Page 253 of Sinister

I scroll down. There, a small entry on the university’s Wikipedia page. Built on top of an old convent. The land had been gifted to the state by the church.

Just then, Sin slides into bed beside me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I behaved badly.”

I tuck my phone under my pillow. “You did. You implied there’s something wrong with me.”

“No. It’s not you. It’s me.”

I turn to face him. “Then tell me, Sin. What’s going on?”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not my story to tell. Not fully. But when you need to know . . . you’ll know.”

He leans in and kisses my brow.

“Sleep, my darling. Sleep. Know that you’re safe with me. And that no matter what you discover, no matter what happened in the past, I love you. I have always loved you. I always will.”

His words are ominous.

But still, my eyelids grow heavy. My body relaxes.

And I sleep.

70

PETRA

May 1896

As I’m getting ready to retire for the night, one of our servants intercepts me on the staircase.

“This came for you, Miss.”

I frown as I take in the nondescript brown package. “Who is it from?”

“It is from the Snowden House, Miss,” she replies.

“But . . . I’m not allowed to receive anything.”

“The Master has specifically said that if anything comes from the Snowden House, you may receive it.”

Of course, Father would deign that to be acceptable; he is still planning to sell me to that odious man, after all.

Pursing my lip, I stare at the package. On the one hand, I don’t want anything to do with Snowden, but on the other . . . I am far too curious to refuse it.

“Thank you.”

With the small package in my hand, I go to my room, oddly curious to see what hides inside. If it’s something lewd or inappropriate, then that’s all the more reason to encourage Sin to dispatch him in a painful way.

Closing the door behind me, I go to my desk and light up my candle. I tear through the packaging, and I’m surprised to see . . . a Bible?

I frown. That is not something Snowden would send me. Not only is he the furthest thing from a man of God, but I doubt the man has ever held a Bible in his hands without burning.

I almost dismiss it as a bad joke, but for some reason, I end up rifling through the pages of the book.