Page 28 of Salem’s Rise

“You have suspicious timing.”

“Okay, fine.” He shrugs. “How about we call it fate? Sounds more charming than stalking.”

“It sounds like grounds for a restraining order.”

He chuckles, gaze drifting toward Professor Endicott’s note on the door. “Looking for Bea?”

“You know Professor Endicott?”

“Everybody knows Bea,” he says.

“Bea? You call professors by their first names?”

“Trust me, she’ll insist.”

I glance back at the sign and let out a long sigh. “I suppose you know where Strega’s Hollow is too?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He lets the sentence hang just long enough to become irritating. “Would you like me to take you?”

“Directions would be fine,” I say. “I’m sure a good-looking, popular guy like yourself already has plans on a Friday night.”

His mouth curves into a pleased smile. “So you think I’m good-looking?”

“Oh please. You know you’re good-looking.”

His grin widens.

“You want my help or not?”

I plant a hand on my hip. “What’s it going to cost me?”

He thinks for a moment. “How about drinks later?” he asks. “Tonight’s the Fall Equinox. Downtown goes off.”

“I don’t think so.” I sigh. “I still don’t trust you, Rowan.”

“I understand.” A flicker of disappointment crosses his face. “Let me help you first then. I’ll take you to Strega’s Hollow. We’ll talk to Bea, and afterward you can decide what you think.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, don’t make me beg,” he says. “My car’s already out front.”

Against my better judgment, I agree.

Strega’s Hollow is on the outskirts of town. The drive would normally take at least twenty minutes during the busy fall season, but in Rowan’s sleek midnight-blue Porsche 911, we tear through town. Tourists crowd the sidewalks as we race past. Nearly every storefront has embraced the approaching equinox with ridiculous enthusiasm. Pumpkins. Hay bales. Corn stalks. Paper bats.

“Does this happen every year?” I ask.

“This is just the warm-up. Wait until October,” he says. “You’ll learn this town survives on three things. Private university tuition money. Wealthy benefactors. And convincing tourists they’ve wandered into the most haunted town in America.”

“So… witches?”

“Marketing,” he says, his eyes bright with mischief. Once we’re past the town limits, he glances over at me. “What do you know about Strega’s Hollow?”

“It has something to do with the old witch trials, right?”

“It’s our version of Disney World, just with witch hangings and ancient occult sacrifices instead of Mickey Mouse and rollercoasters. The tourists eat it up,” he says. “Part of the property was actually used during the witch trials, then they turned it into a kitschy museum. There was a fire about twenty years ago, but it’s been restored and expanded since then.”

A few minutes later, Strega’s Hollow comes into view. Rowan lets out an exaggerated sigh as he parks the car. “And here we are—Salem’s Fall’s greatest cash cow.”