A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Does your mother know we’ve been in contact?” he asked.

“No,” she said, watching him carefully to see if he detected her lie. His expression remained even, but she wished she could see his eyes to know for sure.

“How has she been?” he asked.

“Same as ever. Grumpy, always working at the shop, sometimes modestly pleasant to be around.”

“And her cooking?”

“She still makes fantastic scrambled eggs.”

He laughed. “So she hasn’t bothered to learn how to cook.”

“You were the great chef in the family. I think I’ve lost ten pounds since you left us.” The sentence ended on a much heavier note than she’d intended.

“And Becca? How is she?” he asked after an uncomfortably silent moment.

“She’s fine.” She couldn’t tell him about Becca. Not yet. She still had so many unanswered questions and was still uncertain about him. “She misses you, too. You should, I don’t know, e-mail her. Or something. Just let her know you’re okay and you’re thinking about her.”

“I’ll consider it.”

She pressed back in the seat. “Do you think you ever would have gotten in touch with me? I mean, if I hadn’t been the first to text you?”

He was silent for a moment. “Your mother was adamant that I stay away.”

“I usually take her adamant requests with a grain of salt, but that’s just me.”

Again, they went quiet as Crys tried to think of a question to ask that might actually get her some answers.

But he spoke first. “Crissy, there’s something about this meeting that you’re probably not going to like.”

She braced herself, half expecting him to finally unburden himself and tell her everything. “What?”

“This.” He pulled something out of the glove compartment. It was a long black piece of cloth.

“Is that a blindfold?” she asked uneasily.

He nodded. “You can’t see where I’m taking you, and you can’t know the route.”

“Why not?”

He let out a long sigh. “Please, Crissy, just do as I ask. Don’t argue or the meeting is canceled.”

She regarded the blindfold with apprehension and considered her options. But nothing other than doing as he asked came to mind.

“Fine,” she said. She took off her glasses, slipped them into her bag, and then put on the blindfold, tying it into a knot at the back of her head.

The world went dark all around her.

“This is all very cloak-and-dagger,” she said, trying to sound natural, as if putting on a blindfold to meet someone like Markus King was totally routine for her.

He snorted softly. “If I’d known years ago that all it would take to get you to behave was to tell you that you might be able to join a secret society . . .”

“I really don’t like the word behave. A lot of rules were meant to be broken.” Crys bit her bottom lip. “Aren’t you concerned that someone will notice that you’re driving around with a blindfolded girl in your front seat?”

“Not particularly.” His voice was now edged with amusement. “These windows are tinted.”

After about fifteen minutes, the car pulled to a stop. She heard her father get out of the driver’s side and come around to the passenger side to help her out.

“This way,” he said. He guided her over a hard surface and up ten steps. A door creaked opened and they went through it.

The door clicked shut.

“Through here.” Taking her elbow, he directed her twenty paces forward, opened and closed another door, and then came to a stop. “You can remove the blindfold now.”

Crys didn’t hesitate. She pulled the material off her eyes and blinked as she took in her surroundings, blurry until she put on her glasses. They’d entered a large room, with cherry wood paneling and antique furniture. Gorgeous oil landscapes graced the walls and were, she assumed, all original and more than a century old, like something she’d find hanging in the AGO. The rugs were embroidered with intricate detail. A crystal chandelier hung from the high, ornately molded ceiling.

The room struck her as one she might see in a landmark museum like Casa Loma, roped off and untouchable as tourists walked through it.

“This is his home, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It is. He’ll meet you in the library, where he does most of his work. This way.”

Crys followed him through the door on the far side of the room, which led to a hallway. They went down a flight of stairs and then along another corridor. Finally, they entered a huge, lofted room with books displayed floor-to-ceiling and sliding ladders to reach the volumes on the uppermost shelves. The room smelled like leather, smoke, and roses.

There was someone leaning against the shelf to her left, reading a book, near a multipaned window that looked out toward an expansive backyard with a large marble pool and sculptured bushes and trees.

She recognized him immediately.