A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“How did Jackie fight the mark?” she asked. “The way you describe it, it sounds like it’s impossible. Was it the same for her as it was with you? Did it not affect her as much as the others?”


“No, it definitely affected her. She worshipped Markus, just as he, for a time, worshipped her. But one thing changed everything and made her marks null and void.”

“What changed?”

Her mother drained the rest of her coffee, her knuckles white. “Jackie became pregnant with Markus’s child.”

“What?” The word came out as a barely audible gasp of shock.

She wouldn’t meet Crys’s gaze directly, instead staring down at her mug. “Along with her condition, her mind just cleared, as if it were a side effect of morning sickness—that is, when one is pregnant with the child of an immortal like Markus. Having that very special new life growing within her was all it took to make her marks null and void. It was at that time that she was able to see Markus as what he truly was. She convinced me we needed to get out while we still could. She had a horrible fight with Markus and he told her to leave, that he never wanted to see her again. Apparently, immortal gods can have their hearts broken.”

“But Jackie doesn’t have any children,” Crys reasoned. What happened to their baby? she thought with a shiver. “Did she miscarry?”

“No, she didn’t miscarry. And she didn’t get an abortion. She had the child. But she knew that if Markus ever found out . . . that he’d take that very special child away to get his revenge on her, on us. The man is capable of anything, and Jackie feared for the child’s safety, being half . . . Markus. Whatever Markus really is, past his lies and manipulations.”

“So she gave the baby up for adoption.”

Her mother hesitated. “Yes.”

“This was fifteen years ago,” Crys said when her mother fell silent again. “Some teenager out there doesn’t realize that her father is an immortal god.”

Her mother didn’t say another word. Her jaw was clenched so tight that it looked painful, her gaze faraway and haunted.

Fifteen years old. With parents like Jackie and Markus, the child would be beautiful. Blond. With dark blue eyes. Someone who might be touched by magic.

Someone who might be affected by magical objects more than anyone else who came in contact with them.

Crys realized with a sinking feeling that she knew someone who fit that description exactly.

“No, it’s impossible,” she whispered. “You would have said something. You would have told her. Told me.”

Her mother remained as still and silent as a statue.

“It—it’s Becca.” The name stuck in Crys’s throat. “Isn’t it?”

Julia began to tremble. “Jackie moved away to stay with friends in Alberta for the length of her pregnancy. When she gave birth, she . . . she named her Rebecca, after our grandmother. We knew we had to come up with a plan since her existence couldn’t stay a secret. Adoption was the only solution, but Jackie refused—flat out refused—to give her away to strangers and never see her again. We also knew we needed to keep a close eye on this baby—in case the mix of human and . . . and Markus . . . created something bad.”

“Becca isn’t bad,” Crys managed, every muscle in her body now tense.

“I know. But we didn’t know that then. I—I told Daniel that I couldn’t have any more children, but I wanted to adopt. At the time, he only wanted me to be happy, so he agreed. I handled all the details. He never knew the truth of her origins. I’d planned to tell Becca she was adopted when she turned eighteen.” Her mother finally met her gaze with glossy eyes. A tear escaped and slipped down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Crys. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

As Crys absorbed this stunning information, the world dimmed to the point that she could barely see anything. Blood pounded behind her eyes, in her ears.

“You’re not lying, are you?” The words came out as a hoarse whisper. “About any of this.”

“I wish I were, but I’m not. Now listen, Crystal. Listen very carefully. You can never tell anyone about this. Not even your father. Especially not your father.” Her mother reached across the table to squeeze Crys’s hands so tightly it hurt. She didn’t pull away. “If I’d had any choice, I would have taken this secret to my grave.”

Crys swallowed hard, fighting the tears that had been threatening to fall all morning. “So Becca’s not my sister. She’s . . . she’s my cousin.”

“No. Becca is your sister, and nothing will ever change that. Do you hear me? Nothing.”

This shocking, crucial, and previously missing piece of information helped connect the rest of the dots for Crys. And in the wake of all this mind-blowing news, she couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh.

Her mother looked at her with alarm. “What could possibly be funny right now?”

“Only that . . . now I know I never should have opened that package from Jackie.”