Page 143 of Sinister

There’s a dreaminess to his face that’s almost contagious. He puts his forehead against mine, and I’m thrown off by the endearing, affectionate movement.

“But either way, I need you to promise me that you’ll be careful. The fact that the two deaths so far were people you knew—it’s too much of a coincidence. Just doesn’t sit right with me, you know?”

“Of course I want to be careful, Sin!” I cry out in exasperation. “I’m scared, too, but what can we even do about it? It feels like everything is just spiraling out of control.”

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admits, his voice heavy with frustration. “But we need to stay alert. If there’s someone targeting you, we can’t take any chances.”

“I just want things to go back to normal,” I exclaim forcefully, a loud sigh following the wistful words.

“I know,” Sin adds. “And I am here for you. I won’t let anything happen to you, so there’s no need to be all doom and gloom yet, you understand?”

“I guess,” I reply uneasily, unwilling to be lulled into a potentially false sense of security.

“Great!” Sin jumps up from his chair and prepares to leave. “I have to get going, but if you need anything . . .” He glances at the painting once more before looking back at me. “Anything at all, you call for me, okay?”

“I will, Sin,” I reply as I trail behind him, like a miserable little cloud tailing a ray of sunshine.

He pauses at the door. “Stay safe, Petra. And please, think about what I said.”

“I will,” I reply.

In the next few moments, the door closes behind him, and I come back to the painting on the table. Its faintly solemn atmosphere seems to have touched a raw string inside me.

The more I look at it, the more puzzled I am at how Sin could have something so precious to gift to me.

43

PETRA

I cannot believe this day has come. Sin and I are working together to solve a string of murders at our posh school out in the wilderness of New Haven. But needs must when the devil drives, as they say, and things are so dire that we’ve decided to pool our efforts.

My feelings toward him are still strained from his antics in the past, but I do my best to push past them. As he had taken some pains to point out, I might be the next victim on the list.

The day after our uneasy truce, I’m called back to the principal’s office. Only this time, they don’t announce my name over the PA speakers.

Instead, the mousy-faced woman who works as Principal Rhodes’s secretary interrupts our art history class to whisper something to Ms. Matthews. The latter beckons me toward them with a worried but concerned look, and my heart shoots up to my throat.

“Your presence is requested at Mr. Rhodes’s office, Petra,” Ms. Matthews says, briefly placing her hand on my shoulder. The touch is friendly and informal without being too intrusive, and for once, I welcome it.

But soon, I find myself following the principal’s secretary down the corridors of St. Anselm Hall.

Dread drops through my stomach like a stone as I trudge down the hall. Once we reach the office, the secretary opens the door and goes back to her desk without a backward glance at me.

I brace myself and enter the Spartan room to be met by the familiar sight of Principal Rhodes, his face looking wooden and impassive, and the detectives, Fiona and Phil, standing behind him.

“Ah, Petra, come in, come in,” Fiona says briskly, as if I have just walked into the dining room where she was setting the table. “I’m sure you can guess why we are here.”

“Is this about Harry?” The words come out jangled and sputtered before I have managed to clear my throat and assume a more aloof tone.

“Bad business all around, isn’t it, Mr. Rhodes?” Phil says in a cordial tone while the principal looks flustered, wiping sweat off his brow in mid-fall.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. I don’t quite know what to make of it myself,” the principal replies in a tone shiny with desperation.

I can’t even imagine the bureaucratic and PR hell this man is going through, so I focus on the two detectives instead.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Petra?” Fiona replies with a small smile, nodding at the chair next to the polished mahogany table.

I sit down clumsily, the leather of the chair feeling cold against my skin.