A Book of Spirits and Thieves

by Morgan Rhodes

  “I’m not asking you,” Farrell growled, hot anger rising in his chest. “I’m telling you.”

  Wait. What was he doing? He glanced at Crys to see a look of growing alarm on her face.

  His emotions had been unpredictable since he’d been given the mark. They ran either hot or cold. He’d have to keep a close eye on that.

  He forced a laugh. “I’m joking, of course. Belvedere is perfectly fine. Thanks so much.”

  The waiter slipped away without another word.

  “That was such a funny joke,” Crys said drily. “You’re a regular comedian.”

  “Sorry, I got a little carried away with the act,” he lied. “Too bad he didn’t want to play along, it would have been a lot more fun.”

  The waiter returned soon with their drinks and the vegetable tempura appetizer they’d ordered.

  “Sorry about that,” Farrell said, pressing the C-note into his hand. “No hard feelings?”

  “None at all.” The waiter nodded, finally losing the peeved expression as he turned back to the kitchen.

  Farrell raised his glass. “We should toast to something.”

  “Like what?” Crys asked.

  “The start of an amazing new friendship.”

  She clinked her glass against his. “Do you befriend all the random girls you meet on the street?”

  “Only the ones who help me tackle muggers.” He took a sip from his glass and tried not to let the fact that he hadn’t gotten his way continue to bother him.

  “You get in a lot of fights?” she asked.

  “No, I’m very peaceful. Zen-like, actually.”

  “Really? Have to say, I did a little online search for you last night, and I happened upon a very interesting video of you pounding the crap out of a drug dealer.”

  Oh, right. That.

  How should I handle this? he thought. “Well, I’m Zen-like unless you mess with my family. That guy gave my kid brother cocaine. That’s not okay. I may have lost control, but I swear my heart was in the right place. I’m sure you’d want to protect your sister at any cost, right?”

  He heard the clink of her ice cubes in her glass when she took a sip. He could also hear her heartbeat—fast and fluttering. She put on an air of calm, but underneath that T-shirt she was nervous about being out with him. Or maybe she was excited.

  Either way, her biology proved that he had a definite effect on her.

  “Of course I would,” she finally replied. “My sister means more to me than anyone.”

  “Right. I don’t want my brother to walk the same path I’ve walked,” he said, wanting to impart a bit of personal wisdom to draw her even closer to him. “I’ve made mistakes, I’ll admit it, and my older brother tried to look out for me. I always gave him a hard time. But Adam, he’s more innocent than Connor and me. I can’t explain it. Despite the family he’s in, he’s so naive to the evils that lurk behind every corner. I know I have to be there to save him, even if he doesn’t want to be saved.”

  “I totally understand.”

  He watched her carefully as she bit her lip and reached for a tempura-battered asparagus, sliding it through some ponzu sauce, before bringing it to her mouth.

  Who knew fried asparagus could be so sexy?

  Farrell drank the rest of his vodka and signaled for another. It arrived with the rest of their meal: a salmon roll, seared scallop nigiri, and sea urchin sashimi. Crys busied herself with unwrapping her chopsticks and mixing a concoction of soy sauce and wasabi into a thin greenish paste. He did the same before he ate a piece of the salmon roll with mock enthusiasm.

  He hated sushi.

  “We were talking about magic the other night,” he said.

  “We were.”

  “Such an interesting subject, isn’t it? I’d love to know more about your personal experiences with it.”

  She traced her finger along the edge of her square-shaped plate. “Have you ever heard of Obsidia?”

  He blinked. “Obsidia?”

  “Apparently, it’s a magic language.”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  She continued on eating and chatting as if they were having a normal dinner conversation, but Farrell leaned in with perked-up ears, regarding her with increased interest.

  She’d finally said something important.

  Something Markus would want to know. Perhaps this was why he’d been concerned about this girl who was, otherwise, as ordinary as they came.

  Satisfaction swelled within him. It wouldn’t be long before he’d earn his third mark.

  “This language is found only one place on record,” she continued.

  “Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

  “In a very special book,” she said without more than a moment’s hesitation. “If you know how to read the language, it sounds like you’d be able to channel the magic from the book to use however you like.”

  “That is fascinating.” He was entranced now with every word she spoke.

  “Fascinating?” she repeated. “I suppose. But it sounds scary, too. All that power up for grabs, and this book is just out there somewhere, waiting to be used. Who knows what kind of monster could get their hands on it?”

  He’d never heard of Obsidia before, but it sounded like something Markus would be incredibly interested in.

  Farrell reached across the table and took her hand in his. He met her gaze and held on to it. “Don’t be scared,” he told her. “This book does sound dangerous, but don’t give it another thought, okay? I swear, just like with my brother, I would protect you from anything that tries to hurt you.”

  She smiled. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Damn, he was good. This kind of talk would have most girls on his lap by now. She didn’t pull away from him, so he kept going, not wanting to miss this opportunity to draw her even closer and gain every last shred of her trust.

  He slid his thumb over her hand. Her short nails were painted bright purple and she wore a silver ring with a rose on it. “That’s a beautiful ring,” he said.

  She glanced down at it. “My sister and I exchanged rose jewelry a few years ago. One of our favorite books has a girl named Rose in it. Princess Rose. She saved her own kingdom, by herself, without any help from knights in shining armor.”

  “Sounds like a good book.” Or a piece of feminist trash. He continued to caress her hand, turning it over so he could trace the lines on her palm. He smiled inwardly when she drew in a shaky breath.

  You are so easy to manipulate, Crystal Hatcher.

  “I have to admit something,” he said. “And this might change things between us.”

  She hesitated, then answered softly. “What?”

  “When I said I wanted to be platonic friends with you . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “That was actually a pretty shameless lie. There’s something about you, Crys. You’re so different from the others girls I meet. You . . . you do something to me. Of course, I want you to want to be my friend, but I don’t think I want you to be my platonic friend.”

  Cue the blonde melting into a romantic puddle in three, two, one. . . .

  “Farrell . . . you’re different from any guy I’ve ever known, too.” She slid her hand against his, her fingernails lightly tracing his skin. A shiver went through him. The unpleasant scent of their dinner faded away, leaving only the sweetness of strawberries.

  The din of the restaurant grew fainter as their body language officially entered into the realm of public displays of affection. He allowed her to trace her fingers up his arm and watched as she bit her lush bottom lip. And now his own heartbeat was speeding up.

  He wanted her.

  One night with her would likely get her out of his system, after she’d given him—and thus Markus, too—every last piece of information about this magic
book. Then he was sure he’d be fine never seeing her again.

  Those fingers were doing things to his arm that made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. And those lips . . . he wanted to explore them for hours.

  “I saw you yesterday,” she said, her voice smoky and throaty.

  “Yeah? Where?”

  “Bay and Bloor. You were in your limo, stopped at a light, and you lowered your window.” She continued to caress him, driving him slowly mad with desire. “So strange, though. I could have sworn you were in there with the guy who mugged me.”

  He stopped breathing.

  Then he swore inwardly. In a city this large, and with his ultratinted windows, he never would have expected her to randomly spot him out with Lucas. Mustering all the composure he could, he gave a lighthearted little laugh. “That’s crazy. You must have been seeing things.”

  “That’s possible,” she allowed. “Or maybe I did see you two together. Is he in the Hawkspear Society, too? Is that how you know each other?”

  He didn’t pull his hand back from hers. He didn’t give her any clue that she’d just blindsided him. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. The . . . what society?”

  “It’s funny, everything I’ve learned over the last week. So much of it makes my head spin. But some facts . . . they’re as clear as day. I can’t ignore them even if I wanted to.”

  “Wish I could say what you’re talking about was as clear as day to me.”

  “Apparently, everyone in the society has a mark to show they’re committed to the leader’s cause.” She traced a slow circle on his forearm. “Right here. I’ve been told that, after you receive it, the spot is tender for a long time.”

  She clamped her hand down and squeezed, hard.

  Pain tore through his arm. He clenched his teeth and tried not to react to it.

  “Oops. Did that hurt?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he managed.

  “Right.” Crys smiled. It was, hands down, the most unpleasant smile he’d ever received. “I’m not stupid, Farrell. Everything you’ve said, it’s all been lies to get closer to me, so I’ll give up something you need. Otherwise, you wouldn’t give the smallest damn about getting to know someone like me. Markus told you to do this, right? Find out Crys Hatcher’s secrets and report back?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He finally withdrew his arm from her grasp and fixed a steady smirk on his face. There was no sense in trying to deny this. She knew the truth. “Don’t lie. You were all over me—all over the idea of me. But, yeah, you’re right. I’m way out of your league. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She winced, a very small one, but he caught it.

  “Thanks for clearing that up,” she said tightly.

  “My pleasure.”

  “Can you do me a couple of favors, Farrell?” she asked.

  “Depends what they are.”

  “Tell Markus that if he’s going to send spies after me, he should send smarter ones.”

  Charming. “I’ll think about it. And the second favor?”

  Crys stood up, took a final sip from her glass of ice water, and then poured the rest onto his lap. “Go to hell.”

  She left him sitting there, his pants soaked and his cover blown. In another life, he would have found this absolutely hilarious.

  Tonight, he didn’t. His mind darkened at the edges, his thoughts becoming sharp as knives, as he watched her walk past the window, heading back to her little bookshop.

  Chapter 23

  MADDOX

  This book—the book that belonged to an immortal sorceress—was the same book that had sent Becca’s spirit here from her world.

  “But how could it be here?” he asked her under his breath. “If it’s already, um, there? It can’t be in two places at the same time.”

  Becca drew closer to it, looking past Camilla’s shoulder as the witch flipped through the pages of strange gold and black writing and detailed illustrations of animals, trees, flowers, and landscapes.

  “I’m sure of it,” Becca said. “Unless this is an identical copy.” Doubt began to cloud her expression.

  “Camilla, is there more than one book like this?” he asked.

  “I highly doubt it, but I suppose . . . there is a slight chance a forgery could have been made, to throw off any potential thieves.” She shook her head. “But this is the original. I swear, I feel the hum of its magic, like I’m pressing my hands against a beehive.”

  But it did sound as if there could possibly be a duplicate somewhere. There had to be a reasonable explanation for what Becca had experienced.

  “Look, here’s a rendering of the stone wheel.” Camilla ran a long, sharp fingernail over an extremely accurate illustration of the wheel in her garden.

  “The language . . .” Becca studied the book warily as if it might jump up and bite her. “Can you read it?”

  “No.” Maddox peered down at the strange words. “What language is this, Camilla? I don’t recognize it.”

  “It’s the language of the immortals, of course.”

  Well, of course.

  Barnabas had stayed surprisingly quiet, watching Maddox and the witch, his arms crossed. “Quite a day,” he said. “We’re alive, we’re free, and we finally have the means to destroy Valoria once and for all. I suggest we celebrate.”

  “I don’t know,” Maddox said. “We’ve been traveling on foot for days. I, for one, am incredibly tired and—”

  “Now, don’t you go and spoil the fun.” Camilla slapped his shoulder lightly. “I side with Barnabas on this. To the tavern we go!”

  The tavern was called the Battering Ram and was filled to the rafters with villagers, drinking and socializing. The excuse for this particular gathering was meant to be a continuation of the festival celebrating Valoria’s reign, but in these revelers’ hearts it was anything but. Valoria had recently made a decree that would ban the selling of inebriants and outlaw public drunkenness within the year.

  “Here you go.” Barnabas slid a gigantic tankard of ale along the table toward Maddox, where he sat at the long wooden bench they’d managed to wedge themselves into, shoulder-to-shoulder with the other patrons. Two women and a man were at the other end of the table, on top of it, dancing to the loud band that played a familiar song about immortals and magic.

  Maddox knew the words to this song very well. His mother used to sing it often.

  We’ll live forever, side by side

  We’ll stay together, ’neath starry skies

  Tonight and always, destiny guides us

  Tonight and always, magic binds us

  Maddox took a sip of ale—his first. Livius had rarely ever drunk anything stronger than cider, and he’d never allowed Maddox to touch a drop.

  “You like?” Camilla asked, grinning lasciviously, showing off her broken teeth.

  “It’s good,” he had to admit.

  “Drink up, sweetie,” she said as she tipped back her own mug of frothy ale, finishing it in one go. Then she let out a giant and rather impressive belch.

  A cry came from across the room. “I recognize that sound!” called out a woman who swiftly approached their group, golden-haired and lovely from head to toe.

  “My darling sister!” Camilla rose to her feet and held out her arms. “You’ve returned to me at long last!”

  Sister? Maddox exchanged a surprised glance with Becca.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes!” the beautiful woman exclaimed as the two embraced.

  Barnabas’s posture had improved from his relaxed slouch to a more dignified and formal display. “Sienna, what an absolute pleasure to see you again.”

  Becca leaned toward Maddox. “Is it just me, or is he practically drooling over her?”

  “Can you blame him?” Maddox said under his breath as he drank more of his ale.
“She’s absolutely stunning.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I guess. If you like that type. But she’s kind of old. She’s got to be at least thirty, right?”

  He frowned. He’d never heard any hint of such poison in Becca’s tone before now.

  “Maddox, this is my younger sister, Sienna,” Camilla said. “A sister who has neglected to write to me for far too long as she’s traveled to lands far across the sea. I have missed you so much!”

  Sienna put her arm around Camilla’s shoulders. “I’m back now and plan to stay indefinitely.”

  “More reason for us to celebrate.” Camilla signaled to the barkeep to bring another round.

  By his third tankard, Maddox had changed his mind about not wanting to join in on impromptu celebrations in taverns. He now found himself up on the table, dancing with the beautiful Sienna, who clasped his hands and spun him around in circles until he became dizzy. Life was marvelous. And wondrous. And all kinds of sparkly.

  “Is this your first time drinking ale?” Sienna asked.

  “Oh no. I’ve had it many, many, many times. This is nothing,” he slurred. “It’s simply wonderful that you’ve come back to be with your sister. Are you a witch, too?”

  Sienna laughed as she covered his mouth with her hand to keep him from saying anything else. “Not so loud, all right? This place is full of joy tonight, but we never know where Valoria’s guards might be lurking. They don’t react well to those of us who may be touched with magic.”

  “I’m touched with magic.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Very touched.”

  “Are you, now?”

  “They call me the witch boy.” As he repeated it, the nickname sounded far more impressive than usual.

  She pulled back a little to look at him more closely. “So you’re the one I’ve been hearing about, are you? The boy who can summon spirits.”

  “I brought one here with me tonight,” he said, gesturing toward Becca with his mug. Ale splashed over the side of it and hit Barnabas in the face.

  “Hey!” Barnabas sputtered, wiping his eye.