Page 26 of Silent Ritual

Finally they reached it. Sheila bent down and gently pressed her ear against the cool wood of the door, straining to make out the conversation inside. Finn stood guard beside her, glancing around every few seconds to make sure no one was coming.

Inside, voices murmured indistinctly, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. Suddenly, a woman's voice rose above the rest. "The cleansing is near, brethren. The stars are aligned, and our time is at hand."

Sheila recoiled, her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes met Finn's, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The implications were clear—this wasn't just a study group. Sheila felt something cold settle in her gut as she realized Cassandra Jenkins was part of something much bigger.

“We can’t let them leave the building,” she whispered to Finn. “We have to stop them.”

“You and what army?” a voice behind her said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sheila turned around to see three men standing there with grim expressions. Two of the men were holding guns, and the third held a baton menacingly. All three were clad in dark clothing, with hoods obscuring their faces. One of them, a tall man with a crescent scar around one eye, stepped forward.

"Who else knows you’re here?” he demanded.

“Everyone,” Finn said, his voice surprisingly calm. “The police chief, the local news, your mother…”

The man struck Finn across his stomach with the baton, causing him to double over in pain. Sheila kicked the man hard, her shin connecting with his thigh, and he cursed and collapsed to one knee. The other two men descended on her.

She pivoted, her body coiling like a spring before unleashing a devastating roundhouse kick. Her foot connected solidly with the first attacker's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

Without missing a beat, she dropped low, dodging a wild swing from the second man. She countered with a swift uppercut that caught him under the chin, his teeth clacking together audibly as his head snapped back.

She turned back, ready to face the man with the crescent scar again, but to her surprise he wasn't getting to his feet. He was still on the ground, and before Sheila could register what he was doing, he'd struck her leg hard with the baton.

She staggered, and before she could recover, the two men were on her, grabbing her arms. One of them twisted her arm behind her back, and she felt the cold barrel of a gun jabbing into her side.

"Nice try," the man sneered. "But you do anything like that again, and you'll get worse than a bruise."

She glanced at Finn, who was struggling to get back to his feet. He gave her a troubled look. He was clearly injured, but Sheila suspected it was nothing serious.

“Who else knows?” the man with the crescent scar said again. After a few moments had passed in silence, he swung again, this time striking Finn’s shoulder. Finn tried to fight back, but the third man punched him hard in the side.

"Enough!" Sheila said, desperate to get them to stop beating Finn. "Please, no one else knows we're here. It’s just us.”

She sensed a strange satisfaction in the eyes of the man with the crescent scar. “I knew someone was snooping around, spying on us—I just had no idea it was the police. Good thing we caught you."

The comment puzzled Sheila, but there was no time to figure it out. The man gestured to one of his companions, who pushed open the door behind Sheila.

The room, a study hall converted into a makeshift ritual room, was dimly lit by clusters of candles scattered haphazardly around the space. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, mingling with the musty scent of old books. In the center of the room stood Cassandra Jenkins, surrounded by other individuals, hooded and silent. An elaborate chalk-drawn symbol took up most of the floor, eerily similar to those from Brett Hawthorne’s books.

The sudden intrusion caused a murmur to ripple through the group. Jenkins’ eyes widened in surprise as she recognized Sheila, then narrowed in anger. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice echoing through the room.

"The meaning of this," the scarred man replied, shoving Sheila into the room, "is that these two decided to stick their noses where they don’t belong. They’re police officers. Sheriff’s deputies."

“Yes,” Jenkins murmured, studying them. “They questioned me earlier. They were quite…pushy.”

“What do you want to do with them now?” the man with the scar asked. “They’ve seen too much already.”

Jenkins sighed, passing a hand over her eyes. “All I wanted was some inside knowledge on the murders, that was it.”

“Why would you need inside knowledge, anyway?” Sheila asked. “You’re the ones who killed those women, aren’t you?”

Jenkins glanced around, looking puzzled. “You think we murdered them? And you call yourselves detectives?”

Sheila was puzzled by this denial. “Wait. If you’re saying you didn’t kill them, then what’s this all about?”

“We didn’t take the lives of those women directly, no,” Jenkins said, “but we did send the creature that preyed on them.”

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