A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Crys’s eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She refused to feel hopeless and helpless and totally alone.

“Please come back, Becca,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve been so lousy to you lately. I didn’t mean it, really. It wasn’t you; it was me. I know that sounds like something people say when they’re lazy and making excuses, but it’s the truth.” She inhaled shakily. “I always thought I’d hate Dad forever and that if I ever saw him again, I’d spit in his face. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to leave us. Mom made him. He says he’s doing something good for the world with this society of his. So what does that mean? Is this Markus guy some saint who helps people in need? Could he help you, too?”

Becca’s chest hitched a little, and a soft gasp left her lighter-than-usual lips. Crys’s heart skipped a beat, hoping this would be the dramatically wonderful moment she’d been dreaming of, when Becca would open her eyes.

She tightened her grip on Becca’s hand. “If you can hear me . . . open your eyes. Wake up, right now. Please.”

Another intake of breath gave Crys an irrational burst of hope, but Becca’s eyelashes didn’t so much as flutter. Her eyes didn’t open. Her fingers didn’t curl and tighten around Crys’s.

A phone rang, its shrill sound piercing through Crys’s rib cage like an arrow. She jumped and spun around, searching for the source of the noise, and saw her mother’s cell phone, wedged into the side of the chair.

Crys looked down at the call display, then grabbed it before it went to voice mail.

“Jackie,” she managed, her throat raw.

There was a long pause. “Crys? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“It’s so good to hear your voice, sweetie. Where’s your mom?”

“She’s outside, getting some air. We’re at the hospital.”

“Becca . . .” Jackie’s voice caught and then grew very soft. “How’s she doing?”

“The same.”

Jackie swore under her breath. “I had no idea the book could affect her—or anyone—like this. Why did I send it directly to the store? I didn’t even consider it. . . . I didn’t think it through. . . .”

“What is it, Jackie?”

Instead of avoiding the topic or changing the subject like her mother had, Jackie sighed. “What do you already know?”

“Not much, thanks to Mom. She doesn’t want me to know anything.”

“Of course she doesn’t. She’s protecting you.”

“From what? All I know is that there’s a secret society that Dad’s a part of; a weird, old book that put my sister into a coma; and a boss guy named Markus who you think is a monster who’s at the center of it all.”

“Crys . . .”

“Do not try to tell me that I need to forget about this, Jackie. I won’t let go of it. I’m in pit bull mode. I’m latching on and not letting go until I get to the truth. About everything my mother has been keeping from me—about Dad, about the book, about everything.”

“Not all pit bulls are like that, you know. It’s all in the upbringing. Kind of a good metaphor, really, now that I think about it.”

“You’re changing the subject. You’re just like Mom.”

Jackie gasped. “How dare you!”

She said it so theatrically, in such a quintessentially cheerful Jackie-voice, that it brought everything back to normal between them. Jackie and Julia were as different from each other as Crys was from Becca.

“Look, sweetie, I don’t entirely agree with my big sister. You’re not a kid anymore. You’re a young woman, and, quite honestly, I think you could be a great help to us.”

“A help with what?”

“With my plan to destroy Markus King.” There was a pregnant pause, and Crys wasn’t sure if Jackie was being serious or still putting on a theatrical show. “That sounded epically melodramatic, didn’t it?”

Crys tried to compose herself because, yes, it sounded like the proclamation of a storybook warrior heading out on a quest to slay a dragon. “Well, according to Dad, Markus is one of the good guys. He’s set up this society of his to help save the world.”

“Oh my God. Kill me now. You’ve spoken to your father about this?”

“Yup. But don’t worry. I didn’t say anything about Becca or the book.”

“And what did that asshat say to you?”

“Jackie—” An unexpected burst of laughter escaped from Crys’s throat.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for saying that out loud,” Jackie said. “But he is an asshat, and that’s me being extremely gentle with my language. He told you Markus is a stand-up guy, did he?”

“He did. Only not in those words.”

“I’m not surprised he’s still fully on Team Markus, but he’s wrong. Look evil up in a dictionary and there will be a picture of Markus.” She went silent for a moment. “I know your mother can be an asshat, too, sometimes, and we don’t always see eye to eye—to say the least. But trust me—she’s only being an asshat because she loves you. She wants to protect you from . . . this.”