It went directly to voice mail.
“Markus knows that we have the Codex, and he knows what it did to Becca. They took her from the hospital, and now Dad says I need to hand the Codex over. If I don’t, I don’t know what’s going to happen. . . .” Her chest was so tight it was nearly impossible to breathe. “Call me as soon as you get this. I don’t know what to do.”
She hung up and immediately tried Jackie’s phone, which also went to voice mail. She left Jackie a similar message.
Who else could help her? She thumbed through the other names in her phone until she came to one that made her pause.
F. GRAY
She stared at it, her heart thundering in her chest.
DELETE
Crys ran the rest of the way home and started searching.
“Damn it, Mom, why didn’t you tell me where you put it?” She had a half hour left to find it—that was it.
She checked under beds and in closets as she sped through the apartment as fast as she could. She even checked inside the oven, since her mother rarely ever used it for cooking. It would make a great hiding spot.
But, like everything else, it turned up empty. Where was it? She didn’t even know if it was still in the building. It could be anywhere—a safe-deposit box, buried in the ground, hidden in the hollow of a tree trunk.
No. Her mother was practical and would want to keep it close, just in case.
And where better to hide a book than in a bookshop?
Crys ran down the spiral staircase to the Speckled Muse, nearly twisting her ankle in her rush.
“Come on, think. Where would she put it?” Crys turned around in a circle, trying to get inspired. Trying to think like her mother.
She scanned the shelves as she walked up and down the aisles, searching for that plain brown leather spine, but the shop had thousands of titles and the shelves seemed to be more endless than usual. There was no way she could search the entire place in a handful of minutes.
Crys ended up in the children’s nook, yanking books off the shelves, searching for hidden compartments she might not have noticed before.
Nothing.
She had only five minutes until her mystery ride showed up.
She wasn’t going to find it. Neither her mother nor Jackie had replied to her messages with a miraculous solution to save the day. She was on her own with no clue what to do.
Hot tears of frustration slid down her cheeks before the dam broke and loud, wracking sobs escaped from her. She couldn’t hold it in anymore; it was all too much. The pressure of the truth, and all the lies and deception, all the fear and uncertainty she’d encountered on the way to discovering it: It all finally crashed down on her with the weight of a collapsing building.
This was all her fault.
She dropped to the ground, surrounded by all the fallen books—books she’d read when she was younger, when she’d loved the written word and the escape it offered. She ran her hand over a fantasy novel that had been one of Becca’s favorites.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then pulled her legs to her chest and lay there, her cheeks wet, her heart aching. “I wanted to help you, but I failed.”
Charlie entered the nook, now at eye level with her. He came closer, and, as if sensing her distress, he nuzzled his face against the top of her head.
“What do I do, Charlie? Please tell me what to do.”
He pranced over to an empty bottom bookshelf, where he curled up in a ball and went to sleep.
“Helpful, thanks,” she whispered.
Crys kept her eyes on the kitten until her gaze drifted a couple of inches away. From her supine position, she could see a gap between the shelf and the floor.
And that something had been tucked into that small space.
Her chest tightened. “No way.”
She crawled over to the gap, pushing the fallen books out of the way, and reached under the shelf to pull out the hidden object.
It was the Bronze Codex.
A black limousine arrived right on schedule. Crys slung her fuchsia bag over her shoulder, clutched the Codex to her chest, and left the store.
The chauffeur wore an unreadable expression as he came around to the back to open up the door for her. She faltered, but only momentarily. Summoning every last shred of courage she had left, she climbed inside.
The chauffeur shut the door behind her.
“I bet you thought we’d never see each other again,” Farrell Grayson said. “And yet, here we are.”
Chapter 25
FARRELL
If looks could kill . . .
Farrell tried not to grin at the fiery glare he received from Crys Hatcher as she got into the back of the limo. He failed.
Hatred emanated off her in palpable waves as they drove away from the bookshop.
“Don’t you feel like chatting?” he asked.
“Why you?” she said through clenched teeth.
“That is a very philosophical question. Why any of us? Why do we exist? What is our reason for being here? Is it all just a waste of time?”
“Why did they send you and not someone else?”
“Because Markus knows what good friends we’ve become.”
“Cut the crap.”
He spread his hands, as if in surrender. “Markus asked me to be your escort tonight. I told him you might not appreciate seeing me again so soon after our date yesterday.”
“So he knows I figured out all your secrets.”
“Not all my secrets. Just one.” He smirked. He knew she wanted him to feel bad, to feel guilty about all this. But he didn’t. Which made everything so much simpler.
Crys twisted her silver rose ring. “Why are you doing this?”
“You have something Markus wants. I’m just helping him get it.” He eyed the book she held tight to her chest. “Show it to me.”
“Fetch the girl,” Markus had said when he’d called Farrell earlier. “Bring her to the theater. Ensure that she has the book with her—check for the bronze hawk on the cover. If she doesn’t have it, inform me immediately.”
Reluctantly, she turned the book around.
There was the bronze hawk, just as he’d described.
“Nice to know you can follow directions when given the right motivations,” he said, then cocked his head. “Oh, come on, Crys. Why do you have to be so serious? You work at a bookshop, and now you’re delivering a book. Seems like it fits the job description nicely enough.”
“He has my sister. Did you know that? He stole her right out of the hospital. She’s in a coma, Farrell. A coma. And he kidnapped her.”
Of course he knew that. He was in Markus’s inner circle. “Your point?”
“Do you even have a soul?” she demanded. “Or are you made of pure evil, just like your lord and master?”
He watched her, coolly amused by how hard she was trying to get under his skin. “Go ahead. Compare me to Markus. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
She stared at him in silence for a full minute, a stare so smoldering it practically burned.
“Like what you see?” he asked, trying to rattle her. “Maybe you’re ready to rethink last night’s ‘go to hell’ suggestion and take a closer look.” He patted the seat next to him. “Got to say, I’m totally ready to forgive and forget.”
He’d expected her to respond with a flustered denial, but she just continued to study him.
“Is this really you?” she asked.
“Not sure what you mean.”
Crys shook her head, then took off her glasses and put them in her purse. She placed the book down next to her, then moved across to sit next to him.
He eyed her, now intrigued.
“My mother said the mark you get . . . it can change things. The magic messes with your mind, makes you loyal even th
ough you might feel anything but. Did it do that to you?”
Her mother had said that, had she?
Farrell frowned as he glanced down at his arm where Markus had given him both his first and second marks. He remembered how much it’d hurt as the golden dagger sliced through his skin, the alarming amount of blood that had dripped to the floor. Then the pain of the healing before everything felt better.
He brushed his fingers over his skin. “I’m not sure what I really feel anymore. Sometimes it’s difficult to think straight. Do you think that might be because of the mark?”
“Maybe.” She searched his gaze, her breath quickening. Then she grabbed hold of his hand. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Maybe you can fight against his power over you. You could help me—me and Becca.”
She drew even closer, so close that her addictive strawberry scent enticed him more intensely than ever.
“Do you have any idea how good you smell, Crystal Hatcher?” He reached forward and threaded his fingers into her hair. She watched him carefully, warily, but didn’t try to pull away. “And do you know how absolutely beautiful you are?”
“Farrell . . .”
“I don’t know what to do. Markus’s pull . . . the pull he has over all of us . . . it’s so strong. So hard to fight.” He moved closer, focused on her lips.
“It must be.”
“I have heard of one way to break the power this mark has over me, but I’d need your help. Would you help me, Crys?”
“Of course I would,” she said, breathless. “How can I help?”
He’d drawn so close he could almost brush his lips against hers. “To break the mark’s control, I need to . . . have sex with a really gullible blonde.”
She reared back from him, her expression going from hopeful to outraged in a split second. Then she smacked him, hard, across his face.
“Ow!” He laughed and rubbed his cheek as she scooted back to her side of the limo.
“I hate you.”
“Didn’t look like it a moment ago. Word to the wise, sweetheart, even if this mark did make me Markus’s loyal and unquestioning servant”—he held up his left forearm—“I’d be okay with it. I’ve never felt better in my life. And as far as how I feel about you? I don’t feel anything at all. Markus asked me to bring you to him, and that’s what I’m doing.”
“So loyal. Like a trained poodle.”
There was a time not long ago when an insult like that might have incensed him. Tonight, all he felt was calm. He lit a cigarette, not even registering that she gave him a venomous look as he blew the smoke in her direction.
His phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen to see a text from Adam.
where are you? want to see a movie tonight?
It seemed that his brother had finally forgiven him for what happened at Firebird.
Sorry, I’m on a date with Felicity, he answered. Won’t be home for a couple hours.
Sam was driving them to the same cathedral where he’d met Lucas on the day of his fateful meeting with Markus. It seemed like a thousand years ago—back when he’d been full of doubt about what was to come, back when he’d still been so tormented by his older brother’s suicide.
So much had changed in a matter of days. Now he barely thought about Connor at all. The dead were gone—no reason to give them any further thought.
Sam pulled the limo up to the curb and opened the back door, averting his eyes as Farrell and Crys got out. The chauffeur knew something was up but was smart not to ask any questions.
“You can head off now, Sam. I’ll call you when I’m done,” Farrell told him.
“Yes, sir.” Sam glanced at Crys for a split second before he got back in the car and drove away.
“All right, let’s go,” Farrell said. “And just a warning: If you draw any attention to us, you’ll regret it. Markus said a blindfold isn’t necessary this time, but I’m sure he’d be fine with a gag.”
“Screaming my head off right now won’t help my sister, will it?”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
He took her by her elbow and directed her to the rear of the cathedral, to the tunnel entrance. He pulled up the piece of plywood, and she stared down at the darkness beneath.
“There’s stairs,” he said. “Let’s go. Markus is waiting.”
She drew her eyeglasses out of her bag and put them on, pushing them up her nose. A quick glimpse inside her bag also revealed the Canon Rebel he’d given her as a gift.
“So I see you’re all ready to take the perfect shot,” he said.
“It probably won’t happen tonight.”
“Probably not. Now, those stairs I mentioned a moment ago? Let’s start moving.”
Crys bit her bottom lip but didn’t protest. She slipped past the plywood plank he held up, found her footing, and then began her descent.
He knew how she felt, unsure of her next step, worried she might take a devastating fall. For him it was completely different. It only took a minute for his newly improved senses to kick in, and he could see as well as day in the darkness.
Farrell watched as she fumbled her way down the stairs, a mix of trepidation and determination on her face.
“Chin up, buttercup,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Bite me.”
“Maybe later.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and moved toward the meager glow of the flickering light about fifty paces ahead. Farrell had come to learn that all these tunnels had been created and maintained by Markus, and that they all connected with one another in an underground maze. One could get from the restaurant to the theater and from the cathedral to Markus’s home, and vice versa, if one knew the proper turns, and there were several entrances hidden all over the city.
“Is she giving you a hard time, Farrell?” Lucas was waiting around the next corner, leaning against the wall. He had a bandage across his bruised and swollen nose.
“Don’t worry, I can handle her.”
Crys stopped walking and stared at Lucas. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“It’s Crys, right?” Lucas grinned. “Really sorry for what happened the other day. I was just playing a part to help out a friend. Then again”—he pointed to his face—“you did break my nose, so maybe you should be the one apologizing.”
She gave him the finger.
“Nice.” He laughed. “So that’s the infamous book, is it?”
“It is,” Farrell confirmed.
“Follow me.” Lucas led them to the spiral staircase leading to the iron door covered in symbols. He opened the door and gestured for Crys and Farrell to go through. “After you.”
Farrell had never been in Markus’s theater when it wasn’t filled up for a society meeting. Today it felt cavernous—larger and more ominous than he’d ever seen it.
Crys drew in a sharp breath. “Becca.”
Farrell followed her gaze to the stage. The curtains were drawn to reveal a pretty blond girl in a hospital gown and bare feet lying on a table, like an image out of a fairy tale. Too bad there were no Prince Charmings nearby to administer magical kisses.
Crys took a step toward the stage but then faltered as Markus moved out of the shadows and stood next to Becca. He wore a tailored suit, black on black. Accompanying him was the man who’d first let Farrell and Lucas into Markus’s study.
“As you can see, Ms. Hatcher,” Markus said, “your sister is perfectly fine.”
“You call this fine?” Crys snarled. “Dad, how could you have let this happen?”
Dad? Farrell and Lucas exchanged a surprised glance.
“You chose this outcome, Crys,” the other man said. “But I’m very glad you’re here to make this right. Give Markus the Codex.”
Crys raised her chin. “Why doesn’t he come ov
er here and take it from me?”
Farrell stifled a laugh before another one escaped. What the girl lacked in common sense, she made up for in guts.
A smile now played at Markus’s lips. A dangerous smile.
And with that smile, Farrell knew, without a doubt, that Crystal Hatcher was doomed.
Chapter 26
MADDOX
When Maddox woke, he found himself in Camilla’s garden, looking up at the stone wheel.
Becca knelt at his side. “Close your eyes,” she said the moment he opened them.
He did as she said.
“There are six guards here. They think you’re still unconscious, so I’d suggest looking that way as long as possible. Camilla is inside the cottage, dead.” Her voice broke, but she kept going. “Sienna is loyal to Valoria. That she’d betray her sister like that . . . it makes me sick. The guards have Barnabas restrained. He’s sitting twelve feet to your left. I wish I could tell you I have a brilliant plan, but I don’t. And, for what it’s worth, I tried to possess a guard, but apparently I can’t even do that. I’m completely useless.”
He went to shake his head, to tell her she’s not useless, when a guard noticed his slight movements and wrenched him up to his feet.
“The witch boy’s awake.” He leaned closer to peer at Maddox’s face. “Warning you, boy. You try any magic and we’ll skewer your bearded friend.”
Barnabas sat on the ground, his hands behind his back. His attention was fixed on Sienna, glaring at her as if he could will her dead with his eyes.
“I can kill you all with a single thought,” Maddox said, his voice raspy.
“Go ahead. Give it a try.” The guard waited, then smirked. “Didn’t think so. Behave yourself or I’ll knock out your teeth.”
“Maddox,” Becca began. “The ground . . .”
He looked down to see that frost now crept across the grass, coating the flowers in delicate sheets of ice. But Maddox had known frost to occur only on the highest mountaintops, not here at ground level.
“Water magic,” Barnabas said. “The goddess has arrived, flaunt-ing her power.”