Holmes and I both missed the bus. But this time I didn't even groan.

"Hey, where does he live?" I asked as we walked along. Holmes knew which "he" I was talking about.

"Outside of London."

We considered this in silence. Holmes took an odd turn, and I knew what he was doing - avoiding the bloodstain. As much as I am un-squeamish, I was glad.

I glanced around at the unfamiliar buildings on the other side of the school. Then Holmes touched my arm. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" I strained my ears.

"This way," Holmes strode away.

I hurried to follow, and slowly, I began to hear it too - a pulsing drumbeat. Two quick beats, one long one, then a rapid thumping, repeated over and over again. Holmes stopped at the door of a warehouse, and put his ear against the wall. Holmes nodded. "It's coming from here."

He put his hand on the door and opened it slowly.

"Holmes!" I said savagely, but quietly. "You can't do that!"

"Why not? Are you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming. But just for the record, I warned you!" We stepped inside and Holmes slid the door closed.

The inside of the warehouse was dark, and murky. It was empty, and the only light shone in from dingy windows high above our heads. I shivered.

Then Holmes pointed. The ware house wasn't empty, after all. Straight in front of us, on the barren floor, was a hole. We inched closer and discovered a stair case leading down. Holmes took my hand and we began to walk down it.

The inside of the stairs was dark, and it led down for what seemed like forever. The strange drumbeats kept getting louder, and louder. I smiled in the darkness, in spite of myself. An adventure! How exciting!

The stairs twisted to the right and an empty door frame was filled with a soft, glowing light. The drumbeats were so loud...

We crept forward. One of the boards beneath my feet groaned, and I froze. I listened intently, but nothing happened. After a moment I found the corage to take a step into the door.

Holmes and I couldn't help it. We gasped.

Just outside the doorway, a wooden platform with a railing ran all the way around a huge underground room. On the other side of where we stood, another stair ran down to the ground of this strange place. Thousands of candles were lit, suspended from huge, circular candelabras and stuck into the walls below. The walls were covered in what looked like golden hyroglyphs that sparkled in the flickering light. As the drums pounded into our ears and into our hearts, we peered over the edge of the railing.

I gasped again, and Holmes elbowed me. Fifty feet below us, hundreds of people dressed in black robes all faced an intricate alter. These people's heads had been shaved and from far away they all looked the same. Their hands were tucked into their long, draping sleeves, and each one of them had a vicious looking sword strung at their waist.

Slowly, they began to chant. It started out as a low moaning, barely audible against the persistant drumbeats. Then they got louder, and louder, until it felt like they were shreiking in our ears. The words make no sense, it definately wasn't English.

I inched closer to Holmes.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the next paragraph, there is a murder. I tried to make it as least graphic as I could, but if it might upset you, just skip to the next chapter. Also, I rated this story PG but if you feel this section is inappropriote, please tell me in a review.)





My attention was drawn to several of the black robed people. They were the only ones moving. They were leading a teenage girl wearing a white robe and a silver crown forward to the alter. Someone raised a sword...

Three voices screamed. Holmes, myself, and...