Page 160 of Sinister

“You mean heaven or hell?”

“Those are mortal terms. Constructs. We’ve invented them to make sense of what we don’t understand. But what’s out there—it’s not as simple as that. Her soul was gone the moment she died. I don’t know if it moved to the resting place of souls or if she began another cycle of reincarnation. Who knows? But when Snowden made that deal, he didn’t specify. He just said, ‘I want her back.’ And he got her back.”

He pauses, then adds quietly, “He got a rotting version. A body with no mind of her own. No memories of their life together. She was just a piece of animated flesh.”

I stare at him in shock.

“And of course, the next step was getting rid of it,” he continues.

“Did he?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at me solemnly. “That’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? He didn’t. He created the monster, and now he has to live with it. Though not for much longer. He sold his soul, so the debt will be collected eventually. And when that time comes, the monstrosity should leave this realm with him.”

“But until then . . . where is she?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he replies, smiling without humor.

“I’m sure someone would notice a rotting corpse walking around,” I try to joke, forcing a laugh.

His features turn serious. “You think it’s a joke? Pray, Petra—pray you never come face-to-face with it.”

I gulp down hard. “What about his wife? His mother? He said they died. Was that part of the bargain, the curse?”

“Not directly,” he said. “But the energies around him, the corruption he brought into his life? It seeps into everything. And everyone.”

“Even his daughter?”

He looks at me then, his eyes sharp. “What about her?”

“I’ve met her a few times now. She’s engaged to my brother. And something’s wrong. She’s always so quiet, nervous. She flinches when people get too close. She looks sick all the time. Just this morning, she ate a bite of cake and ran to the restroom.”

His expression darkens. “She’s ill?”

“Every time she visits,” I explain. “She barely eats. Her chaperone says it’s because our food isn’t good enough, but I don’t buy that. I’m . . . worried about her.”

“Don’t be!” he declares. “Her fate is her own.”

“But—”

“Worry about your fate, Petra. Not others.”

“Like how you worry about me?”

His lips tug up in a sly smile, and I decide this is the time to confront him.

“I know what you did to my brother.”

“You know?” He quirks a brow.

I nod. “Only you would do that. Only you would . . . defend me.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I couldn’t let him get away with it.” He shrugs.

“But how did you know? When did you see it happen? You weren’t there⁠—”

“I’m always watching you,” he adds gently.

“How? Do you have some kind of crystal ball?” I let out a wry laugh.

“No.” He leans closer, his voice sultry and dangerous. “I have the shadows, and they’re my friends. They tell me everything I need to know.”

My blood runs cold.

“Petra,” he continues in an ominous tone. “Stay away from Snowden. Don’t be alone with him. And don’t ever wander the halls of his house alone. Do you understand me?”

His chilling voice resounds in my ears, and I can only nod in agreement. But the question remains . . .

What is Snowden hiding?