Charles Connell stood gazing out of the window at the charming little historic city below, sipping his Scotch thoughtfully. The suite of rooms he had taken at the Hawthorne were pleasant enough, but not particularly to his taste. Still, they were better than his cell at Morley Ridge. He was anxious to be back in Mercy again, but it would be foolish to risk it so soon after his escape, so for the moment, Salem would have to do. He would return soon enough. If his extended stay at Morley Ridge had taught him anything, it was the value of patience.
He unbuttoned the jacket of his expensively tailored suit and tucked his hand comfortably into his pocket. The role of wealthy businessman wouldn’t have been his first choice either, but as disguises went, it was acceptable and certainly comfortable. He had always been extremely good at hiding his true self, making people see exactly what he had wanted them to.
Taking another sip, he allowed the earthy peat smoke and sweet, smooth toffee flavor to roll around on his tongue. The Macallan was a good choice; he would have to remember to commend Davis on his excellent taste, but then again, he had learned never to underestimate the man.
Pulling his hand from his pocket, he tilted his wrist and noted the time. Davis was due back from Mercy soon. The door of his suite opened, and a smile curved his lips as he turned around.
“Davis,” he greeted.
“Charles.” The other man inclined his head, his gaze wandering to the open bottle on the coffee table. “I see you found my good Scotch.”
Charles took a seat on the sofa, casually crossing his legs as he lifted his glass in a mock toast.
“It’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Davis replied in amusement. “That’s a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Macallan 1939.”
“I’m celebrating.”
“Isn’t that a little premature?” Davis poured himself a glass.
“I’ve waited twenty years, Davis,” he answered. “To the days ahead.”
“To the days ahead.” Davis raised his glass and took a sip, savoring the taste.
“So, what’s happening in Mercy? Are the police still chasing their tails?”
“Morons,” Davis scoffed. “They’ve only just discovered the remains of the second sacrifice. I mean, honestly, do they need us to put up signs?”
“Patience,” Charles replied. “They still have their part to play.”
“If we can trust them to do that.”
“Was the second sacrifice marked with the serpent seal?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone figured out the significance of the brand?” Charles asked.
“No.” Davis said dryly. “Like I said, morons. They’re still so fixated on your daughter that they are not using what little intelligence they have.”
“Morons,” Charles agreed.
“Exactly.”
“Did you leave Olivia my little gift?” He rose from his seat, restless as he wandered back to the window.
“Yes, I did.” Davis swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, staring thoughtfully into his empty glass. “I have to admit, Charles, that was a little cruel, even for you. She’s your daughter.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he murmured. “But I need her to go back… I need her to remember that night.”
“There’s something else,” Davis added. “She’s more powerful than we expected.”
Charles turned around sharply. “Explain.”
“She has extremely potent wards guarding the perimeter of her property. I touched the boundary for just a brief moment, and her power…” He shook his head. “It’s raw and undisciplined. She hasn’t had the proper instruction or guidance, but I’d say she hasn’t even begun to tap the edges of what she is capable of.”
“Did you cross the line?”
