Page 70 of Sinister

“Sin, please be serious.”

“Why do you think I’m not?”

“Because I never know when you are,” I huff. “You speak so lightly about everything, as if none of it matters. As if people dying, or sacrificing themselves, is just . . . inevitable.”

“And isn’t that what your church teaches? That God gave humans free will? Well, they’re using it. They’re choosing to summon something. And if something goes wrong, they’ll bear the consequences.”

“But what about you?” I press. “What happens if you get hurt?”

At that, he smiles wider. “Ah, there it is. So you’re not worried about all those other lost souls, just mine. And I wonder why.”

I flush but don’t respond.

“We’re talking about something serious,” I say instead. “My father mentioned Vatican sigils. He said your mentor has them. If that’s true, if the information is really coming from the Vatican, then that means the entity you’re summoning is incredibly powerful. Dangerously powerful.”

“And why do you assume the Vatican knows best?” he asks.

“What?” I blink, thrown off. “What do you mean?”

He leans forward slightly, voice calm but unwavering.

“The Vatican, like any institution, protects its own interests. Think about it. If there’s something out there, something more powerful than us, something that’s neither God nor the devil, what does that mean for the Church? What does that say about all the teachings, all the centuries of rituals, all the promises of salvation and heaven?”

He pauses, watching me.

“What if there is no heaven? No hell? What if everything we’ve been taught is just a comforting illusion?” he challenges.

I stare at him, heart pounding.

“Just because the Vatican has information,” he says quietly, “doesn’t mean they understand it. And it certainly doesn’t mean they’re using it in the right way. Come.” He motions toward his desk.

He opens a drawer, and I lean over to see what’s inside, catching a glimpse of a beautiful rosary wrapped in silk. It’s such a strange item for someone who claims to want to summon demons.

He pulls out a heavy, ancient-looking tome and closes the drawer—much to my disappointment. As he flips it open, I see the pages filled with intricate drawings—geometric symbols etched like stamps, made of sharp lines, circles, and strange patterns.

“Are those the sigils?” I ask.

“The Church has been collecting these for thousands of years,” he says. “What you saw, those sigils, are just a few my mentor managed to obtain from high-ranking officials in the Vatican.”

“Do they correspond to a specific demon or something?” I ask.

“Yes and no,” he replies. “From what I understand, they can be used to call upon one of those entities. But until now, no one’s actually done it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have the drawings, yes. But we don’t truly know how to use them. Not yet.”

“Then what’s the point of the ritual?” I press. “If you don’t even know how to activate them?”

He exhales. “I can’t tell you more, Petra. I’ve already said too much.”

“You know I’d never tell my father. Or anyone from the church.”

“I know,” he says, nodding. “But that’s not what I’m afraid of.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

He looks at me, a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s just say it’s better if you don’t know.”