A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Trust me.

“If you want me to trust you, I need you to tell me everything you know about that book. What is it? Where did it come from? And why do you think Markus wants it so bad?” Crys reached for Becca’s hand again while cradling the cell phone on her shoulder.

“There’s too much to tell and no time to tell it.”

“This is not helping.”

“You’re a smart-ass, you know that?”

“I inherited that trait from my favorite aunt.”

Jackie laughed, a genuine sound from her belly. “Look, I’m trying to get back to Canada, but I’m having a bit of a problem leaving Paris.”

“What sort of problem?”

“Uh, let’s just say I’m currently wanted by certain . . . authority figures.”

Crys’s brows shot up. “Because you stole the book?”

There was a pause. “Because I steal a lot of things. Some shinier than others. Stay in school, sweetie. Get a good education and you won’t end up like your crazy aunt.”

“Too late for that advice.”

Jackie groaned. “A subject to discuss in further depth when I finally get my butt across the ocean. And I will. But in the meantime—and know that I’m going out on a limb here because your mother would murder me if I told her I was bringing you on board—you need to go see someone named Dr. Uriah Vega at his office tomorrow. He’s a professor of linguistic anthropology at the University of Toronto, and we go way back. Mention my name and tell him I said to give you the full monty on the book. He’ll know exactly what to tell you to help clear a few things up. Go after lunch since he teaches all morning.”

A name and a location. It was the best lead she’d had so far. “Thanks,” Crys said. “I’ll do that.”

“Hey . . . remember when I gave you and your sister those self-defense lessons?” Jackie asked.

“Like it was last summer.” Which it had been. “Why? Will I need them?”

“You never know. Just remember my number one lesson, because it’s the most important and useful one of all.” She swore again loudly. “Sorry, I need to scram. I’ll call again as soon as I can, okay?”

But Crys couldn’t remember which lesson was the number one. Right now all she could recall was that a knee to the groin and a finger to the eyeball were very effective methods for suppressing an attacker.

What was the first lesson?

“Wait, Jackie—”

The line went dead, and Crys stared down at the phone in disbelief.

A few moments later, Julia returned and stood at the doorway. “Did I just hear you talking on the phone? Who was it?”

“Jackie,” she said, her voice hushed. “But she’s gone now.”

Her mother snatched the phone out of her hand and stared at the home screen with dismay. “What did she say?”

“To not trust anyone but you and her.”

“Good advice for once,” Julia said, though the way she was looking at Crys told her that she was more than a little suspicious about what Jackie might have divulged. “Let’s go home. We can’t do anything more for Becca today.”

Her mother took hold of her arm, and Crys didn’t protest or try to squirm away.

They didn’t get along most of the time, but Crys had always thought she at least knew her mother. Jackie said her sister was hiding the truth because she loved Crys. But Crys had to wonder: Was that love? Was that trust?

Frankly, she wasn’t sure who this woman directing her out of Becca’s room and into her silver Mazda hatchback in the parking lot really was. Julia Hatcher had more secrets than Crys ever would have guessed.

Two could play at that game.





Chapter 11


FARRELL



Farrell tried to read while he waited for the call from Lucas. He’d bought the entire Walking Dead graphic novel series but still found that flipping through images of zombies and a plethora of blood and guts and angst did nothing to distract him.

“Farrell . . . you busy?”

He glanced at the doorway of his room to see Adam silhouetted in the frame.

He set the books aside on his bed and put his arms behind his head in a lounging position. “Come on in.”

Adam took a seat on the side of the bed, eyeing the graphic novels. “Walking Dead?”

“You can borrow them.”

“Are you finished with them?”

“With these two.” He nudged the first volumes toward his brother, who took them, staring at the covers with interest.

“Awesome,” Adam said. After a pause, he looked up from the books to his brother. “Look, I know I overreacted and bitched you out this morning. I’m sorry.”

Farrell frowned. “Wait. Are you really apologizing right now?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened Saturday night, and . . . it was just a shock. That’s all.”