A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Barnabas appeared out of nowhere and breezed past them, headed toward the pathway. Thankfully, he was fully dressed in his much cleaner but still sodden clothing. “Let’s get going, my friends. The sun will soon start to set, and I want to get to the next village before we lose the light.”


“Friends? Can he see me?” Becca asked, surprised.

Maddox grimaced. “No, but he wholly accepts your presence as truth. He doesn’t even entertain the possibility that you’re not real and I’m crazy.”

She rose to her feet. “That’s very open-minded of him. No discrimination against lost spirits.”

“He’s full of surprises.” Maddox eyed Barnabas with an edge of wariness. He wanted answers.

“I’m going to continue keeping an eye on him,” Becca said. “If he does anything shady, I’ll report back. I swear I won’t let anything bad happen to you if I can help it.”

He nodded as he collected the copper box and began to follow after Barnabas. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Becca Hatcher.”



There was a village a short journey from the lake, where they found a stone cottage with a line of drying laundry.

“Here’s one for you,” Barnabas plucked a cotton tunic off the line and threw it to Maddox. “And here’s one for me. Nice and clean. True luxury.”

Suddenly, an alarmed female voice called out. Barnabas had spoken loud enough to attract the attention of the woman who lived there. She chased them off with a dangerous-looking broom handle after Barnabas had grabbed two pairs of trousers and an armful of apples from her tree.

At dusk, they made camp at the edge of the village and changed into their new clothes. Barnabas disappeared into the forest, returning shortly after with two rabbits he’d already skinned and cleaned.

“Impressive,” Maddox had to admit.

“And very tasty when cooked properly.” He set up a spit over the campfire to roast the meat.

Maddox sat down on the log next to him. Becca sat cross-legged across from them, studying the fire.

“Will you answer more of my questions now?” he asked, trying to sound as patient as possible.

Barnabas considered him for a long while. “Perhaps. What do you want to know?”

“Everything you can tell me about my father.”

“He was a rebel who was loyal to King Thaddeus. He’s the one responsible for hiding the king’s daughter somewhere safe.”

“Is the king’s daughter the girl Valoria is searching for?” Becca spoke up. “The one with the magic she says she needs to find the thief who stole her dagger?”

Maddox repeated the question.

“I don’t believe so,” Barnabas replied. “The rightful heir to the throne has shown no signs yet of being a witch, but I suppose it could be possible. More reason to keep her hidden.”

“What happened to my father?”

Barnabas poked at the burning embers with a stick before he answered. “Valoria tore his heart from his chest.”

Maddox went cold at this blunt answer.

“Oh, Maddox . . . that’s so horrible,” Becca began. “I—I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t say anything in response or even acknowledge her words. For a horrible moment, he was trapped in his mind, at the mercy of an image of the goddess cutting open a rebel’s chest and pulling out his still-beating heart, watching the life leave his eyes. . . .

I’m sorry, Father, he thought, his own heart aching at the knowledge of this horrible truth. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t know you.

After several silent moments, he tried to find his voice. “Is he the reason I’m a necromancer? Did I get this from him?”

Barnabas shook his head. “Your father had no magic I was aware of.”

“Neither does my mother.” She would have told him otherwise—he was certain of it. “Perhaps I am cursed, just like I always thought I was.”

“Perhaps,” Barnabas agreed, his attention fixed on the roasting rabbits.

All these years not knowing the truth, and now here it was—so much all at once. He needed to do everything in his power to avoid harping on the untouchable past, and instead focus on the changeable present and future. “Who is this witch we’re going to see? Do you trust her?”

“She’s a friend. And, yes, I do trust her. She despises Valoria nearly as much as I do.”

“Your grievances against Valoria go beyond your desire to reinstate King Thaddeus’s daughter on the throne. You want vengeance for what she did to my father, don’t you?”

“More than anything.” The firelight flickered on Barnabas’s face, casting his grave expression in strange shadows. “And so should you.”

He did. He’d merely feared Valoria before, but now he loathed her, too.

“I knew it,” Becca said.

“Knew what?” Maddox asked softly.

“That air he put on—the fool, the jokester—it’s all an act. This pain . . . this is the real Barnabas.” She absently played with her silver rose pendant. “I’m not sure if this makes him more trustworthy or less, but at least it’s genuine.”