Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (13 page)

Testing his new ability, he eagerly focused his attention on Andy, who stood at the center striker position. All Matt got from him was sharp focus on the ball. The focus shifted slightly as Matt observed, and Andy lurched forward to tap the ball to Dean on his left. Matt laughed in delight. Another sinister skill, and in soccer it could be very useful.

Wrenching his focus away from Andy, Matt launched himself forward and into the game. He played as he always did, intent on the ball and the teams while tuning out the background noise, but he now had an extra sense to assist him with his focus on the team. He could feel every player on the field. He knew their exact location and what they were feeling, whether they were thinking of the game or drifting in a daydream. Matt took advantage of the dreamers. He dribbled around Gary, the chubby defender who had been forced onto the soccer team by his mom in her attempt to help him lose weight. Unfortunately for her plan, Gary spent most of his time standing still and finished every practice with a celebratory pack of Twinkies.

As he raced toward the goal, he sensed Damien approaching on his right. For the rest of the team, Matt needed to be very close to guess from whom the emotions were coming, but Damien was different. Matt could feel dislike constantly simmering below the surface, and since it was directed at him, it was fairly easy to pick Damien out of the group. Damien was ten feet from him now, angling across the field to intercept him feet from the goal. Matt continued on his course. Five feet, then two. As Damien reached the point where their paths would cross, Matt stopped the ball with his right toe, then kick-tapped it to Andy. Damien, expecting Matt to continue on his course, shot past, and Matt had an unimpeded course to the goal. He raced forward again, and Andy sent the ball back to him a second later. He could hear Damien curse as he changed directions, running to reach Matt again, but he knew it was too late. Ten more steps and Matt reached the white penalty box line. Without breaking from his run, he angled the ball towards the top right of the goal. He sent the ball flying, arcing over the defender, past the goalie, and into the net.

Across the field, Coach Huebner’s whistle blew. Andy slapped Matt on the back, congratulating him on the goal. He knew it was just practice, but it felt good to outrun his opponent.

Thirty minutes of full-out scrimmage later and Coach Heubner gathered the team in a huddle around him. The fervor shining out of his watery blue eyes matched the shine of his bald head, and Matt could feel the excitement rolling off him as he began his pep talk. “Great work, team. You’ve all practiced hard to get to this point, and without your dedication we wouldn’t be going to regionals.”

From directly behind Matt, Andy muttered, “Everyone goes to regionals.”

Matt pretended he was wiping sweat off his face to cover his smile.

“Your dedication has gotten us this far,” Coach repeated in a louder voice. “But that’s not enough! If we’re going to win on Tuesday, I need to see passion on the field. You each need to play as though your life depends on it. And it does!”

“It does?” Dean asked in mock surprise. “Do you think he’ll sacrifice us to the soccer gods if we don’t win?”

“I want to see you give it your all on Tuesday. Leave everything on the field. You should literally play your hearts out!”

Dean clutched his chest, then pulled his hand away, staring in horror at the empty cup his palm formed.

“You’re not trying hard enough!” Andy urged him from behind. “You need to play harder to lose your heart!”

Coach glared at the pair of them, but some of the wind seemed to have fallen out of his sails. “We’ll have a short practice on Monday to prep for the game, and I’ll announce the starting lineup then. Now get out of here.”

Matt accompanied Dean off the field a moment later, still flush with victory. Dean was crowing at the look on Damien’s face when Matt had bypassed him for the goal, but he suddenly cut off.

“Dude,” he breathed. “Isn’t that Peter Caracalla?”

Matt nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned to look at the man standing a few yards away in front of a black Lincoln Towncar. His sandy blond hair lay flat on top of a craggy face. He was well over six feet tall and had broad shoulders. Eyes the color of a stormy sky watched from beneath hooded eyelids, and the smile that Matt so often saw plastered across his face for the press was missing. Behind Caracalla, an almost-skeletal man with black hair and pasty skin stood at the door of the Towncar.

Matt decided he must be getting sick because a lump suddenly formed in his throat. It definitely was not because he was scared. Steeling himself, he crossed the last fifteen feet one slow step at a time. At last, he reached Caracalla. The man had a cell phone plastered to his ear. Dean, who was either being a good friend or just wanted to meet someone famous, was still at Matt’s side.

"...as we can, Ted." A tinny voice came through the line, sounding angry. "Of course, Senator. I apologize for my familiarity."

Matt took the opportunity to study the man up close. His hair sat perfectly atop his head, not a strand out of place. Matt wondered if they were too afraid to move. He had the built look of someone who exercised regularly, unusual for a CEO. Matt was surprised to see he stood two inches taller than the man who'd always seemed larger than life.

The man in question snapped his cell phone shut and turned to the boy. Lines stretched from the sides of his nose down to the corners of his mouth, and Matt found himself focusing on those, unable to meet the man’s frosty eyes. He waited for Caracalla to speak.

It seemed like a lifetime passed while he waited, and as each second ticked by, Matt found himself hoping to hear the voice of the man he had wished only moments earlier would disappear. When he couldn’t take the silence any more, he raised his eyes. Caracalla was studying him like a foreign food that he didn’t think he would like but was going to try anyway. Matt gulped.

“So. Matthew Reynolds.” He drew the syllables out ponderously. “You’re much…younger than I had anticipated. Luke’s ‘army’ is getting pretty pathetic.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean whispered loudly. Matt shushed him with a wave of his hand and faced Caracalla.

Be diplomatic, he reminded himself. He would get more out of Caracalla if he seemed useless. And if he had to talk to the man, he was going to take advantage of the time to figure out what he was up to.

“What were you expecting?” he asked calmly.

Caracalla gave a humorless smile. “Less of a bumbling idiot, I suppose. Did you really believe I wouldn’t know you were in my office last night? Even without the fool security guard, who told me someone had ransacked my bathroom—ironic, isn't it, since I did that bit myself—I can sense those who enter my personal space.” He paused, making his next words all the more distinct. “You have two very lovely sisters, Matthew. It would be a pity if anything happened to them.”

The implied threat hung heavy in the air between them. Matt responded with a glare before he could school his features into impassivity.
Don’t let him think he’s getting to you
, he reminded himself.

“What do you want?” He strove to sound polite and mostly disinterested in the answer.

“I want you to mind your own business. I want you to go back to your silly little life of video games and soccer and pretend you never met Luke or heard him talk about me. I am not the enemy here, despite what he says, and you’ll only hurt yourself and those you love if you try to oppose me. Stay out of it.”

Matt could hear a small voice in the back of his mind, whispering that Caracalla was right. It didn’t make any sense to fight him. It wasn’t his fight in the first place. He’d just gotten swept up in Luke’s stories and his own desire to learn more about his new abilities. The idea that there was some conspiracy going on was ridiculous. Caracalla was just an innocent man trying to lead a company and do the right thing. He was helping people, not hurting them.

Matt blinked, unsure where that last thought had come from. The tiny voice whispering to him hadn’t even sounded like his own thoughts, which didn’t make much sense. Shrugging off the thought, he responded, “No problem. I only broke into your office on a dare.”

He had simply intended to placate the cold man in front of him, but as he spoke, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to just walk away. He could go back to a life where his biggest worries were winning the regional soccer game and getting through chemistry class. A life where his sisters were safe from the arrogant man in front of him.

Caracalla raised an eyebrow but only said mildly, “Good. Because if you do get involved, someone is likely to get hurt.” Matt kept his face blank, though his insides were churning. That part definitely sounded like a threat. Helping Luke was putting his sisters at risk. Before Matt could respond, Caracalla continued, “It will be done soon, anyway. It does you no good to fight now.” He turned and strode across the parking lot, the sound of skittering gravel trailing in his wake. Matt stood gaping after him, torn between anger, confusion, and admiration. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be that certain of your authority in any situation.

When Caracalla disappeared behind a silver Jeep Grand Cherokee, Matt finally turned to look at his friend. Dean’s eyes were wide. “Man. What in the world was that about?”

Matt opened his mouth, paused, and shut it again. He either had to explain the unexplainable, or lie to his best friend since kindergarten. He closed his eyes, thinking through the events of the last forty-eight hours. Or would he start farther back, with the first sinisters Luke recruited? He didn’t actually know when that was, so better not start there.

Realizing Dean was still waiting for an answer, Matt opened his eyes, looked into his best friend’s dark brown ones, and said, “I broke into his office on a dare.”

Dean’s eyes, if possible, got even wider. For Dean, that was about the equivalent of jumping up and down while screaming, “You did what????” Instead, he just said, “Whoa. Man. That’s crazy.” He tilted his head sideways, like a dog with a perplexing sight in front of it. “Doesn’t seem like you.”

No, it doesn’t
, Matt thought,
but neither does seeing people’s souls and actually breaking into his office because the devil told you to.
He just shrugged.

The fire in the hearth crackled higher as Luke walked into his office, beating back the dampness. The slight chill that permeated his entire realm never seemed to vanish, even in the areas reserved for cherubs and sinisters, rather than the souls from hell. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, wiping away an imaginary headache. He never actually had bodily pains, but he had picked up a number of habits from his sinisters over the years.

He wandered across the carpeted floor and gazed at the sheet of blood-red rock embedded in the wall. The rock was the same one that hung from the necks of every active sinister, linking them to this much larger piece. He had been neglecting his other agents, he realized. The last two days he had done nothing but track Caracalla's movements and ensure Matt was learning what he needed to. It was past time he checked in on the rest.

He tapped the center of the rock with one thin finger and waited as cracks spiraled out.

"Sydney," he breathed, calling her image to mind. The cracks spread across the surface, merging and filling until the rock was no longer red, but black. The darkness coalesced in certain areas and faded in others until a street appeared. The vision rocked and steadied, rocked and steadied, as though a camera were attached to the front of a person. The street was striped with shadows cast by tall buildings, and Sydney quickly made her way between dark and light patches. Sun glared off the steel buildings, nearly blinding passersby.

Nothing much to see there
, Luke thought,
but at least she appears to be safe.

He quickly ran through the other agents with active missions, jumping from night to day, mountain to beach, and city to farm in a dizzying array of images. Only one was engaged with the subject, and Luke watched him long enough to reassure himself that the agent had it well in hand.

A cough from behind him made him whirl. Zeer hovered three paces away, an apologetic expression on his face. "Sir, Neb has requested an audience with you."

Luke frowned at his assistant. He never understood why he insisted on being so formal. Neb was allowed to come see him whenever he wanted, and both Neb and Zeer knew that. "Of course."

Zeer fluttered out of the room. A brief flurry of whispers sounded in the hallway, and then Neb shot into the room. He nodded at Luke by way of greeting.

"Sir," he said, "I was wondering if you could apprise me of your work with the new recruits. I have been observing Peter, but—" he shook his head—"his office is sealed to us."

Luke's eyebrows shot up. "Sealed? What did he use?"

"The standard mix of gunpowder, earth metals, and salt. I do not have enough corporeal energy to cross the barrier. I find being on Earth drains me too much." He hung his head, ashamed at his admission.

Naturally that was what he had used. The strong ionic bonds in the salt, combined with the volatility of gunpowder and the earthiness of metals worked to keep even the strongest angels out of an area. Cherubs had no shot at getting through. Luke shook his head, still amazed at the human ingenuity that had allowed them to discover that particular recipe. Luckily, most people had forgotten it by this point.

"Most cherubs do. Angels as well, for that matter," Luke said, reassuring his spy. "We were not meant for Earth-bound bodies."

Neb looked relieved. "It just occurred this morning. I suspect he is preparing for something. He and his assistant also make frequent trips to another building on the outskirts of town. I believe they call it a warehouse? That one has been sealed since I felt their first disturbances in my observation zone."

Luke felt a faint sense of alarm. Things were progressing more quickly than he had expected, and Matt was hardly ready to confront the man. And frankly, he still had no idea what the man was up to. He sighed and rubbed his head again. At this rate, he would finally get to experience a headache.

"The recruits are making progress, though the primary still is hesitant about his new position. In a few minutes I am going to see what new information they have gathered."

"I could go, sir," Neb said hopefully.

Luke shook his head but softened his tone as he said, "I think it will be best if I go. They already know me." Privately he thought Neb looked too peaked to even attempt the crossing to Earth, let alone sustain an existence there.

"As you wish, sir."

Neb gave a nod and drifted out of the room. Luke stared after him absent-mindedly for a while, considering what the cherub had said. His visit to Peter had alerted the man to their watchfulness, it seemed, though it had also given him the clue he needed to send the children into the office after hours. He hoped something had come of that trip. In fact, now seemed like a good time to check in on them.

He walked into the hallway and made eye contact with Zeer, who was hovering near the door. The cherub snapped to attention.

"Leaving again, sir?" His voice was stiff. "There is much to attend to here."

Luke waved him away. "There are important issues I must address. I will not be away long. Please take charge while I am gone."

Zeer's tone warmed fractionally as he replied, "Very well, sir."

Luke turned away before his smile betrayed him and stepped through the void.