A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“I can’t believe you’re joking around about this.”


Farrell sighed, then sat down on the edge of Adam’s bed. “Look. I don’t know for sure what’s myth and what’s real, but the story goes that the original cofounder of the society once had a dream about a god of death. He took the dream as a prophecy and started hunting down murderers and other bad people and going all vigilante justice on their asses. Then he met Markus, the very same god he had dreamed about. They partnered up, started the society as a more organized venture, and recruited members—rich ones, since they both knew that money talks when it comes to trying to make a difference in the world.”

Adam stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. “You’re saying that Markus King is a god.”

“I don’t know. You’ve seen him. You’ve seen what he can do. . . . Don’t you think it just might be possible?”

“I don’t know what I think right now. How are you okay with all this, like it’s no big deal? You’re the one who’s always asking questions about everything. Why is this different?”

Farrell shifted his bare feet uncomfortably. Was he okay with it? Yeah . . . he was. He’d made his peace with what happened at the meetings because he believed in Markus’s mission—to protect the world from evil.

But he’d had three years to come to accept it as something right and good. Adam had barely had a weekend.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “I promise you will.”

“I don’t want to get used to seeing people killed right in front of me, no matter who does the killing, or why.”

Farrell tried to stay calm, but the thought that his kid brother was having a meltdown over this troubled him deeply. This could cause serious problems, not only for Adam personally, but also for the Graysons as a family.

“I get that you’re feeling uneasy,” Farrell said, forcing himself to sound calm. “I sort of felt similarly after my first meeting. But you need to hear what I’m saying to you. Are you listening?”

Adam turned his pale face to Farrell. “Yes.”

“You agreed. When Markus gave you the choice to stay or go, you chose to stay. You got to the point of no return, and you went beyond it, kid.”

Weakness was unacceptable. The weak didn’t survive very long—not in the society, not in the world at large.

He hated that Adam’s attitude this morning had started questions coursing through his own head, questions that had faded in the time since he’d been initiated.

Who was Markus King? Who was he really? Where had he come from? And how was he able to do the things he did?

Maybe he’d learn the truth if Markus accepted him into his inner circle.

The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

“Always keep one thing clear in your head, Adam. The magic that Markus can do—it’s for good.”

“Good magic. Public executions. Prophecies. Gods of death.” The pain and doubt on Adam’s face had swiftly been replaced by fierceness. “Do you even hear yourself? Taking the law into your hands, whether you’re waving around a magic knife or not, isn’t good. It doesn’t make him any less evil than that guy he had on the stage.”

Farrell rubbed his temples. It was too early for this talk, and it had succeeded in making his hangover that much worse. This conversation was pointless, but he had to keep trying. He didn’t want his little brother to get himself in trouble by asking too many questions.

He narrowed his eyes and threw some fierceness back at Adam. “It’s over. You need to accept that you made a binding agreement to the man who gave you this.” He squeezed Adam’s forearm and his brother gasped in pain. Even though there wasn’t a scar or mark, Farrell remembered how extremely tender his wound had been for weeks afterward. “You’re going to screw it up, for yourself and for all of us, if you don’t get a grip on yourself. Hear me?”

Adam’s face had gone pale, his dark eyes standing out like burning coals. “I’m done talking about this.”

“You might be pissed at me right now, but I’m here for you whenever you need me. I’m your brother. I’ll always be your brother. Remember that, okay? Now quit this sick act and get to school before Dad comes in and dishes it out way worse than me.”

Farrell left the room feeling furious and helpless and like he’d only made Adam feel worse than he already did.

He made his way down the hallway, then froze as he reached a closed door at the end. He eyed it before trying the handle. It was unlocked.

He pushed the door open and glanced inside Connor’s old bedroom. He felt at the wall for the light switch and flicked it on.

His mouth went dry.

This was where Farrell had found him, lying on that bed. Now it was made, its sheets and duvet perfect and pristine.