A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Not like mine. Not yet, anyway.”


“Oh, I love it when you talk in riddles. It gives me tingles.” Farrell kept moving down the stairs, taking them slowly so he wouldn’t fall and twist his ankle. Finally he reached what he was pretty certain was the ground floor. He saw the glow of fluorescent light from about fifty feet ahead and he followed Lucas in that direction.

“So how many are in this circle?” Farrell asked, trying to make conversation to distract himself from thoughts about the unknown destination before him.

Lucas shook his head. “I can’t talk details with you. Not till you’re officially in.”

“What happens then? Do I get a prize? A chest tattoo of, I don’t know, a hawk and a spear?” The prospect of getting a tattoo didn’t bother him. He already had two. One—a quote from his favorite Korean action movie (in Korean, of course)—Bright is life. Dark is death.—on his left side over his ribs. And on the inner bicep of his right arm, he’d gotten a crown to remind him that he was the king of his own life, that no one controlled him.

“No tattoo,” Lucas said. “You’ll see.”

“You’re so helpful. Anyway,” Farrell started, ignoring Lucas’s ban on questions, “who got into the circle first? You or Connor?”

“Me. I was invited two months before Connor was. I suggested him, actually, but Markus had already been considering him.”

“Did he handle it well? Being chosen like that?”

“I thought he did.”

“He had started to become a real prick before . . .” Farrell had to force himself to say it. “Before he died. It was like his personality did a one-eighty.”

“Really? I didn’t notice anything.”

“Yeah, he went from being a nice guy to being a total dick. Could it have been the circle? Did it do something to him?”

“Like what?” Lucas eyed him sideways. “Like make him want to kill himself? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. I’m still just trying to figure it all out.”

“Trust me, Farrell. Nobody wants your brother alive more than I do. I was his best friend. I didn’t see it coming, even when Mallory dumped him. And if I did, I damn well would have done whatever I could have to stop it.”

The words were there, the words Farrell needed to hear from Lucas. But his tone was off. Lucas spoke without any emotion, like he didn’t care one way or the other. Like he was paying lip service to shut Farrell up.

A horrible thought rose to the surface of Farrell’s mind. Did you have something to do with my brother’s death, Lucas?

“I think you and I could be friends, now that we’re about to have a lot more in common,” Lucas said. “Which is interesting, since I always thought you were a prick.”

“Ditto.” Farrell had no idea how to interpret this conversation, but he knew he didn’t want to push Lucas too far. It would be best to befriend him, to get to the real story of his brother’s final days. He needed to coax the truth—if there was any new truth to tell—out of the guy as smoothly as possible. “But I need more friends in my life. I’ve almost run out of people to braid my hair and talk about cute boys with.”

They both laughed, Farrell trying to sound as natural as possible, as they navigated the maze of tunnels. The hallways now had better lighting, but they were still much dimmer than the tunnels under the restaurant leading to Markus’s theater.

“Do all these tunnels connect?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Farrell glared at him for giving yet another nonanswer. “How about I ask you all these questions again after I’m in?”

In the faint light, he saw Lucas’s lips quirk up. “Good idea.”

They walked in silence for a while, Lucas leading the way as the tunnels got narrower, then wider, then narrower again with each turn they made. Finally, Farrell ventured to speak again. “Any advice when it comes to my meeting with His Majesty?”

“Sure. Be honest. Answer his questions with nothing but the exact truth. He’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I don’t know. I lie really well.”

“He’ll know. But you should also be honest about what you want. If you don’t want in—”

“I do,” Farrell interrupted before Lucas could finish his sentence. Failure was not an option. He’d come this far, and he refused to leave without being accepted into the circle. Every step he took was one his brother had also taken. One way or another, Farrell was determined to get to the truth.

Lucas shrugged. “Then I don’t see a problem.”

Farrell absently played with the gold society crest he’d pinned to the lapel of his blue shirt, beneath his leather jacket. It was incredible to know that the circle had existed for decades, yet he had never heard of it before Saturday night. “How long has he been considering me?”

“A year,” Lucas replied.