A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“The university. We briefly crossed paths yesterday.”


Recognition dawned in his hazel eyes. “Right. You’re the girl who didn’t have time to talk.” He reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out without even glancing down, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. He placed it to his lips, and brought a silver lighter up in his right hand. Then his gaze snapped to hers. “I know we’re outside, but I feel I should ask anyway. Do you mind if I smoke in front of you?”

“Normally I would, but since you’re the only pedestrian who tried to help me out when I got mugged, I’ll allow you to go ahead and damage your lungs in my presence.”

“Don’t worry. My lungs’ll be just fine.” He grinned that charmingly crooked smile of his and sparked the lighter, touching the orange flame to the tip of the cigarette.

Out of the three million people in this city, she’d happened to run into this same guy twice in as many days. That was a crazy coincidence.

“Do you live around here?” she asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Not many fancy mansions in this neighborhood.”

His grin widened. “Lucky guess? Or do you magically happen to know who I am?”

Interesting word choice, she thought. If only he knew about the education she’d just received from Dr. Vega. “I’ll admit that I saw your photo spread in FocusToronto last year. And, I mean, your face is already well known in the city.”

“My mug shot did get some press a while back.” He eyed her curiously as he took a deep inhale of the cancer stick and blew out the smoke, though happily he did so in the direction opposite her face. “Aren’t you going to ask why I happened to be here, tonight, ready to jump in and get my face pounded by some random thug?”

“Okay.” She eyed his jaw, which was slightly swollen now and red, and grimaced with sympathy. “Why?”

“Because I really need a drink. And one of my favorite bars in the whole wide world is right around the corner from here.” He paused. “I think you need a drink, too, after busting out that little ninja move. That was impressive, by the way. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

She shrugged. “My aunt taught me a few moves.”

“Lethal weapon, table for two.” He nodded farther up the sidewalk. “What do you say?”

Her heart was still pounding from the fight with the thief, so it took her a moment to process what he was suggesting. “I’m only seventeen. I can’t drink.”

“I’m nineteen. The law says I’m legally allowed to order and consume alcohol. And even if it didn’t, money speaks volumes. They’ll serve you, promise.”

She didn’t have time for drinks with boys, even cute, rich ones who’d just saved her from a big-time jam. “I don’t know . . .”

“If it helps your decision, you should know I’m not hitting on you. This is a ‘we survived a violent crime together so let’s have a celebratory drink’ drink. That’s all.”

She eyed him skeptically. It’s not like she’d leap to assume that someone like Farrell Grayson would be interested in her that way, but he was being suspiciously friendly. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Actually, I could really use a friend right now, if you’re willing. ‘Safe and platonic’ is my middle name.” He cocked his head. “Am I successful in tempting you to stray to the dark side?”

There was that crooked grin again.

Crys bit her bottom lip and studied him for a moment longer as he smoked his cigarette and shivered in the cool evening air in his thin, but probably very expensive, leather jacket. It was night now; the clouds had cleared away to reveal the black sky studded with stars and the bright sliver of the new moon.

“Fine,” she relented. “One totally illicit drink, and then I have to get home.”

He nodded. “Modestly daring. I approve. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Crystal. Crystal Hatcher. Everyone calls me Crys.”

He offered her his arm. “Allow me to lead you into temptation, Crys Hatcher.”



The bar was small and exclusive. Everyone there was well dressed and well coiffed. Crys twisted a finger through a long pale lock of her hair and tried not to regret the faded jeans and novelty T-shirt she had on under her coat.

She’d never cared much about fashion. Why should she start tonight?

They got a booth in the corner and the waitress came over. Farrell ordered a double vodka on the rocks for himself.

Crys eyed him. “That’s a serious drink.”

“I’m a very serious guy.” The amused expression on his face led her to believe he was anything but. “What would you like?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Salty? Sweet? A shot? Wine?” Farrell studied her pensively as she kept him waiting for an answer. “I’m thinking we’ll go with a whiskey sour.”

“All right,” the waitress said, throwing an appraising glance at Crys but not asking for any ID. “I’ll be right back.”