Page 44 of Salem’s Rise

I brace myself for him to call for someone. Lucien. The police. But instead, he walks past me, closes the library door, and turns the brass key in the lock. The click echoes through the room, sending my pulse skittering.

Suddenly, I remember the fear of weeks ago when I’d been kidnapped and dragged into the woods. Now I’m all alone in a remote gated home with my attacker. In that moment, I realize I’ve made a grave miscalculation and somehow allowed myself to get trapped by Silas Blackhollow.

“What—what are you doing?” I ask, voice trembling, hoping he can’t see how panicked I am.

“Preventing anyone else from walking in, obviously.”

“Why?”

“You’ve already trespassed.” He shrugs. “Sending you back empty-handed would only compound the mistake.”

At first, I can only stare in shock. This is… bizarre. It feels like he’s playing some kind of game, but I can’t figure out what.

“Wait—you’re serious? You’re letting me stay?”

One dark eyebrow lifts. “A little slow for an academic scholarship student, aren’t you?”

“I don’t get it.” I shake my head, unable to make sense of him. “Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you.”

I study him, still searching for the trap. “You just locked the door so no one catches me stealing from your uncle,” I point out. “That seems an awful lot like helping.”

“Not exactly,” he says. “I’m hoping you’ll find something in those books that will succeed where I’ve clearly failed. Maybe they’ll finally convince you to leave town before you get yourself into real trouble.”

I frown. “What do you care? I thought you hated me.”

“Why in the world would you think that?”

I almost laugh.

“Besides the obvious?” I ask. “You’re a complete asshole every time I see you. You keep trying to scare me away.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “And let’s not forget the masked kidnapping where you attacked me with a knife. Does any of that sound familiar?”

Silas’s face gives away nothing.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, whatever. Play it however you want,” I say. “But don’t pretend you’ve been welcoming to me.”

He looks briefly toward the ceiling, as though summoning patience. “I don’t hate you, Mercer,” he says. “Hate requires a level of attention you simply don’t warrant. The truth is, I rarely think about you at all.”

Annoyingly, his words sting more than they should—not that I’d ever let him know that.

“Ouch.” I press a hand to my chest. “Well, there go my wedding plans.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s almost imperceptible, but I catch it.

“Ten minutes,” he says. “Take what you need and don’t make a mess.”

I return to the shelves and pull down a second volume, Ceremonies of the Veil. A few more scans of the shelves turn up nothing else mentioned in the library book’s footnotes. I slip the two books I found into my tote bag as Silas watches from his post beside the locked door.

“I’ll take good care of them.” I glance at him, a new thought occurring to me. “So⁠—”

“No.”

“But I haven’t asked anything yet,” I say.

“You were about to.”