Page 267 of Sinister

“I must stop him before he does it. Because if he goes through with this . . .” He swallows hard. “He’s going to be damned. Forever.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“The ritual Snowden did to bring his mistress back from the dead is a forbidden one. Not only for mortals, but for divine beings as well because it screws with the natural order.”

“If it’s so forbidden, how did he manage to do it?”

“The sigils. There are some demonic entities that thrive on messing with the natural order. He might not know exactly which one to summon to do so, but he will try each and every one of those sigils until he finds an entity to help him.”

“When you say he’s going to be damned, what exactly does that mean?”

“He will get her back—not as herself, but as that creature. But the act itself will have to be paid. He will have to sell his soul for it. Just like Snowden. And upon his death, the demon will consume the soul. It will be like he never existed in the first place. No chance for reincarnation. Nothing.”

“But if it’s his choice . . .”

“No!” he bursts out. “I cannot let him make this mistake. He can still be with her; maybe not in this lifetime, but in the next. If he goes through with this, he will be just . . . gone.”

“If he knows the price he has to pay, and he’s still willing to do it, who are you to stop him?” I say gently.

“He’s my friend! My mentor. I cannot let him.” He breaks down in a sob. “He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family. I cannot let him throw away his soul.”

“All right.” I take a deep breath. “What can we do?”

His brows go up in surprise at my words. “I won’t ask anything of you. Not when it can be this dangerous.”

“But—”

“I will feel better if you’re safe, Petra. I will take you home for the time being, and I will go in search of him. There are a few places where he might perform the ritual.”

“If you’re sure . . .” I murmur.

He leans in and places a kiss on my forehead. “It will put my mind more at ease knowing you are safe.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him who killed Snowden, and that I’m not quite the damsel in distress he makes me out to be. But seeing him so anguished about his friend, I don’t want to stress him further.

He ends up taking me back to my room, and for some reason, I find it hard to part ways with him. I’m not sure why, but all I want is to keep him by my side, in my arms—though I can see how selfish that is.

Instead, I say, “Go save your friend.”

“I’ll be back,” he promises. Then he’s gone.

Still staring at the open window, it takes me a few moments to gather my bearings and get ready for bed. It’s almost four in the morning, and I won’t have too long to get some rest before the entire house awakens.

I’m about to unbutton my bolero when the door to my room bursts open, startling me.

73

PETRA

My father bursts into the room holding a gas lamp, my brother and a few men I don’t recognize behind him.

“He was right,” he spits out at me. “You’ve been cavorting with the devil himself!”

“What is happening, father? Why are you here⁠—”

“Shut up! We’ve caught you red-handed.”

“I don’t understand . . .” I say and take a step back. “Who was right?”