Page 266 of Sinister

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. That was a soulless person. A creature. Do you want to defile her body in that manner? Turn her into an undead creature just to satisfy some insidious desire?”

“She would have wanted to be with me,” Sinclair answers.

“Not like this.”

Somewhere in the back of my head, I think I know what they’re talking about. Is Arnoult trying to raise Leah from the dead? But how could that be possible? We’ve seen what the creature was.

It wasn’t a person—it was just a body. No memories. No conscience. Nothing.

“You’re going too far, Sinclair. This is not the way. You can still find her again in another life. But this? Don’t do this. Don’t put a blemish on your soul. That, more than anything, is going to stop you from finding her again.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I know. No, I know far too well, because you would not be the first to think to do something like that.”

“What?”

“There was someone else who tried to raise their beloved from the dead. Someone other than Snowden. A long time ago. They almost did it. But the only reason they stopped is because of what I’m telling you now.

“If you go through with it, if you do it, you will damn yourself forever. And that’s not just your soul that’s in danger. By doing something so forbidden, something that even the gods frown upon, you would be effectively cutting your own thread of fate that connects you with her.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I know what I’m talking about. And the fact that I am here today is proof.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Don’t do it, my friend. Don’t.”

There’s movement. Loud noises. Raised voices. I struggle to open my eyes, and when I do, there’s only Sin in the room with me. He’s on the couch next to me, his head in his hands.

“What happened?” I croak, my mouth parched and dry.

He takes a deep breath. I’m so confused about everything that’s going on that I barely register the fact that there are no more injuries on his body. Not on his face. Not on his neck.

And though he’s wearing a clean shirt, I don’t think I’d find any underneath it either.

The memory from earlier comes to mind. What had he said?

The entity came to him when he was fourteen years old and on the verge of death, and with a few drops of blood, that entity—demon, whatever he was—had healed him.

Did this happen now, too? Was it all real, and not just a figment of my imagination?

I move closer to him, pressing my hand to his chest. He doesn’t wince. He doesn’t startle. No sign that he’s in pain.

“What happened?” I ask again, this time my question aimed at his lack of injuries.

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he lets out a deep sigh and pulls me closer into his arms.

“He stole it,” he finally says, not making much sense.

“What?”

“The book with the sigils. Arnoult stole it. And he’s going to use it.” He takes another deep breath. “He’s going to try to raise Leah from the dead.”

“W-what?”