A Book of Spirits and Thieves

His grip tightened on the phone. “You’re drunk.”


“You’re, like, psychic! Hey, everyone, my brother is psychic. He knows I’m wasted!”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“Oh, please. Are you seriously giving me a hard time about this? So I’ve had a few drinks and maybe, I don’t know, maybe I did a line or two. I’m having fun.”

A line or two?

Farrell reached forward to knock on the partition, which then rolled down immediately. “Sam, head to Firebird instead.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Adam, stop whatever it is that you’re doing,” Farrell said into the phone. “Go outside and wait for me.”

“No way,” Adam replied. “I’m not going anywhere. Why are you being such a jerk about this? You party all the time. I’m just following in your footsteps. You should be proud of me.”

At the beginning of the call, Farrell thought he’d be furious at his little brother, but a cool sensation flowed over him instead. A calmness that slowed his heartbeat and ramped his senses up. He smelled gasoline, the rubber of the limo’s tires. He could pick out individual voices beyond the blare of music. “I expect better from you, and so do Mom and Dad.”

Adam just laughed and hung up without another word.

Farrell and Sam arrived at the dance club fifteen minutes later.

“You need help?” Sam asked.

“No, stay out here. This won’t take long.”

Farrell entered the club, wincing as the loud dance music assaulted his enhanced sense of hearing after the comparable silence of outside.

Firebird’s decor lived up to its name. Everywhere he looked, he saw flames—painted on the walls, flickering in the gigantic digital displays hanging over the bar, stitched into the fabric of the chairs and sofas. Under the strobe lights, the dance floor was a glittering mosaic depicting a phoenix, its feathers made of fire as it rose from the ashes.

The place was packed, the scents of body odor and cheap cologne assaulting Farrell’s sensitive nose. He scanned the club, trying to hear his brother’s voice and pinpoint his face in the crowd.

And there he was, in the center of the dance floor, grinding against some trashy-looking girl who was at least twice his age.

He made a beeline for Adam and grabbed his arm. “Time to go, kid.”

His brother turned a sullen, unfocused glare on him and yanked his arm away. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re right. You’re actually acting more like a baby right now.”

“I’m having fun.”

“I don’t care.”

“You can’t make me leave.”

“Sure about that?” He grabbed Adam’s arm again and pulled him off the dance floor. Adam swore and swung his fist but didn’t make contact.

“You’re hurting me,” he yelped.

Farrell let go of him, noticing that his fingers had left red marks on his brother’s arm. “Sorry.”

Adam rubbed the marks. “I don’t know why you’re being such a dick. You do this all the time. You did this when you were my age.”

“Maybe I want better for you.”

“Maybe I don’t care what you want.”

Farrell studied him. The kid’s face was flushed and sweaty, his pupils dilated. He wasn’t just drunk; he was high.

“Who gave you the coke?” he asked, his voice low and even.

“What does it matter? I could get it anywhere, anytime, if I wanted it. As long as Markus doesn’t kill off every drug dealer in the city.”

Farrell glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I know you’re still having a hard time with what you saw at the meeting, but that’s no reason to lose control of yourself and act so recklessly.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t it?” People always turned to vices to escape, to forget. Farrell knew that better than anyone.

Adam was visibly messed up after seeing that execution. Farrell had understood to a point, but now he had no idea why it had affected his brother so deeply, far deeper than it had ever affected him. No other society member he knew of had reacted like this to the trial and Markus’s dagger marking.

Adam sneezed.

“That’s what happens when you stuff white powder up your nose,” Farrell said.

“I think I’m getting a cold. Or the flu. Something’s going around.”

Farrell eyed him, confused. “That’s impossible.”

Adam had been given the gift of Markus’s first mark, which meant he should be in perfect health from now on. He shouldn’t be able to get the common cold ever again.

“What’s happening over here?” A guy Farrell had never seen before joined them, his grin toothy and unpleasant.

“Who are you?” Farrell asked.

“Adam’s good buddy. Michael.” The grin widened. “You’re Farrell, Adam’s brother. Glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“How old are you?” Farrell asked, ignoring the introduction.

“Twenty-one.”

“And you’re hanging around with a sixteen-year-old?”

Michael shrugged and slung an arm around Adam’s shoulders. “Adam’s my boy. He’s a part of my pack now.”