A Book of Spirits and Thieves

A photographer can tell a lot about a person by how they smiled.

Farrell Grayson had a few smiles in his arsenal. A self-indulgent smirk; a cold, cruel twist of his lips; and a charming, crooked grin that had managed to work its way into her heart before he’d happily stomped on it.

Markus, however, only had one smile, one that at first glance had seemed to be genuine.

He smiled down at her from his position next to her father and unconscious sister. “The Codex, Ms. Hatcher. If you please.”

Farrell took her arm and not so gently directed her up the stairs to the stage. She wrenched away from him the moment he loosened his grip.

“No need to struggle. Just trying to move this along,” he said. Lucas remained down on the main floor, his arms crossed, watching her with a chillingly predatory look on his face.

“Ms. Hatcher,” Markus prompted when she’d turned to look at Becca, inspecting her sister for new injuries. But Becca appeared just as she had at the hospital: pale, thin, and fragile.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Here.” She held out the book, refusing to take another step.

He stepped closer to her, watching her curiously as if she might try to pull a prank, then gently removed the book from her grip.

Markus brushed his fingers over the bronze hawk. “This once belonged to another immortal, who exiled me for siding against her in an uprising among our kind. Ever since I first heard of this book’s existence, I’ve known that someone had sent it here to help me. If only they’d known how long it would take for me to finally have it in my hands.”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Crys and his doting members.

“What does it do?” Crys asked. She couldn’t help it; she had to know.

“You met with Dr. Vega,” he replied in a thin, almost weary voice. “What does he think it can do?”

The mention of Dr. Vega made her tense. She’d chosen not to bring up his beating, but the thought of seeing him in that hospital bed made bile rise in her throat.

“He doesn’t know anything for sure, of course. All his theories about the Codex are only guesses.”

“Has he come close to translating it? This language his father called Obsidia?”

Wouldn’t he have already asked this question of Dr. Vega himself during the torture session? “No. He’s stumped,” she lied. “But he did mention something about the magic working as a gateway between worlds, which is how he thinks the book got here in the first place. Is that why you want it? So you can go back to your home?”

“Perhaps one day, but not anytime soon. There is still much for me to do here. And now that I have the Codex to help me, I feel a moral obligation to finish the work I started here. There is much evil in this world, Ms. Hatcher, and I’m determined to do what I can to crush it.”

He honestly thinks he’s a hero, she thought.

She wasn’t sure if that was sad or terrifying.

Crys bit her lip and railed against a great internal struggle to remain in control of her emotions. “I brought you the book like you asked me to. Let Becca go back to the hospital.”

“Markus promised to heal Becca and draw her out of this coma if you did as we requested,” her father spoke up. “She won’t need to return to the hospital tonight.”

Crys’s gaze shot to the immortal. “Is that true? Can you do that?”

Markus nodded, but his attention wasn’t on Crys, it was on her unconscious sister. “Dr. Vega says that her current condition has been caused by making contact with this book, but I’m not sure why that would be. It’s a mystery I’d like to solve.” Markus peered closer at Becca’s face, his brow drawing in at his forehead. “She’s lovely, Daniel.”

“Yes, she is,” Daniel agreed.

“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your youngest before. You adopted a child who fits in perfectly with your family.”

Crys held her breath. Markus knew Becca was adopted.

Of course he did. Her father would have told him everything.

Crys felt Farrell’s presence close to her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, silently cursing him. She didn’t need the distraction.

She focused instead on Markus, remembering what her mother had said about his getting weaker, how his magic had faded over the years. He was vulnerable now.

“You’re sure you can heal her?” she asked quietly. “Are you really strong enough to heal more than a paper cut?”

“Crys,” her father snapped.

She ignored his strict tone as easily as she ignored her least favorite teachers.

Markus studied her as if she were a dunce who’d finally said something interesting.

“Are you questioning the strength of my magic?”