Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (21 page)

Matt's mind jumped back to the writing he, Oliver, and Anna had found on the floor of the bathroom, the same writing they'd imitated when they’d opened the portal. It made perfect sense, now that he heard Caracalla talk about it. He wished he'd realized sooner.

Caracalla was still speaking. "I had a feeling it would work with you, though it wouldn't with the other sinisters. After all, you're special." He said the last part in a mocking tone. "Their minds didn't have the same capacity for control. Of course, there's still the final test." He smiled, and a chill ran through Matt. "We need to see if you can handle the souls as well." His smile grew, and a knot of dread formed in the boy's stomach. "And since I can't afford to lose control of any of the important people, well, we'll need to use someone expendable. Your little friend should do quite nicely."

The dread turned to anger. He knew Oliver was under Caracalla's control, but so were many others. This was Caracalla's first attempt to switch control from himself to another sinister, and there was no guarantee it would work. And if it didn't...unwanted, the grainy newspaper photo of Betty Fossey sprang to mind. He wanted to clench his jaw, but he couldn't even feel the muscles he would need to move to do so. It was strange, having no physical sensation. He had never realized how aware he was of his body, knowing intuitively where each part was in relation to the others. Now he tried to reach out, hit the man, tackle him, anything that would slow him, but his body didn't respond. It was a terrifying feeling, like half-waking from a nightmare while sleep paralysis still held you. Now, though, he was completely alert, which made the experience so much worse. He needed to prevent Caracalla. He stopped struggling to control his body.

Think
, he told himself again.
You know trying to push the soul out will kill you. What can you do to regain control without fighting it?

And just like that, he knew. The chances were slim he would succeed, but slim odds beat sure death.

He couldn't close his eyes, but he shut out as much of his surroundings as he could, focusing on Caracalla. He sent a tentative strand of thought toward the man, prodding at his mind. Like the soul, he had a barrier surrounding his thoughts, preventing anyone else from seeing in. It was just as inflexible, standing firm as he pressed against it. Caracalla closed his eyes, apparently unaware of Matt's attempt to infiltrate his mind. The humming starting. It was just as annoying as last time, though he could not, at least, feel the vibrations through his feet.

Okay
, he thought,
same as before
. He narrowed his focus as much as he could, concentrating on one speck of the wall between them. He pressed firmly, trying to force the barrier to give. Nothing happened. It was like trying to push a mountain; sheer force wouldn't work on this. He'd had too much practice; had spent too much time perfecting his defenses. The word reminded Matt of soccer, and for a split second he wondered if he'd ever get to feel the joy of outrunning his opponents and lining up the perfect shot. He thought of the defenses used in the games. He'd been awarded few penalty kicks, and each time the opposing team had lined up in a tight row, attempting to seal off the goal. The trick, of course, wasn't to shoot it straight at them; they had too much time to block. The way to score was to shoot around, over, or—if you were Ronaldinho—under the wall.

Caracalla's humming had reached a crescendo, and Matt could sense a tugging at his mind. It was uncomfortably like having a hook caught in his brain, and he felt a sudden sympathy for fish. He started to push the sensation away—he was quite adept at ignoring his own feelings by now—when something caught his attention. As Caracalla manipulated the soul in him to take the connection, he needed to open a tiny gap in his shield to allow the connection to pass through. The gap would only be for the soul—he could feel Caracalla strengthening his defenses against a head-on attack from him—but if he could slip in sideways, curve the ball over or around where Caracalla expected it, he would be in.

The moment came so quickly he almost lost his chance. The tugging strengthened and the connection slid toward the soul residing in his body. The gap started to close. Matt shot a desperate thought at it, willing Caracalla not to notice, to be distracted by the transfer. If he'd had a breath, he would have held it. Instead, he sent all his strength into sliding around the man's defenses. He was at the gap. Then he was through it.

Shock and rage welled up around him. Caracalla knew he was in, and he didn't like it. Matt allowed himself a moment of grim pleasure. The man would see how he liked being manipulated. And then the pleasure turned into pain as Caracalla turned his full strength against him. He was caught in the whirlwind again, but it was a hundred times worse because instead of chaotic thoughts around him, it was the full force of Caracalla's rage directed at him. His skull would burst; he knew nothing but pain and wanted nothing but for it to end, no matter the cost...

The annoying voice in the back of his head started up again, but he pushed it away. He didn't have time to listen to its whining. All of his attention was directed at Caracalla, pushing back against the anger. He could feel he was losing. His consciousness was slipping away, the pain too excruciating to bear for long. His body collapsed, folding onto the floor. He had no control of his limbs still, but his body seemed unable to support itself without his soul, even with another occupying it.
This is it
, he thought dimly.
This is why the others died. The pain...

His vision was growing fuzzy around the edges. He felt bone-cold, the kind where you can't warm up no matter how many blankets you pile on. His control slipped away, and he knew this was the end. The pain was duller now, more of a manageable ache. It was a relief to be able to think, even for a moment, even if it were his last.

His last thought...the idea roused him. He was only sixteen. He couldn't die before he even got his driver's license, or played in the regionals match. He hadn't even gotten a chance to ask Anna out. Her face swam before his mind, and he felt a responding surge of energy. It wouldn't last long, he knew, so he needed to take advantage of the moment. He couldn't fight Caracalla alone, but was it possible to get help?

He thought of the barrier around Caracalla's mind, so firmly constructed to keep out everyone. And he knew what to do. The barrier was softer from the inside, more breakable. He could bend it here. He stretched out a thought, pushing all of his strength into one strand. He shaped it, making it as sharp as a knife. And then he cut through the barrier and let the outside in.

Thoughts rushed past him at the speed of light. It reminded him of standing near a highway as the semis rushed by fast enough to create mini-tornadoes in their wake. As he'd hoped, the rage the souls felt at being controlled had turned on Caracalla. Now that his barrier was down, he'd lost the ability to distance himself from them, and along with it, he’d lost the only thing that was keeping him sane. The chaos ripped through, tearing the barrier into shreds.

Caracalla screamed. The sound rang through the storage space, echoing off the metal with an eerie howl. Matt could feel him start to lose control, his consciousness being pulled apart like a sweater with a hanging thread. His own awareness snapped back to his body, and he could feel it around him again. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the way they responded to his lightest thought. It was strange how much he took for granted, he realized. He'd never appreciated his ability to move as he wanted, when he wanted. It was an amazing thing.

Caracalla screamed again and fell to his knees, clutching his head. Matt could feel the soul, still in him at Caracalla's command, as it realized the man was vulnerable. A moment of wonder passed through it as it realized it was free, and then, with a ferocity that sent a shudder down his spine, it turned on the kneeling man. He felt it rush out of his body, leaving behind a gap that had never before existed but now made him feel strangely hollow. He could feel his insides rearranging themselves to fill the space.

Caracalla fell to the ground in a fetal position, and Matt felt a moment of sympathy for the man despite himself. He pushed the thought aside; it had been Caracalla or himself, and this way saved a number of others as well. A sense of relief spread through him as he realized that the soul in Oliver, too, must have fled on realizing it was free. He rose and stood over the man, watching as tears welled in his eyes and then, seconds later, a vacant expression spread over his face.

He dared a peek inside the man's head. Almost instantly, he wished he hadn't. The chaos still reigned, but it did so with a violence that could only come from dozens of souls, released from their bondage, turning on the man who had controlled them. His mind was splintered, and Matt could tell something important had broken. Whether it would heal or not, he didn't know, but for now, at least, the man wouldn't be controlling anyone.

At that moment it occurred to him that he needed to get out of there. He was in a warehouse, with a man who was going insane, and he was fairly certain the cops would have questions if they caught him. How would he explain any of this? He took two steps away from the man and forced himself to turn his back, heading toward the door. Relief made his legs weak, but he managed the few steps to the exit. There, he turned back, looking at the man who’d nearly killed him one last time. Despite it all, he pitied Caracalla. He wasn’t sure anyone deserved that kind of mental anguish.

He deliberately turned his back, stepping into the night air. The man had tried to kill him. He could pity him, but he shouldn’t feel bad about what he’d done. He shut the door behind him, the echo ringing through the silence. Luke would know what to do now. Hopefully, he and Anna were back from hell.

Tires squealed as a black car spun around the bend in the road, driving far faster than was safe. It sped toward him, and for a short second, Matt thought it wouldn't stop. He started to scramble off the curb, pushing himself out of its path. A moment later, the car slammed to a halt right where he'd been sitting. Oliver leapt out of the driver's side.

"I'm back, mate!" he said, his arms spread wide.

Matt grinned. He was still angry with himself for not noticing that his friend was possessed, but he could tell now this was nothing but pure Oliver.

"Were you driving?" he asked, trying to sound politely interested instead of afraid for their safety.

"Anna let me drive here. Said I can drive back as well. She gave me her keys, even." He dangled the fob from one finger. "Don't know how and I've never driven on the right side, but I think I did all right."

Matt felt uneasy at the thought of Oliver driving, but he was too happy to see his friend alive and well to feel properly terrified. Oliver's parking job didn't give him a lot of confidence in a safe return, but at least the cousins had arrived in one piece.

"I'm glad to have you back," was all he said.

"Matt!" Anna jumped out of the passenger seat, looking a little green. Despite that, she sounded like her usual bouncy self when she said, "I'm so glad you're okay!"

She threw her arms around him, and he froze for a second, unsure what to do. He could feel her body pressed against his, and he wanted to keep it there. Tentatively he raised his arms to return the hug, but she had let go by the time they were halfway to her. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, trying to look casual.

"What happened to you and Luke?"

"Not much," she answered. "We didn't know where you'd gone—Luke took me to his office and we searched for you in this giant jewel he has, it was really cool, but you didn't have your necklace so we couldn't find you—and then I was worried about Oliver so we went back to Caracalla's place—his butler dude tried to kick us out but we wouldn't let him. Then Oliver started being Oliver again and we knew something had happened, but we didn't know what until you called. Well, Luke had an idea, but we didn't know for sure. He said he'd be here in a minute to help with Caracalla. Did you know Luke has cherubs working for him? They look like angels, honest-to-goodness angels! They're adorable, but Luke said not to tell them that because it would be insulting. Still..."

Matt smiled as Anna continued to jabber. He felt good suddenly, and strong, and unafraid to do what he wanted. After all, he’d nearly died. Asking someone out couldn’t be as scary.

"Hey Anna," he interrupted.

"Yeah?" She cocked her head to the side, waiting.

Then again, maybe it was scarier. His throat felt dry, but he forced himself to speak anyway. "Do you want—"

Luke appeared a foot away from them, a slight smile on his face. Matt started.

"Matthew." Luke's face turned serious. "You have my thanks."

Sudden, uncontrollable anger welled up in him. This was the man who'd nearly gotten him killed because he hadn't bothered to tell him what he'd be facing. The man—the devil—who'd nearly let him help a man take control of the world. Despite the fact that Caracalla had turned out to be a madman, Luke still had nearly destroyed the world on his own.

"He lied, you know." Luke was studying him with a serious expression on his face. "I have no desire to destroy the world, nor do I wish to create evil so I can become more powerful."

"Then why. Didn't. You. Tell. Me." Matt's jaw was clenched so tightly each word had to be forced out.

Luke sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his eyes were serious. "I knew not."

Matt blinked, not sure if he heard right. "You didn't know? You didn't know? How could you not? You're the devil! You know everything!"

A part of him knew it made no sense to be as angry as he was, but Caracalla's words had struck deeper than he'd realized. The man had approached it the wrong way, but Luke did let a lot of bad things happen.

The man in question had a fathomless look in his eyes, as though he was seeing not the boy in front of him, but a thousand centuries of human turmoil. "If I could choose, I would spare humans the pain of evil. It pleasures me no more than you. But to do that would take away your free will, take away the very essence of what makes humans human. In any case, it is not my choice." His eyes snapped back to the present. "It is yours. Yours, and every person who decides to do the right thing, though it may not be the easy thing.

"Humans control their own fate. I can merely nudge it in the right direction, but even there, I am limited in what I know." He shrugged, an eloquent statement that conveyed that there were no words to describe the complicated nature of existence.

Matt's anger faded as he took in the devil's words.
There are seven billion people on the planet,
that incessantly chatty part of him offered.
It’s crazy to assume one being can control everything.
Even if that being is an angel.

"Why not tell us, though?" he finally asked. "Why not just say you didn't know, instead of pretending you just couldn't say you knew what was happening?"

Luke was silent so long Matt was sure he wouldn't answer. At last he said, in a quiet voice, "Before I met Peter Caracalla, I trusted all of my sinisters implicitly. Peter was the first one to betray me." He paused, letting the words sink in.

"I had assumed—rather foolishly, I now see—that my sinisters would fight for the good of the world." He let out a bitter laugh. "You would think, after millennia of human interaction, I would know what they are capable of. Yet I believed—I still believe, as much as one can whose faith in a fact has been tested repeatedly—that humans want to do right and simply lack the knowledge of how to do so."

Fingers of cold air crept under Matt's jacket, a harbinger of winter. He shivered and pulled the slick blue material tighter around him. A fog had crept up, obscuring the few trees planted along the road. Anna and Oliver's faces had taken on the blurred appearance of a painting, though their expressions were tightly focused on Luke.

"Peter changed things. No," Luke corrected himself, "things were changing, and Peter made me aware of that. You are much like him, and I was afraid of making the same mistakes with you." He smiled ruefully. "Instead it appears I made new mistakes."

In the silence that followed, he could hear Anna's teeth chattering. He suddenly realized it was nearing midnight. His mom was no doubt frantically calling his cell phone, and tomorrow was the big match. Life, it seemed, went on.

At last, he nodded at Luke. The devil was trying to do a tough job in tough times. He hated that the devil hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him what was really going on, but he couldn’t entirely blame the guy. Not after seeing what Caracalla had done. Luke was no more infallible than a person, so things would go wrong. But when they did, Matt would be around to help.

"Should we go somewhere warmer?" he asked.

"Yes!" Anna sounded so eager Matt had to laugh. He and Oliver shared a smile, and he reflected how nice it was to have his friend back.

“I must clean up here,” Luke said somberly. “Peter will never be found if he is left alone in this warehouse. He and Levi are the only people aware of its ties to him.”

“Won’t Levi find him if you just leave him?” Anna asked.

“Perhaps,” Luke said. “However, I have been watching this place since I realized that Caracalla rented it, but I have been unable to discover what was going on inside. It seems likely that he used it as a safe place to perform his so-called experiments, but I should like the opportunity to look inside.”

Matt shuddered as Luke turned and walked toward the door to the warehouse he’d been locked inside only a short while earlier. He wanted nothing to do with the place or with Caracalla. As Luke disappeared into the shadows, Matt felt a fierce gladness that he wasn’t the one dealing with the cleanup.

Pushing his dark thoughts aside, Matt turned back to his friends. As they started toward Anna’s car, Matt slung an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. “So, how about I take my turn at driving?”

Ϯ

The smell of freshly-cut grass filled Matt’s nostrils as he stepped into place on the field. His limbs trembled with anticipation. He watched as the referee, dressed in a fuchsia shirt that could probably be seen from space satellites, walked onto the midfield line. A soccer ball was tucked under one arm, and a silver whistle hung from his neck. In just a few seconds, that whistle would blow, signaling the start of the regional match between the Madison West High School Lions and the Sun Prairie Cardinals. Ninety minutes from now, one of their teams would advance to sectionals. The other team would be out of the running for the state championship. Matt desperately wanted Madison West to be the team that advanced.

The late afternoon sun shone down on him without the faintest hint of warmth still in its light. He could feel his teammates filling in the gaps around him. Dean stood at the center line, ready to race to the far end of the field as soon as the whistle sounded. Derek flanked him on one side; Damien on the other. Josh stood in the goal, and even if Matt didn’t like him as a person, he was a good goalie.

On the other side of the field, the Cardinals lined up in a mirrored position to theirs. The players were broadcasting the same nervous energy Matt could feel from his team. He knew the position of each one, and he knew that would continue even when they started moving.

As the referee brought the whistle to his lips, a sudden spurt of doubt shot through Matt. Was it right to use his powers in a soccer game? He didn’t want to turn into Caracalla, after all.

The man had truly believed he was using his powers for good, and yet he’d ended up killing people because of it. Was this how he had started? Just a little bit to help himself along?

Other than a brief mention of the VoTech software being used for the election that day, the papers hadn’t said a word about Caracalla. The news of his mental incapacity clearly hadn’t yet leaked, but Matt knew it would only be a matter of time. He wouldn’t be surprised if it came out that day. After all, people would want to interview him for the elections. When he wasn’t available on such an important day, some nosy reporter would want to know why. The rest was only a matter of time.

Today, though, Matt didn’t care if people knew what happened to Caracalla. Every time he felt guilt over destroying the man’s mind, he thought of Betty, Joann, and Nathan. If hurting Caracalla prevented him from killing anyone else, he was glad he’d done it. If he hadn’t, he probably would have joined the three of them in death. And if that had happened, he wouldn’t be standing on the field today, ready to lead his team to victory.

The whistle rang out across the field, carried by the slight breeze. Matt jerked his thoughts away from Caracalla and back to the present. He lurched forward, his feet automatically guiding him toward the ball. He hadn’t had a chance to do any of his early morning runs since he met Luke, but he felt stronger than ever. Luke had mentioned that would happen.

The Cardinals had the ball, and Matt watched as their center forward dribbled across the midfield line. The other player’s focus was on the ball. Matt could feel his intensity as he pushed it forward. With sudden, sharp clarity, Matt could see how the action would play out. His opponent was leaning slightly right, and Matt knew he would attempt to cut across the field into the gap between Derek and him. If he could reach the spot before the Cardinal did, he’d be able to snag the ball from him.

Matt hesitated before moving, filled with doubt. He didn’t know how exactly he knew what would happen, but it felt too clear to be a guess. He was fairly sure this was a part of the powers Luke had talked about, where he could see the big picture of things as they happened. If that was true, was using this advantage unfair? He didn’t want to turn into Caracalla.

The player dribbled right, running for the gap between Matt and Derek. Matt winced and sprinted toward him. He’d been so busy debating if he could use his powers that he was going to let the Cardinals win.

His feet flew over the ground, barely skimming the grass as he shortened the distance between the ball and him. He’d never felt so fast. It was an amazing feeling, and as joy filled him at being alive and on the soccer field, his worry fell away. Using his powers wasn’t going to turn him into Caracalla. Plenty of sinisters used theirs every day to fight evil, not promote it. True, his were a little different, but he wasn’t going to try to kill people just because he knew what they felt.

He reached a mental probe out toward the player and sensed when his emotions changed to worry as he caught sight of Matt. He would try to cut back at this point, stopping the ball with one foot and spinning around Matt. Matt’s momentum would carry him past the player. At least, it would if he weren’t ready for the move.

Just as Matt reached him, the Cardinal kicked the ball behind him. Unfortunately for him, Matt was already there. He caught the soccer ball as smoothly as if it had been passed to him, pushing it forward with a tap of his toes. He was ten feet away before the other boy even realized what had happened. He grinned.