A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“I didn’t know what I was saying back then. I was confused.”


“I hated you for a long time for what you did. I still do.” The truth of the words left a sour taste in her mouth. “You left and you didn’t even try to contact me . . . not even once! I could have kept it a secret. I wouldn’t have told Mom if you didn’t want me to.”

“I’ve tried my best to respect her wishes.”

“Well, Mom and me . . .” She bit her bottom lip. “We don’t get along that well. I know she thinks Becca’s the perfect one, and she’s probably right about that.”

It hurt Crys to say that because she believed this. It seemed as if her mother raved over every A-plus essay Becca brought home, over every accomplishment. Becca had been the one to figure out the new computer system to organize the shop and its accounting. The two talked about the books they’d read for hours on end while Crys tried to watch TV.

Practically the only time her mother ever spoke to Crys directly these days was to comment on something she’d done wrong.

“That’s not true,” her father said, shaking his head. “She loves both of you girls equally. Some of her rules might seem harsh, but they’re because she loves you.”

“Whatever. She expects too much from me. I know I’ll never make her proud. I would have said yes, Dad. I would have gone with you. I would have joined this society that’s making such a big difference in the world.”

His jaw tensed up as he studied her, a frown creasing his brow. “You have to be sixteen to be invited in. You were only fifteen at the time.”

“Well, I’m seventeen now and . . .” She took a deep breath. “And I want in. I want to be a part of your life again, Dad.”

His brows drew together tighter. “Crystal—”

“I want to know more.” She cut him off so she could finish making her case. “Is there someone I can meet with? Someone I can persuade to let me join? I want this, Dad. I want to be a part of your life again. And if what you’re saying is true—that you’re, like, literally helping to save the world by being a part of this secret society, then I want to help, too.”

As she said it, she realized she wasn’t lying. She wanted to be part of her father’s life, and she wanted to know everything about this group that had stolen him away from his family.

Maybe he was right and her mother was wrong.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Three years ago, when cash began disappearing from the till—five to twenty dollars a few times a week, Julia had accused Crys directly because she’d once been detained at the Eaton Centre on suspicion of shoplifting (which had actually been her friend Sara, not her). Her father had defended her. He and Julia had had a huge argument, their raised voices easily heard through the thin walls of the apartment.

It turned out that a part-time clerk had taken the money. She was fired, and since then, the running of the Speckled Muse had been kept in the family.

Her mother had never apologized, and Crys had never forgotten. Or forgiven.

Daniel Hatcher pulled his hand away from Crys’s, put the camera back on the surface of the table, and leaned back in his chair. “You mean this.”

“With all my heart.” Then she closed her mouth. She’d had her say, and now it was up to him.

Had she moved too fast? Would he think she was up to something?

“There is someone I can talk to,” he finally said. “His name is Markus.”

She went very still when she heard the name.

Markus King stole everything from us—including your damn husband—and now I’ve stolen something from him.

It was him. The man her mother thought might be able to help Becca. The man Jackie had somehow stolen the book from.

The man who had the answers Crys desperately needed.

“And I promise I will talk to him,” her father continued. “The society welcomes family members and . . . you’re my family, Crys. You’re my blood. I’ll do what I can to arrange a meeting, but I’m not promising anything beyond that. I can’t make demands; I can only make requests. The ultimate decision is out of my hands.”

She nodded, her heart pounding. “I understand.”

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “But I have to go now.”

“Okay.”

She stood up as he did, and, after a brief hesitation, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ve missed you, Crissy,” he said.

She watched him walk away until he was out of sight. “Me too.”





Chapter 8


FARRELL



The sound of persistent knocking woke him.

Morning light streamed through the sliver of window his blinds didn’t cover. He groaned and tried to sit up, shielding his eyes.

What time was it?

A glance at the clock on his bedside table informed him it was eight.

Eight?

Considering he hadn’t gotten in until almost five A.M., he was ready to kill whoever had stolen his sleep.

The door opened, and his father strode inside, went to the window, and pulled the blinds completely up.