Page 158 of Sinister

“You know him?” I blink, startled.

“Unfortunately,” he says, jaw tightening.

“How? Besides the fact that he’s practically waging war against you and your mentor.”

“That’s not how I know him,” he says, voice growing heavier. “It goes back further. Long before the rumors, before the attacks on the university.”

He pauses.

“You might be surprised to learn this, but he was once one of my mentor’s closest friends.”

I sit up slightly, my heart pounding. “He what?”

He only nods, his expression darkening. “He is the one who sponsored my mentor to come to Radcliffe because of his connections within the occult world.”

“W-what? You mean Snowden was involved in this occult thing, too?”

“Rutherford, Snowden, and a couple others poured a king’s ransom into St. Anselm Hall to establish the Theology Department. But only Rutherford’s name was made public. The others remained anonymous.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because these are powerful men, Petra, men who’ve held power all their lives. They are used to getting anything they want. Anything money can buy. But eventually, they realized there were things even their immense wealth couldn’t grant them. So they turned to other means.”

“Like what?” Dread pools low in my stomach as I ponder his words.

“Take Rutherford, for example. He came from a long line of industrialists. His family’s among the most powerful in the world, with wealth beyond measure. He grew up with every comfort imaginable. And yet, there was one thing he couldn’t buy.”

“What?”

“Love,” he says simply. “He became obsessed with a woman who wouldn’t even look at him. She was married. So, at first, he had the husband taken care of—not by himself, of course, as he wouldn’t get his hands dirty. He hired someone to kill him. Easy enough for a man like him.”

I swallow. “That’s awful.”

He nods. “But killing the husband didn’t win her affection. She still wouldn’t look his way. That drove him mad. So he came to my mentor, hoping for a different kind of solution.”

“A love potion?” I ask with a dry laugh.

“Not exactly,” he said. “He didn’t want just affection—he wanted obsession. He wanted her to love him with the same maddening desperation he felt for her. And so, yes, in a manner of speaking, he was asking for a love potion.”

I wet my lips apprehensively, wondering if perhaps what I’m feeling might also be a result of magic. “Did he sell his soul for it?

“In a manner of speaking.”

Again, these vague terms. There’s never any certainty with Sin, is there? Although he’s started sharing more with me, he still keeps the core information hidden. To what end, I don’t know.

“What does that even mean?” I frown.

“He thought he did. And he got what he wanted. Or what he believed he wanted.”

His words are cryptic, and they leave me more confused than before.

“And no, Petra. I did not sell my soul to have you fall in love with me. I fear that’s all of your own making,” he says smoothly, as if reading my thoughts.

Shock flickers over my face.

“I happen to be in full possession of my soul,” he continues, smirking at me.

“I . . . didn’t ask,” I murmur and look away.