19. Petra
PETRA
“Would you begrudge me my deal, darling Petra? Would you blame me if I sold my soul to a demon in exchange for a better life?” he asks smoothly, his eyes pinned on me.
I don’t answer, still reeling in shock from what he revealed.
“Knowing what my life at the orphanage was like, knowing that they left me to rot on that pavement, happy to be rid of me; would you blame me if I sold my soul to escape that?”
“I . . .” I stammer, unable to form a single coherent thought. Do I begrudge him? I don’t know. His life, at least as he’s told it, was full of pain and rejection.
But still . . . we’re talking about a demon.
We’re talking about something evil. Who knows what it really wanted? Who’s to say it didn’t deceive him? Isn’t that what we’re taught from the beginning—that the devil’s greatest trick is deception?
When I don’t answer, he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, sweet Petra. I did not sell my soul. Not yet, anyway.”
I slap his shoulder. “That’s not funny. Selling your soul isn’t something to joke about.”
“And yet, there are people who want to do exactly that.”
“Your mentor . . .” My voice trails off. “The ritual. In two days.”
He nods, and my eyes widen.
“You mean they’re trying to summon a demon to make a deal and sell their souls?”
“People want different things, Petra. Different desires, different dreams. Tell me, if someone offered you what you wanted most in the world, wouldn’t you even consider it?”
I shake my head. “No. Not for eternal damnation.”
“Why do you assume that’s the price?” he asks.
“Because they’re demons,” I shoot back. “They’re evil.”
“And I told you, they’re not the demons from your Bible. They’re not fire and brimstone. They’re something else entirely. Powerful, yes, but not always evil. If anything, I find that humans can be far more cruel. More deliberately destructive.
“Just because we don’t understand these beings, just because they’re different from us, doesn’t mean they don’t have their own sense of morality.”
“Why are you defending them?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he counters. “The one who healed me asked for nothing in return.”
“But you said he offered something to you.”
“Yes. But I never said he demanded anything in exchange.”
“But if he’s a demon, how could he do something like that out of kindness?”
“Maybe,” he says quietly, “he pitied a boy so hopeless he was ready to die. A boy who’d spent his life being hated, feared, mocked. Do you really think showing compassion to someone like that is evil?”
“No,” I whisper.
“Then there you have it.”
I hesitate. “But that still doesn’t explain what you’re trying to do now. The ritual. Are you being forced into this? Is it your mentor? Is he making you do it?”
“I’m not being forced into anything,” he says, his tone firm.
“Quite the opposite. Back when I was studying at Harvard, during my first year, I started looking into these entities, asking questions others were too afraid or too proud to ask. Some people didn’t like it.
But there were others, like my mentor, who had been asking the same questions long before I ever did. ”
He leans back slightly.
“He took me under his wing, and together, we started to study. Who are these beings? These powerful entities whose blood, just one drop, can heal a person from the inside out. And if they can do that, what else are they capable of? Where do they come from? Why are they here? Wouldn’t you want to know the answers? ”
“Yes,” I admit softly. “But . . .”
“I was drawn to your curiosity, Petra. Because I’m curious, too. I want to know more than what we’re spoon-fed—by our families, our communities, our schools. We’re taught to accept what we’re told and never dig deeper. But if we don’t ask questions, we’ll never know.”
“Maybe,” I say hesitantly. “But sometimes it’s better not to know. Knowledge is powerful, sure, but it can also open the door to things we’re not ready for. What if you accidentally unleash something terrible?”
“And that,” he replies, “that unknown—is exactly what people are looking for.” He meets my gaze. “There are dozens of students here, just like me, who want answers. They want to understand what lies beneath the surface.”
“They want to sell their souls,” I snap.
He shrugs. “Some do. Some want things that feel impossible to get otherwise—and would strike a bargain with something that could give it to them. Others, like me, are driven purely by curiosity.”
“But what happens if someone does sell their soul? What if you summon something, and it won’t leave? What if it stays in our town and starts consuming it?”
He smiles. “Maybe that’s the point.”
“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.”
That makes my blood boil. “So that’s it? You’re just going to ignore everything I told you? Pretend I didn’t warn you? You’re going through with it anyway?”
“I am,” he says, calm as ever. “Unless you ask me not to.”
“Didn’t I just tell you you’re in danger?” I snap.
He shrugs. “I think I could be persuaded to walk away from this particular curiosity if another one of my curiosities were satisfied.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
He closes the tome and slides it back into the drawer. Leaning back in his chair, he tilts his head and fixes his gaze on me.
“One kiss,” he says. “Give me one kiss, and I’ll vow to stay away from the ritual.”
I stare at him, stunned. “What?” I blurt. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s simple,” he says, unbothered. “One kiss on the lips. And I promise I won’t take part in the ritual.”
“You’re insane,” I gasp, stepping back. “Why would you ever think I’d agree to something like that? I’ve done my part—I warned you. I told you what my father and his congregation are planning. That is enough.”
He lifts a brow, and his laid-back expression makes me even more angry. How can he joke about something like this?
“You said it yourself—free will. You choose whether to participate or not, whether to put yourself in danger or not. Why should I sacrifice myself for you?”
Without waiting for a reply, I turn sharply on my heel to leave.
Behind me, his voice follows—soft, almost amused.
“Is that what it would be? A sacrifice?”
I stop in the middle of the room, frozen.
“Would kissing me really be so unbearable, Petra? So unthinkable that it would feel like a sacrifice?”
I say nothing.
“You’re doing it again,” I murmur without turning. “You’re trying to make a trade.”
“If you won’t grant me this little curiosity,” he says, “then perhaps I should just sell my soul to get it. I’m sure that entity would have no trouble securing me a kiss from you in exchange for my soul.”
“You—” I gasp, whipping around to face him. I march forward, stopping in front of him with clenched fists. “You’re impossible. You’re not taking this seriously. How could you—”