Page 64 of Sinister

He follows my gaze to the wound and smiles. “I gather you liked my present.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you⁠—”

“Yes,” he says simply, as if foreknowing my next words. “I hurt myself. I thought . . . only if I suffered as much as I hurt you, would you believe I meant what I said.”

“I . . .” My voice catches.

“Petra, I was out of line. I realize now I came across all wrong. It was never my intention to scare you. On the contrary. I don’t want you to see me as the monster they say I am. I want you to see me as someone who⁠—”

“Someone who?” I echo.

He presses his lips together. “As me. Just myself.”

“Giving me a piece of your flesh—that’s not normal. That’s . . .”

“Perhaps I am insane. But are you not insane, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“You kept it. You didn’t throw it away.”

My breath hitches. “How would you know that?”

“I know everything about you, Petra. Just as I knew you’d come. Just as I knew you’d seek me out.”

“But . . . how?”

“You’ll understand. Maybe not now, but in time.”

He sits beside me, lifts the tea to his lips, and smiles—calmly, as if everything about this moment is perfectly ordinary.

18

PETRA

26 March 1896

Sin’s gaze on me is unnerving as I try to summon the courage to say what I came here to say. But how does one casually bring up murder?

He looks at me, expectant.

I bite my lip. “Can you . . . can you not do that?” I whisper.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that,” I repeat.

“Why wouldn’t I, when you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Petra?” he replies smoothly.

I flush a deep red.

“The fact that you’ve graced me with your bare face humbles me. That alone . . .” He trails off with a smile. “Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are?”

I shake my head slowly.