A Book of Spirits and Thieves

  He caught another whiff of cigarette smoke. Farrell made a mental note to stop somewhere for a pack of smokes. He needed nicotine in the worst way. He’d gone three days without a cigarette. That was more than enough.

  “Farrell . . . ,” Adam began again, his voice choked.

  “Just tell me why you’d want to get involved in something like this.” Farrell didn’t look at him as he moved through the apartment toward the open door. Adam trailed after him like a ghost.

  “It’s been a year tonight, you know that?”

  Farrell froze. “You’re using that as your excuse?”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “You’re damn right it was.” He should know what mistakes were. He’d made so many of them himself he’d lost count.

  “Ever since Connor died, you’ve been so distant. Mom and Dad . . . they’ve practically ignored me. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. And Nick and Peter wanted to be my friends. I know it was wrong—and I know I wouldn’t have done anything to her or let them do anything. But tonight . . . for a moment I felt like I belonged somewhere. Like I had a group to call my own.”

  One year since Connor died.

  It would be so nice to forget. But it didn’t matter how much he drank. That image of Connor was always there, burned into his brain.

  “I get it, kid. I do. The need to belong, to have people to depend on through thick and thin. But losers like Peter and Nick aren’t going to give you that. I know what you need.”

  “What?”

  “Dad was going to tell you over breakfast, but I’m more than happy to spoil the surprise. The next society meeting is tomorrow night, and you’re on the list. You’re going to be initiated.”

  Adam gaped at him, his eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

  “Yup. You’re in.”

  “I mean, I know practically nothing about it.”

  Farrell shrugged. “What happens at the Hawkspear Society stays at the Hawkspear Society. But you’ll learn soon enough.”

  Adam just stood there, shaking his head in disbelief, before a gigantic smile spread across his face. “This is amazing.”

  “Congrats.” Farrell couldn’t help but smile at his little brother’s exuberant reaction. It wasn’t every day that someone got initiated into a secret society made up of Toronto’s most elite and powerful.

  Adam had no idea what lay behind those locked doors, but Farrell knew it would most definitely make him feel like he belonged somewhere. Somewhere incredibly special. Somewhere powerful.

  Somewhere magical.

  Sixteen was the minimum age for members, but it was still very young. Farrell wasn’t totally certain his brother was ready for what he’d witness tomorrow night.

  But rules were rules. And family was family.

  Adam Grayson was about to grow up fast. Farrell could only hope like hell that he wouldn’t end up like Connor.

  Chapter 3

  MADDOX

  NORTHERN MYTICA—

  Year 15 of the Goddess Valoria’s Reign

  If he valued his life—and he most certainly did—then he needed to hurry. He’d already kept Livius waiting far too long.

  The journey from his mother’s small village to the city of Ravenswood had been nearly impossible to complete in only two days while still taking the time to rest and eat. His mother had begged him to stay with her another day, saying she’d cook him a stew from the rabbit she’d caught in her snares that morning. Though his stomach had protested giving up such a fine meal, he’d kissed her quickly on both of her cheeks and embraced her tightly.

  “I promise I’ll return the very next chance I get,” he’d told her.

  If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t earn enough to pay the taxes owed on her small cottage. She’d be cast out by the lord of the land, and, like many poor women in the North, she’d be forced to become a beggar.

  He’d never allow that to happen.

  So he made his way quickly to the city, a treacherous journey across roughly hewn paths and dirt roads, through forests thick with criminals, stinging insects, and beasts with sharp teeth. He had no weapon—he wasn’t allowed to have one of his own—so all he had to aid him were his wits.

  At the edge of the forest less than a mile from the city, Maddox’s pace slowed to a halt as he came across an old man lying next to a tipped-over wooden cart, his face and shirt bloodied.

  “Boy . . . ,” the old man moaned, reaching out toward Maddox as he approached with apprehension. “Please—please . . . help me.”

  “Of course I’ll help you.” He would never ignore someone in dire need like this, even though the sight of blood made his stomach lurch. “What happened here?”

  The man’s white hair was sparse, his mostly bald scalp red from the blazing sun. “Thieves stopped my cart. They attacked me and left me for dead. Come closer. You must help me to my feet, help me get to the city.”

  Maddox scanned the tree line, now nervous that thieves might be lying in wait. “What direction did they go?”

  “Take my hand, boy.”

  Maddox hesitated only another moment before he clasped the old man’s hand and helped him to his feet. “You’ve lost a great deal of blood.”

  “Not nearly as much as you’ll lose if you don’t do exactly as I say.” The old man produced a dagger and held the sharp edge of steel to Maddox’s throat. “A trusting youth, aren’t you?”

  Trusting. Or stupid. In Maddox’s experience, they seemed to be interchangeable when it came to many of his choices.

  “Give me all your coin.” The old man’s lips peeled back from broken teeth. His breath smelled like rotting vegetables. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”

  Stupid. So very, very stupid.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any coin on me.” Maddox grimaced as the man pressed the blade harder and warm blood trickled down his neck. “If you let me go, I promise I can get you plenty.”

  “Promises don’t work for me.”

  “You’ve obviously confused me with someone else, someone with coin to spare. Do I look like someone who carries bags of gold and silver with me?”

  The old man peered at him. “You’re well dressed enough.”

  Today he wore tailored leather trousers, a suede vest, and a fine shirt made from linen imported from across the Silver Sea. At first glance, Maddox Corso might be mistaken for the son of a lord.

  Which made sense. These clothes had been stolen from the son of a lord.

  “How old are you, boy?” the thief asked.

  He hesitated before answering truthfully. “Sixteen.”

  “Where is your family?”

  “In the city up ahead,” he lied. “They’re the ones with the gold.” He racked his mind in search of a way to escape this predicament. “So tell me, do you lie in wait at the side of the road like this often? Is this a hobby or a profession? Is it profitable?”

  His questions only got a jab from the blade to silence him.

  Maddox then tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on the man and nothing else. To will the thief into unconsciousness with the strange and nameless power inside him.

  Unfortunately, his magic failed him today, which wasn’t surprising. It almost always did any time he actually tried to use it.

  Another voice cut in. “What are you doing with my son?”

  The old man wheeled around to face the intruder, taking Maddox with him. “Your son, eh? So it would appear your father has come looking for you.”

  “So it would appear,” Maddox mumbled.

  But Livius was his guardian, not his father.

  Livius, who was dressed every bit as well as Maddox today beneath his long, hooded cloak, swept his gaze across the otherwise vacant road until it finally landed on the man’s overturned cart. One of his eyes, as always, was covered by a blac
k patch. “Does this setup work well for you? Drawing hapless flies into your sticky web?” he asked.

  “Works like a witch’s charm. I find many of those willing to help an old, dying man also have pockets heavy with gold. I only wish to unburden them of that weight.”

  Livius’s gaze locked on Maddox, his good eye dark in his tanned face. “The boy is young and naive. He’s susceptible to deception.”

  “And I am very grateful for that weakness.” The thief’s grin widened. “You have the power to stop this peacefully. I’m happy to release him . . . provided you show me what I want to see.”

  Livius reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a handful of golden coins that glittered under the sun. “Something like this?”

  From his current position, Maddox could only guess that the thief’s eyes also glittered.

  “Yes, something exactly like that.” The thief roughly poked Maddox in the center of his back. “Take the coins from your father, boy. Take them and put all of them in my bag. Only then will we part ways.”

  Maddox did as instructed, the blade pressed to his throat the entire time. He avoided eye contact with Livius, who watched him patiently, his arms crossed over his thick chest. Five handfuls of gold coins made their way into the thief’s worn sheepskin bag.

  “Excellent.” The thief shoved Maddox away and picked up the bag from the ground. “Be on your way now, the both of you. And don’t look back, or you’ll regret it.”

  “You think you can steal my gold and just walk away?” Livius clasped Maddox’s shoulder, his fingertips biting into his flesh.

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” The old man turned away with a sneer.

  “Not to me.” Livius let go of Maddox, closed the distance between him and the thief in two steps, and sank his blade into the man’s back.

  The thief collapsed to the ground, real blood now mixing with the fake substance he’d used to lure Maddox to his side.

  With a last hiss, he closed his eyes forever.

  “He was old and weaker than you,” Maddox mumbled. “He was going to let me go. You could have taken back the coins without killing him.”

  “What did you say?”

  Maddox turned to Livius and was greeted with a strike to the side of his face.

  A good blow, too. He saw actual stars behind his eyes as he stumbled backward on the loose soil, tasting coppery blood in his mouth.

  “You take your own sweet time getting here when you know I’m waiting for you,” Livius growled, “and get yourself in trouble along the way. What else is new, you pathetic little brat? If I hadn’t finally lost my patience and come looking for you, what do you think would have happened? I’m sick to death of dealing with your insolence.”

  So don’t deal with me at all, Maddox thought, ignoring the sting on his cheek and the tightness in his chest. Leave. Go away. Never look back.

  But he knew that would never happen.

  He’d tried to escape from Livius before, but his guardian was a masterful tracker. He’d barely survived the beating he’d received, and he remembered Livius’s voice, low and calm, promising that he’d murder Maddox’s mother very slowly if he ever tried to run away again.

  Maddox knew Livius was a man of his word.

  He swore he’d protect his mother until his last breath. After Livius was through with him, after he’d used Maddox’s special skills to help pay his many debts, Maddox prayed that he’d be freed to start a life far away from the cruel, heartless monster.

  Until then, he knew he had to play along.

  “Let’s make haste.” Livius’s words were cold. “Defy me again, brat, and I swear to the goddess I’ll break both of your arms.”

  “Yes,” Maddox said slowly. “I can feel it. Your villa is besieged by an evil spirit that has escaped from the dark land beyond death.”

  Lord Gillis gasped, holding his hand to his mouth. “I knew it. I knew it! I heard it over and over in the dead of night. It’s frightened my family nearly to the point of madness. A . . . just an evil spirit? Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “Positive,” Maddox lied. “Why? Did you believe it to be something else?”

  The lord twisted his hands. “This villa has only recently come into my possession. Years ago, the gardens in the back were allegedly used as a meeting place for immortals to work their magic.”

  “Allegedly?” Livius repeated.

  “Yes. I, of course, did not witness such sacred meetings myself.”

  “No, of course not.” Livius smiled patiently as if dealing with a foolish child who chased butterflies and called them demons. “What an honor and an accomplishment to have purchased such a valuable landmark.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  Maddox had no time to think of the immortals, who were said to exist side by side with the citizens of Mytica before he was born. Once the goddesses arrived and took their thrones, there had been no more talk of any other immortals sighted anywhere in the land.

  Regardless, Maddox preferred to focus all his attention on spirits—whether or not they were real.

  “I can rid your home of this dark presence,” Maddox said.

  Lord Gillis nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, wonderful. Please do.”

  He hadn’t yet seen the gardens, but Maddox now walked along the hallway of one of the grandest villas he’d ever been invited inside. The floor was a mosaic of bronze and silver tiles that must have cost several lifetimes of a regular working man’s earnings. Portraits of Gillis and his ancestors lined the walls.

  Livius stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. Waiting.

  “Allow me a few more moments to strengthen my contact with the spirit,” Maddox said. “We can’t merely scare it away or it will disappear, only to return again to torment you after we’ve left.”

  “Yes, yes,” Lord Gillis said, running a nervous hand over his bald, sweaty scalp. He wore robes—dark orange with elaborate gold embroidery—that swished around his fat legs. “Please, take all the time you need.”

  Maddox returned to the hall where the lord had said he first sensed the malevolent entity, and glanced up at the high golden ceiling. Seeing the difference between this elegant home and his mother’s modest cottage caused bitter disappointment to rise in his throat. He would never be able to afford such a fine home for her.

  “The spirit’s presence is strongest in this room,” he finally said.

  “Do you know who it is? Perhaps this spirit has some sort of grievance with me?”

  “Do you have many enemies?” Livius asked.

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” Lord Gillis glanced nervously at Livius. “None I can think of offhand who’d choose to haunt my home.”

  “Maddox?” Livius prompted, his face in an expression of patience and encouragement. He faked sincerity with such ease that sometimes he fooled even Maddox.

  “Well,” Maddox began, “even if it is someone you know, once a spirit is devoured by the land of darkness, their essence becomes twisted and malformed. Even if they manage to escape, they’re never the same as they were when they were mortal. They’re dangerous.”

  A shiver went down his spine as he spoke these words aloud. It might have been standard, rote dialogue for such appointments as these, but it was also the absolute truth.

  “Can they . . . kill?” Gillis asked, his voice tense.

  Maddox actually wasn’t sure if they could, but it was a logical question. “They can, indeed.”

  The lord let out a shuddery breath. “Then you must do everything in your power to dispose of this spirit immediately!”

  Maddox nodded gravely. “I will try my best.”

  “He will do more than try,” Livius said with pride. “He will succeed as he’s done for many before. How else would you have heard of Maddox’s stellar reputation as a spirit vanquish
er if not from a satisfied customer?”

  “When I first heard of the boy’s unusual powers,” Gillis said, his voice low, as if they might be overheard, “I couldn’t believe my own ears. I’ve heard of no one else who can do what your son is capable of. I swear on my own life, I will keep his secret until I meet my grave. Just like you asked.”

  “Very good.” Livius clasped the man’s shoulder. “However, please do feel free to tell those who are trustworthy and may require our help. It’s what we do. We help those who have nowhere else to turn.”

  Maddox tried very hard not to roll his eyes.

  Lord Gillis nervously wrung his hands as he followed Maddox around the room so closely that he could feel the man’s warm breath tickle the back of his neck.

  He wanted to get this over with, but if he was too quick about it, the procedure wouldn’t be believable. Too long, and it would strain the patience of everyone involved.

  The timing had to be just right.

  “This line of work must be so dangerous for you both, though . . . ,” Gillis said after a moment.

  “Dangerous?” Livius prompted.

  “What the boy can do is so much more than what a witch is capable of. And even witches must protect their secrets.”

  Livius’s jaw was tense. “The goddess has become rather strict of late, hasn’t she?”

  Gillis laughed nervously. “Yes, I’d say that demanding the head of every accused witch in the North qualifies as rather strict. But what can we do? Defy her and face her judgment ourselves?”

  “Have . . . have you ever met her?” Maddox asked, his words now tentative. “The goddess?”

  Gillis turned to him. “Indeed, I have. She is as beautiful as the sunrise. She is absolute perfection in every way, and I shall worship Her Radiance every day of my life.”

  “As will we all,” Livius murmured, the standard reply for such praise of the goddess.

  Maddox mouthed the same response while wondering if Gillis was lying. Very few had seen the goddess in person. She allegedly preferred to remain within the grounds of her huge palace a full day’s journey west of Ravenswood on the very edge of the sea.