Page 211 of Sinister

But I find that the more time I spend in his presence, the more I feel at ease for the first time in my life. And nothing else matters.

“So how did you learn about it? About your abilities?” I ask after a while, hungry for more information about him.

“The one who saved me. The demon, though I don’t really see him as a demon. He’s . . . something else,” he says with a small chuckle. “Not everything is black-and-white, Petra. I’ve told you that there’s a lot in this world, in this universe, that we don’t understand. And he’s one of those things.”

“Did he know about your powers?”

“He was as surprised as I was when he noticed them. But he recognized them for what they were. An anomaly of nature. Something rare. Something that shouldn’t be, and yet here I am.” He pauses. “Still, he was kind enough to help. To guide me. Without him, I don’t think I would have ever fully understood any of this.”

“That entity doesn’t sound so bad,” I note.

“No, he’s not. Not at all,” he replies. “In fact, he’s more humane than most of the people—most of the humans—I’ve encountered thus far. He has a strong moral compass. He doesn’t hurt people for the joy of it. He only acts when it’s necessary.”

“Necessary?” I frown. “What do you mean by that?”

He presses his lips together. “If he sees an injustice, he will act. There’s a lot of discourse around the roots of evil in people, and we tend to picture monsters when we think of true wickedness. But in reality, it’s usually the most mundane individuals who do the most harm. They rationalize their actions in ways that absolve them of guilt. Those are the truly dangerous people of the world. I’ve learned a lot from him, about what’s right and what’s wrong.”

I nod, turning over his words. He’s right. I’d never thought of it that way. We grow up learning about evil through the lens of religion—through the Bible, through stories—but he has a point. In my experience, too, the worst people I’ve encountered have been ordinary ones, masking their cruelty behind civility.

“Then how did you get involved with these rituals, or whatever they are? Why did those people die by suicide?” I ask.

He makes a displeased sound. “Not everything is as it’s made out to be, Petra. I didn’t participate in those rituals with any nefarious intent. On the contrary—those people who died, they died as a consequence of their own actions.”

He speaks vaguely, but I press on. “Yes, they killed themselves, but why? What would prompt so many people to do that all at once? What was in it for them? What could they possibly gain, considering they ended up dead?”

He chuckles. “Isn’t that the most interesting question? What could they have wanted?”

“You’re being vague again,” I accuse.

“Perhaps,” he says. “Perhaps not.”

“I just don’t understand. First, the students. Then the others, the ones they found in the cemetery. I heard Mr. Snowden mention that they weren’t from around here. So why would they come to Radcliffe? Why would anyone come all this way just to kill themselves in a group? It doesn’t make sense.”

He smiles—a long, lazy smile. “The students weren’t from Radcliffe either. They came here from all over the country.”

My brows draw together as I stare at him, waiting. After a few quiet moments, he continues.

“None of them were as innocent as you think. Many of the students used theology as a mask for their true desires. Some of them exploited others—the weak, the voiceless. Some preyed on children and women. Some ruined entire families in their pursuit of wealth and influence. None of the people who died were blameless.”

“But how would you know that?” I ask, shaken.

He chuckles softly. “One of my responsibilities in the Theology Department was to review applications and admit students. I saw everything. I knew their flaws.”

“And the people from outside Radcliffe?” I ask slowly, my thoughts a tangled mess. “Those ones in the cemetery?”

“Let’s just say,” he replies slowly, “they were invited.”

The implication is chilling. He must have done this on purpose—brought them here even if they weren’t students. They must have had some ties to the department, or to the university at large.

“Did you only admit people you knew were . . . bad?”

He smiles slightly. “Smart,” he praises. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”

“But why?” I press. “Why would you admit people you knew weren’t good to a theology program? That goes against everything it’s supposed to stand for.”

He shrugs. “I was fulfilling a duty.”

“You lured them here.”