A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Show me you’re worthy of taking his place,” Markus said simply. “I need someone by my side in whom I can believe.”


Farrell looked to Daniel, who stared back at him with an expression of placid strength.

He waited for Daniel to confess everything to save his skin, to say Adam had really been the one to rescue the girls, not him or Lucas. He waited for Daniel to implicate him.

“Go ahead,” Daniel said instead. “Do it. But always remember: I once stood where you are right now.”

It sounded like an omen. Like a curse.

Was this who Farrell had become? Did Markus’s marks control his actions? All he knew for sure was that this choice he now had to make, with the cool weight of the golden blade in his grip, would define him forever.

It’s too much, he thought. I can’t kill him. This isn’t who I am.

He swore he dropped the weapon, but he didn’t hear it clatter to the floor.

It was still in his hand.

He thought of his tattoo of the movie quote: Bright is life. Dark is death. It meant to choose good over evil, even in one’s darkest moment. But it seemed he had no choice anymore. And part of him, the larger part that wasn’t screaming far off in the distance, didn’t seem to care.

Farrell locked gazes with Daniel as he thrust the blade into his chest. Daniel gasped but didn’t cry out. The life slowly faded from his eyes until the last flicker went out.

He pulled out the knife, and Daniel’s body slumped to the floor.

Red blood dripped from the tip of the dagger.

Suddenly, the air was charged with magic. It pulsed with the same energy that always invigorated Farrell after the Hawkspear trials. And other than that, Farrell felt . . . nothing. No remorse. No regret.

Still, one singular thought from that small and distant version of himself did manage to eke its way to the surface.

What’s happened to me?

Markus nodded. “Very good, Mr. Grayson. Give me the dagger.”

With only the slightest of hesitations, he did as instructed, and Markus wiped the blade off on a cloth.

“Now give me your arm.”

Farrell obeyed, pulling back his shirtsleeve.

“You have proved yourself well to me tonight,” Markus said as he carved the third mark into Farrell’s flesh.

This time, Farrell barely felt any pain.

“Tell me, Mr. Grayson, have you come to care for Crystal Hatcher?” Markus asked.

The truth escaped him before he could stop it. “Yes.”

“Did you help her escape tonight?”

“No.”

“Good.” The mark finished, fresh blood now dripping to the floor to mingle with that of Daniel Hatcher’s, Markus gripped Farrell’s arm and healed him.

What gifts would the third mark bring? He could barely wait to find out.

“She’s become a serious problem,” Markus said. “For you, for me. For all of us.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Markus watched him carefully for any flinch, any sign of distress. “If I asked you to, if I decided it would be the best decision for the future of Hawkspear and for my mission . . . would you kill her?”

Farrell held his leader’s gaze steadily as the distant scream of the boy he used to be faded away to a mere whisper.

“Yes, Markus. I would.”





Chapter 29


CRYSTAL



The elevator doors opened, and, just as Adam had promised, Crys and Becca found themselves standing in a fine restaurant. After running around down in the tunnels and the empty theater, Crys found the sound of voices and laughter and the rich scents of authentic Italian food disorienting.

“Take this.” Adam handed Becca a plastic shopping bag that he’d grabbed from behind a potted plant. “I stashed it here earlier. Your father said you’d need some shoes and something to wear. They’re my mother’s. Probably not your style, but they’ll do.”

“Thank you,” said Becca wearily but gratefully.

They didn’t linger in the restaurant. Once they were out in the street, they stopped at the nearest corner, where Crys shielded Becca so she could quickly change and discard her hospital gown. The blue silk dress Adam had brought was loose on her and far too formal, but the shoes were flats and seemed to fit her well enough.

“Thanks again for your help,” Crys said to Adam. Her head and rib cage ached from the pounding she’d taken from Lucas, but she tried not to think about it.

“I know you probably hate my brother,” Adam said as they walked, as casually as possible so as not to attract any attention. Crys didn’t know where they were going, but Adam walked with purpose down an unfamiliar route of side streets and alleys, and she’d officially decided to trust him. “But that’s not really who he is. Markus gave him another mark that changed him into something he’s not, something dark and hateful.”

Was that true? Was this Farrell who Crystal knew someone who only existed because of what Markus had done to him, just like her father?

She had no time to consider this. Besides, it’s not as if it mattered. Farrell had chosen his side. They both had.