A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Lucas had been Connor’s best friend for years, but Farrell had never liked him. He’d always been too . . . shiny. Too slick and polite and full of compliments, like he was trying to sell something. Farrell wasn’t buying the suck-up act, so he usually tried to avoid the guy whenever possible and lately had only seen him at the quarterly meetings, every three months. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in six months.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Farrell said to Adam. Then, without waiting for a reply, he walked toward Lucas.

“How are you doing?” Lucas asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I hope you mean that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s been a whole year now. I miss him, too. We all do.”

Farrell’s gut lurched. He wished he could find a way to turn off his emotions, once and for all. “Has it really been that long? Time sure flies. Is that what you called me over here to say?”

“No. Let’s go over there. It’s more private.” Lucas nodded to the other side of the stage, where there was a small alcove away from the other members.

Once there, Farrell crossed his arms. “So, what’s up?”

“I’ll make this short and sweet.” Lucas scanned the theater before his dark eyes met Farrell’s. “You’ve been chosen.”

“Chosen? For what?”

“For Markus’s inner circle.”

Farrell nodded slowly, not understanding. “Which is . . . ?”

“Markus’s secret inner circle. It’s always existed. Carefully selected members are chosen to help him on a more personal level. It’s a huge honor.”

Farrell covered his shock with a smirk. “Huh. A secret society within a secret society. Is it covered in secret sauce, too?”

Lucas snorted. “Markus wants to meet with you in private to discuss this further.”

“I take it you’re a member of this inner circle.”

“I am.”

His heart had started to race at this possibility. Very few members ever met with Markus in private. The man was a human question mark. “And why am I the latest chosen one?”

“Apparently, he sees the same potential in you that he saw in Connor.”

“Wait. Are you saying that Connor . . . was he in Markus’s circle, too?”

“He was.” Lucas’s expression turned grim and he shook his head. “I still can’t believe what happened. And I know we’ve never discussed it before, you and I, but I guess this is as good a time as any. Did you have any idea he was having problems?”

“All I know for sure is he started acting differently after Mallory broke up with him.”

“He took it hard when she left.”

“To say the least.” That was a short answer. The truth was, Farrell had heard Connor threatening his girlfriend of four years over the phone—telling her that if she didn’t change her mind and come back to him that he was going to find her, hurt her. Make her regret her choice.

His voice . . . it had been so cold and dark and obsessed that it had made Farrell’s blood turn to ice.

That hadn’t been like Connor. The last couple of months of his life, he’d started to withdraw from Farrell, from Adam. He’d started acting like he had a secret, one he’d protect at any cost. . . .

Was it that he’d become part of Markus’s circle?

“When does Markus want to meet with me?” Farrell asked.

“Soon. I’ll notify you.”

Farrell let out a slow, even breath. “Hopefully I’ll be available at short notice.”

Lucas grinned at Farrell’s flippant comment. “Even you know to jump when he says so. And I hope it goes without saying that you’ll tell no one about this.”

Farrell’s gaze moved to the audience of society members—some of the richest and most influential people in the city—all getting comfortable in their plush red-velvet seats and chatting politely to one another, as they did at the beginning of every meeting. Each one wore the same gold pin to show they belonged here. That they, too, had been chosen.

How many of them are also part of Markus’s inner circle? Farrell wondered.

“My lips are sealed,” he promised aloud.

Mind swirling, he returned to his seat.

“What was that all about?” his mother asked.

Farrell waved a hand. “Oh, you know Lucas and his girl problems. I told him he’s way too young to be considering Viagra. Hopefully he listened.”

“I will ignore your questionable attempt at humor.” Her red lips thinned. “Speaking of girls, a friend of mine has a daughter I’d like you to begin dating.”

“Really.” He raised an eyebrow. “My mother, the matchmaker.”

“Felicity Seaton is beautiful and poised, goes to an excellent school, and comes from an exemplary family.”

“She sounds so shiny that I’d need sunglasses to date her.”

“I’ve set up a dinner for the two of you at seven o’clock, Tuesday evening at Scaramouche.”

Before he could protest, the lights began to dim and the theater went silent. A spotlight shone down on the brocade curtains as they parted to reveal the figure of a man. Like all the men here, he wore a tailored tuxedo that perfectly fit his tall frame.

“Who is that?” Adam whispered to Farrell.

“Our illustrious leader, Markus King,” he whispered back.

Adam’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s our leader?”