Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

SALEM FROST

(previously Salvatore Forrestor)

15 years old

C hadwick Kingsford stands in front of me, hands clasped behind his back. "Social hierarchy dictates each choice a human makes…" As he continues to talk, I take in his words, listening carefully while paying attention to his facial expressions, his movements, and the inflection in his tone. "At the top, like hunters watching over the land, are the rich and powerful. Each move we make is calculated, measured, and weighed to ensure the outcome benefits those of us deemed worthy."

My eyes drop to Chadwick's hands where he's lighting a thick cigar. The tiny flame appears atop the lighter, and my eyes fixate on it. "Greed, envy, lust, and pride reign supreme. A smorgasbord of cardinal sin awaits us..." I can hear Chadwick talking, but I can't drag my gaze away from the flickering flame and the memories it forces into my mind.

Children screaming.

Miss Tanner pounding on the door.

The smell of smoke.

Flickering flames.

Heat coils in my gut and a shiver races down my spine as my jaw tics, threatening a smile.

"Salem!" Chadwick's shout causes me to flinch, and I shake my head hard.

"At the bottom of the hierarchy are?" he questions, waiting for me to complete his sentence.

I inhale, the sharp scent of the cigar smoke wafts into my nostrils and sends a frisson of excitement down my spine. After a long exhale, I finally answer him, "The weak. The hunted. The prey."

"Correct," he says. "And what are the rules we must follow?" He stands and takes two steps towards me before blowing a cloud of smoke right into my face.

My eyes close involuntarily. He knows what the smell does to me. He knows how to make me falter, how to make me fail. Visions of smoke, fire, and burned and scarred skin fill my mind, and I try to force them away.

Five years ago, Chadwick and his wife, Loren, adopted me after a fire razed the Newhaven Asylum. I'd been placed there after setting fire to a storage room at my school. Three children and one teacher died that day, and although I remember it in vivid detail, the only thing that's truly stuck in my mind from that day, is the texture of Justice Bane's skin.

When I rub my fingertips against my thumb, I can still feel the ridges of Justice's scars, and recall the blush of pink and red that stained his flesh, a masterpiece of rivulets and ridges.

If I try hard enough, I can hear his voice, remember the way his green eyes lit up when he smiled, and recall in detail every freckle that was dusted across his face. It's all still there, branded into the very fibre of my being like a promise.

One day, I'll find him again, and when I do, I'll never let him go.

"Sal," Chadwick scolds. "Are you paying attention?"

Are you paying attention? I grit my teeth until my jaw aches to stop the words spilling from my lips, and I nod once. "Yes, sir. Sorry, I was distracted for a moment. It won't happen again."

He lets out a huff of annoyance and shakes his head, and with a wave of his hand he says, "Go and see Loren, you need to prepare for the feast. We'll finish this tomorrow."

"We'll finish this tomorrow." It's not until Chadwick's strong hand wraps around my biceps that I realise I said those words out loud, and I inwardly cringe.

"Focus," Chadwick growls. "Do not make me punish you again."

The scars on my back prickle as I think back to my punishments. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I nod again. "Sorry, sir," I say.

When he lets me go, I turn and rush out of his office to make my way to the end of the hall.

Loren is sitting in the dining room. "Ah, Sal, come and take a seat, darling." She pats the chair beside her. "How did your lesson with Chadwick go?"

"I got distracted," I admit.

"Justice?" she asks, already knowing.

"Justice," I repeat, and Loren smiles.

Unlike Chadwick, Loren understands my issues and embraces my differences. She's been teaching me how to gain some control over the vocal and motor tics, but rather than have me suppress them entirely, she allows me the freedom to be myself.

When Chadwick's manservant, Watson, comes in with a platter of meats, cheeses, and crackers, Loren thanks him before extending her hand. "Go ahead," she encourages, poking her small fork into a piece of thinly sliced, rare meat. "This is what was left from Darius' feast," she says. "It was delectable, wasn't it?"

"Delectable." I poke my fork into a sliver of meat and savour the taste as it sits against my tongue before I swallow it down. "Where are Darius and Liam?" I ask. "Are they coming?"

Loren nods and smiles as my brothers walk into the room. We're not real brothers, but we've been best friends since we met at Newhaven Asylum when we were ten years old.

Darius looks down at Loren, his eyes drop to her pregnant belly. A darkness crosses his face that I match by frowning. When he meets my gaze, his brows scrunch, then he smiles. I do the same before shifting my attention to Liam, who's smiling.

Imitating their faces and words, used to be involuntary, and to some extent, it still is, but with Loren's guidance, I've become adept at mimicking the facial expressions, body language, and speech patterns of almost everyone I meet.

Liam is the easiest to imitate. His expressions are always open, right there on his face for the world to see. Loren calls him her "perfect specimen" while Darius and I are her "troubled sons."

Along with me, Loren adopted Darius and Liam after the asylum fire. After declaring us dead, she gave us the chance to put our sordid, traumatic pasts behind us and start new lives here in Newhaven.

Loren has promised that when I turn eighteen, she'll help me find Justice. For now, me, Darius, and Liam must remain hidden from society until we've completed our schooling, and Loren is satisfied our violent urges are under control.