The Darkest Magic Page 17

  “If I saw one, perhaps I would.” Barnabas growled. He grinned darkly as he watched Liana eye the talking canvas sack with equal parts shock and curiosity.

  “I knew it,” she said. “Maddox, your magic is incredible.”

  Maddox was too stunned to reply, but a small part of him glowed inwardly at the compliment.

  “Talk, fortune-teller,” Barnabas snarled. “Tell us what you want from us, and then be gone.”

  Liana sat back in her seat, pulled up her skirt, and returned her dagger to a sheath she wore strapped to her shapely right thigh. “I know what you’re planning,” she said. “Some of it, anyway. You mean to find Princess Cassia, and from there you wish to remove both goddesses from their thrones.” Both Barnabas and Maddox perked up in their seats, ready to argue, but she raised a hand and silenced them. “Please. Don’t try to deny it; I already know it’s the truth. But you have nothing to fear from me.”

  Barnabas snorted. “Fear you? Dream on, little girl.”

  She shot him a pinched and unpleasant smile. “If you don’t fear me by now, then you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. You’d be surprised by what a woman can accomplish when she puts her mind to it.”

  “Oh, I know that much about women. But I’m not convinced about you. Or your motivations for trying to sleuth all of this out. What you’ve just suggested is treason and grounds for execution.”

  “Of course it is. But some goals are worth dying for.”

  “Those kinds of goals are rarer than slugs’ teeth.”

  “True. But they do exist, don’t they?”

  Barnabas studied her for a long, silent moment. “You can’t help us.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “How? By telling fake fortunes to passersby, perhaps earning us a few coins? We can just as well do that ourselves.”

  “I’m thinking something more like this.” Liana licked her fingers, snuffed out the candle on the table in front of her, then fixed a concentrated gaze on the wick, her forehead furrowing.

  A moment later, the wick caught fire.

  Maddox gasped. “You’re a witch!”

  “Shh.” Liana looked around nervously. “I’d rather not let everyone in here learn the truth about me tonight. But yes, I can work some fire magic. Enough, I think, to be useful to you. Add to that my interest in seeing King Thaddeus’s heir on her rightful throne, and we have a great deal in common.”

  “An interesting proposition,” Barnabas allowed.

  Liana ignored him and instead studied Maddox carefully. “You wield death magic.”

  Visions of vanquishing spirits and raising a severed head back to life filled Maddox’s mind, but he knew better than to answer Liana’s question definitively.

  Barnabas continued to regard her like she was a lump of horse dung he’d just scraped from the bottom of his shoe.

  “It’s all right,” Liana said after a silence stretched between them. “You don’t have to say. I know the truth when I see it. And this”—she reached across the table to poke the canvas sack—“is evidence of the truth.”

  “Ouch,” said Al. “My eye.”

  Liana turned once again to Maddox and grasped both of his hands. “I can help you,” she said. “I can. In many more ways than you even realize right now. I know tales—true tales—about the immortals that I know you’ll want to hear. Perhaps I can help you learn more about yourself and what your magic can do.”

  “I also know many of these stories,” Al said. Then, despondently: “As related by Valoria, of course, so who’s to say how true they are.”

  “No, this isn’t going to work,” Barnabas said firmly, standing up from the table. “We’re done here, Maddox. It’s time to get some sleep. And when we leave in the morning, we’ll be going alone—just you, me, and the head.”

  “No,” Maddox said, immediately and just as firmly.

  “No?” Barnabas repeated, one eyebrow arched.

  It was one of those rare times when a sharp instinct jabbed at his gut. “Liana is coming with us.”

  Chapter 14

  CRYSTAL

  In the hours before they’d left Angus’s penthouse, Crys had tried, only semi-patiently, to explain the danger to Becca, but it was no use. Becca insisted on going, with or without her.

  “You think you can just follow Jackie there?” Crys had tried to reason. “She’ll see you.”

  “No,” Becca had said. “Of course not. But we don’t need to follow her there. See, there’s this thing called ‘the Internet,’ and it’s really good at finding addresses of the only venue in Toronto holding a big charity ball on this exact date.”

  Smartass.

  Crys hadn’t protested nearly as much as she should have— especially given the promise she’d made to her mother to keep Becca safe.

  And then there was the fact that Crys thought it was possible her father might be at the event tonight, back from wherever Markus had sent him. It had taken every last bit of her strength not to text him for the last week, but she knew it was still way too early for that to be safe.

  She and Becca decided to check out Angus’s closets, hoping to find something to wear. Sure enough, within a huge walk-in that was bigger than both of their bedrooms at home combined, they found a more than sizable selection of formal wear for both men and women. Thankfully that selection included two dresses, both black, one just about Crys’s size and one that was right for Becca’s delicate frame. Becca’s had a beaded neckline and flowy skirt; Crys’s was simple, sleek, and satin. There were shoes to match in the back of the closet, though only Becca was lucky enough to find a pair of pumps that fit her, while Crys was forced to jam her feet into some patent leather stilettos that were one size too small. Why Angus had all of these extravagant women’s clothes in his apartment was beyond Crys, and she decided not to think too much about it.

  Crys knew she would have to say something to Dr. Vega before they left, so they crept down to the study, where he was still pouring over the Codex pages. They stood in the doorway for many moments, but he was so fixated on his work that he didn’t even look up.

  “He probably won’t even know we’re gone,” Crys whispered to Becca, who gave her a relieved smile. Quietly, they left.

  It was a masquerade ball, so on their way, they bought a couple of sequined masks at a cheap little shop near the apartment. Knowing she’d have to don one of these tonight, Crys had put in her contacts and left her glasses next to her bed before they’d left. It would have been kind of hard to pull off a delicate disguise with those things on her face.

  Pulling at her too-short hemline and wobbling in the too-small heels, Crys followed the annoyingly poised Becca into the black-tie venue. Only then did she realize there was one vital detail they hadn’t considered.

  Tickets.

  They stood in the lobby of the ballroom while a stern-looking, gray-haired woman wearing what looked like an entire jewelry store’s supply of diamonds searched for their names on the guest list. “I’m sorry, but you’re simply not here.”

  “Pardon me?” Crys said, trying to look shocked by this information. “That can’t be right. Can you please check again?”

  “I can,” the woman said impatiently, “but I’ve already checked twice, and I have a feeling your names aren’t bound to magically appear on the third go round. Perhaps if your parents are inside . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Becca said. “They are. And they’re going to be furious that we’re late.”

  Crys suppressed a small grin—she was both impressed and a little taken aback at Becca’s quick-thinking gumption. “Our limo broke down on the way here,” Crys added. “So we had to wait for another one. A worse one—just our luck. Rich-people problems, you know? Such a pain!”

  “I’m sure.” The woman scanned the girls’ outfits, head to toe, and Crys was certain they’d been made. Of course this rich old bat knew the difference between a gown tailor-made for a particular body and a wild vintage frock stolen from an eccentric crimina
l’s closet. “Perhaps you might want to get back into your limo and go home. Wherever that may be.”

  Becca gave Crys a defeated look.

  “This is for the best,” Crys whispered, grabbing Becca’s hand and turning away from the woman. “Sorry, I know that’s not what you want to hear. But it’s true.”

  “Gloria?” said a familiar voice, echoing a little ways past the registration table. “Is there a problem out here?”

  Crys looked up to see Adam Grayson, recognizable even with half his face covered by a satin mask the exact same shade of blue as his suit.

  Gloria smiled at him, wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes. “These two young ladies aren’t on the li—”

  “There you are!” Adam said to Becca and Crys, pretending not to hear Gloria. “You missed dinner. Everyone’s been asking about you.”

  “You know us, always fashionably late,” Crys offered without missing a beat.

  “I certainly do.” Adam slid his arm around each girl’s waist and winked at Gloria. “I’ll handle these two troublemakers, promise,” he said to her. “It’s my fault they’re not on your list in the first place—they’re my plus-ones, but I forgot to submit their names. Sorry about that.”

  Gloria responded with nothing but a silent, sour smile, and before Crys knew it, they were down the hall, through the archway, and in the midst of a buzzing masquerade ball.

  Becca looked up at Adam with unshielded relief. “Once again, we have you to thank for helping us out.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said tightly. “Should I ask why you’re here tonight? Do I even want to know?”

  “If we told you, we’d have to kill you,” Crys said, the lameness of her joke hitting her right before the realization of how inappropriate it was in the context of the society. “Um, just kidding, of course.”

  If Adam was here, it meant the other Graysons were too. She’d figured Farrell’s attendance was a given, but the reality of knowing she was in the same room as him was shockingly stomach-churning.

  “We’re here because I want to talk to Markus,” Becca said.

  Adam’s jaw went slack in a stunned response. “Wow. That sounds like a really bad idea.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Crys said. Just the thought of Becca standing face to face with that man was enough to make her want to buy a couple of one-way tickets to Mexico and leave tonight.

  He escorted them into the ballroom. The absolute last place they should be: a large room filled with marked members of the Hawkspear Society.

  The ballroom was unlike anything Crys had ever seen outside of TV shows about glitzy millionaires plotting, scheming, and working on their rap sheets, all while looking fabulous. She tried not to be distracted by the all the gorgeous gemstone jewelry and designer clutches the women here were sporting.

  Adam drew them into an alcove near the bar. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were searching for potential eavesdroppers or threats. “Then how about you reconsider? Like, immediately?”

  “Not going to happen,” Becca said. “This is important.”

  “I don’t know if anything’s that important.”

  Every cell in Crys’s body wanted to scream at Becca that she was insane, that she needed to listen to the advice of Adam Grayson, of all people. But she knew Becca wouldn’t listen. For all their differences, her sister was every bit as stubborn as she was.

  Crys had her own reasons for wanting to be here, despite how dangerous it was for both of them. She, too, searched the room from their current position. “Adam, is my father here?” she asked, her throat tight.

  Adam’s jaw grew tense. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “I haven’t seen him since . . . that night.”

  “Do you . . . do you think he’s okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied after a brief pause. His expression was grimmer than Crys would have liked. “I’ll try to find out, though. I promise. Try not to worry, okay?”

  She just nodded. But she was worried. Very worried, and she couldn’t put it out of her mind any longer.

  “So I really can’t convince you two to leave?” Adam said.

  “Nope,” Becca replied simply. “I have to do this. There’s no other way.”

  “You really think you’re just going to waltz up to Markus and talk to him?” Adam asked, clearly frustrated now. “And what? Ask him for a truce and then invite him over for tea?”

  “I have information that I know will interest him,” Becca said.

  Adam scoffed. “The only thing you have that he’s interested in is that book. His interest in it is so strong that I’m surprised you’re even still here in the city with it, let alone that you’d risk coming here tonight. You two are crazy thinking you could sneak in here. Your whole family is crazy!”

  Becca scowled at him. “You’re the one who helped us get in. I’m surprised you even recognized us.”

  “Sorry, but those little masks aren’t exactly the best disguise. You two are kind of impossible to miss.”

  Don’t trust him. The thought entered Crys’s mind so clearly, so intrusively, it was as if someone had whispered it directly in her ear. He’s one of them.

  Crys eyed Adam with renewed distrust.

  “Where’s Markus?” Becca asked.

  Adam regarded both of them in turn, frowning. “He was here, but he left with some blond woman after his speech. Not sure if he’ll be back, but we can keep watch for him.”

  Crys and Becca shared a tense look. The blond woman had to be Jackie.

  “We’re too late,” Crys said under her breath.

  “No, we don’t know that,” Becca replied.

  Crys gave Adam a skeptical look. “What now? Are you going to alert your little club members that we’re here?”

  “Crys,” Becca hissed. “He’s trying to help us.”

  “She’s right, I am,” Adam said, his expression tight. “You could try to give me a chance to prove it. Come with me.”

  He’s trying to manipulate you, make you let down your guard. Be very careful with him, or you’ll regret it.

  Crys winced at the probable truth in that thought. She needed to remember not to trust anyone, especially a Grayson.

  Skeptically, and with every inch of her body tense and ready to run if she had to, she followed Adam and Becca toward Adam’s table. While they walked, she scanned the ballroom for signs of either safety or danger but instead saw only about five hundred people enjoying themselves. The band was playing a strings cover of an up-tempo soul song to a full dance floor illuminated by sparkling, pink-tinted lights.

  Crys searched for her aunt in the sea of masked faces but couldn’t find her anywhere. If the blond woman Markus had left the ballroom with was, in fact, Jackie, then she had to be here somewhere. Though somewhere could still mean out of eyeshot. Which meant that anything could happen now.

  Markus could already be dead.

  Or Jackie could have failed and could now be facing the wrath of a murderous immortal.

  The thought was so bone-chilling that Crys knew she couldn’t focus on it and still keep her eyes on the prize: finding her father and keeping Becca safe.

  Crys was willing to give this another ten minutes, and then they had to get out of there, no matter what.

  Adam stopped in front of a table with an impeccable view of the whole dance floor. In the middle of it was a centerpiece of roses and lilies, the same as on every other table, only this bouquet seemed a bit bigger and fresher than the rest. The table was mostly empty—everyone was dancing, Crys guessed—but there was a woman sitting there who was impossible to miss. She was beautiful, with jet black hair pulled into a simple yet perfect twist. Behind her feathered mask Crys saw a kohl-lined pair of eyes in a most familiar shade of hazel, eyes that scanned the ballroom floor as if searching for someone.

  “This is my mother, Isabelle Grayson,” Adam said. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my friends Becca and Crystal.”

  Crys looked agai
n at Isabelle Grayson’s hazel eyes, immediately knowing why they were familiar and dismayed that she so vividly remembered even the smallest details of Farrell’s face.

  “Lovely to meet you,” Mrs. Grayson said distractedly. “With whom are you here? Perhaps I know your family.”

  “They’re here with me,” Adam said before either of them could utter a word.

  Mrs. Grayson arched an eyebrow, finally giving Adam her full attention. “Oh? Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “You didn’t tell me you’d invited friends.”

  “Sorry, I totally forgot. Crystal and Becca are very involved in the city’s literary scene. I thought they would really enjoy this event.”

  “And we do,” Becca said readily. “It’s incredible.”

  “Involved with literacy, are you? That’s lovely. In what way?”

  “We work in a bookshop,” Crys said. She took a seat—her heels were already killing her—and couldn’t help eyeing the mostly untouched platters of tiny fancy cheesecakes and raspberry tarts arranged on the table. Her stomach grumbled. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate.

  “Booksellers,” Mrs. Grayson said. “How wonderful that such a quaint profession is allowed to thrive in our city.”

  “Actually, Mom, what they do is vitally important to literacy,” Adam said. “Without booksellers, no one would be able to buy books to read. Books are kind of the main reason we’re here tonight, right, Mom?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Grayson replied, her red lips pursed. “How very right you are. I apologize; I’m a bit distracted at the moment.”

  “Everything all right?” Adam put his hand on his mother’s shoulder.

  She patted his hand. “Nothing more than an unwelcome ghost from the past, darling. It’s fine.”

  “Becca, sit down,” Crys whispered. “Have something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Becca said, turning around in her chair and scanning the room.

  Crys grabbed Becca’s hand, squeezed it hard, and pulled her sister down into the seat next to her. The last thing she wanted right now was for Becca to hone in on Markus—or worse, for Markus to hone in on her.