A Book of Spirits and Thieves

This never happened to him.

As such, he wasn’t sure what to do about it other than stare after her in disbelief as she walked away.

Darkness stirred within him in reaction to his failure, and the scent of strawberries stayed with him for hours afterward as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong.

“Are you listening to me?”

Felicity Seaton gazed across the table at Scaramouche—a high-end French-inspired restaurant with a stunning view of the city—over her glass of club soda and cranberry juice.

“Of course I am,” he replied, indicating to the waiter that he wanted another vodka on the rocks. It would be his third since this blind date began.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t canceled. It wasn’t as if his mother could be any more disappointed in him than she already was.

For some reason, this had seemed like a good idea. A date with a suitable girl who could give him the air of respectability that he sorely needed, in the eyes of both his parents and everyone else in the city.

Felicity raised a thin, penciled-in eyebrow at him. “Then what did I say?”

“That you’re going to France next week.”

She smiled. “That’s right. You’ve been there, of course?”

“As a child. I don’t remember much except being dragged around to art galleries and having to eat a lot of cheese.”

“You must go again. Marseille at this time of year is an absolute jewel.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He gave her an even smile in return, one that he only felt on the skin-deep level, and tried to ignore the rancid scent of her perfume. The scent likely cost hundreds of dollars an ounce, but Farrell thought she should save her money and buy something cheaper and less offensive.

Something more . . . fruity.

Was Felicity every bit as beautiful as his mother had claimed? Sure. Even though she did have sharp features that reminded him of a fox. Felicity had modeled at sixteen, but decided it didn’t truly interest her. Instead, she wanted to devote her life to charity work. She had perfect shoulder-length blond hair with subtle highlights that likely came from the salon rather than from the sun, and makeup so precisely applied it gave the impression that she was naturally flawless.

She wore a black satin dress that was a tad too elegant for an eighteen-year-old on a Tuesday evening, but to each their own.

As they made pleasant conversation, Farrell felt that he was suitably holding up his end of this deal with his mother, even though his mind was a million miles away. Finally they finished with dinner, and then turned down dessert.

“If I eat another bite I’m going to burst,” she claimed.

She’d barely picked at her plate of sea scallops.

Farrell tucked his credit card into the bill holder, not bothering to glance at the amount on the check.

“It’s been so wonderful getting to know you,” she said.

He resisted the urge to yawn. “I couldn’t agree more. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

He fixed another cool smile on his lips during the drive to her parents’ Rosedale estate. “Till next time,” he said.

“Next time,” she agreed.

“Unless,” he began, “you don’t want this night to end so soon?”

She turned and met his gaze with interest. “You couldn’t stay here tonight. My parents would lose their minds to find a boy in my room—whoever he is. We’d have to go to a hotel.”

He widened his eyes. “Why, Miss Seaton, whatever did you think I was suggesting?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I . . . I mean, I—”

He leaned closer and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Best to take things slowly, I think. If that’s all right with you.”

“Of course. More than all right.”

He walked her to her front door, said another gentlemanly good-night, and then made his escape.

Girls were all the same. It was so much fun to toy with them.

The unexpectedly wicked thought made him grin.

“She seems nice,” Sam said as he stood by the open back door of the limo.

“Yeah, she’s a peach.” Farrell swung himself into the backseat. “Let’s go get some drinks.”

“I can’t drink, sir. I’m driving.”

“Then you can drink chocolate milk and watch me drink vodka.”

“Very well,” Sam agreed. “Chocolate milk it is.”

On the way to the Raven Club, Farrell decided to check up on his little brother, maybe see if he wanted to catch a late movie.

The phone rang twice before Adam answered.

“Yeah?” he yelled. The music was so loud on the other end that Farrell could barely hear him.

“Where are you?” Farrell asked.

“What?” Adam shouted, and Farrell let out a frustrated sigh.

“Where. Are. You.”

“Firebird! I’m at Firebird with some new friends! They’re great!” Adam’s words were slurred.

Firebird was a new dance club on Lake Shore Boulevard near the exhibition grounds, one that Farrell knew for a fact didn’t cater to the underage crowd.