Page 16 of Silent Ritual

“Mind telling us where you were last night?” Finn asked.

"Home," Hawthorne replied. "Alone. Just like every other night."

"And can anyone corroborate that?" Sheila pressed.

"I'm a bit of a recluse, in case you hadn't noticed. I don't exactly have dinner parties or poker nights."

“What were you doing?” Finn asked.

“Writing. I’m working on a new book. Now that I think about it, you could check the software—it takes screenshots every now and then in case something happens to the file. Screenshots with timestamps.”

“Mind if we look at it now?”

Hawthorne shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then stood up. He nodded to a desk against the wall with what must have been one of the earliest computers still in operation sitting on it. "Go ahead," he muttered, stepping aside. “It doesn’t have a password. Just don’t delete anything.”

As Finn started up the computer, Sheila turned her attention back to Hawthorne. “What about Emily Greenwald?" she asked, watching for his reaction. “Did you know her?”

Hawthorne's brows furrowed. "Who?"

"Emily Greenwald," Sheila repeated. "Young barista from town? Aspiring actress?"

"I don't think so," he muttered, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. "Should I have?"

“She was murdered, too. We found the same sort of astrological symbols drawn around her body. Also, there were these.” She pulled from her pocket an evidence bag containing some of the dried herbs the killer had left on Emily’s body.

Hawthorne peered at the bag, his brows knitting together. "Aconitum," he said, "also known as monkshood or wolfsbane."

"You know your herbs.”

He nodded. "I grow some in my garden. Aconitum is toxic—can be deadly if ingested. Said to be used by witches for protection during rituals."

Finn sighed deeply as he rose from the desk and returned to the couch. The disappointment on his face made it clear he hadn’t found anything incriminating. Hawthorne’s alibi, it seemed, checked out.

Sheila, however, wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Opening her phone, she navigated to the pictures she’d taken of the astrological symbols drawn in the salt around the two victims. She showed her phone to Hawthorne.

“Any idea what these symbols mean?” she asked.

Hawthorne leaned in to inspect the photo, his eyes narrowing as he took in each of the intricate symbols. The silence grew heavy in the room, and for a moment, Sheila wasn't sure if he was going to answer. Then he let out a low whistle.

"These are powerful symbols." He pointed at the first, a circle with a cross dividing it into quadrants. "That's the Sun Cross, traditionally representing earth, air, fire and water. And this one—" He traced another symbol, a circle with a pentagram inside, with his finger. "—is an Elemental Pentacle that represents protection."

"Protection?" Finn asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why would the killer need protection?”

“Maybe not physical protection,” Hawthorne replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps from something spiritual or...cosmic.”

Sheila shared a glance with Finn. “What do you mean by cosmic?”

Hawthorne shrugged. “I can't say for sure, but whoever did this...they weren't just playing around. These symbols suggest a deep knowledge and respect for old magic and cosmic influences. Everything points to an occult ritual—a cleansing ritual, specifically.”

"Cleansing ritual?" Finn repeated skeptically.

Hawthorne nodded. "Some occult traditions believe in purifying the world by eliminating those who they deem corrupt or impure."

“Impure?” Sheila frowned. “What could have been impure about these two young women?”

“I don’t know,” Hawthorne said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “Aren’t you the detectives?”

CHAPTER NINE

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