A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“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 something 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 seemingly 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.”

“Then, sure, I’d go with you,” she said, shrugging. “Sounds like fun.”

She had wondered, more than once, whether she really would have gone with him if he’d really asked. But he hadn’t asked.