Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (22 page)

Matt pushed forward, not even slightly winded by his sprint. He could feel two Cardinals closing in on him from behind and sent the ball flying to Dean. His friend caught it and spun forward, cutting around a red-shirted defender and crossing into the penalty box. Another defender approached from the left, and Matt could again see exactly what would happen. He ran past Dean, lining up exactly even with the last defender. He could feel the other player as he stepped back, trying to get Matt offsides. Matt stepped back with him, feeling gleeful. No one would catch him offsides when he knew exactly where everyone was. A second later, the defender reached Dean, and Matt’s friend sent the ball flying through the air toward him. Matt lifted his foot and arrested its momentum. The defender behind him moved forward, trying to get between him and the goal. The goalie shifted, and Matt felt his concentration as he prepared to spring left. Matt lifted his foot and sent the ball to the goalie’s right.

The ball arced through the air, sun glinting off the white hexagons as it spun. The goalie was in the air as well, but he was heading left, just as Matt had sensed he would. By the time he recovered his balance and moved right, it would be too late.

The ball crossed the goal line and hit the back of the net. It dropped to the ground with a satisfying
thunk
. The referee’s whistle blew. Matt raised both fists as his teammates ran toward him.

“Gooooaaaalllllll!” Dean cried as he reached his friend.

Derek reached them a second later and threw himself onto Matt’s shoulders. Matt could feel hands patting his back as the rest of his teammates reached them. Excitement crackled through their team, creating an energy so strong Matt was sure they could power the lights that were starting to flicker on overhead.

“Three minutes in! That’s got to be some sort of record for regionals, man,” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he ran back to his position.

The Cardinals’ goalie had recovered the ball and was ready to kick it off. Matt sprinted back to midfield, the energy of his team still running through his veins. He no longer had any doubt about the outcome of this game. They would win, and they would win by a lot.

Matt was untouchable. He stole the ball before his opponents even knew he was there. He raced past defenders while they stood open mouthed. The world around him seemed to move more slowly than he did, and it was easy to dribble, pass, and shoot before anyone even realized he’d gone by. He passed the ball often, trying to get his teammates good shots.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but it hardly mattered. He knew that if he needed to, he could play the entire game himself.

The small crowd huddled in the stands cheered as the Lions scored another goal. In the back of the crowd, Luke sat in silence, watching the center midfielder move as though he were made of quicksilver. A slight smile crept across his face as Matt wove past three opponents and, in one spectacular move, guided the ball into the goal. It was clear that the boy’s powers were growing every day. Satisfied, Luke slipped off the stands and disappeared.

Matt was oblivious to anything that took place outside of the field. As the game neared its finish, he took stock of the players around him. The referee stood nearby. Since the clock ran continuously, the referee always added a few minutes to the end of each half to make up for time wasted due to fouls and injuries. When Matt looked in the man’s direction, he gave the signal for four minutes of stoppage time to end the game.

Matt glanced at the scoreboard. The Lions were up five-zero, and the only reason the score was that low was that he hadn’t wanted to hog the ball. Despite that, he’d managed to get three of the five goals that were on the board and had assisted in the other two. As stoppage time started, he was in possession of the ball. There was plenty of time to make the score six-zero. He dribbled slowly down the field, looking for a good opening. Night had completely fallen, but his senses were open to his teammates, so he wasn’t surprised when he felt someone run past him, heading for the goal. If that player could make it to the goal box, Matt could send the ball his way and get in one final goal.

Matt dribbled a little further and looked up. The player had made it to the box, and as he turned to face downfield, Matt got a look at his face. It was Damien.

Matt froze. He was certain he’d clinched his spot as center midfielder for the rest of the tournament, but he still didn’t want to help the person he despised. He reached for the other boy’s emotions and was surprised when he felt a hopeful desperation from Damien. He’d barely had the ball all game, Matt realized, and he wanted to get one chance to do something great. Matt pushed forward a few slow steps, still uncertain. As much as he disliked him, his teammate was practically pleading with him. And after the events of this past week, Damien seemed almost insignificant.

A red jersey ran toward him, and he needed to decide. Without another thought, Matt sent the ball flying. It sailed through the air and came to a stop against Damien’s chest.

Damien’s emotions turned joyful as he spun. Before the ball had even hit the ground, he kicked, sending it flying. The goalie was caught off guard and didn’t have time to react as the ball soared past his fingertips and into the goal.

His teammates went crazy. The attackers leapt on Damien, pounding him on the back and cheering. Matt allowed himself a reluctant smile. Even he had to admit Damien was good.

Three whistle blasts rang out, barely audible above the din. The teams lined up to shake hands, and Matt could feel the dejection of the Cardinals as they trudged through the motions.

His team, on the other hand, radiated joy. After a final “good game” to the other team, Matt joined the crowd of white jerseys at the bench. His teammates pulled him into the center of the mass, slapping him on the back and congratulating him.

“You were amazing!” Jorge said, his eyes wide with excitement. Matt grinned in response, too happy to know the right words. His team was going to sectionals! If they played as well as they had today, there was a good chance they’d make it to state. And if he could keep playing as well as he did, maybe he’d get a scholarship to play in college.

Before he could get too caught up in his fantasies, Coach Huebner’s voice cut across the teams’ cheers.

“Congratulations, team. You all played well today. I’m not going to give a long speech—”

“That’s a first,” Dean muttered. Matt stifled a laugh.

“—but I want you all to know that I’m proud of you. And I think we should give a special round of applause to our MVP for the match, Matt Reynolds.”

Whistles and applause rang out. Matt felt his teammates turning toward him, nodding their approval and once again patting him on the shoulders. Damien turned as well. He wasn’t clapping, but after a second of staring, he gave Matt a small nod.

“Don’t forget that we still have a long way to go if we want to win state. We have four more games to get to the finals, and we need to win every one to win.”

“He really does have a knack for stating the obvious, doesn’t he?” Dean asked.

“Our next match is on Thursday, so get some rest tomorrow and be on time for the bus. I’ll see you all then.”

With a few more pats, Matt’s team dispersed. Matt walked toward the bleachers where his parents waited. When he reached them, his mom wrapped him in a big hug, oblivious to the sweat that was crusting on him in the cool night air.

“I’m so proud of you!” she said. “You were amazing!” She pulled back and gave him a stern look. “You’re still grounded, you know.” The look melted and she hugged him again. “But I’m so proud of you!”

Matt laughed. When he’d returned home sometime after midnight the night before, he’d been greeted by very angry parents with no way to explain what had happened. He'd been grounded "until further notice,” though he’d been allowed to attend his soccer games after he’d argued that being banned from those would affect his team. As long as he could play soccer, he didn’t care that his parents had grounded him. He had survived Caracalla, after all. He could survive a grounding.

As the three of them walked toward his dad’s car, Matt wondered if he should tell his parents why he’d been out so late. It would be hard to explain, but a demonstration of his powers ought to convince them. He studied their faces. Both of them had content expressions as they climbed into the car, and he could feel the excitement still coming from his mom. His dad’s emotions were quieter, but Matt could sense that he, too, was filled with pride in his son.

Maybe someday
, Matt decided. Sometime it would be necessary to tell them what he did in his free time, but not today. Today he just wanted to enjoy his victory and his parents’ support.
Someday.

Ϯ

Matt sat in a leather chair pushed as far back from the fire as possible. Sweat dripped off his forehead and every muscle in his body ached, but he felt great.

"Thanks, Sydney."

He nodded at the woman next to him, who had been teaching him hand-to-hand combat for the last hour and a half. He’d decided that as long as he was working for the devil, he wanted to learn as much as he could to do his job well. He’d approached Sydney that evening and asked for lessons, and she’d surprised him by starting the lessons right away. His left wrist was still a little sore from landing on it on Monday evening when he’d been dragged to the warehouse, but with a few adjustments to the exercises, he’d been able to get started.

"No prob." She pushed short dark hair out of her eyes and plopped onto the seat next to him.

Luke, who had been observing the practice, slid into a third chair with the boneless grace that still gave the boy the creeps.

Matt picked at a tear in the leather, his eyes focused on it. He was almost afraid to ask the question, but he knew he needed to.

"I've been wondering," he said at last. "What's gonna happen with Caracalla?"

Just as he’d suspected, news of Caracalla’s mental breakdown had quickly gotten out. The Tuesday evening news had been nothing but stories about his mental breakdown. He'd been found in his home, unable to say his own name, and had been transferred to Meriter Hospital for treatment. According to the papers, he'd either been experimenting with drugs, cracked under the pressure of running a company, or, in Matt's favorite version, he'd been victim of an alien abduction and probe. That particular article included instructions on how to "alien-proof your home and body."

"Are you asking me, or the chair?" Luke sounded faintly amused.

Matt rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure his eyes would pop out of his head one of these days from too much rolling, but it was the only appropriate response to Luke at many times. Still, he was coming to enjoy the devil's company. Their theological discussions were enlightening, to say the least.

"He has no powers for the moment," Luke answered. "But in time, I think, he shall recover his mental faculties. It is likely he will recover his sinister powers as well, though only time will tell."

Matt felt a mix of relief and worry at that. He hadn't wanted to be responsible for destroying a person's mind, no matter how wrong that person had been. At the same time, he didn't want to know that Caracalla might come back, as bad as ever, and only he could face him.

The tear in the leather had grown to a gash now, stuffing poking through the gap. He wasn't surprised when Luke slapped his hand away. He looked up.

"I saw Ted Swanson won the election."

"Ah, yes. Caracalla's puppet. And this worries you?" Luke's face was unreadable.

"Well, yeah. He's corrupt. Caracalla wasn't controlling him and he still did what he, Caracalla, told him to. And—"

"Stop wrecking my chair!"

Matt jumped. He hadn't even realized he'd started picking at the hole again. He laced his fingers tightly together to prevent them from moving on their own accord again.

"I would not worry, were I you," Luke said, more calmly. "Politicians are frequently corrupt, and frankly it makes little difference. Ted Swanson will be no worse than any other candidate. When Caracalla returns, it may be a concern, but for now..."

He shrugged.

"But—VoTech—I mean, Caracalla rigged it, didn't he?" Matt had been thinking about Caracalla's connection to the election for the last few days, and he was almost certain the man wouldn't have left the voting up to chance.

"Indubitably." Luke gave him an exasperated look. "I admire your ideals, Matthew, but you need to realize reality rarely lives up to your expectations. You should not relinquish your standards, but do not expect that everyone else will live by the same guidelines."

Matt sighed. He wanted to believe the world was a good place, but working with Luke was eye-opening. If people could fix elections, skirting around democratic processes that had been created to avoid corruption...well, it wasn't actually that different from the rest of the world, was it? Maybe he did just expect too much from people.

Luke looked as though he understood exactly what Matt was thinking. "Do not give up your beliefs, Matt. The world needs more people like you."

"I agree. Don't know what we're talking about, but I agree." Anna bounced up to them, grinning.

"Hey!" Matt was suddenly very conscious of his sweaty clothes. He wished he'd put more deodorant on that morning.