Page 240 of Sinister

“Oh, I must say that’s a relief,” my mother adds. “Isn’t that so, dear?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you for coming to meet us,” my father tells him.

“Of course. Come join us for dinner,” my mom offers. “Petra, why don’t you put another serving on the table?”

I’m still staring between the three of them, shocked by the direction this evening has taken. Somehow, I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality. What is going on? When did Sin even talk to his parents? He’s never mentioned them to me before.

And the marriage? That’s . . . We’ve never spoken about that. Never. How could he bring that up so casually when it’s a complete lie?

Still, I keep my thoughts to myself as I head to the kitchen counter, grab an extra plate, and start putting together some food for Sin. My mother is bustling around the kitchen, while my father sits at the table with Sin. From what I can hear, they’re currently discussing sports—NFL, NHL, I don’t even know. Sports aren’t my strong suit, but I know my dad is a big fan.

Knowing that Sin plays on the school team and is a great athlete must make him very happy.

Seeing my mom nearby, I move slowly toward her, trying to see if maybe—just maybe—meeting Sin has jogged her memory a little.

“So, what do you think of him, Mom?” I ask in a low voice, careful that they don’t hear me.

“Sin? Oh, Petra. He’s wonderful. You should have told us earlier. Not only now, with this situation, but I do understand that teenagers like to have their privacy.”

“I’m glad you like him,” I say dryly. “But he doesn’t remind you of anyone else?”

“Who would he remind me of?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you think you’ve seen him before? Doesn’t he look like that sponsor you talked about, Kimaris?”

“Oh, but that was so long ago. I don’t quite remember what he looked like,” she says, frowning slightly. “But I think I would have remembered. Why? Is there a connection between the two?”

“Uh, perhaps . . . Kimaris is a family member of the Arnoult clan,” I add under my breath.

“Oh, I see! That makes this even more exciting. I’m so happy for you. And he seems like such a good boy. From the way he looks at you, I can tell he loves you a lot.”

“Yeah, he does,” I say quietly.

But inside, all I can think is: He loves me enough to wait for me for over a hundred years, track down my parents, make sure he was at my birth, name me so that I would share the name with my past-life self . . . then he made sure my parents became rich enough to move to Radcliffe so I could attend St. Anselm Hall—all so I could meet him again, as the golden boy of Radcliffe: Sinclair Arnoult. Which is probably not even his real name.

And let’s not forget the most important detail: He’s probably also a murderer. Maybe even in cahoots with the devil. Though I’m still not sure how that particular detail fits into the whole picture.

And now that I think about it . . . how do his parents fit into this? If he’s some immortal creature, then how did he convince two seemingly normal people to play along with this charade?

Are they being mind-controlled? Does he have that power?

Am I being mind-controlled?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Tonight is going to be tough.

But I have to get through it—without signaling any suspicion.

We all sit down to eat, and my father is still deep in conversation with Sin.

My mother, clearly excited and eager to know more about the father of her future grandchild, asks, “So, Sin, tell me—do you have any hobbies?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I play sports in my spare time, but to be perfectly honest, the thing I love to do the most is spend time with Petra.”

“Oh,” my mother murmurs.

I glance at him. What is he trying to do?

“And do you have any plans for the future? For college? A career?” she asks.