A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“You,” Crys said with surprise. “I know you.”


It was the golden boy, the gorgeous blond guy she’d seen on the university campus, the one who’d given her directions to Dr. Vega’s office. He turned his dreamy blue eyes on her and the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile.

“Hello again,” he said as he slid the book back into place on the shelf.

“Do you live here, too?”

“Yes, I do.”

Her father frowned with confusion, his gaze moving to Golden Boy. “You’ve already met?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Please, Daniel, introduce us.”

“Crys . . . I’d like you to meet Markus King. Markus, this is my daughter, Crystal Hatcher.”

Golden Boy walked toward her, reaching out his hand. “A pleasure, Crystal.”

She didn’t move to shake his hand, all she could do was stare. “Is this some kind of joke?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Joke?”

“You can’t be Markus King. Not the Markus King, anyway. You must be his, I don’t know, grandson? Great-grandson?” She turned to her father. “What’s going on here?”

He shook his head. “This is Markus King, Crissy.”

Crys turned to once again regard the guy, who looked like any college kid might. A college kid who also happened to moonlight as a male model, that is. “You’re, like, twenty years old.”

“I do appear to be that age,” Markus agreed.

What was that supposed to mean?

This did not compute, and a sick, twisting sensation in her gut made her question her current hold on reality. She’d expected the leader of the Hawkspear Society, who had a rich history that included an intense conflict between her mother and aunt, not to mention with Dr. Vega, to be a senior citizen by now.

“You expected someone ancient,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You were right to expect that.”

In seconds, her mouth had become as dry as a desert. “How is this possible?”

Golden Boy nodded at her father. “You have permission to tell her. I think she’d have an easier time understanding if it came from you.”

Her father nodded. There was absolutely nothing in his expression that made Crys think he was fooling around, playing some sort of epically unfunny practical joke on her. “I know that what I’m about to say will sound unbelievable to you, possibly even crazy, but . . . Markus is . . . immortal.” He took a breath and studied her stunned reaction before continuing. “He is ancient and wise and powerful. He will never age, because he is a god.”

And he said all this as if it made total sense.

Crys stared at him, unblinking. Her mind had gone utterly blank except for his words bouncing around inside her head as if they were in a pinball machine.

“He’s an immortal . . . god,” she repeated flatly, her throat nearly too tight to speak.

“Yes.” He gazed at Markus with a reverent look in his eyes that told Crys he believed all this without question.

“This is . . .” Crys fought to find her voice. “I—I don’t even know what to say. This was not what I was expecting.”

Markus laughed, and the sound shivered down her spine. “And what were your expectations for today, Ms. Hatcher?”

She forced herself to tear her gaze from her father to look at Golden Boy instead. He watched her with his head cocked, as if curious for her reaction. “Only that I’d be meeting a super old guy who’d probably smell like cough medicine.”

Her father’s jaw tensed. “Crystal, you mustn’t be so disrespectful.”

The corner of Markus’s mouth curved into a small smile. “It’s all right, Daniel. I find her plain way of speaking to be rather refreshing. Now, if you’d please leave your daughter and me for a few moments in privacy, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Her father hesitated, but only for a short moment. “As you wish.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

And Crys found herself all alone with an immortal god.

“Ms. Hatcher,” Markus said, “please sit down with me. There’s much I need to ask you if I’m to consider you for membership.”

He indicated a small lounge area in the center of the room, next to a large ebony desk and directly under the skylight in the high ceiling. What was left of the natural light outside helped brighten the shadows that threatened to reach into every corner as the sun began to set.

Crys silently took a seat on a brocade chair and gripped the arms. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Markus since her father left the room, still stunned by the thought that this was the leader of the Hawkspear Society. His clothing was nothing remarkable; he wore black pants and a white button-down.

He sat down across from her. “You’re having a difficult time accepting your father’s words, aren’t you?”