Page 60 of Sinister

“All the students at the university are part of that society. They praise this new teaching, this so-called ‘enlightened’ worldview—encouraging questions that were never meant to be asked.” His voice lowers. “They even have a map of demonic sigils.”

“No,” my father gasps. “That’s something only the Vatican is supposed to possess.”

“The leader of this . . . society . . . he’s well-connected. Not just in the Vatican, but beyond. That’s how he seized control of the university. Before him, the Theology Department was revered as one of the best in the country. Now look at us. Why would we allow someone like that to desecrate our community?”

There’s a silence.

“Are you sure this is what they’re planning?” my father asks at last. “A summoning? But why here? Why in our little town?”

The man pauses before replying, “Come now. You must know why.”

“What do you mean?”

“This land . . . it’s fertile. But not for crops.”

“What are you⁠—?”

“Even our church’s founder, the great Father Reuben, said this land was sacred. Mystical. It allowed our church to flourish. Perhaps they see the same potential for their society.”

My father sighs. “And already we’ve seen the damage. The divide. It’s no longer one town—it’s us and them. A fracture has split this place.”

“Yes,” the man agrees. “Everyone has seen it. It’s been nearly twenty years since that madman arrived. For our children, this divide is all they’ve ever known.”

Twenty years? I think, startled. That can’t be. Sin doesn’t look much older than I am. He would’ve been a child back then.

“From the beginning,” the man continues, “when they created that new department and students flocked to it, we’ve watched our own church lose influence. People mock us. They turn away from our teachings.”

“That’s why I keep telling my son to stay away,” my father mutters. “I’ve even pleaded with the reverend to impose stricter rules, to keep us from mingling with the outsiders. But he won’t listen. He still lets our children roam the town—visit the shops, attend fairs, go where they’ll cross paths with those outsiders. Pagans with a skewed understanding of life.”

He falls quiet.

“But no one listens to me.”

“I do,” the man says gently. “I know the dangers all too well. And I believe this upcoming ritual could affect more than just our church. It could destroy all of Radcliffe.”

“If they summon this demon,” my father says, his voice tight, “it will be the end of us.”

“We must act,” the man says. “We must stop them.”

There’s a long pause.

“We are of the same mind, Jeremiah,” the man finally says. “It might be a sin . . . but is it, really, if we do it to protect ourselves?”

He lets the words hang for a moment before continuing, almost reverently:

“Think about what our church father, St. Augustine, said: Killing has its place in society as long as it serves a just cause. Sometimes, it is necessary.”

I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping.

Killing? Did I hear that right? They’re talking about killing people?

How could they say something so vile so casually? I understand not agreeing with the people at the university. I even understand not wanting to live alongside them. But this? Murder? We can’t⁠—

“We cannot let them get their way,” my father says firmly. “I believe God will forgive us for this transgression.”

“This is a just cause. We are protecting innocent people.”

My father hums in approval. “We can kill the leader and⁠—”