A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Silence fell over the theater.

A moment later, a man in the front row stood up. “Guilty,” he said.

Slowly, others stood and repeated the word. Another moment later, many more rose together, including Farrell and his parents, their voices rose in unison.

“Guilty.”

Markus glanced at Adam, who was watching all this with wide eyes. “And you, Adam? What is your verdict?”

Adam looked at John, really looked at him for a long searching moment. John stared back at him, as if trying to intimidate the kid. Then John threw his head back and laughed, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

“You’re just a little kid, aren’t you? What, your babysitter wasn’t available tonight?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Guilty,” he said.

“Great!” John was still laughing. “Guilty, guilty, guilty. How about I get a lawyer and sue all your asses for kidnapping me?”

Markus regarded the audience. “How can I protect the world from the darkness this murderer brings with him wherever he goes? The harm he dispenses with every selfish choice he makes? How shall John Martino be punished here tonight? What will cleanse him of the evil inside him that darkens this world wherever he goes?”

“Death,” the audience said in unison. Farrell felt the word leave his lips as it had at every meeting before.

This man before them was evil. Judgment had been passed by the Hawkspear Society.

And that judgment was final.

“What? What are you talking about?” John now struggled against the men who held him firmly in place. “Let me go!”

Markus approached him slowly, reaching beneath his jacket to pull out a golden dagger.

“I free you from this life of pain,” Markus preached to John. “I free you from this life of darkness. You can rest now. You will never harm anyone else ever again.”

“Wait, what is this? You can’t—!”

Markus thrust the dagger into the man’s chest. John gasped in pain and shock, then shrieked as Markus twisted the blade.

“Blood for blood, death for death,” Markus said, yanking the dagger from the man’s flesh.

“Blood for blood, death for death,” the society repeated.

John dropped to his knees, staring up at Markus. For a moment, it looked as if he were a wounded peasant kneeling before a conquering king, begging for mercy.

Then he fell to his side, blood welling next to him in a shallow crimson puddle.

Farrell felt it then, the same powerful sensation that overcame him four times a year after each execution.

Magic—Markus’s magic—strengthened by the spill of blood.

It charged the room like a whisper of electricity, raising the hair on Farrell’s arms and the back of his neck. It brought with it a sense of serenity, of righteousness. Of power.

“It is done,” Markus said solemnly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the blade.

Farrell’s gaze shot to Adam to see his reaction to witnessing a public execution with no prior warning. His brother’s face was unreadable, but he stood rigidly, fists clenched at his sides, his attention fixed on the dead body.

“Adam Grayson,” Markus said solemnly. “Will you accept the invitation to join my society as an official member, and in that capacity, will you agree to contribute heart, body, and mind to my mission to protect this world from evil? Will you keep our secrets and do all you can to serve the Hawkspear Society? Will you accept that the sacrifices made here are symbols of our focus on the greater good of this city, this country, and this world?”

Adam hesitated for only a moment. Then he raised his chin and, without looking in Farrell’s direction again for encouragement, spoke the words that would seal his destiny.

“Yes, I will.” His voice was strong and filled with determination.

Farrell let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

It was the right answer, of course. The only answer.

“Remove your jacket and pull up the sleeve on your left forearm,” Markus instructed.

A frown of confusion creased Adam’s forehead, but he did as asked, letting his tuxedo jacket fall to the floor. He fumbled with the button at his left wrist and then pushed the crisp white sleeve up to his elbow.

Markus took Adam’s wrist and, without warning, he touched the sharp tip of the golden dagger to Adam’s flesh and pressed down.

Adam inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch or make a single sound of protest.