Page 196 of Sinister

“What was that?” I ask in a shaky voice, heart pounding as adrenaline spikes through my system.

Sin’s expression shifts from languid lust to alertness, and his brow furrows as he leans away from me and toward the entrance of the mausoleum, straining hard to listen.

“I don’t know. Sounds like something moving outside.”

More rustling, as if several feet are squelching through wet grass. I glance around the dark chamber, while the shadows stretch and shift in the wind. Only they are not just shadows of the stone angels and marble demons.

Something, or someone, is definitely outside. And they are coming for us.

57

PETRA

Sin and I crouch behind the shadows inside Arnoult’s mausoleum as a veritable storm of sounds whirls outside.

Sounds like a pack of wolves out to hunt.

“Here!” Sin whispers forcefully and creeps toward the narrow, dusty window of the mausoleum.

I trail behind him and eventually catch sight of a whole galaxy of flickering lights approaching our way.

My blood runs cold when I can finally see who exactly is hunting us: a crowd of dark-clad figures, men with severe expressions walking in a tidy file and women with veils covering their faces.

Some of them are holding torches, some of them are holding batons, and all of them look determined to kill.

“Sin,” I whisper urgently in a voice that just won’t stop trembling. “W-what’s happening?”

“It’s them,” he whispers back. “The Puritans. Fuck!” He actually chuckles in the face of this marauding horde. “Why would they come here?”

“I don’t know! But that looks like a very angry mob to me,” I say in a panicked tone. “Is it because of those new deaths, maybe? Perhaps they’re having funerals and⁠—”

“They don’t use this cemetery for their own people,” Sin cuts me off. “And they would have buried them a long time ago. No, this is something else.”

“Wait, who’s that in the front? The leader?”

But as he comes closer, I finally recognize the man, and my toes go cold. It’s Edwin’s father, and his face is contorted with a dangerous fury.

“Burn the sinners!” a solitary voice cries out, and I glance back through the window—so fast I almost crick my neck.

Outside, more voices pick up the words, and soon we hear the crowd chanting, “Burn the sinners!” and “Cleanse Radcliffe!” Their voices rise together in a fervent hymn, echoing in the darkness of the night.

I watch with bated breath as the crowd comes to a halt right in front of the mausoleum door. “What are they doing?” Sin whispers urgently, but I shush him down.

At that moment, Edwin’s father steps forward, raising his torch high. “My brothers and sisters, tonight we stand at the house of the devil himself. The same God-flouting, evil-churning, pain-peddling devil who took my son from me!”

His eyes are bulging, and his face is contorted with heart-wrenching anguish.

“We will not take this travesty lying down. We will rain fire and brimstone on the sinners of the world. We will take revenge for our children taken too soon from us!”

Something about the tight-lipped looks on the faces of his listeners alerts me.

“Burn the sinners!” someone else shouts from within the crowd, and the chants restart.

Fear starts closing off my throat.

“Sin, they’re going to⁠—”

Almost at the same moment, the first torch is thrown.