A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Not exactly like you. No, my friend, you are most definitely one of a kind. But I know your magic is death magic. I’ve seen much proof of it already, but I know you can do more.”


“How do you know?” He tried to piece it together in his mind. “Was it my father? Did he tell you? How would he know anything about me if he’s never known me? Was he a necromancer, too?”

All the humor and openness remaining in Barnabas’s face had disappeared. “There are some things I can’t share with you right now, my friend. You’re going to have to trust me for a while longer, no matter how difficult that request may seem.”

Maddox pressed his lips together and glared at him.

Barnabas shrugged. “Don’t give me that look. Remember, if it weren’t for me, you’d likely be kneeling at the goddess’s skirts, trying to figure out how not to become food for her snake or a new plant for her garden.”

“I could have escaped without your help.”

“Of course you could have.” He nodded, but Maddox felt as if he were being mocked. “Now, back to the subject of your spirit friend. What does she want from you?”

Maddox wasn’t sure that he wanted to share any more information with this strange man. “She thinks I can help her return to her world. And if what you’re saying about whatever is locked within the box we stole is true, there’s a possibility she might be right.”

Barnabas nodded as if what Maddox had just said wasn’t madness itself. “If a beautiful girl asks for your help because she believes in you, you must help her. Simple as that.”

Then he began to swim away.

“Wait,” Maddox said. “You need to tell me more about my father. How did he die? And did he know about my magic?”

“Later,” Barnabas replied. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about him later.”

Then he dove under the water and disappeared from sight.

Maddox finished before Barnabas did and emerged from the lake, wringing out his clothes before sliding back into them. There was no time to let them dry first. He felt clean and determined as he went in search of Becca, frustrated and angry about his conversation with Barnabas.

He found her seated beneath a tall oak tree in the grassy clearing, her head in her hands.

When he realized she was crying, his heart wrenched.

“Becca, what’s wrong?”

She pulled her hands away from her face to regard him with wide, glossy eyes. “You’re back so soon. I . . . I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I didn’t want to leave you on your own too long.”

She laughed as a shimmering tear slipped down her cheek. “You think you need to protect me? I don’t need protection here, not like you do.”

He stiffened at the suggestion that he couldn’t defend himself. “I’ll have you know, I can take care of myself just fine.”

“I didn’t mean . . .” She sighed. “I know you can, okay? But you’re flesh and blood, and I’m . . . I’m a spirit here. A sword could kill you, but it wouldn’t hurt me.”

Of course, she was right. She’d meant no offense. Why was he so sensitive to every word she spoke? “Apologies for being so harsh.”

She shook her head. “That wasn’t harsh.”

“Why are you crying?”

“This meadow reminds me of one my sister and I went to once for a picnic. She thought it was a dumb idea, but I was really excited about it. I packed the lunch and we spent the day together. And it was fun. But ever since Dad left, I feel like all she does is ignore me. She’s so into her stupid camera and her precious Charlie lately that I’m not even sure she knows I exist half the time. Still, I miss her so much right now that I can barely breathe. I miss when we were closer, when we were friends, not just sisters. When we went on picnics, even though she thought they were dumb. If I get back, I’m going to change things between us. I’m going to get to know her again, whether she wants to or not. I’ll give her no choice.” She raised a brow. “I can be very persistent.”

“I believe it.” He’d never had a sibling, at least not one that he was aware of. The relationship sounded both horribly complicated and wonderful at the same time. “What’s her name?”

“Crystal,” she said. “Crys.”

“Crystal-crys.” He nodded. “It’s an unusual but quite lovely name.”

“No, I mean, her full name is Crystal, but everyone just calls her Crys.” She sighed. “Sorry, I don’t usually act like this. I’m being weak. I need to be strong right now, not be a baby.”

He crouched down next to her, wishing he could wipe her tears away. “Tears aren’t just for babies. They’re proof that you feel something and aren’t afraid to show it. It’s those who won’t ever allow themselves to cry that are the weak ones.”

She looked at him for a long moment, biting her bottom lip. “You’re different, aren’t you?”

“Different?”

“From other boys. From any boy I’ve ever met before.”