A Book of Spirits and Thieves Page 6

  Farrell usually tuned out the first half hour of these meetings, but tonight he tried—emphasis on tried—to remain present and attentive.

  Once Gloria was finished, Bernard Silver, the owner of a popular string of local coffee shops, spoke of a meeting he’d had with the mayor of Toronto. Bernard had attempted to sway him on a policy that would pull funding from several homeless shelters, and he was proud to say that he had been successful.

  “Charity and politics?” Adam said to Farrell under his breath. “Is that all this is about?”

  “It’s a large chunk, but not all. Just wait. The boring part’s almost over.”

  It was a rule that new members were not supposed to be told about the inner workings of a meeting before their first visit. Farrell wasn’t a fan of rules, but he knew which ones not to break.

  He valued his membership more than any of his many possessions. And he knew Adam would, too.

  Once Bernard finished speaking, Markus again took center stage.

  “We have a new member joining our numbers tonight,” he said. “Adam Grayson, please stand.”

  With a nervous glance, prompting a nod of encouragement from Farrell, Adam rose to his feet. The spotlight moved to light his face, and he blinked from the glare of it. The members seated behind Farrell began to murmur with approval about the handsome, young Grayson boy.

  “Join me onstage, Adam,” Markus said, beckoning to him.

  All went silent, except for Farrell’s loud heartbeat, which hammered in his ears as he watched his brother move toward the side of the stage, climb the six steps up, and walk over to stand next to the society’s leader.

  The real meeting was about to begin.

  “Welcome, Adam,” Markus said, then gave a dramatic pause, “to the Hawkspear Society.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Adam’s voice remained strong.

  Farrell felt a burst of pride, which helped ward off the whisper of uneasiness circling his gut.

  “Have you been told anything about what we do here?” Markus asked.

  “No, sir. Nothing.”

  “But you are aware that this organization must remain hidden from the world at large.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “These people”—Markus spread his hands out toward the audience—“are essential to my life’s mission. They have seen the truth that my existence brings with their own eyes, and they know it is important, that it is the most crucial gift I can contribute to this world.”

  Adam didn’t reply right away. It was, after all, a rather cryptic statement.

  After a moment, he found his voice. “What is it that you do, sir?”

  “My purpose . . . my mission, Adam . . . is to help protect this world from evil—true evil—that would do irreparable harm without my interference. Eradicating that evil helps to shine a light on that which is good. You’ve heard much talk of that already tonight: charity balls, politics with purpose, the building and nurturing of strong relationships. We take a stand, collectively and separately, to do what we can to make a positive difference in this city and also work toward protecting the world at large. And what we do here, at these meetings, is essential to bringing us together as one mind, one heart. One purpose.”

  He paused, as if leaving space for a question. Had Farrell been unaccustomed to how Markus spoke, he would have likely laughed out loud at such grandiose speeches that didn’t answer any questions in a completely satisfying way.

  Perhaps Markus had been a politician in a previous life.

  Adam’s brow was furrowed. “How exactly do you protect the world from evil, sir?”

  Markus nodded as if to acknowledge an excellent question. “When I first came to this city sixty years ago, I met a man who befriended me when I was alone and had no one. By the time I met him, he had already begun undertaking the insurmountable task of protecting this city. Together we formed the Hawkspear Society. A hawk, because it watches from high above. It sees all—nothing escapes its attention. And a spear, the weapon that, to us, represents protection and defense. We are an organization committed to truth and justice.”

  Adam sent an uncertain glance at Farrell, who nodded, trying to will strength toward his brother.

  You can handle this, kid. Don’t be nervous.

  “Watch,” Markus said. “Observe. And then decide if you are ready to be a part of my mission from this day forward.”

  Two of Markus’s helpers—perhaps they were also part of his inner circle, Farrell thought—led a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man to the center of the stage. He had black hair that was graying at the temples and wore a dirty T-shirt. His face had a week’s worth of stubble on it. One of the helpers removed the gag and blindfold. The man’s dark, glittering eyes scanned the silent audience with both confusion and outrage.

  “Where the hell am I?” he demanded, squinting at the bright spotlight.

  “Tonight,” Markus said, walking a slow circle around him, “John Martino, forty-eight years old, appears before us. A man who has been in and out of prison since he was eighteen.”

  “So you know who I am.” John eyed Markus with disdain, then glared at the two men who stood on either side of him like silent sentries. He turned back to Markus. “Who are you?”

  Markus ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on his audience. “John is an executive in a very profitable industry—the illegal drug trade. Twenty dealers work under him. He supplies them with product, which they push on the streets to addicts and other victims of substance abuse. One of his recent shipments of ecstasy was laced with arsenic—”

  “I had nothing to do with that!” John protested.

  “—which caused the deaths of six people, including the daughter of one of our loyal members. After an investigation by the grieving father, her possession of the drug was linked to you, Mr. Martino. My loyal colleague asked that you be tried for your crimes here, tonight, so you will not harm anyone else in the future. Do you deny what you’ve done? Do you accept your guilt and your punishment? Only then can you be purged of the evil that taints your mortal soul.”

  “Who are you?” John’s expression had grown even more wary. “You’re not the police. This isn’t a court of law.”

  “The girl who died—the girl you murdered—had a bright future. She wanted to be a doctor, who would have made a difference in this world someday. She was only fifteen years old.”

  “She was the one who swallowed the pill. She made her choice.”

  “And you’ve made yours—over and over again.” Markus paused and then turned to address his members. “How many murders is this monster responsible for? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? And how many more will he be responsible for if we were to set him free without answering for his crimes?”

  “Just give me the chance,” John snarled. “You’re next, you son of a bitch.”

  “Pass your judgment,” Markus instructed the audience.

  Silence fell over the theater.

  A moment later, a man in the front row stood up. “Guilty,” he said.

  Slowly, others stood and repeated the word. Another moment later, many more rose together, including Farrell and his parents, their voices rose in unison.

  “Guilty.”

  Markus glanced at Adam, who was watching all this with wide eyes. “And you, Adam? What is your verdict?”

  Adam looked at John, really looked at him for a long searching moment. John stared back at him, as if trying to intimidate the kid. Then John threw his head back and laughed, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

  “You’re just a little kid, aren’t you? What, your babysitter wasn’t available tonight?”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Guilty,” he said.

  “Great!” John was still laughing. “Guilty, guilty, guilty. How about I get a lawyer and sue all your asses for kidnapping me?”

  Ma
rkus regarded the audience. “How can I protect the world from the darkness this murderer brings with him wherever he goes? The harm he dispenses with every selfish choice he makes? How shall John Martino be punished here tonight? What will cleanse him of the evil inside him that darkens this world wherever he goes?”

  “Death,” the audience said in unison. Farrell felt the word leave his lips as it had at every meeting before.

  This man before them was evil. Judgment had been passed by the Hawkspear Society.

  And that judgment was final.

  “What? What are you talking about?” John now struggled against the men who held him firmly in place. “Let me go!”

  Markus approached him slowly, reaching beneath his jacket to pull out a golden dagger.

  “I free you from this life of pain,” Markus preached to John. “I free you from this life of darkness. You can rest now. You will never harm anyone else ever again.”

  “Wait, what is this? You can’t—!”

  Markus thrust the dagger into the man’s chest. John gasped in pain and shock, then shrieked as Markus twisted the blade.

  “Blood for blood, death for death,” Markus said, yanking the dagger from the man’s flesh.

  “Blood for blood, death for death,” the society repeated.

  John dropped to his knees, staring up at Markus. For a moment, it looked as if he were a wounded peasant kneeling before a conquering king, begging for mercy.

  Then he fell to his side, blood welling next to him in a shallow crimson puddle.

  Farrell felt it then, the same powerful sensation that overcame him four times a year after each execution.

  Magic—Markus’s magic—strengthened by the spill of blood.

  It charged the room like a whisper of electricity, raising the hair on Farrell’s arms and the back of his neck. It brought with it a sense of serenity, of righteousness. Of power.

  “It is done,” Markus said solemnly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the blade.

  Farrell’s gaze shot to Adam to see his reaction to witnessing a public execution with no prior warning. His brother’s face was unreadable, but he stood rigidly, fists clenched at his sides, his attention fixed on the dead body.

  “Adam Grayson,” Markus said solemnly. “Will you accept the invitation to join my society as an official member, and in that capacity, will you agree to contribute heart, body, and mind to my mission to protect this world from evil? Will you keep our secrets and do all you can to serve the Hawkspear Society? Will you accept that the sacrifices made here are symbols of our focus on the greater good of this city, this country, and this world?”

  Adam hesitated for only a moment. Then he raised his chin and, without looking in Farrell’s direction again for encouragement, spoke the words that would seal his destiny.

  “Yes, I will.” His voice was strong and filled with determination.

  Farrell let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

  It was the right answer, of course. The only answer.

  “Remove your jacket and pull up the sleeve on your left forearm,” Markus instructed.

  A frown of confusion creased Adam’s forehead, but he did as asked, letting his tuxedo jacket fall to the floor. He fumbled with the button at his left wrist and then pushed the crisp white sleeve up to his elbow.

  Markus took Adam’s wrist and, without warning, he touched the sharp tip of the golden dagger to Adam’s flesh and pressed down.

  Adam inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch or make a single sound of protest.

  “The mark I give you now,” Markus said, “binds you to my society. It will also free you from any human ailments you may have previously been susceptible to. No disease, no sickness, for as long as you remain one of my trusted members. This is my gift to you.” He continued to trace the dagger across Adam’s forearm in a precise pattern—a circle, or was it a triangle? Farrell had closely watched as it had been cut into his own arm three years ago, but he couldn’t seem to recall what symbol it was. The memory was a blur.

  Bright red blood dripped to the stage floor. With every drop, the charge of magic pulsing through the gathered members strengthened. The air itself seemed to shimmer with it.

  When it was done, Markus pressed his hand against the wound. White light began to glow around his hand, and when Markus let go of Adam, the wound had been completely healed. It left no scar.

  “There,” Markus said. “You are now one of us.”

  Adam looked down at his arm with amazement. “Thank you.”

  Once again, Farrell thought back to the night of his initiation. His fear, his anxiety. His doubt. There he stood before everyone, with Connor in the audience, watching and worrying, just as Farrell did for Adam tonight.

  He’d seen the grimness on Adam’s face upon witnessing the execution from only steps away. His little brother knew he’d just made a serious commitment to a society dedicated to saving the world from evil. That what they did here was important. Necessary.

  Farrell had already seen behind the first curtain.

  Now he’d been chosen to see what hid behind the next.

  Chapter 6

  MADDOX

  “I know one thing. You’re going to help me get back home.”

  Right after the spirit girl said this, she’d vanished into thin air, leaving Maddox turning around in circles, confused by everything he’d seen and heard, until Livius barked at him that it was time to leave Lord Gillis’s villa.

  Thankfully, it seemed as if the strangely dressed girl had only been a figment of his imagination.

  It was entirely possible that such hallucinations had been caused by Maddox’s not getting very much sleep lately. He’d recently begun having nightmares. Always the same one, too—the horrific experience of seeing his first spirit.

  The shadowy creature moved toward him in the dead of night . . . chilling his heart the closer it came. Maddox pulled his blanket up to his nose as he stared out with horror at what approached him, lit only by the flickering candle on his bedside table.

  It had black eyes so dark and bottomless he was certain they could devour his soul.

  “Help me,” the horrific thing screeched.

  Maddox screamed and screamed until the spirit withdrew from him, as if in horrible pain, and faded into the shadows. His mother was at his side a moment later, pulling his small body into her arms and holding him tightly until he stopped sobbing.

  “You’re stronger than any creature of darkness, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “These troubled spirits . . . they’re drawn to your magic, like nightflies to a campfire. But they will never hurt you. I promise they won’t.”

  He wasn’t sure it was true, but her promise helped him be brave.

  By the time he turned twelve, Maddox had learned that he had the ability to trap the dark things that visited him in the night in silver containers that he would then bury deep in the earth.

  “Why can I do these things, Mama?” he asked her one evening when she was in the middle of making a potato and pheasant stew. The pheasant had been killed by the man she’d recently claimed to have fallen in love with. Livius was very handsome and seemingly full of enough kindness, charm, and wit to get him through the door of their cottage and into Damaris Corso’s bed.

  “I don’t know.” It was her constant reply whenever he asked, but somehow it always rang false to him. He sensed that she did know something, although she refused to say what it was. “But you must tell no one of your magic. Other people wouldn’t understand like I do.”

  However, it was Damaris who confided in Livius about her son’s abilities a year later. Afterward, Livius had shown them his true self, which was made up almost entirely of greed and deceit. He was an opportunist and a con man hiding in their village to escape the moneylender he owed.

 
But he decided his luck had finally changed as soon as he learned Maddox’s secret.

  Once Livius discovered that real hauntings were rare and that noblemen who believed their villas were plagued by spirits were quite common, he began to rely on Maddox’s ability to summon shadows to trick customers who were made gullible by fear. And it was a very good trick: No one ever doubted Maddox’s abilities as a vanquisher of dark spirits.

  The day after they left Lord Gillis’s villa, Livius took Maddox to the local festival. With the crowds so large that it was impossible to estimate their numbers, it appeared as if all citizens who lived within a twenty-mile radius were there to celebrate the goddess’s fifteenth year of ruling Northern Mytica.

  Maddox was just an infant when the two radiant and powerful beings first came to Mytica, but he’d heard all the stories. He’d lived his entire life under Valoria’s rule.

  Two goddesses made their home Mytica. One in the North, one in the South.

  Valoria of the North was the goddess of earth and water. She commanded both elements, and her displays of magic were, as the stories went, as beautiful as they were terrifying.

  The goddess of the South was Valoria’s sworn enemy. Contrary to the legends of Valoria’s beauty, she was said to be horrifically ugly and sadistically cruel to her subjects—rich and poor alike. Many claimed she was a glutton who ate the children of those citizens who crossed her. She commanded the elements of fire and air. She was never mentioned in the North by name, for it was against the laws of the land. But Maddox had heard whispers of her name many times before. Cleiona, a beautiful name for a repulsive goddess.

  Some said the goddesses came from another world entirely—far apart from this one. That, despite the fact that Mytica was a small realm compared with the larger kingdoms across the sea, they had chosen it because it was a land of incomparable beauty—where their magic could rule.