A Book of Spirits and Thieves

  “Luckily for us,” Livius continued, “witches are known to be female. I’ve never heard of the goddess’s wrath accusing a male witch.”

  “And yet your son is one.”

  Maddox wanted to protest being referred to as a witch—as well as the constant assumption that Livius was his father—but he held his tongue.

  He wasn’t a witch. Witches had the powers of the elements—earth, fire, air, water. His powers . . . well, he didn’t know what they were, other than utterly useless and unreliable most of the time.

  “His gifts are very special and must be protected. That’s my job . . . to protect him.” Livius paused. “Are you ready to begin, Maddox?”

  Maddox didn’t feel very special right now, or protected, but he knew what to do. He’d done it many times before. “I am. You might want to stand back, Lord Gillis. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Lord Gillis immediately took a giant leap away.

  Maddox tried not to smile at the man’s dramatics as he pulled a silver box the size of his palm from his satchel. “I will trap the spirit in this box. . . .”

  “With your very special power over the dead,” Gillis finished breathlessly.

  “Yes.” He tried to inject confidence into the single word.

  “Amazing.”

  It was good that Gillis needed no further convincing—he was a believer from the start. That made everything much easier. After this, whatever creaking or knocking heard in the middle of the night that had disturbed the Gillis family enough to seek his help would be considered nothing more than what they actually were: knocks and creaks in a large house on the edge of a tall, windy cliff.

  Maddox sensed no actual spirits here, only a family of rich cowards. But to admit this would be to forfeit payment.

  He held the box in his hand and closed his eyes.

  “Come to me, spirit of the dark. Leave these good people alone. Come to me. Come to me now.”

  He waited a few moments, then tapped into the ability he knew he could easily control, which was to summon a shadow from the corner of the room, drawing it toward him in a ribbon of darkness. The shadow swirled in front of him in a dramatic display before he drew it fully into the box.

  He closed the lid to trap it inside.

  “It is done,” he said solemnly.

  Gillis stared at him with utter amazement, which was a completely normal reaction. The trick had impressed many over the three years Maddox and Livius had been traveling together, separating many lords and nobles from their gold.

  “Incredible,” Gillis said with awe.

  “Your worries are now at an end,” Livius said. “The spirit has been successfully removed from your home, and we shall dispose of it so it will never trouble you again.”

  Gillis clasped his hands. “Much gratitude, kind sir. To you and your incredible son.”

  I’m not his son, Maddox thought darkly. I’m nothing more than a slave to him.

  A slave he could use to make enough coin to pay back the moneylenders to whom Livius owed a small fortune. Livius had once been a gambler, one with very bad luck. The last time Livius hadn’t been able to make a payment, one of the moneylenders had taken his left eye as punishment.

  “No gratitude necessary,” Livius replied. “Except, of course, the second half of the fee that we agreed upon.”

  “Yes, of course. Of course! Please, follow me.”

  Maddox turned toward the entrance to see that a girl now stood by the golden archway leading into the huge room. She gazed around, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “The spirit is gone.”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  Likely, she was Gillis’s daughter. Though, Maddox thought, she really was far too lovely to be the daughter of such an ugly man. Perhaps her mother was a rare beauty. The girl’s clothing was unusual, to say the least. The top half of her ensemble was made from wool, but was dyed an incredibly unnatural, bright shade of rose. And he’d never seen a girl wearing trousers before. These trousers were not the baggy style that Mytican men wore; they were close-fitting and made from some sort of finely woven blue material. He forced himself to stop gawking at her long, lean legs.

  “Who are you talking to?” Livius growled at him.

  He nodded toward the entryway. “The girl.”

  “What girl?”

  Maddox blinked. “Lord Gillis, your daughter. . . .”

  Gillis shook his head. “No daughter. I have only sons, and they’re out for the day at the festival. Now, come with me, both of you. I will pay you and we will part ways as good friends.”

  The girl still stood by the entrance, looking around at the large room as if seeing it for the first time and finding it horribly confusing.

  “Where am I?” she asked Maddox. “I—I found myself out in the garden a few minutes ago. How did I get here?”

  Lord Gillis approached the girl, but as he got closer, he didn’t slow down, nor did he acknowledge her presence. Maddox opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the lord walked right into her.

  No, he didn’t walk into her. He walked straight through her.

  As if she wasn’t even there.

  Livius shot Maddox a glare sharp enough to cut. “Get that stupefied look off your face, you fool. Let’s finish this and leave.”

  The girl watched them as they passed. Maddox couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “You can see me,” she said. “They can’t, but you can!”

  Maddox forced his attention away from her, focusing instead on his footsteps. His heart began to pound harder.

  “Please, look at me.” The girl kept pace with him. She had long, honey-golden hair worn in a braid and blue eyes the color of the sea at dusk. She looked afraid and confused . . . but incredibly determined.

  He would not be fooled by her beauty. It seemed as if Lord Gillis was correct after all. His villa was haunted.

  Be gone, dark spirit, he thought fiercely. Leave me in peace.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but something bad happened to me.” She tried to touch him, but her hand passed right through him like a wisp of smoke. He tensed up but felt nothing, which surprised him. The spirits he typically encountered left him chilled to the bone, shivering.

  She stared down at her hand with horror. “Oh my God, what’s going on?”

  Maddox kept his lips pressed together, tempted to give her another glance, but stopping himself just in time.

  “I know you can see me,” she said, her voice quavering a little but remaining strong otherwise. “Don’t try to pretend you can’t!”

  He blinked rapidly, dismayed that Livius and Gillis had stopped and were now blocking the entryway, preventing his escape from the spirit girl. They now stood face-to-face as Livius took a pouch of coins from the lord. The two clasped hands.

  “Look at me, will you?” the girl cried. “Please!”

  Her fearful tone pulled at him, and he finally met her gaze.

  A whisper of relief moved through her eyes. “My name is Becca Hatcher. I don’t know what’s happened to me, where I am, or how I got here, but I know one thing. You’re going to help me get back home.”

  Chapter 4

  CRYSTAL

  It was all a blur.

  She called 9-1-1. The ambulance arrived quickly, its lights flashing and siren blaring. She forced herself to hit the right buttons to call her mother and left a hysterical, rambling message. Then there was the ride to the hospital and the doctor asking her what happened. . . .

  It was a question Crys wasn’t sure she knew how to properly answer.

  “A b-book,” she stammered. “She was looking at a book at the store. It—it did this to her.”

  “Are you saying that something she read upset her?” the doctor asked. “What book was it?”


  “I don’t know. She—she just . . . I don’t know what it was! You have to help her!”

  “We’ll do everything we can,” the doctor assured her. “She’s stable at the moment. It’s possible she’ll snap out of this catatonic state all on her own.”

  Catatonic state. It sounded so clinical.

  Her mother arrived within the hour and gave her a tight hug. “It’ll be okay,” she whispered into Crys’s hair.

  Then she disappeared into Becca’s room. It was a while before the doctor left, and Crys brushed past him to go inside. Her mother sat in the chair next to the bed.

  Becca’s eyes were still open, and she stared straight ahead. Every now and then she blinked.

  “Becca?” Crys ventured.

  “I don’t think she can hear you,” her mother replied softly. “It’s getting late. You should go home.”

  Crys ignored her. She went to Becca’s side and gently took her hand, cringing at the sight of the IV inserted into a vein and covered with tape.

  “You told the doctor there was a book,” her mother began.

  “There was. There . . . there is.”

  “I know. I went to the shop before I came here and put it somewhere safe.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “You shouldn’t have opened that package, Crys. It wasn’t addressed to you.”

  Her mother’s calm demeanor infuriated her. “No kidding. Message received, loud and clear. But I thought the worst I’d get was a paper cut, not . . . not this. What is this, Mom? What’s happened to Becca?”

  Julia Hatcher’s lips thinned. “Jackie never should have sent that thing to the store.”

  That thing? “There was something in that book. Something . . .” Crys shook her head, trying to remember clearly. “I didn’t recognize the language. It was old, ancient-looking, strange. And it literally glowed when Becca was holding it. The note from Jackie inside said that you know what that book is, so just tell me. Tell me so we can help Becca.”

  Crys waited for her mother to laugh and remind her that she’d been ignoring her sister’s existence lately, but here Crys was, refusing to leave her side as if they were inseparable.

  She wouldn’t need the reminder that she’d been a lousy sister lately—ever since their dad left—but it didn’t mean she’d ever want anything bad to happen to Becca.

  But her mother didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead, she let out another shaky breath. “Please, Crys. Go home. Get some sleep. Let me handle this.”

  “But why won’t you tell me anything even though you know what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s nothing I can tell you right now that could help.”

  Crys sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to get anything else from her mother tonight. Julia Hatcher was every bit as stubborn as she was.

  “Fine, whatever.” Crys stood up, still touching Becca’s hand, her attention now fully on her sister.

  She knew she’d let Becca down countless times in the last couple of years when she’d needed a sister’s support and attention. She wouldn’t let her down this time. She had to learn more about that book.

  On the way home, Crys bought some sushi—a spider roll, which was actually made with crab. Once, she’d jokingly told Becca it was made with real spiders. The horrified look on Becca’s face had made her howl with laughter at the time.

  Tonight, she only picked at the food for an hour before she finally threw it into the trash.

  It was after midnight by the time her mother got home. Crys was in bed but wide awake, Charlie’s small, furry body curled up next to her. Julia came by her room, pushing the door open to look inside. Crys pretended to be asleep, lost in a pile of sheets, blankets, and cat. The door closed a moment later, shutting out the sliver of light from the hallway, leaving only the glow of the clock radio for her to stare at.

  Over and over in her mind, she tried to remember exactly what had happened. Opening the package, paging through the book. Touching the bronze bird on the cover, the smooth brown leather. Walking it to the back, handing it to Becca . . .

  The page of strange gold writing that started to glow. The glow in Becca’s eyes. Then it was as if the golden writing itself had reached out and grabbed her. . . .

  But that was impossible. Things like that didn’t happen in real life.

  The phone rang, and Crys jumped as the unexpected sound cut through the darkness.

  Maybe it’s the hospital. She grabbed for the phone next to her bed and held it to her ear.

  Before she could say anything, she heard her mother’s harsh whisper. “You shouldn’t be calling the landline.”

  “I don’t have my cell. This is the only number I know by heart.” It was her aunt Jackie.

  Crys’s heart skipped a beat, and she moved her hand across the mouthpiece so she wouldn’t be heard.

  “What’s going on?” Jackie asked. “You sounded frantic in your message.”

  “Frantic, yes. I’m definitely frantic. Your package arrived today.”

  “And . . . you’re welcome.” Jackie sounded very pleased with herself. “Am I not amazing? Are you not impressed with how fantastic my detective skills are when I fully put my mind to something? You seriously don’t want to know what I had to do to get my hands on that thing. Finally, after all these years, we’re the ones with the power. We can draw that bastard out of his safe hiding place and make him pay for everything he’s done.”

  Crys’s mother didn’t reply. Silence stretched across the phone line.

  “Jules?” Jackie prompted. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about this. Please tell me you still have a clear head about everything.”

  “Never been clearer.”

  “Good. Always remember: Markus King stole everything from us—including your damn husband—and now I’ve stolen some-thing from him.”

  Crys stifled a gasp as her grip on the phone tightened.

  “Stop, Jackie. Listen to me,” her mother said, voice hoarse. “Becca touched the book before I could get to it. She opened it up, and something in it . . . affected her. She’s in the hospital, catatonic.”

  All Crys heard on the other end of the line was utter silence for several taut moments.

  “What? Becca? But . . . I . . . I didn’t know that could happen,” Jackie whispered.

  “Of course you didn’t. Neither of us did. But it’s happened, and now she’s . . . I don’t know what it’s done to her. I don’t know how to help her.” She hesitated. “Markus would know.”

  “Jules, no—”

  “If I could talk to Daniel . . . Despite everything that’s happened between us, he wouldn’t want anything to happen to either of the girls. I could meet with him, talk to him. . . .”

  “No. Stop right there. I know you still have hope for him,” Jackie said, “but he’s been swallowed up by that monster’s secret society long enough for us to know he’s lost to us.”

  “I know” was Julia’s barely audible reply.

  “That book is the key to everything, Jules. Even after all these years, I know Markus would do anything to get his hands on it. Don’t get weak on me, okay? I’ll figure out how to help Becca. I swear I will.”

  “You better.”

  “I said I will.”

  Click. The conversation was over, though Crys couldn’t tell which sister had hung up first. It took another minute before Crys could place the phone back in its cradle, her hands shaking.

  She reached down to pet Charlie, needing to feel his soft fur and warm little body to help ground her.

  “What’s going on, Charlie?” she whispered, her throat tight. “What the hell is going on?”

  Crys and Becca had never been given a good reason for why their father left. One day he was there, the next he wasn’t, and their mother had gone along with it all with seemingl
y stony acceptance, never truly opening up to her daughters about it except to say that “some marriages just don’t work out.”

  Had Daniel Hatcher abandoned his family for a secret society?

  She grabbed her cell phone and her glasses off her bedside table and started searching for information.

  She typed: Markus King. Secret Society. Toronto.

  The search yielded plenty of hits about many men with the name, but absolutely nothing useful. Nothing seemed to refer to the kind of man whose name her mother and aunt had just hissed over the phone.

  Crys pulled her black-rimmed glasses lower on her nose and rubbed her eyes. A glance at the clock told her it was nearly three in the morning, and she’d still uncovered nothing on the Web. Finally, she gave in to her exhaustion. She fell asleep for five hours, waking up with her glasses askew and Charlie still snoring on her stomach. She sat up, and he mewed in protest before tumbling off. Her stomach wrenched as she immediately remembered the events of last night.

  “Markus King, who are you?” she said aloud as she got out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe.

  She slowly made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of orange juice before sitting down at the table.

  It had been just over two years since Daniel Hatcher left. Her father. Her hero. Her friend. Her mentor. The man who’d shared with her his love for animals and photography. He’d even been the one to introduce her to sushi, which her mother despised.

  He’d left her with only memories, one in particular that had continued to replay itself over and over again.

  “Tell me, Crissy.” He always called her Crissy, a nickname she wouldn’t allow anyone to call her. “If I ever went somewhere—somewhere else—would you want to come with me?”

  “Of course I would,” Crys replied without hesitation.

  “Even if your mom and sister couldn’t come, too?”

  She blinked, confused. “Why couldn’t they?”

  He grinned that mischievous grin of his, the one that always made her smile in return. “They can always join us later if they wanted to. But first it would be an adventure, just you and me.”