A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Is this not the first time you’ve tried to assassinate her?” Maddox asked.

“Assassinate an immortal goddess? It’s not as simple as putting a dagger through her cold black heart. She’s powerful, smart, and deeply paranoid. Her only weaknesses are her obsession with that niece of hers, the thief who stole her dagger, and, well, that snake I just sliced into two scaly pieces.”

“And you believe that what’s in this box will help destroy her.”

“Yes, I do. And now we need to bring it to the person who knows how to get through that lock.”

Barnabas kept saying “we,” as if he and Maddox had suddenly become a team. “I never agreed to help you,” Maddox said.

“That’s right.” Becca nodded. She stayed close to his side, so close that he’d be able to feel her warmth if she were more than a spirit. “No promises made. You can lose him the second we get out of here.”

Barnabas was quiet for a moment. “I can help you find the answers you seek, Maddox Corso. I know a great deal about both you and your magic.”

He’d never told Barnabas his surname. “How?”

“I knew your father.”

Maddox’s steps halted. “My father.”

“Yes. I can tell you about him and how he met his final fate.”

“He’s . . . dead?”

Barnabas stopped as he turned the next corner. “I believe that’s the servants’ entrance up ahead. We’ll talk about this later. For now, let’s keep moving.”

Just a few short words had made his mind reel.

His father.

Maddox’s father.

“Don’t let this distract you,” Becca said. “He could be lying, leading you on, saying whatever he needs to say to get you to keep following him. All he’s giving you are words, not proof.”

She was right. He had no reason to trust Barnabas or any promises that came out of his mouth.

Barnabas shoved open a creaky door. “Interesting. Perhaps this isn’t the servants’ entrance—more like their exit—but it will do just as well.”

The door led outside and into a graveyard with small, modest stone markers.

“Tread with care and in silence, my young friend.” Barnabas began to walk, slowly and with precision, over the grassy area. A hundred paces ahead, Maddox saw stone gates and, beyond those, blue skies, green hills, and forestland. Freedom.

Maddox tried not to think about the dead that were just underfoot. He needed to concentrate on something else. “Barnabas, please tell me more about—”

“I said silence.”

Maddox frowned. “Why do you keep saying—”

Something grabbed his ankle.

“Maddox!” Becca shrieked. “The ground!”

Skeletal hands had begun to emerge from the earth, pushing up desperately through the dirt.

Maddox gasped. “Valoria is the goddess of earth and water. . . . This must be earth magic. She’s enchanted this graveyard to keep anyone from escaping.”

“Wrong,” Barnabas growled. “This is your doing.”

“My doing?”

“Don’t you know? Summoning spirits, trapping spirits and shadows . . . raising the dead. You are a necromancer, my young friend.”

“A what?” he exclaimed.

“Death magic is your gift.” Barnabas grinned broadly as if he’d just presented Maddox with a delicious pudding for dessert. “Now, let’s run very fast before we’re torn into pieces, shall we?”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Maddox ran, chasing after the surprisingly swift Barnabas, dodging the clawed hands of the rising dead. He focused only on the stone fence before them. Once they got there, Barnabas scaled it without a problem, even while juggling the sharp sword and dagger.

Maddox had the copper box tucked under his arm and did his best not to touch the enchanted lock. “I can’t climb a wall with this. I’m not sure I can even climb a wall without this.”

“Throw it!” Becca suggested. “And do it quickly! They’re coming!”

Heart pounding, Maddox shouted, “I’m throwing it to you!”

“Go ahead!” Barnabas called out.

Maddox hauled himself back and launched the heavy box over the stone wall. He heard a pained grunt from Barnabas’s side, which told him it had been successfully caught.

“Now go. Go!” Becca urged. “Hurry!”

He felt at the wall, trying to get a handhold. He managed to get several feet up before his grip slipped and he fell back down to the ground.

“Not good.” Becca wrung her hands. “Either climb faster or send those things back to their graves.”

“I don’t even know how I raised them!”

“Then that leaves you with one choice. Climb! Now!”

“Talk, Becca. Say something—say anything—to help distract me.” His hands shook as he tried to grasp the jagged stones, and he began to bleed from the effort. How had Barnabas done this with such ease?