Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (11 page)

A cheer from his left made him look up.

"You did it!" Anna said. She leapt out of her chair, wrapped him in a brief hug, and bounced back to her seat. Her arms left cold spots when she moved away. He was too stunned to respond to her, and he silently berated himself for not reacting more quickly. He could have held her, and then shifted his arms so she could pull back slightly. They would make eye contact and neither would look away. For a minute, they'd just be frozen, and then—

"Good!" Elias' voice cut short Matt's fantasies, and though he knew his companions couldn’t read minds, he could feel his ears burning.

Elias clapped his hands together. "You both have done it!"

Still lost in the feeling of Anna's hug, he stared at the feather. He suddenly felt more aware of everything, as though something inside him he hadn’t known was there had woken up. He could still feel the pressure of Anna's arms and the simple joy of flying, even in his imagination. It had been more real than some of his classes seemed. He felt—he felt. He hadn't tried to use logic on creating things, just the actual feeling of feathers in flight. Odd. He'd have to puzzle through what that meant later. For now...

“What else can I do?” he asked. Being a sinister was becoming more and more fun.

Elias laughed. "One at a time. We can't do everything at once. Besides, time doesn't flow the same here as it does back home. It's past time we went home."

Ϯ

A headache welcomed Matt back to his room. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see only ten minutes had passed since he left. He wondered why Elias was so concerned about the time, though his headache told him he'd probably practiced enough for the day. The scent of baking cinnamon wafted into his nostrils, and his mouth watered in response. All this conjuring was hungry work. Still, he'd promised Anna he'd go to Oliver's as soon as he returned.

His feet thundered down the stairs. Alice looked up as he hit the first floor, and he felt a strange sense of deja vu. Grabbing his windbreaker, he called, “I’m going over to a friend’s, Mom."

Her head poked around the door to the kitchen, hands covered in flour. “What friend?”

“A new one. His name is Oliver,” Matt answered his mom, deliberately avoiding mention of Anna. His mom would start planning their wedding, as she did every time he became friends with a girl. Since she was an event planner, this was no small thing to behold.

Carrie’s head poked around the doorframe as well, her hands and face liberally streaked with flour. “Don't forget my Government project! You promised you'd talk to Sarah's dad.”

“What are you two making?” he asked, temporarily distracted by the mess.

“Apple pie. Don’t change the subject,” Carrie said.

“I won't forget, squirt. I'll call them after soccer practice, ok?”

She made a face. “I hate when you call me that.”

Matt made a face in response. Carrie stuck out her tongue.

“Kids!”

“Sorry, Mom,” they said in unison.

She turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "It's like having a pair of two year olds." Matt stuck his tongue out at Carrie.

"I saw that!" his mom called. Matt shot her a bewildered glance. She was still facing away from him. He shook his head. Moms definitely had more than two eyes.

“Don’t forget,” Carrie said. "I have tennis until 4, but I can talk to him any time after that.”

“You got it.” He walked out before his mom could get in any more questions.

His breath fogged in the chilly air as he stepped outside, his blue windbreaker forming a barrier against the slight breeze. The birds still chirped, but the neighborhood was otherwise silent under the leaden sky. Matt set off at a brisk pace. Oliver lived less than a mile away, in a small apartment on Monroe Street. Monroe had always been one of Matt’s favorite streets in his city; local shops and restaurants lined both sides, offering everything from bathing suits to kitchenware to groceries. It also passed near Lake Wingra, and it was an easy walk from the frozen custard stand to the lake. Summer was a great season in Madison. He pulled his coat tighter around him, thinking of the long months to come.
At least I have a portal to hell
, he thought to himself.
That should keep me warm this winter.

The day was brisk, lending haste to the footsteps of the pedestrians who passed by. He watched them go, an eclectic mix of middle-aged couples, gaggles of teens, and hippies in their hemp shirts. He could hear the twanging of a guitar on the corner a block ahead, where a small crowd had gathered to listen. While street performers weren’t an unusual sight in Madison, they usually stuck to State Street, the main drag between the capitol building and UW’s campus, and Matt was pleasantly surprised to hear one here.

He reached Oliver’s apartment all too soon, a three-story brick building housing a Trader Joe’s on the ground level and apartments above. Each floor had been made with a slightly different color of bricks, lending the appearance of a layer cake. He followed the directions Anna had given him and circumvented the main entrance, passing on to a narrow staircase that ran between this building and its neighbor. Someone, presumably Oliver, buzzed him in when he rang, and he entered the stairwell, the noise from the street abruptly silenced.

The cousins were sitting at the island of a miniscule kitchen, tucked in the corner of a studio apartment. The walls were unfinished, showing salmon-colored brick, and the high ceiling gleamed white. A double bed was tucked into the back corner, a navy-blue-and-red-striped comforter thrown haphazardly across it. A futon decorated with textured red plaid graced the wall opposite. Aside from a small coffee table that appeared to have seen better days, the room was devoid of other furniture.

Matt was fascinated. All his friends lived with their parents in houses or condos many times bigger than this room, which he could have crossed in ten steps. And yet this place had something none of those houses or condos had—privacy. There wouldn't be any nosy moms interrupting them as they plotted to take down one of the most famous people in Madison.

The scent of fried onions wafting from the kitchen returned his attention to where the pair sat. Matt wandered over, his stomach loudly demanding food. Oliver laughed at the sound.

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked, jumping down off of the stool he perched on. “I’ve eggs, eggs, or eggs.”

Matt stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. How about…eggs?”

“An excellent choice, sir! Just sit right down and they’ll be up in a jiff.” Oliver turned his attention to the fridge and began pulling out peppers, onions, tomatoes, adding up to what looked like half the meager contents of his fridge. “The life of a poor student,” he continued, his voice muffled by the refrigerator. “Most of my protein comes from eggs and beans, and I only buy the vegetables when they’re half price as they’re about to go rotten. It is convenient living above a grocery, though.”

“I thought Anna said you were a safecracker?” Matt asked.

“As a way of earning some extra money for uni.” Oliver turned to the cutting board with his loot. “I convinced Mum I needed culturing in secondary school and came over here to study. Stayed with Auntie Emma—Anna’s mum—and that lot. Found I liked it so much I decided to stay and started in at your university. Though I mightn’t’ve if it’d been winter when I was deciding, not summer,” he finished ruefully.

“What’s your major?” Matt asked.

“Maths,” he answered as he dropped the vegetables on the counter. “Felt a bit stupid last night when you recognized the equation and I didn’t. Though I wasn’t expecting someone to be equating on the floor.”

Oliver's words reminded him of why they had gathered that morning.

“Anna filled me in last night, in case you were wondering what you can say,” he continued. “I’m a bit jealous, myself. I’d like to have superpowers, but I’m just an ordinary right-handed fellow.”

Matt snorted. “Jealous? We got sucked into some weird Bible story about a good devil, we’re supposed to be stopping something from happening but we don’t know what, and our only powers so far are to see creepy-looking animals and make lumpy, inedible apples. Some superpowers.”

“It’s exciting!” Oliver said, gesturing theatrically with his hand. “You’re in the midst of a battle between good and evil! I'd wager you have other powers, and you can be a hero! Yes, I’m jealous. My life has never been that thrilling.”

Matt stared at him, dumbfounded. He’d never thought of their predicament as exciting, though he had to admit he’d never felt more alive than he had the night before. He’d been a reluctant participant so far, feeling like a robin trying to fly through a hurricane. Despite the agreement with Luke, it had never occurred to him that he had any choice. He wondered if he could walk away now.

Is that what he wanted to do? He looked over at Anna, her feet bouncing happily against the wooden bar of her chair as she slurped tea out of mug emblazoned with the word “Seattle.” She’d lose all respect for him if he quit. Besides… he had to admit, that morning with Elias had made him realize there was a lot he wanted to learn about the world. How many teenagers got the chance to meet the devil and save the world? Still, it was tough, and he didn’t think Oliver would call it exciting if it were his life on the line.

Changing the subject, he asked, “Why do you think Caracalla was writing math equations on the ground?”

He’d been turning the question over in his mind since he’d risen, worrying it so much it was getting faded around the edges. The combination of equations and the half-existent bowl gave him an uncomfortable feeling, as though there were something wrong with them, though he didn’t know what.

Oliver slid an omelet-filled plate in front of Matt and sat down on the counter, which was the only available surface to sit on. Matt dug in while Oliver pondered the question. The flavor of onions and basil pesto exploded hit his tongue with the first bite. It was one of the best omelets Matt had ever tasted, and he had almost forgotten his question by the time Oliver answered. “That list had to mean something. Metal and bowls…’ e was making something, perhaps? And the
Principia Mathematica
is by Newton. It contained the three laws of motion. But how that’s all tied together…” He shrugged.

“Let’s try it,” Anna said abruptly, leaping off of her chair. “Caracalla was doing something with the equations. Let’s recreate it and see what happens.”

Matt felt an instant denial spring to his tongue, but it died there as he realized there was no reason not to. He just seemed to find disagreeing with Anna’s plans the safest bet.

The group set about clearing space on the wooden floor to write. This proved to be more of a challenge than they’d anticipated, despite the relative lack of furniture, because Oliver seemed to view the floor as storage space. Every inch was covered in clothes, books, DVDs, and miscellaneous paraphernalia. Anna and Matt began by carefully moving the scattered items to the furniture. Oliver chucked clothes onto the futon. Matt started to mimic him and felt his hand collide with something squishy buried under a few sweatshirts. After that, he returned to the careful movement of objects and left the pile of sweatshirts where it was.

Matt straightened from setting three finance textbooks on the futon and turned to view the area they had cleared. They had a five-foot square to work with, the woven green rug pushed back to show the floorboards beneath. The whorls on the wood showed clearly, with darker patches indicating areas where it hadn’t been sanded well before the stain was applied. Oliver was kneeling at the edge of the area, feet in a pile of clothes. He had found a stub of chalk somewhere, no bigger than his fingernail, and was attempting to scratch out the same pattern they’d seen the night before on the rough boards. The chalk repeatedly snagged on the wood, causing jumps in the lines. The tip of Oliver’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he frowned intently at the floor.

Anna knelt down next to him, scattering a stack of papers with her toe. “I think there was a little more squiggle there.” She pointed to the top of the “S.” Oliver glared.

“I’m not sure it matters,” Matt said. “If it’s just math, we should be able to write it any way we want and get the same result.”

Oliver finished the writing and leaned back, the stub of chalk dropping from his hand and disappearing among the mess. He wiped his fingers across his shirt, leaving a smear of dust in their wake. “What now?”

Something about the bowl they’d seen had been tickling the back of Matt’s mind since the night before. The image of a half vanished bowl reminded him of Elias’ talk that morning explaining how to create things.

Oliver had been staring pensively at the floor, and before Matt could form a true thought out of the idea, Oliver spoke.

“You know,” he said slowly, sounding as though his mind was far away, “This looks just like Schrödinger’s equation.” He lapsed into silence.

Anna rolled her eyes. “Care to explain what that means?”

Oliver raised his head, looking startled. “Schrödinger, the famous physicist? His equation describes how the state of a physical system changes with time. It uses the wave function to describe a particle moving in an electric field.”

“Try again, in English,” Anna said.

“Well, it lets one predict where something will be at a given time with some degree of certainty. I just don’t know…” He stared at the floor, seemingly lost in thought.