Blackhollow Ball, from whatever happens on Veil Night.

Suddenly, I’m not so sure I should be here.

“There you are,” Rowan says as I find him waiting on the dance floor, finishing another glass of champagne. “I considered organizing a search party.”

“Might not have been a terrible idea,” I admit. “I ran into enemy territory upstairs. Georgina. And Van.”

“Glad you survived.”

He pulls me into his arms for another dance, one hand settling at my waist as he guides me into the crowd.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you for my dress,” I say as he spins me around. “It was sweet of you to send it. Audacious—but sweet.”

“You look exquisite.” His gaze sweeps over the dress, a mischievous smile tugging at his mouth. “I’d love to take credit, but I can’t.”

I don’t buy it for a second. His denial sounds sincere, but the smile never quite leaves his face. Apparently, anonymously delivering an obscenely beautiful dress to my door wasn’t dramatic enough. Now he wants to play coy about it too.

“You’re a terrible liar,” I say, shaking my head, grinning back. “But you’ve got excellent taste.”

We complete another turn around the dance floor when a familiar voice interrupts us.

“May I cut in?”

I look up to find Silas beside us.

Right away, I notice something is off. His bow tie hangs loose around his collar, and the top button of his shirt has been undone. A faint flush warms his normally composed features. When he steps closer, he sways almost imperceptibly before catching himself. The unmistakable scent of whiskey clings to him.

Holy shit. Silas Blackhollow is drunk.

“Sorry, Blackhollow. Jack’s dance card is full for the evening,” Rowan says pleasantly, tightening his grip on me.

Silas’s gaze drops, traveling slowly over my dress before returning to my face. There’s an unmistakable heat in his eyes that sends a flush crawling up my neck.

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her,” he says.

Every survival instinct that has gotten me through twenty-two years of life tells me this is a terrible idea. I know I should refuse. Yet, to my own horror, I hear myself say, “One dance. It is your party, after all.”

“Jack—”

“It’s okay.” I put a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”