Page 62 of Salem’s Rise

But not everyone believes the Blackhollows should continue to lead. Some think their reign has lasted long enough. Others resent Lucien’s rule. And then there are families like the Aldens that don’t openly oppose the Blackhollows—they simply recognize an opportunity to claim leadership for themselves.

The Rites last approximately seven weeks, ending on the Winter Solstice—the Dark Solstice, as the Veil calls it. During that time, every claimant will be tested during trials for strength, judgment, ability, and leadership potential.

Whatever the hell that means.

Alden did not tell me how many trials to expect, what form they would take, or how competitors would be ranked. Maybe those details aren’t known ahead of time. Or, more likely, he isn’t obligated to tell me. The trials are not announced in advance. When one is ready to begin, I will receive a summons telling me where to be and when.

I cannot withdraw. I could die—many contestants will. And, above all, if I tell anyone outside the Veil about any of this, the punishment is death.

I am so completely screwed.

Every other claimant has known about The Rites their entire lives. They have families who trained them, histories they were taught, rules they understand without explanation. They know how the Veil thinks. They know what the trials are meant to reward and what mistakes get people killed. They have friends and allies within the competition.

I have a few “borrowed” occult books, and a growing list of people who want me dead.

Van, certainly. Georgina, probably. Rowan—I’d trusted him, and he personally delivered me to the Veil for a public execution. Whatever the reason, it is safe to say he does not have my best interests at heart.

Then there are Wren, Lena, and Jonah, the people I thought were my friends. All three knew the Veil existed and lied to my face for months. A part of me can understand why they couldn’t tell me about the Veil now that I know revealing its secrets means death, but understanding does not restore trust. In a few days—or hours—they will be expected to compete against me. They may decide friendship matters less than survival.

And then there’s Silas.

He’s the most confusing of them all.

He saved my life. That is a fact I keep returning to, no matter how much I distrust the reasoning behind it. He had every opportunity to remain silent on Veil Night and allow my execution, but he spoke up for me. Perhaps because he knew I had a legitimate claim to enter The Rites, whatever that means. Perhaps he wants me alive because he needs me for something I don’t yet know.

Or maybe he’s just a sadist who wants to play with me a little longer before watching me die.

And somewhere inside all of this is Josh.

That is still the question no one has yet answered. I know now he was at Veil Night last year, but there were no Rites then. He must’ve been at another type of ceremony. Either he went voluntarily or he was forced against his will or tricked like I was. Maybe he is being held by the Veil now, either as leverage or as part of the competition. Alden had told me there are twenty claimants in The Rites, but I have no way of knowing who they all are. Some were wearing masks on Veil Night.

What if Josh was there, and I just didn’t see him?

Or what if my worst fear is true? What if Josh went to Strega’s Hollow last year and never left?

Everything I have done so far has been for my brother, but I thought Veil Night was the answer. Now I realize it was just the invitation. I am no longer trying to understand what the Veil is. I am inside it. Now I have a new goal: survive The Rites long enough to find my brother.

Two hours later, I’m sitting in Principles of Microeconomics. Rain streaks the classroom windows as Professor Ames lectures about shifts in demand and the factors that cause the demand curve to move. Somehow, this feels like the most surreal part of all. I’m competing in a deadly contest to determine who will rule a centuries-old secret society, and I’m still expected to understand price elasticity.

Throughout class, I keep expecting the doors to open and someone to announce that I have thirty minutes to report to the First Trial. Every person that stares at me a bit too long or smiles strangely is now a perceived threat.

Are they in the game?

Are they plotting my demise?

The uncertainty is the worst part. At least if I knew when the First Trial was and who all the competitors were, I would know what to fear.

The day drags on with lectures I have to fight to stay awake through and meals I can barely force down. I eat alone in Winthrop Commons because I have no interest in sitting with Wren, Lena, and Jonah. I watch as Micah joins them in blissful ignorance, unaware of all the secrets his “friends” are hiding from him. He laments about the pumpkin muffins he baked that morning before ultimately declaring them inedible and helping himself to half of Wren’s fries instead.

I can’t decide whether I envy him or pity him.

After dinner, I return to my dorm and find an envelope pushed beneath my door. It’s heavy and cream-colored, sealed with dark red wax stamped with a curved spiral, jagged lines radiating outward to intersect an inverted pentagram. The Mark of the Veil. My mouth goes dry as I lock the door behind me and read.

The First Trial of the Watchtower of Earth begins tonight.

All claimants will present themselves at the Old Town Cemetery by midnight.

The North is watching.