Page 27 of Silent Ritual

Now Sheila was really puzzled. “The creature?”

"Yes, the creature," Jenkins said, her face grim. "We call it the Cherubim. Our rituals, these symbols, they're meant to protect us from it."

The room fell silent as Jenkins gestured at the chalk-drawn symbol on the floor. The symbol was so close to those found on the bodies of the victims that Sheila had no doubt about its connection to their murders. Was it possible these people were just some crazy occultists inspired by the killings and convinced they’d played a part in them?

“I still don’t understand,” Sheila said. “How do you know so much about the crimes?”

Jenkins’s eyes twinkled. “Because I was there—we were there. After the first killing, when we saw those symbols, we knew the Cherubim was at work, and so we started scouring the salt flats, looking for other…offerings.”

“You’re telling us you discovered the bodies before anyone else did?” Finn asked, making no effort to disguise his anger.

Jenkins shrugged modestly. “It took some searching, but yes. And now that you’ve stumbled upon us…I’m afraid we can’t just let you go. The world doesn’t understand people like us—we’ll lose our jobs, become lepers in society. So we’re just going to have to make you…disappear.”

At these words, a cold dread settled on Sheila like a lead blanket. She shot an alarmed glance at Finn. His face was ashen, but his eyes were burning with a familiar determined fire.

“Disappear, huh?” he muttered. "And here I was thinking we'd blend right in with the decor.”

Jenkins didn't seem amused. "Enough of this," she said, her eyes hardening. "Bind them."

Anxiety gnawed at Sheila's stomach as two hooded figures detached themselves from the crowd and moved toward them. She looked around desperately for a way out, but the room was ringed by the group, and the only exit was behind her, guarded by a burly man who didn't look like he had much of a sense of humor.

As rough hands grabbed her arms to tie them, she glanced at Finn, his head lowered and fists clenched. He was ready, she knew. She gave him a barely perceptible nod, and as the hooded figures tightened the ropes around her wrists, she exploded into action.

With a swift and powerful kick honed from years of training, she sent one of her captors flying into a bookshelf, causing it to crash down in a cascade of dusty volumes. Finn wasn't far behind; with a roar, he barreled into the burly man by the door, catching him off guard and sending them both crashing onto the floor.

The room erupted in chaos as members of the group scattered, screaming and ducking for cover. Sheila took advantage of the confusion, ripping her wrists free from the slackened grip of her other captor and launching another powerful kick at a man who lunged toward her. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his stomach.

Finn scrambled to his feet, snatching up a heavy candlestick which he swung like a baseball bat. It connected with a hooded figure's skull with a sickening crunch. The figure went down and stayed there.

They were putting up a good fight, but Sheila knew they were outnumbered. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for an escape route. Then she saw it: a window leading out onto a fire escape. It was narrow, but with enough force, they could break through.

"Window!" she shouted over the chaos to Finn, pointing. He glanced in its direction before nodding, his face set in a determined grimace.

She turned back to her adversaries, readying herself as two more figures lunged for her. If they wanted a fight, then by God, they were going to get one. With a swift one-two punch combination, she sent them sprawling and then darted toward the window.

Finn was already there, heaving an antique chair at the window. Glass shattered all around as the chair burst through the pane, opening an escape route. Sheila followed him, ducking under a pair of swinging arms and delivering a brutal kick to an approaching figure. Then she was at the window, Finn reaching out to help haul her through.

For a moment, there was a flurry of shouting and panicked yells behind them as they scrambled through the broken window. Sheila landed none too gently on the fire escape outside, shards of glass biting into her hands.

"Come on," Finn said, offering his hand. They were three stories up, and the iron stairs leading downwards rattled ominously as if threatening to break away from the brickwork. But it was their only chance. Sheila grasped Finn's outstretched hand firmly, and together they began their perilous descent.

Behind them, Sheila heard indistinct shouts as the occultists tried to make sense of what to do next. It was only a matter of time before they realized their little game was over and they fled. Sheila couldn’t let them escape, not when they had given Sheila so much reason to believe they could be involved in the murders.

She came to a sudden stop. Finn turned back, puzzled.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “They might still be coming after us!”

“We can’t just let them escape,” Sheila said.

“And we can’t arrest them all, either. We’ll get to the car, call for backup, and go from there. They’re armed, Sheila. They have our weapons.”

“We don’t have to arrest them all,” Sheila said grimly. “I just want Jenkins. She’s the ringleader, and I’m not going to let her get away without giving us some answers.”

Finn sighed, as if realizing there was no point in arguing. “Do what you gotta do. I’m calling this in.”

Sheila nodded. Then, leaving Finn to call for backup, she sprinted back to the parking lot, searching for Jenkins’s car—the perfect place to ambush her as she tried to make her escape.

Sheila soon spotted Jenkins's silver sedan parked a little away from the main building. Keeping low and using parked vehicles and shrubbery for cover, she quietly made her way toward it. Her pulse pounded in her ears and adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her senses.

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