A Book of Spirits and Thieves (7 page)

“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.

Magic had once existed more plentifully here. Golden and flawless immortals—the same immortals Lord Gillis believed once used his gardens—were said to have once walked side by side among mortals.

All Maddox knew for sure was that there were no golden immortals in Mytica anymore—at least, none whom he’d seen with his own eyes. There were only two powerful goddesses to worship.

But there were some who wished to worship neither. A handful of rebels had risen up a decade ago but had been easily defeated by the goddesses and their armies.

In Central Mytica was a large swath of unsettled land that was considered neutral ground. Those who chose to live there did so in exile, without the protection or guidance of the powerful leaders to the north and south. Central Mytica was a wild and lawless land, one Maddox had no interest in ever visiting.

A fat woman festooned with flowers tucked into her hair and fastened to her dress merrily greeted Maddox and Livius as they entered the crowded festival. “Welcome to the Celebration of Her Radiance, the Goddess of Earth and Water!” She placed a daisy chain around each of their necks. “There is cider in the blue tent, and in the red tent, we have roasted chestnuts, seared goat, baked figs, fried fish tails—so much to eat! Have a wonder-filled day!”

“Thank you,” Maddox said, amazed by the mass of colorful tents, the delicious scent of freshly seared meat and just-picked delicacies, and the hundreds of people out enjoying the day of sunshine. Dozens of banners waved, adorned with the image of the goddess and the symbols of her elements—wavy lines for water, a circle within a circle for earth.

“Good sirs.” Another man approached with an ear-to-ear grin.
“Allow me to show you my very special product.” He held up a clay pot filled with a brown substance, whose stench wrinkled Maddox’s nose. “This is manure from my favorite cow, who I believe to be a bovine witch that can conjure up earth magic in a rather creative way. Purchase this from me today, and I will guarantee your crops will grow better than—”

“Remove yourself from my sight,” Livius growled, shoving him out of the way. “Come on, Maddox. We don’t have time for such nonsense.”

“He says his cow is a witch.”

“He’s an idiot. Besides, we’re not here to take a pleasurable stroll through the vendors’ tents. We’re here for business.”

Maddox’s steps slowed as they approached a small yellow tent, just past a trio of jugglers in colorful garb and a pen of pigs and chickens. He’d rather inspect magical manure all day than help Livius with this task.

“Do I have to come in with you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Livius hissed. “Stop asking stupid questions.”

There were other questions Maddox wanted to ask. Such as:
Why do I have to meet the man to whom
you
owe money? Do you think I’ll protect you with my magic?

If he could find a way to properly control and harness his magic, he certainly wouldn’t use it to protect Livius.

He cast another wistful look at the jugglers, all laughing as they performed for an enthusiastic audience. It looked like fun for both the audience and the performers.

Livius took a deep breath before he pulled back the flap and entered the tent. Maddox reluctantly followed him into the dark interior.

Two large, intimidating bodyguards stood by the entrance like
a duo of ugly tree trunks, their thick arms crossed over their broad chests. Another man sat at a wooden table, attended by a buxom, young blond woman who served him food and drink.

“Livius!” The man smacked his lips after devouring a juicy rib of some unknown animal—likely from the pen of depressed-looking swine they’d passed—and wiped his greasy fingers on the loose silk ties of his shirt. “It’s been a long time.”

“Cena.” There was no apprehension or fear in Livius’s voice, only confidence—even if it was false. “Yes, far too long.”

Cena leaned back in his chair. His bushy eyebrows joined in the middle of his forehead, looking like a fat caterpillar that had attached itself to his face. “For a while, I thought you were dead. Or that I’d have to send my men into the land of darkness to drag your arse back here.”

Livius laughed as if this were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His fingers twitched as he stroked his eye patch. “No need to attempt such a journey.”

“And who is this?” Cena gestured toward Maddox.

“This”—Livius squeezed Maddox’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince—“is my son, Maddox.”

Maddox needed to bite his tongue not to argue with such an introduction.

Cena pursed his lips. “Your son looks nothing like you.”

“He got his looks from his mother. His brains from me.” Livius reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy bag of coins, which he then placed next to Cena’s plate of food. “This is part of what I owe you.”

Cena glanced at the bag. “When will I get the rest?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

Livius’s jaw tensed. “Very soon.”

“I’d almost forgotten how much you like to give vague answers when you know I’ll only be pleased by specific ones.” Cena fixed him with a predatory smile. There was a strand of meat stuck between two of his yellowish teeth. He glanced again at Maddox. “You’re the one I’ve heard about, aren’t you?”

Maddox didn’t like so much attention on him. “Me?”

“The witch boy who can speak to the dead.”

That was the trouble with secrets. Once they started to spread, they ceased being secrets at all.

“It’s all a con,” Livius said quickly. “The boy has no talent other than a keen ability to earn his old man the coin I need to pay you back.”

“A con, is it? From what I’ve heard, it’s a rather successful one.” Cena kept his attention on Maddox, which made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable. It didn’t seem to be in his best interest for this man to know the truth.

A sharp intake of breath drew Maddox’s attention to the right of the tent. His stomach lurched to see that the spirit girl had reappeared.

“You again!” she managed. Her gaze frantically moved through the tent. “For a moment, I thought I’d gone home, but I’m still here. And, again, trying to find my way in this strange place has led me straight to you.”

“Livius, your son suddenly looks rather unwell,” Cena observed.

Livius’s expression was tense. “He’s a sickly boy. Some days I wonder how much longer he has to live.”

The lie was so quick to leave Livius’s mouth that Maddox wondered if it might be the truth. Something behind the words sounded like a threat.

“Go, boy.” Cena flicked a finger at him. “Go outside and get some sunlight on your face and some air in your lungs. Let me talk to your father for a while in private.”

Maddox didn’t have to be told twice. He felt Livius’s glare on him as he departed the tent without another word. He walked fifty paces through the festival grounds before he stopped and slowly turned around.

The spirit girl—Becca Hatcher was what she’d called herself—stood directly behind him. She looked the same as she had the day before, in her strange woolen tunic and trousers, so unlike the other girls her age attending the festival.

How old had she been when she died? About his age or a little younger?

All he knew for sure was that she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He blinked with surprise at the thought.
No. Spirits aren’t beautiful. They’re dark and evil.

“Are you going to talk to me, or what?” Her dark blue eyes flashed with impatience. “You’re starting to make me feel like I’ve gone completely mad.”

That made two of them, actually.

“Where am I?” she asked, glancing around at the busy festival. “This is all so weird.”

He understood most of her words, but some of them seemed as unusual and foreign to him as her clothing. “You need to leave me alone, Becca Hatcher.”

She turned a smile on him this time, a bright smile that made a warmth rise within him. She certainly didn’t look anything like the shadowy creatures he’d encountered before. “Just Becca is fine. And thank you.”

Livius doesn’t let me talk to girls
, he reasoned with himself.
That must be why I’m so distracted by this one.

No, not a girl.
A spirit. Dark and evil, remember?

Now he was annoyed.

“Thank you for what?” he asked, crossing his arms tightly.

“For acknowledging my existence.”

He eyed the people milling past him with uneasiness. “I’m acknowledging nothing.”