A Book of Spirits and Thieves

Wincing at her mother’s sharp tone, Crys began to open the parcel slowly and carefully, not knowing what to expect inside.

She pulled away the tissue wrapping to reveal something she had to blink twice to believe.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she said aloud.

“Who on earth sent you that?” her mother exclaimed.

It was a Canon EOS Rebel DSLR camera, a top-of-the-line digital model. Unlike the old Pentax, this one came standard with a powerful auto pop-up flash. So out of her price range that she could never, ever even consider purchasing it on her own, at least until she had established herself as a professional photographer.

There was an envelope inside with Crys’s name on it. She opened it up so quickly that the edge of the paper sliced her index finger. The unexpected paper cut stung terribly, and she sucked on her finger as she read the card.

I’m very sorry your sentimentally valuable camera got smashed. I know you’ll take many incredible pictures with this one. Might this oh-so-shiny gift from your newest friend help change your maybe into a yes?—Farrell

Farrell Grayson had bought her a new camera. An amazing new camera she’d never dreamed she could have. While she had had a deep fondness for the Pentax and the memorable black-and-white shots she’d taken with it and developed herself, this one . . .

Well, this was too good to be true.

“Who’s Farrell? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” her mother said, glancing at the note before Crys could tuck it back into the envelope.

“I don’t.” She bit her bottom lip.

“A suitor?”

Now her cheeks warmed. “Mother, nobody’s used the term suitor in a hundred years.”

Julia seemed amused that she’d successfully flustered her daughter. “He must be someone very special, and he must think you’re someone very special, to send you something like this.”

He was someone special—she wasn’t denying that.

“I can’t keep it,” she said, staring at the camera box wistfully.

“Why not?”

“Just . . . I need to talk to him, I need to call him. I need to tell him that expensive gifts aren’t necessary to be my friend.” But now she knew that he definitely did want to see her again, that he wanted her in his life. The thought was just as scary as it was exciting.

Why did she have to meet this amazing guy in the same week that everything else in her life felt so out of control?

She checked her phone. He’d put his number into her Contacts under F. GRAY.

Her thumb hovered over the Call button, her heart pounding hard in her ears.

Then the phone began to ring.

DAD

Crys’s eyes bugged. She quickly left the store to stand outside on the sidewalk so her mother wouldn’t hear, and composed herself before she answered it.

“Dad, hi.”

“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I wanted to wait for the right time and . . . well, it’s done. Markus will meet you today. If the meeting goes well, he promises to consider you for initiation . . . if that’s what you still want.”

“Of course that’s what I still want,” she replied without hesitation, the lie spilling easily from her lips. “Thank you for doing this, Dad.”

But maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe she did want to be part of a society that held the key to a better world. Or maybe she’d learn that Jackie and Dr. Vega were right—that Markus King was a monster.

One way or another, though, she was closer to the truth than ever before.

“I’ll pick you up in an hour,” he said.



He didn’t pick her up at the bookshop, of course. He picked her up in front of the Tim Hortons around the corner at Bloor and Spadina, the spot where, once upon a time, the Hatchers used to go for hot chocolate, coffee, and donuts, as a family.

“What T-shirt is it today?” he asked when she got into his car. He wore mirrored wraparound sunglasses over his pale blue eyes.

“I just changed to a plain black one,” Crys said. “I figured, if I’m meeting the leader of a secret society, he probably isn’t the kind of man who appreciates whimsical fashion choices.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a small smile. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Do I look nervous?”

“Yes, you do. Extremely.”

She managed a shaky grin. It still completely blew her mind that she was sitting in a car with her estranged father, on her way to meet with the leader of a secret society. “I guess I get nervous about things that matter to me.”

“We have that in common.” He shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb as Crys started to put on her seat belt.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

His lips thinned. “I can’t tell you exactly. To be honest, Crissy, I can’t tell you much about the society unless you become an initiated member.”

He’d always been a careful driver, hands at ten and two, and it appeared that nothing had changed. Crys had her driver’s license but rarely asked to borrow her mother’s car. The subway or her own two feet worked fine to get her where she usually wanted to go.