The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves)

by Morgan Rhodes

Angus quickly lurched the car over to the side of the road as Farrell fell back in his seat, chest heaving.

  Crys grabbed Farrell’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I would be much better if you weren’t touching me!”

  She yanked her hand back as if it had been burned. “Sorry. But—but what was that?”

  Angus was inspecting the dashboard for any signs of damage, glaring at Farrell out of the corner of his eye.

  “I have no damn idea,” Farrell said, breathing hard. “But it felt like I was being torn apart and then slammed back together.”

  “Does it still feel like that?”

  He shook his head. “Whatever it was, it’s passed.” He looked down at his arm. The glowing had stopped, but the scar was now bleeding. He unrolled his sleeves back down to his wrists and buttoned the cuffs. “Damn it, Markus,” he muttered, barely audibly. “What the hell have you done to me?”

  “Finished?” Angus asked. “Good. Should we continue, or do you need a quick nip of scotch to dull your pain?”

  “You’re a serious douchebag, you know that?” Farrell growled.

  “Oh yes. I know. Does that kind of convulsion happen all the time? Should I call my car insurance agent right now and upgrade my plan?”

  “No. First time ever.”

  That wasn’t normal. The marks on his arm should be healed if they’d been given to him by Markus. But Crys bit her tongue before she asked any questions she knew he wouldn’t answer.

  But she was worried. Farrell’s sudden outburst of pain . . . it had to be due to something other than those marks. Something worse.

  “Are we close?” Crys asked instead.

  “Yeah, very close,” Farrell said, his voice shaky as he looked through the windshield. “Angus, park in the lot two blocks up so nobody spots us. I know a back way in.”

  • • •

  Farrell led them to a roped-off and boarded-up staircase that looked like it might lead down to a subway station. He removed four boards that seemed to be secured with what Crys could only guess were some kind of trick nails that he knew to look out for, and then he led them down the stairs.

  Her limbs went numb as she realized where they were. “The society tunnels,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “Oooh,” Angus said. “How exciting. I’ve heard stories but never seen them for myself.”

  Farrell nodded grimly. “Of course it’s completely illegal for you two to come down with me this way without explicit permission, but my capacity for giving a damn about society rules is quickly diminishing. Keep close to me. Less talking, more walking. I have the keys to the castle.”

  “Divine. Lead the way, young man.”

  Crys hated these cold, dank tunnels that alternated between narrow, suffocating, and pitch-black, and creepy, cavernous, and fluorescently lit. She had really hoped after her last time in here that she would never have to see them again.

  Angus pulled out his phone.

  “Don’t even think about taking pictures,” Farrell growled.

  Angus cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket.

  Finally, they came to a winding metal staircase. They climbed to the top, where they faced an iron door covered in symbols that reminded Crys of the writing in the Codex. Hanging above it was a plaque that read: , , .

  “Hawkspear motto,” Farrell said. “Catchy, right?”

  Crys recognized it all: the tunnels, the staircase, the door. They were at the abandoned theater where the Hawkspear Society held its meetings.

  Farrell pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. Carefully, he pushed it open a crack and peered inside.

  “Let me go first,” Angus said, nudging Farrell out of the way.

  “Why you?” Farrell said without any friendliness. “I’m the one who knows the way around here.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m the one who has this.” He pulled out a gun from his jacket. The weapon was inlaid with red enamel and had the initials AB on the side in gold letters.

  “Ugh, I hate guns,” Crys said. “But I guess I’m okay with that one. Just for today.”

  “Goody,” Angus replied. “Any further arguments?”

  “I suppose not,” Farrell said darkly. “Just be careful where you point that thing.”

  Farrell crept closely behind Angus. Crys shifted her handbag to her other shoulder, feeling the weight of the dagger at the bottom, and followed Farrell.

  They moved into the theater slowly, quietly, keeping to the walls and corners. Crys watched Angus lead the way with coolness and confidence.

  The theater was completely empty, its lack of occupants making it seem more cavernous than opulent.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Crys whispered.

  “I thought so,” Farrell replied.

  Then an unbidden thought ripped through Crys’s mind, booming so loudly she was worried someone might hear it:

  Don’t give up. This is only the auditorium, the tip of the iceberg. There are lots of hiding places in this theater where Becca might be.

  She shook her head to try to clear it, succeeding only somewhat as the words kept ringing in her ears.

  “We should check backstage,” she whispered.

  Angus nodded. They moved closer to the stage, slipping through a door to the right of it.

  The door led to a hallway. Also deserted.

  “You’re too close to me,” Farrell growled at her. “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.”

  She couldn’t risk an argument now, so she dropped back and put just a little more space between them.

  “Should’ve stayed in the car,” he continued.

  “You mean you should have? I guess you should have thought about that earlier.”

  They’d reached a corner. Angus put up his hand to silence them. “Wait here, kids. I’ll do a quick sweep.”

  He slipped around the corner while Crys and Farrell stood there in near silence, their shaky breathing the only sound.

  Minutes passed. Crys wrung her hands. “How long do we wait?”

  “Until now.” Farrell turned the corner and Crys followed, scanning the hallway for Angus or any other sign of life.

  “Where did he go?”

  Suddenly, Farrell grabbed Crys and clamped his hand down over her mouth. Crys tensed up and grabbed his arm as he dragged her into a room to their left. She was about to grab for the dagger when she heard footsteps.

  She went very still. Farrell finally dropped his hand from her mouth.

  Someone walked past the door, a masked man wearing all black. One of Damen’s gunmen from the ball.

  A second man joined the first. They were checking rooms along the hallway.

  Farrell nodded at a closet in the corner. They swiftly slipped inside of it, pulling the door closed just as one of the gunmen entered room. Crys could see him through the slats on the closet door.

  They won’t find you. They’re not even looking for you. It’s all right, don’t worry. Everything’s fine. You should stay where you are for a few minutes. Wait for him to leave, and make sure he doesn’t come back.

  The man scanned the room for several long seconds. Satisfied it was empty, he turned and exited to the hallway.

  Farrell hissed out a long, shaky breath.

  “Let’s give it a minute,” Crys whispered to him.

  “Another minute this close to you might actually kill me,” Farrell gritted out.

  She looked up at him. Even in the dim light filtering into the slatted door from the hallway, she could see that his forehead was damp, his jaw tight. His arms trembled.

  Less than two hours ago he’d been trying to kill her, had to stab his own hand to a wall just to stop himself, and now she was pressed up against him in a tiny closet.

  He doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to save you. He’s a hero, really. Fighting the marks, fighting Markus’s orders. For you, Crys. All for you. And you know w
hy? Because he likes you. More than just a little.

  What a ridiculous thought.

  Or was it?

  It seemed to make sense. If she meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t he have saved himself the pain and followed through on Markus’s orders?

  Despite what he was desperate for everyone to believe, Farrell Grayson was a good person. She knew it now—she had the proof. He wasn’t a murderer.

  He was a hero.

  Yes, that’s right. And he wants you. Do you see the passion in his eyes? It’s all for you, all because of you. It was there when you danced together at the ball. It was there in Markus’s kitchen. And it’s there now. You know what you want to do, Crystal. Don’t be afraid. He wants it too.

  Her head felt woozy, foggy, as if her mind were a separate entity sending her thoughts from some faraway space station.

  “Farrell . . . I don’t know what’s happening here, but . . . but I have to do this . . .”

  She felt his cool hands at her throat, trembling as they circled her neck. “Me too . . . Crys, this is bad. I really, really don’t think I can stop myself from—”

  She reached up and grabbed his face between her hands, rose up on the tips of her toes, and crushed her mouth against his.

  His hands fell away from her throat. A second later, they were on her arms, gripping tight.

  “What are you doing?” he managed to say.

  “Kissing you.”

  “Bad idea,” he whispered against her lips. “So very bad. You—you need to stop. We can’t do this.”

  “Sure we can.”

  Farrell pulled back and stared at her. His eyes were full of torment, but she watched as all that pain faded and was quickly replaced by desire.

  He pressed her up against the closet wall and kissed her, his hands sliding down to her waist to pull her closer to him. Now chest to chest, she felt his heartbeat against hers.

  She wanted more.

  “Crys, you’re killing me,” he said, breaking away from her with a groan as she started to unbutton his shirt and slide her hands against his chest. “Like, literally. Please, stop. My resistance is . . . futile. Oh God. Star Trek quotes. Kill me now.”

  Suddenly, with tortured effort, he pushed her hands away from him and escaped from the closet.

  Slowly, the haze lifted from her mind, and she was struck full force by what had just happened.

  She’d kissed Farrell Grayson. In the middle of a mission to rescue her sister.

  And if he hadn’t stopped her . . .

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” she mumbled.

  Farrell swore under his breath. “Someone’s coming.”

  Heart racing, she went to the exit and pressed herself up against the wall to the side of it.

  “Crys?”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Mom?”

  Julia Hatcher appeared at the entrance to the room, nervously looking left and right down the hallway. “I thought I heard you. My God, Crys, honey, what are you doing here?”

  “Me? What are you doing here?”

  “I had to come. Dr. Vega found a way to get ahold of me at the hotel, and he told me about Becca. I’m here for the same reason you are: to get her the hell away from Damen Winter.”

  Crys hugged her mother. “Angus told me there was no way to reach you, but I’m so glad you’re here. Thank God for Vega’s research skills. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Crys . . . ,” Farrell said quietly, in a tone that set off an alarm bell in Crys’s heart. He was standing behind Julia, facing Crys as she hugged her.

  “What?”

  “Everything’s not going to be okay.”

  She looked at him, frowning, and he nodded at her mother. Crys pulled back from the embrace and swept a quick glance over Julia. She was dressed all in black, her least favorite color.

  She took another step back to see that in Julia’s right hand was a gun.

  A gun with red enamel and stamped in gold with the initials AB.

  Julia looked at them patiently. “It seems we’ll have to do this the hard way,” she said, then gestured at the doorway with the gun. “Come now. Damen wants a word with you both.”

  Chapter 25

  MADDOX

  For a long moment, all Maddox could do was stare at her.

  “You,” he finally said. “You can’t really be here.”

  “I am here.” Becca laughed then, and it sounded as stunned as Maddox felt.

  “Just like before?”

  “Um . . . not exactly.” She closed the distance between then and reached out and grabbed his hands. “This time I brought more than just my spirit.”

  A strange warmth flooded him at her touch. Her soft skin, her delicate fingers . . . this had to be a dream. He needed Barnabas to slap him again, to wake him up to reality.

  “How?” he asked, unwilling to let go of her just yet.

  Becca’s smile faltered a bit. “Well, that’s the crazy part. I actually don’t remember how I got here. I do remember you giving me the magic to get back home . . .” She shook her head and frowned. “And that’s where things start to get seriously fuzzy.”

  “What’s happening?” Al whispered, loud enough for all to hear, from his sack. “What am I missing?”

  Startled, Becca let go of Maddox’s hands and took a shaky step backward, as if noticing for the first time that they weren’t alone.

  “This is Becca, you said?” Barnabas said, frowning as he came to Maddox’s side. Liana approached as well, keeping Al’s sack mostly closed. “That was the name of the spirit girl.”

  Maddox’s heart began to overflow—it seemed this wasn’t a dream after all, but a wish come true.

  “Yes, this is her,” Maddox said, unable to keep the smile from his face. “This is Becca Hatcher. Barnabas, you two have already met . . . in a way. Becca, this is our new friend Liana.”

  “Very pleased to know you,” Liana said.

  “So you both can see her,” Maddox said, half in disbelief.

  “Clearly,” Barnabas confirmed.

  Becca’s gaze was fixed fully upon the canvas sack. “Uh, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but . . . I heard another voice. Coming from”—she pointed—“there.”

  Liana raised an eyebrow at the girl’s flustered expression. “That would be Al.”

  Maddox touched her arm, drawing her gaze to his again. “Don’t be scared. Al—Alcander Verus is his full name, but he likes Al better—is . . . a severed head. I kind of used my magic to bring him back to life.”

  “And will reunite me with my body very soon!” Al piped up from his hiding place. “Delightful to meet you, young lady!”

  Becca’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap.”

  Maddox frowned, uncertain about what that meant. “Erm, yes. Exactly.”

  Barnabas’s mouth was set in a straight, skeptical line. He swept an appraising gaze over Becca. “So she says she doesn’t remember how she got here?”

  “I can hear you, you know,” Becca said with a small, nervous laugh. “You don’t have to talk to Maddox like I’m not here. It’s good to see you again, Barnabas. Sorry—learning about, uh, Al has me a bit frazzled.”

  “Completely understandable,” Al allowed. “It is rather incredible, isn’t it?”

  “To say the least,” she agreed in little more than a squeak.

  “Pardon my skepticism, Becca,” Barnabas said, “but it’s been a most difficult day. We just barely escaped with our lives from Valoria and her army of assassins.”

  “What?” she gasped, then turned to Maddox. “Are you guys okay?”

  Are you guise o-kay. Maddox had nearly forgotten Becca’s strange vocabulary, but he found he still understood her meaning.

  “Yes, indeed,” he assured her. “O-kay.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for that unexpected blast of air magic,” Barnabas said suspiciously.

  All Maddox could do was stare at Becca, still stunned that she was here, standing befor
e him, as solid and real as anyone he’d ever met.

  To be reunited with this girl—the one who visited only briefly before she was sent back to her world, but about whom he hadn’t been able to stop thinking ever since—was the happiest and most surprising moment in his entire life.

  And yet, he knew it meant something had gone wrong. Something very important.

  “Becca, what else do you remember?” Maddox asked urgently. “Why are you here? How are you here?”

  A shadow crossed her expression, and she furrowed her brow. “I—I remember the book. The book Valoria wanted, which she used to open the gateway. It’s in my world because you threw it through the gateway.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Kind of ironic, right?”

  Maddox gasped. He very clearly remembered the moment he threw the book through the gateway just before it closed. He couldn’t believe he’d been the one to send it to Becca’s world.

  “I—I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  “What book are you talking about?” Liana asked.

  “The Book of the Immortals,” Maddox said shakily. “It’s in Becca’s world.”

  “The Book of the—?” Liana shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

  Barnabas eyed the young witch. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it in further detail later.”

  She met his gaze and nodded slowly. “I look forward to it.”

  “The other day, I touched the book,” Becca continued. “The first time I did that, it sent my spirit here. But the second time . . . I saw you, Barnabas, and Camilla at Valoria’s palace.” Her expression was strained. She bit her bottom lip, making Maddox think she was about to arrive at something crucial, but then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s all I remember right now.”

  “It’s . . . o-kay,” he said, using her word again and hoping he’d done so correctly. Becca smiled at him. “I’m just thankful that you’re safe and that your path quickly crossed with ours.”

  “Is that what’s happened here?” Barnabas asked, this time speaking directly to Becca. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it, that in this entire kingdom, on the day you magically returned to Mytica—body and spirit combined—we were traveling the same route at the same time?”

  Becca scowled at him. “I don’t know what to tell you, Barnabas. I’m just as confused as you are. I just figure it must be like last time—I, like, honed in on Maddox’s magic, and it led me to him.”