A Book of Spirits and Thieves

“Yeah? Where?”


“Bay and Bloor. You were in your limo, stopped at a light, and you lowered your window.” She continued to caress him, driving him slowly mad with desire. “So strange, though. I could have sworn you were in there with the guy who mugged me.”

He stopped breathing.

Then he swore inwardly. In a city this large, and with his ultratinted windows, he never would have expected her to randomly spot him out with Lucas. Mustering all the composure he could, he gave a lighthearted little laugh. “That’s crazy. You must have been seeing things.”

“That’s possible,” she allowed. “Or maybe I did see you two together. Is he in the Hawkspear Society, too? Is that how you know each other?”

He didn’t pull his hand back from hers. He didn’t give her any clue that she’d just blindsided him. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. The . . . what society?”

“It’s funny, everything I’ve learned over the last week. So much of it makes my head spin. But some facts . . . they’re as clear as day. I can’t ignore them even if I wanted to.”

“Wish I could say what you’re talking about was as clear as day to me.”

“Apparently, everyone in the society has a mark to show they’re committed to the leader’s cause.” She traced a slow circle on his forearm. “Right here. I’ve been told that, after you receive it, the spot is tender for a long time.”

She clamped her hand down and squeezed, hard.

Pain tore through his arm. He clenched his teeth and tried not to react to it.

“Oops. Did that hurt?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he managed.

“Right.” Crys smiled. It was, hands down, the most unpleasant smile he’d ever received. “I’m not stupid, Farrell. Everything you’ve said, it’s all been lies to get closer to me, so I’ll give up something you need. Otherwise, you wouldn’t give the smallest damn about getting to know someone like me. Markus told you to do this, right? Find out Crys Hatcher’s secrets and report back?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He finally withdrew his arm from her grasp and fixed a steady smirk on his face. There was no sense in trying to deny this. She knew the truth. “Don’t lie. You were all over me—all over the idea of me. But, yeah, you’re right. I’m way out of your league. Sorry to disappoint you.”

She winced, a very small one, but he caught it.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” she said tightly.

“My pleasure.”

“Can you do me a couple of favors, Farrell?” she asked.

“Depends what they are.”

“Tell Markus that if he’s going to send spies after me, he should send smarter ones.”

Charming. “I’ll think about it. And the second favor?”

Crys stood up, took a final sip from her glass of ice water, and then poured the rest onto his lap. “Go to hell.”

She left him sitting there, his pants soaked and his cover blown. In another life, he would have found this absolutely hilarious.

Tonight, he didn’t. His mind darkened at the edges, his thoughts becoming sharp as knives, as he watched her walk past the window, heading back to her little bookshop.





Chapter 23


MADDOX



This book—the book that belonged to an immortal sorceress—was the same book that had sent Becca’s spirit here from her world.

“But how could it be here?” he asked her under his breath. “If it’s already, um, there? It can’t be in two places at the same time.”

Becca drew closer to it, looking past Camilla’s shoulder as the witch flipped through the pages of strange gold and black writing and detailed illustrations of animals, trees, flowers, and landscapes.

“I’m sure of it,” Becca said. “Unless this is an identical copy.” Doubt began to cloud her expression.

“Camilla, is there more than one book like this?” he asked.

“I highly doubt it, but I suppose . . . there is a slight chance a forgery could have been made, to throw off any potential thieves.” She shook her head. “But this is the original. I swear, I feel the hum of its magic, like I’m pressing my hands against a beehive.”

But it did sound as if there could possibly be a duplicate somewhere. There had to be a reasonable explanation for what Becca had experienced.

“Look, here’s a rendering of the stone wheel.” Camilla ran a long, sharp fingernail over an extremely accurate illustration of the wheel in her garden.

“The language . . .” Becca studied the book warily as if it might jump up and bite her. “Can you read it?”

“No.” Maddox peered down at the strange words. “What language is this, Camilla? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s the language of the immortals, of course.”

Well, of course.