A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“He probably just slipped out with a customer. It’s fine. He’s fine.” The kitten began to squirm, so Crys gently set him down on the floor. He flicked his tail and sauntered away, down a long aisle of crammed bookshelves toward his favorite napping spot in the mystery section.

Becca swept her serious gaze across the front of the store until it fell again on Crys. Her dark blue eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head as if seeing her sister for the first time today. “You changed your hair again.”

Crys twisted a finger around a long pale lock. Normally her hair was a medium ash blond, just like their mother’s. A year ago, she’d started to dye it whenever she felt a whim, and it had since been black, dark brown, red, and, for a short time—and much to their mother’s dismay—bright purple.

Last night she’d gone platinum blond. Her scalp still burned from the peroxide, and she resisted the urge to scratch it, hoping her hair wouldn’t start falling out from the abuse she’d heaped upon it.

Although . . . bald might be cool to try out for a while.

“Yup,” she said. “You like?”

“Sure,” Becca replied after a moment. “It makes your eyes look even lighter.”

“Thanks, I think.” Crys didn’t know if that was a compliment or simply an observation. She had the same eyes as their father—icy blue and so pale they nearly lacked any color entirely. Some people said her eyes were spooky.

She was okay with this.

“Mom’ll be back in an hour,” Becca said, glancing down at her watch.

“Let’s get some sushi in the meantime. I’m starving.” Walking around all day would do that, and Crys had forgotten to have lunch.

“I’m sick of sushi. Let’s figure out dinner after we finish with the store.”

How could anyone ever get sick of sushi? Crys could happily eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if given the option. “Fine. Just tell me what to do, boss.”

“Sort the mail.” Becca gestured toward the pile near the front door. “And I’ll . . . I guess I’ll shelve these.” She grabbed a cardboard box and hoisted it up onto the counter. “A customer came in and had a bunch of used children’s books she wanted to unload. Mom wasn’t here to vet them as quality, so I took them all. I don’t know why anyone would want to get rid of all these books, but I guess it’s good for business, right?”

“Sure,” Crys replied distractedly, eyeing the mail. She’d spotted a suspicious-looking letter at the top of the pile and started walking toward it. “Shelve away.”

The letter was addressed to her mother, and it was from Sunderland High—Crys’s school.

She ripped it open without a second thought and scanned the contents, which informed Mrs. Hatcher that her daughter, Crystal, had a questionable attendance record. She’d missed three weeks’ worth of classes since the year began. The principal wanted to meet to discuss her frequently truant daughter’s choices and how it could put her graduation in June at risk.

Crys ripped the letter into tiny pieces and threw it in the garbage can. She didn’t need to graduate with top marks to be a photographer. And ever since her two best friends, Amanda and Sara, had both moved away in the last six months, classes held no interest for her anymore.

She only needed to survive until June to leave school behind her forever.

And in seven months she’d turn eighteen. That number meant the freedom to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Eighteen meant she could finally leave Toronto and travel around the world, taking pictures, fleshing out her portfolio, so she could get a job at a magazine such as National Geographic.

That was both the dream and the plan. And only a matter of months and the occasional annoying letter from school stood in her way.

Along with letters and bills there was a larger parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It was covered in what looked like European stamps. She recognized the sender’s handwriting immediately.

It was from her aunt Jackie.

Again ignoring the fact that the parcel was addressed to her mother, not her, Crys tore off the paper, curious to see what her aunt had sent. Crys felt it’d been forever since she’d seen or talked to Jackie, who lived in Europe most of the time, exploring and having adventures and romances and getting into trouble like the free spirit she was. Jackie hadn’t graduated high school, either, and her aunt was the coolest and smartest person Crys had ever known. She’d received her education from living life, not from reading textbooks.

“And you’ve sent us . . .” Crys pulled the object out of the packaging, her enthusiasm quickly fading. “. . . a book. Hooray.”

The book did look very old—which meant it might be valuable on the secondhand market. That was one point in its favor. Its cover was smooth brown leather. Handmade, by the feel of it. It was the size of an old atlas and as thick as a dictionary. As heavy as one, too. It had cost Jackie a small fortune in postage to send this overseas.

Affixed to the cover was a metal relief of a bronze bird, its wings spread in flight. Crys traced it with her index finger.