77. Petra
PETRA
“For the most part, my childhood was exactly as I told you. I was an orphan, and they named me Sin because they thought I came from sin—and my entire existence was a sin. But they also named me Kimaris, which I later found out means one without a home.
“So I was technically the Sin without a home. When I was fourteen and decided to jump from that window, it was because I didn’t think there was anything left for me in this world. I didn’t think I would ever find peace, that I would ever find someone to accept me for who I was.
“And as I lay dying on the ground, that entity came to me. You asked me numerous times if I sold my soul, and it was the truth—I told you then, and I’ll tell you now: I did not sell my soul. But I did sell something.
“As I was waiting for death to claim me, he asked me what I wanted most in the world. Do you know what my answer was?”
I shake my head.
“I wanted a home. Sin. Kimaris. The one without a home wanted somewhere to belong. Someone to belong to. And then he gave me a choice. I could continue living, or I could die. But I would die knowing that there is a home out there for me. That there is someone I could call home.
“You. He showed me a vision of you. You were out there in the world. The Fates had decided you were to be the only one for me—in this lifetime, the next, forever. When I saw those images, I couldn’t believe it.
I was still so deep in denial that I couldn’t possibly deserve anything better.
I thought it must be a trick. That perhaps he was playing with my mind.
Or perhaps, because death was so close, I was hallucinating.
“But then he told me: If I chose to die, he could do nothing about it.
I would die. And at some point, I might get reincarnated.
But because of my—ironically—sin of taking my own life, my time in the afterlife would not be short.
It could be centuries before I gained a new incarnation.
Centuries in which not only would I have lost you, but there was no certainty I would meet you again in the next life.
No guarantee our incarnations would align.
“But if I chose to live, he would make a deal with me. He would ensure I get what I want most: a home. A person to belong to. In exchange for serving him.”
“Serving him? What do you mean?” I ask.
“He wanted me to find evil people and kill them—in his name, for him. It’s still not clear to me exactly why he required those services. I later thought that, perhaps, while I did not personally sell my soul to him, I was selling other people’s souls.”
“That’s how you started it? St. Anselm Hall University?” I ask.
“That came later.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean, later?”
“As you know, he healed me with his blood. And afterward, for a short time, he took me under his wing. I was still young, and although I’d worked since childhood, I didn’t have the skills to make it out into the world.
Or at least, I didn’t have the skills to do what he asked of me. So, he taught me.
“He taught me everything I know. It was through his guidance that I got accepted into Harvard College, that I completed my studies. It was his teachings that showed me how to identify the people who deserved to die—and those who didn’t.
“It was also around this time that I started having more questions. Although we had entered a contract, it had never been specific enough. To be honest, at that young age, I didn’t think to ask for more information.
I didn’t know how many souls I was supposed to supply him with.
I didn’t know whether my mission was indefinite, or if there was an expiration date.
“And it’s only because I met Arnoult that I started questioning those things.
As you already know, Arnoult was interested in the occult, in what separates this world from others—those things we cannot see with the naked eye.
And it was through him that I started to realize souls are actually a source of energy.
I was effectively giving this entity the energy of the souls I was harvesting in his name.
“After I finished my degree, I had already found ten people whom I led to their deaths as part of our agreement. And that’s when I asked him: How many more?”
“What did he say?”
“Fifty in total. I had done ten, so I had forty left.”
I mentally go over the sheet I’d made with the murders. There had been the twenty-five people in the square and the fifteen at the mausoleum. Forty.
“And you did that.”
He nods.
“And? What happened after you did it? Did anything change?”
“Something did change.” He lets out a dry laugh. “You died. Then I died.”
I stare at him. Then stare some more.
“What?”
“Don’t look so shocked, sweet Petra. I told you I would never leave you, and I meant it. Perhaps I was a little late, but I was never going to leave you to face that alone.”
I blink in shock.
“Explain.”
He looks slightly uncomfortable as he fidgets in his seat.
“I went to find my mentor because I knew he was trying to perform that wretched ritual. It took me a few tries to find the location. Luckily, when I did, he had not gotten too far along with it. I managed to stop it just in time, but he was so mad at me . . .”
He takes a deep breath.
“He tried to fight me, telling me I ruined everything, that life had no meaning without Leah by his side.
And as much as I wanted to argue with him, I could not.
Because I would have felt the same way if it had been you in that situation.
Retrospectively, I can see I had the wisdom of an outsider, and not someone who was deeply suffering.
“That was affecting his judgment, and I cannot blame him for it. But I also knew that if I allowed him to do it . . . everything he yearned for would be forever lost.”
“What happened?”
“He eventually realized that the only way for him to ever be with her again, her and not some paltry substitute, was to give up the ritual. But that did not mean he wanted to live on. So the next challenge was stopping him from killing himself.”
Sin gulps down uncomfortably.
“I told him what the entity told me, that the act of killing oneself would interfere with the timeline of his future incarnation and that he might not be able to find her again.”
He presses his lips together. “So instead, he asked me to kill him.”
I gasp. “And you . . .”
“I did. It was that, or he would find a way to kill himself. At least that way, I could help him.”
“You . . . killed . . . him.”
He nods, not meeting my eyes.
“Did it hurt?”
“I tried to make it as painless as possible.”
“No, I mean did it hurt you?”
He gives me a sad smile. “It did.”
A few seconds of silence pass, and he clears his throat.
“I was trying to find a way to bury both of them when I heard the commotion in town. I rushed over there, but . . .” He chokes up. “You were tied up, on fire.”
The memory of the pain flashes through me with stunning alacrity, and I physically wince.
“I went straight to you. Caught you in my arms. Cut the ropes. But no matter how much I tried to get you to react, you were . . . gone.”
His breath catches, and I note the moisture clinging to his lashes.
“The flames spread to my body, too.”
My eyes widen.
“W-what?”
“I held onto you, even as they tore through my clothes, even as they reached my flesh. I couldn’t let go of you. I couldn’t . . .” He chokes up. “You were gone, and I was not there to save you. I was not there for you when you needed me the most. You have no idea how sorry I am about that, Petra.”
“Wait a moment. You’re saying you . . . that you burned with me?”
He gives me a tight nod. “How could I abandon you?”
“B-but . . . I don’t understand. You’re clearly alive, and well, immortal.”
“By the time I arrived, your soul had already left the mortal plane. I couldn’t get to you in physical form, nor in spiritual.
” He pauses. “As I held on to you, my consciousness slipped from me.
One moment I was screaming at the top of my lungs, in pain at having lost you, in pain from the assault from the fire, the next, the pain disappeared.
“I opened my eyes and saw my body—our bodies wrapped together—from the perspective of an outsider. I was confused at first, but quickly realized I had died.
“A being appeared to escort me toward the afterlife, as no doubt you had been just moments before. But I couldn’t go. If I did, it would mean all of our memories would be gone. I would forget you. I would forget the only home I’ve ever had.”
“What did you do?”
“I was angry. So angry, I could manifest that emotion into the power to refuse to move on. And as that entity, that messenger, left, I saw a familiar face in the crowd.”
“A familiar face?” I echo.
“The entity who’d healed me. He was there. Watching. He could see me in my spiritual form. And as he turned his back to leave, I followed.
“It was in a dark alleyway that he stopped, waiting for me. His first words were that I should not have done this, that I should have followed the messenger to the afterlife. But he acknowledged that he would have done the same in my position. He told me that as a wandering spirit, I was vulnerable—even more so because of the innate spiritual energy that gave me my shadow abilities. Demons would prey on me, seeking to consume my essence. Or . . .”
“Or?”
“I could become a demon myself and consume other essences to survive—to gain more power, to regain a corporeal form.”
I stare at him in shock.
“So you are a demon?” I whisper.
“I am what they call a made-demon: a soul who becomes corrupted in search of power, immortality.”
“What have you done, Sin?” I croak.
“What I had to. I did what I thought was right in that moment, and to be honest with you, I do not regret it. Not for a moment.”
“But if you’re a demon . . . what does it mean, that you consume other essences? Do you make deals with people for their souls, or . . . ?”
“No. I do not engage in that sort of thing, although I have consumed souls. The entity told me that there are levels to being a made-demon. The first and lowest is when a made-demon is amorphous. But with each soul consumed, it can become more powerful and regain physical shape.
“The last and most powerful level is level twelve—after which a made-demon attains powers similar to low-level natural-born demons.”
“What level are you?”
“Twelve. I ascended to my twelfth level nineteen years ago.”
“Nineteen years ago? Those murders . . .”
He nods.
“I fulfilled my contract with the entity when I delivered fifty souls to him. Every other murder after was for the sole purpose of gaining power, to consume more souls, to ascend so I could be once more myself. So I could be with you. In fact, the first soul I ever consumed was that of your father.”
“My father?”
“And your brother. And everyone who had a hand in your suffering.”
The breath leaves my lungs. “You killed them for me?”
“As I would always do. My only regret is that I did not kill them earlier, before they hurt you.”
I swallow hard as I try to make sense of the information. This is all too much, too fantastical—though I should not be surprised at anything anymore. “And the students at school?”
He shakes his head. “I did not kill them. At my current level, I only require one soul per year to maintain my power. And I no longer kill for it. I simply watch and wait for an evil person to die and consume the soul before they can cross over.”
“But if you did not kill them, who did?”
“I cannot say, Petra. But I did not.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me again?” I counter.
“I’ve already told you this much; why would I lie about something like that? Yes, I am a killer. Yes, I am a demon, though I do not consider myself particularly evil, nor satanic. I am simply a man who has done everything he could to return to the only home he’s ever known—you.”
He leans toward me, but I pull back. The disappointment on his face is clear, but I am still so confused.
“What about the baby? If you’re a demon, then . . .”
“I do not know,” he answers sincerely. “I was told made-demons are infertile. The pregnancy shocked me as much as it did you.”
“That’s why you believed my lie?”
“Yes. Even though I’ve been watching you, monitoring you all your life, when I found out you were pregnant, I was so sure it couldn’t be mine just because biologically it did not make sense.
I was so damn angry, so jealous. Just thinking of you with another man .
. .” He takes a deep breath. “It destroyed me.”
“If you thought it was biologically impossible, then what will happen to the baby? Will he be all right?” I press my hands to my stomach defensively. Just thinking that something might go wrong fills me with so much anguish and desperation.
“He will be fine. He must be fine,” he states vehemently. “And no matter what he ends up being, if he’s not wholly human, he will be loved.”
I nod mechanically. “I just want him to be safe and healthy.”
“I will do everything in my power to ensure that.”
“Thank you.”
He tries to reach for my hand, and though my body yearns for his touch, I push it away. Not now. I cannot think with him touching me.
I take a deep breath.
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Sin,” I whisper. “This is too much.”
His face falls. “I understand. I know you probably think I am a bastard, and to a certain degree, I am. I did questionable things to bring you to me again. But everything I’ve done has been for you, Petra.
I traded my humanity for immortality just so I could wait for you, so I would never forget you. ”
“I—” I don’t know how to reply to that. My mind is telling me to run, that this is insanity at its highest degree. But my heart keeps skipping beats every time he tells me how he murdered people for me.
If he’s sick, perhaps I am just as sick for knowing he got revenge in my name, that he made those people pay with blood for what they did. Yet I cannot deny that he’s a killer—that he’s killed tens if not hundreds of people over the centuries to gain more power.
He did it for you, silly, my inner voice amends. Why can’t you see how romantic this is?
Romantic? Did I just think that this entire . . . murderous, demonic business is romantic?
Yes, I must be just as sick as he is.
“I need time,” I say instead—a normal reply, if I do say so myself. Although, running screaming would have been preferred. “I need to think, Sin.”
He doesn’t seem pleased.
“All right. Time . . . all I have is time,” he says on a dry chuckle.