A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“But the party’s not over yet,” Peter whined.

So these were Adam’s new friends. Both of them gave Farrell a deeply uneasy feeling.

“Party, huh?” he said. “Three kids out late on a Friday night in some sketchy apartment. Doesn’t seem like much of a party to me.” He was met with silence, and he returned his attention to Adam. “What’s in the room?”

Adam grimaced. He held the door open only wide enough for him to look at Farrell, not wide enough for Farrell to see beyond.

“I told you not to come.”

“Yeah. Right after you said you were in trouble. What’s in the room?” he repeated.

“Nothing.”

Farrell already felt his hangover circling like a mean-spirited vulture. “Show me right now.”

“Yeah, let’s show him.” Nick, with a big, sleazy grin on his face, approached slowly. “The fun just got started. Adam’s first, but you can go second, if you’d like.”

Farrell pushed the door open to reveal a small bedroom. The bed was unmade, the curtains askew. It smelled sour, like unwashed clothing.

An unconscious woman lay on the bed.

“Explain,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Now.”

“She was looking to party—she just needed a bit of a push.” Peter shrugged. “Led the three of us back here before she passed out. It’s her place.”

She was at least ten years older than the boys. Her red lipstick was smeared, and she smelled like cigarette smoke and alcohol.

“Who drugged her?” Farrell asked as evenly as he could, flicking a glance at Adam. “You?”

Adam shook his head, his expression bleak.

“Did you touch her?” She was still wearing all her clothes, even her panty hose and stiletto heels. But he had to ask.

“No,” Adam replied in barely a whisper.

“He’s been in here for half an hour,” Peter said with a laugh. “We were getting bored waiting for him to get started.”

Farrell ignored him, keeping his attention on Adam. “Were you going to?”

A shadow of fear and uncertainty slid behind Adam’s eyes.

Nick shook his head, grinning. “We tried to help your brother pop his cherry, and this is what—”

Farrell couldn’t hold his anger in anymore. He exploded. He grabbed Nick by his throat and slammed him against the wall, rattling the cheap framed art. “Listen to me very carefully. If you ever—ever—get my brother involved in something like this again, I’m going to kill you—both of you.” He sent a death glare toward Peter before returning his attention to the kid in front of him. “You hear me?”

Nick’s eyes bugged. “Whoa, wait—”

“If you come anywhere near Adam again, I will personally slit you open and watch your guts spill onto the floor, and I’ll enjoy every minute of it. And if I hear that you ever do this to another woman, you will deeply, deeply regret it. Understood?”

Nick nodded frantically. Peter’s acne stood out like bright red dots on his pale face. They both answered in unison: “Understood.”

Farrell finally released Nick. “Get the hell out of here, both of you.”

The two boys scrambled to leave the apartment without another word of protest.

Adam had pressed himself back against the wall, as if wishing he, too, could run away. “Farrell . . . I swear I wouldn’t have—”

“Shut up. Just shut your mouth.” He looked down at his hands to find that they were shaking. He clasped them together as he moved toward the woman on the bed. She groaned and shifted on the sheets. A tacky necklace with a big, fake ruby hung around her neck. Her hair was a brash yellowy blond, with an inch of black roots.

Her fake lashes fluttered, and her eyes opened a crack. A drunken smile stretched her red lips. “Hey, baby. You ready to have some fun?”

“I’ve had my fun for tonight.” He grabbed a blanket and pulled it over her. “Sleep it off. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

He caught another whiff of cigarette smoke. Farrell made a mental note to stop somewhere for a pack of smokes. He needed nicotine in the worst way. He’d gone three days without a cigarette. That was more than enough.

“Farrell . . . ,” Adam began again, his voice choked.

“Just tell me why you’d want to get involved in something like this.” Farrell didn’t look at him as he moved through the apartment toward the open door. Adam trailed after him like a ghost.

“It’s been a year tonight, you know that?”

Farrell froze. “You’re using that as your excuse?”

“It was a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was.” He should know what mistakes were. He’d made so many of them himself he’d lost count.

“Ever since Connor died, you’ve been so distant. Mom and Dad . . . they’ve practically ignored me. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. And Nick and Peter wanted to be my friends. I know it was wrong—and I know I wouldn’t have done anything to her or let them do anything. But tonight . . . for a moment I felt like I belonged somewhere. Like I had a group to call my own.”