Page 184 of Sinister

“If he doesn’t feed her, she will run berserk. And we don’t know how many people she might kill.”

“Kill?” I gasp.

“It’s a non-sentient creature made from negative energy. It only knows how to destroy, but under Snowden’s rule, it’s a controlled destruction.”

“What—what do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? Do you remember how Rutherford died?”

“I saw in the newspapers that his body had been badly torn apart.”

Sin smiles slowly. “Yes. Torn apart by something not human.”

“Wait. You mean . . . your society wasn’t the one who killed him?”

“No. And I told you, I’m not personally involved in any of this.”

“But then I don’t understand. So his death wasn’t part of a ritual?”

“No. It was not.”

“What about that other fellow? Underwood? The newspaper said he was killed quite brutally, too.”

“Same as Rutherford.”

“But why? Why would Snowden command that creature to kill them? And make it look like it’s some kind of ritual?”

“Because it’s part of a vengeance plan,” he continues. “I told you before—Rutherford, Snowden, Arnoult, Haas, and Underwood were the ones who laid the foundation of the Ouroboros Society. They started all of this.”

“They?” I raise a brow.

He shrugs. “I merely found myself in their proximity. That doesn’t make me guilty by default, does it?”

“No, I suppose not,” I whisper.

“See, the thing here is while there were indeed some rituals performed, and while there are people who chose to give their lives for some higher purpose, I cannot tell you why each individual person did what they did.

“But there are also other deaths—deaths that were not committed in the name of any ritual. Deaths committed with far more insidious motives.”

“Snowden.”

“Indeed.”

“But why?”

“Why do you think, Petra? Because he’s trying to erase all traces of his involvement. He wants to be remembered as the one who vanquished this so-called satanic cult.

“After all, he has everything he needs now, doesn’t he? He doesn’t need his dead mistress anymore. Not when he’s planning to marry you.”

“Don’t remind me,” I grumble.

“Don’t worry about that.” He places a kiss on my temple. “I will never allow that.”

“You said you have a plan. What is it?”

“All in good time, Petra. I will tell you. You have my word. But you must be patient. Every piece of the puzzle must fit in its place.”

I turn back to the scene before me, unable to look away. Mr. Snowden, now completely naked, is rolling in the grass with the creature. Her tendrils are still connected to his brain—feeding on him, or whatever that means.