DAGON MANSION

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE THIRD RITUAL CRIME

Three months had passed, and Glouminster had learned to live with its fear.

But that fragile calm shattered when another ritual murder struck the town.

The victim this time was Nisha Stanton, the forty-year-old, flame-haired owner of The Velvet Cellar, Glouminster's first BDSM club.

Loved by some, despised by others, she ran her business with elegance and discretion—an oasis for those who preferred truth over hypocrisy.

That night, Nisha left the establishment under the faint drizzle of autumn rain. She barely had time to light her cigarette when the attacker came from behind, seizing her by the hair. The scream never left her throat. Her neck—and part of her face—were torn away with a savagery that felt almost ceremonial.

When the police arrived, they found her in a pool of blood, arranged within the now-familiar circle of symbols that had become Glouminster's nightmare.

Detectives Rogers and Brady stood over the corpse, the air heavy with iron and decay.

"This is a crime of passion," Rogers muttered, his breath clouding in the cold air. "The woman lived dangerously. Someone must've lost control of her games."

Brady crouched near the markings, tracing them with gloved fingers.

"No. It's the same pattern, the same geometry as before. This isn't passion—it's ritual."

Rogers sighed. "You and your obsession with serial killers. Life's complicated enough without demons and symbols."

Brady gave a small, dry laugh. "Are you thinking about your daughter again? I heard she's got a boyfriend."

"I don't like him," Rogers said curtly. "He works for Dagon Enterprises."

Brady's smile faded. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Everything," he said quietly. "Everything about Ryan Dagon is wrong."

Brady didn't answer, but she wouldn't agree either. Deep down, she suspected he was right.

A few days later, Theolinda decided to visit Ryan. She hadn't seen him in months, and the silence had begun to worry her.

When she entered his room, she stopped cold. He looked thinner, hollowed out. His hair clung damply to his temples, and his hands clutched a pillow against his chest as if it were keeping him alive.

"Ryan?" she whispered.

He didn't move. His eyes were open, staring somewhere beyond her. Alarmed, Theolinda sought out Jeremiah.

"What's happening to him?"

Jeremiah's voice was weary. "He's been down for months. Tried to take his own life. I got there just in time."

The words hit her like ice. She went back into the room immediately.

"Ryan," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "What's wrong? Don't you want to talk to me?"

At last, he looked at her, eyes glazed but alive.

"No, Theo. I'm glad you came. I don't have any strength left."

Tears gathered in his lashes. Theolinda's mind flashed back to another time—Tabitha's death, Mia's trembling hands comforting him, his broken sobs echoing through Dagon Mansion.

"Ryan," she whispered, "you've survived worse than anyone I know. You're not weak."

But he shook his head. His voice cracked.

"I'm a monster, Theo. I want Mia to be happy, but I can't stop thinking about her—and Xena. I'm jealous of my own daughter. I hate myself for it."

The confession tore through the room. Theolinda didn't speak. She pressed his ear to her heartbeat—steady, unlike his.

Sometimes Ryan was just a frightened child who wanted to be loved, she thought as he drifted into uneasy sleep. How can I ever make you feel safe again?

That same night, Alisha straddled Jeffrey, her soft moans filling the small apartment. Desire came to her like a trance—sweet, mechanical, detached. When they finished, she slid out of bed in silence.

"Where are you going?" Jeffrey asked, half-asleep.

Alisha didn't answer. She dressed quickly, movements sharp, precise. Something else was speaking through her now.

By the time she reached the street, the night wind had risen, and with it came the whisper.

A voice inside her head—soft, persuasive, absolute.

"She is the key. Xena Blackwood must die."

Alisha didn't question it. She only walked faster toward Dagon Enterprises.