A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Farrell blinked, glancing at him sideways. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”


A shadow crossed his father’s concerned face. “You’ve been very quiet this week, which is unlike you. The anniversary of . . . well, it’s been difficult for all of us, of course, but I know, for you, having found him like that, it must be—”

“I’m fine,” Farrell bit out, shuttering up his emotions as best he could. Numb was best. Numb was always best. He felt the reassuring weight of the silver flask in his pocket. “We should go. Wouldn’t want to be late, would we?”



Adam’s face fell as soon as they got out of the limo.

“It’s just a restaurant,” he said blandly.

“Yes.” Their father’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the five-star restaurant where their attire wouldn’t seem out of place in the slightest. “One of my favorites, actually.”

“So, what? Do they reserve a room at the back for us? Like a birthday party?”

Farrell smirked. “Just wait till you see the balloon animals.”

“Enough talking.” Their mother’s words were clipped. “Be silent. Eyes forward. Consider yourself blessed to have been allowed this opportunity at your young age, and don’t embarrass me.”

Adam clamped his mouth shut and met Farrell’s gaze. The two nearly started to laugh. They might be unpredictable, but their mother certainly wasn’t.

They entered the restaurant, practically vacant at nearly midnight. The familiar hostess’s eyes flicked to their golden pins before she nodded.

“This way,” she said, gesturing toward an elevator that slid open at the end of a short hallway. No party room or balloon animals in sight.

Adam kept quiet now, watching and waiting, as they got on the elevator together without a word. The doors closed, and they began moving down.

It wasn’t very long before the doors opened again.

The hallway had fluorescent lights set into the ceiling about every fifteen feet. If Farrell stretched out his arms, he would easily be able to touch both sides of the narrow corridor. They walked two-by-two, parents in front, brothers in the rear.

Farrell had expected something much different than this on his initiation night—perhaps thick stone walls covered in mold and mildew, lit by blazing torches, leading to a cavernous hall with mysterious strangers in hooded robes. The scent of ancient traditions and history itself in the musty air.

Instead, he got something much less medieval and much more modern. This hallway reminded him of a narrower version of the city’s PATH system: a maze of underground tunnels connecting the subway to stores and buildings in the business district so that commuters could avoid the slush and ice whenever possible during Toronto’s harsh winters.

But this wasn’t the PATH. These hallways were privately owned and maintained. Only a privileged few ever got to see these walls. But it was a maze of tunnels that led to many different places—or so he’d heard. So far, he’d only used them to travel from the restaurant to the society’s inner sanctum.

Left turn, right turn, right, left, left . . . and so on. Farrell had never bothered to fully learn the route himself, because his parents had always been there to guide him.

“How far until we get there?” Adam asked.

“Not very,” Farrell replied. Up ahead, he could see some other members headed to the same destination. “We’re almost there.”

Which was good, since his new shoes were killing him.

Finally, they came to a spiral staircase, which they ascended slowly and carefully. The staircase led to an iron door covered in mysterious symbols. Edward Grayson knocked—three quick, then three slow.

A moment later, the door opened, and they entered the society’s headquarters.

“First we’re at a fancy restaurant,” Adam said loud enough for only Farrell to hear. “And now this?”

The disappointment and uncertainty had returned to his brother’s voice.

Farrell knew that entering a grand theater dressed in formal wear, as if attending the latest touring Broadway musical, was not what Adam ever would have anticipated. “Just wait till showtime,” Farrell replied under his breath.

Nearly two hundred other society members were already here, all taking their seats in the rows closest to the stage. This theater could easily seat six hundred, but the leader preferred to keep his numbers to a minimum.

Out of the corner of his eye, Farrell spotted a familiar face. Lucas Barrington stood at the very front near the wide stage and beckoned toward Farrell to join him.

“What the hell does he want?” he muttered to himself.