60. Petra
PETRA
“Before you ask,” Sin adds with a laugh, “I did not sell my soul for this strange ability. Unfortunately, I was born with it.”
“W-what?”
“Why don’t I make you some tea, and we can talk more?” he says suddenly, pivoting toward the small kitchen set up in the corner of the room.
He busies himself for a moment, making two cups of tea before returning to the center of the living room. He pats the cushion next to him on the sofa, and I hesitantly sit down.
“Thank you,” I murmur as he hands me the cup. I wrap both hands around it, letting the warmth calm my nerves. “Tell me about your powers,” I ask directly. “When did you first notice them?”
He exhales, his eyes far away. “I’m not exactly sure. Maybe they’ve always been there. But I remember odd things starting to happen when I was around three or four years old. Small items would go missing or move without explanation.
“At first, everyone at the orphanage thought it was a prank. But soon the incidents became so widespread, they thought the building was haunted. It wasn’t until they saw me unintentionally moving objects with the help of the shadows that they realized it was coming from me.”
“Sin . . .” I whisper. I can see this is not easy for him to talk about. He winces every time he remembers something particularly painful, and my heart aches for him.
“Maybe that’s when I realized it, too,” he continues, trying to keep his voice steady. “In a strange way, maybe that’s why my parents abandoned me in the first place. Because they saw I was . . . different. An anomaly.”
He pauses, staring down into his tea.
“After that, I was completely isolated. No one dared to talk to me. They were scared. And honestly, I can’t blame them. I was so young—I didn’t understand what I was or what I was capable of. Maybe . . . maybe I could have hurt someone. I don’t know.”
He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.
I want to reach out to him, comfort him, hold him close to my chest and tell him no one’s ever going to hurt him again. But I force my hands into my lap and listen to him. This is my opportunity to understand him.
“The moment I realized I had this gift, what everyone else called a curse, I started to explore it. I had to. I had no one to talk to, no one to explain it to. So I learned through trial and error that I could control the shadows around me.
“It was strange at first; I didn’t know how it worked. I’d be standing in one area of the orphanage, and the light would cast a shadow beside me. The moment I stepped into it, I’d suddenly be in another part of the building.
“It was terrifying. Confusing. And I don’t blame the people who called it unnatural, because back then it felt that way to me, too.”
“Is that why they named you Sin?” I ask gently.
“Perhaps. That, and because my parents left me. I was a sin, just for being born.”
“How did you cope with all of that?”
He exhales again. “Not well. Once they realized I was behind the strange happenings, they tried everything. Priests. Physicians. Occult experts. People they thought could fix me.
“No one could. Eventually, they gave up. They stopped bothering with me altogether. That’s when I was sent to live in the attic. Meals were left at the door. No interaction. No kindness. Just silence.”
“Oh, Sin . . .” My heart twists. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been awful.”
“It was. I won’t pretend it wasn’t. As a child, I didn’t understand why I was being punished, why I was so different. But over time, I’ve learned to control my abilities. I’m still not sure how or why I have them, but I’ve come to accept them as part of who I am.”
“Can you . . . show me?” I ask hesitantly.
“Of course,” he says. “Place your cup on the table.”
I do, and immediately the ceiling light casts a soft shadow beside the cup. I blink—and in that blink, the shadow is gone. So is the cup.
Startled, I look around. “Where—?”
He opens his palm, and from the light, he summons another shadow that draws the cup back into his hand. He hands it to me with a quiet smile.
“That’s . . . strange,” I remark carefully. “Strange, but also fascinating.”
He chuckles. “I’m glad you think so. You must be the only one.”
“I’ve never met anyone with powers like yours.”
“This is how you took me from my room at night, isn’t it?”
He nods. “You never realized it, because you were asleep. You’d wake up here with me and think it was a dream,” he admits.
“But you let me believe it was just a dream.”
“You weren’t ready,” he says softly. “Not then.”
“And now?”
“You’re not running. You’re not recoiling in fear.”
“I don’t think I could run if I tried,” I say with a dry smile.
“But you’re not trying,” he murmurs, glancing down at our hands with reverence. “More than that, you . . . accept me.”
There’s a note of wonder in his voice, and I feel a painful tug in my chest imagining the lonely child he once was—cast aside, abandoned, unwanted.
“You’re not abnormal to me,” I tell him honestly. “It might be strange and a little frightening, yes, but it’s still you. And you’ve never hurt me. On the contrary . . .”
I should be terrified that anyone could wield so much power, but I’m not. In fact, I’ve never felt safer than I do when I’m with him. Especially now, because somewhere deep inside, I know the truth: He would do anything to protect me.
He looks at me, eyes softening. “You’re so sweet, Petra. Do you know that? You make me happy just by saying that.”
“You should believe me,” I say. “Because it’s the truth.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, tender kiss to my knuckles. “I was afraid for nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You asked why I didn’t tell you sooner. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you. It’s because I’ve spent my whole life hiding, afraid of being condemned for something I never asked for. Something that isn’t my fault. I suppose I just forgot what it was like to hope.”
“Oh, Sin,” I whisper, heart aching for him. Although he tries to put on a strong front, I can sense the deep turmoil inside of him, the pain that he tries so hard to mask.
But the more I find out about him, the more I come to admire him and his strength. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be reviled his entire life—so much so that he sought to end his own life.
He not only controls the shadows, but he’s lived in the shadows his entire life.
“Did you ever find out where your powers come from?” I ask quietly.
“As far as I know, it’s something extremely rare. Entities with this kind of power almost never mingle with mortals. I was told it was an anomaly—likely the result of some distant ancestor who once had this ability, and somehow, it was passed down to me.”
“Have you ever tried to find your birth parents?” I ask gently.
“No,” he says, voice firm. “And I’m not interested. They had me and gave me up. Why would I go looking for them?”
“Maybe just to get some answers. They might know more about your powers, or where they came from.”
He lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “Even if they did, I’m not sure I’d want to hear it. What if they looked me in the eye and told me I was a freak of nature?”
“You’re not,” I insist. “You’re not a freak of nature, Sin. I hope you know that.”
“It’s sweet of you to say that, Petra, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am . . . different.” He shrugs in defeat.
“Different doesn’t have to mean bad. I like that you’re different.” I give him a tentative smile. “Why, you’re like one of those mythological deities from the Iliad and the Odyssey. I think that is rather capital!”
He surprises me when he pulls me to his chest, his lips finding mine in a swift, hard kiss. The cup of tea disappears from my hand and appears on the table.
“As long as you like me, I like myself, too,” he whispers against my lips.
I lean in and give him a kiss of my own before drawing back and smiling mischievously at him. “Then be ready to like yourself a whole lot because I happen to like you tremendously.”
His face lights instantly, and it’s as if all the sorrow falls away as he gazes into my eyes. My heart skips a beat, and warmth spreads through me. In that moment, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And his regard for me only serves to further confirm my own feelings.
“Like” is a paltry word for what I feel for him.
I . . . love him.
The sudden realization of my depth of feelings for him rattles me, but it also fills me with so much hope for the future. Perhaps it’s bad of me to even consider a future with him when he’s involved in some questionable activities.
But I find that the more time I spend in his presence, the more I feel at ease for the first time in my life. And nothing else matters.
“So how did you learn about it? About your abilities?” I ask after a while, hungry for more information about him.
“The one who saved me. The demon, though I don’t really see him as a demon. He’s . . . something else,” he says with a small chuckle. “Not everything is black-and-white, Petra. I’ve told you that there’s a lot in this world, in this universe, that we don’t understand. And he’s one of those things.”
“Did he know about your powers?”
“He was as surprised as I was when he noticed them. But he recognized them for what they were. An anomaly of nature. Something rare. Something that shouldn’t be, and yet here I am.
” He pauses. “Still, he was kind enough to help. To guide me. Without him, I don’t think I would have ever fully understood any of this. ”
“That entity doesn’t sound so bad,” I note.
“No, he’s not. Not at all,” he replies. “In fact, he’s more humane than most of the people—most of the humans—I’ve encountered thus far. He has a strong moral compass. He doesn’t hurt people for the joy of it. He only acts when it’s necessary.”
“Necessary?” I frown. “What do you mean by that?”
He presses his lips together. “If he sees an injustice, he will act. There’s a lot of discourse around the roots of evil in people, and we tend to picture monsters when we think of true wickedness.
But in reality, it’s usually the most mundane individuals who do the most harm.
They rationalize their actions in ways that absolve them of guilt.
Those are the truly dangerous people of the world.
I’ve learned a lot from him, about what’s right and what’s wrong. ”
I nod, turning over his words. He’s right.
I’d never thought of it that way. We grow up learning about evil through the lens of religion—through the Bible, through stories—but he has a point.
In my experience, too, the worst people I’ve encountered have been ordinary ones, masking their cruelty behind civility.
“Then how did you get involved with these rituals, or whatever they are? Why did those people die by suicide?” I ask.
He makes a displeased sound. “Not everything is as it’s made out to be, Petra. I didn’t participate in those rituals with any nefarious intent. On the contrary—those people who died, they died as a consequence of their own actions.”
He speaks vaguely, but I press on. “Yes, they killed themselves, but why? What would prompt so many people to do that all at once? What was in it for them? What could they possibly gain, considering they ended up dead?”
He chuckles. “Isn’t that the most interesting question? What could they have wanted?”
“You’re being vague again,” I accuse.
“Perhaps,” he says. “Perhaps not.”
“I just don’t understand. First, the students. Then the others, the ones they found in the cemetery. I heard Mr. Snowden mention that they weren’t from around here. So why would they come to Radcliffe? Why would anyone come all this way just to kill themselves in a group? It doesn’t make sense.”
He smiles—a long, lazy smile. “The students weren’t from Radcliffe either. They came here from all over the country.”
My brows draw together as I stare at him, waiting. After a few quiet moments, he continues.
“None of them were as innocent as you think. Many of the students used theology as a mask for their true desires. Some of them exploited others—the weak, the voiceless. Some preyed on children and women. Some ruined entire families in their pursuit of wealth and influence. None of the people who died were blameless.”
“But how would you know that?” I ask, shaken.
He chuckles softly. “One of my responsibilities in the Theology Department was to review applications and admit students. I saw everything. I knew their flaws.”
“And the people from outside Radcliffe?” I ask slowly, my thoughts a tangled mess. “Those ones in the cemetery?”
“Let’s just say,” he replies slowly, “they were invited.”
The implication is chilling. He must have done this on purpose—brought them here even if they weren’t students. They must have had some ties to the department, or to the university at large.
“Did you only admit people you knew were . . . bad?”
He smiles slightly. “Smart,” he praises. “Yes, that’s exactly what happened.”
“But why?” I press. “Why would you admit people you knew weren’t good to a theology program? That goes against everything it’s supposed to stand for.”
He shrugs. “I was fulfilling a duty.”
“You lured them here.”
He nods again. “Bravo, Petra. You’re very astute.”
“But let’s say you did invite them, and they came. How could you be sure they’d get involved in rituals or secret societies, or anything like that?”
“That’s the easiest part,” he says. “Greedy, corrupt people always want more. They’re the weakest, because they never know when to stop. When they already have money, power, and impunity, they start seeking the next thrill. And for them, the society was the next thrill.”
“I still don’t understand how or why they would kill themselves.”
“Don’t you?” He raises a brow. “What is the one thing a mortal would wish for? What is the one thing humans do not have but always desire?”
I blink. “Immortality?”
“Very good, Petra. Very good indeed. Yes. They didn’t think they were killing themselves. They believed they were simply taking the next step toward achieving immortality. Although . . . let’s just say it didn’t go according to plan.”
“You promised them immortality?”
He shrugs. “Did I? I may have implied it. But I didn’t kill them. They did it with their own hands.”
“But you still engineered it,” I argue.
He shrugs again. “As far as I see it, I rid the world of some of the most awful people. And because of that, there are so many others living better lives right now—lives without fear of being attacked, killed, or abused. Trust me when I tell you, very few people are going to miss them.”
I stare at him. His words ring true. But still . . . why? Why would he go this far? What would prompt him to take matters into his own hands?
So I ask, “Was it your mentor? Was he the one who put you up to it?”
“No,” he answers casually. “It was all of my own making.”
“But how? How would you devise this plan? What prompted you to do it?”
He smiles at me, then leans down to kiss my brow.
“I was sincere when I said I would never sell my own soul, Petra,” he whispers. “Because that is reserved only for you.”
My breath catches.
“But that doesn’t mean I haven’t sold others.”