The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves) (18 page)

“The thing about hatred is that it almost always fades over
time. Whether you want it to or not—the heart just can’t keep up with all that effort.”

“I’ve always believed just the opposite,” Markus replied without skipping a beat. Becca could sense a heavy hesitation hanging between them, until Markus spoke again. “I will say it again, my love: I didn’t kill your family. It wasn’t me.”

My love?

Becca was certain she must have heard him wrong. Why would he say something so intimate to Jackie?

Her aunt inhaled sharply. “That is what I was led to believe as a child, yes. But time has taught me that not everything is as it seems. My parents died in a car accident, plain and simple and so tragic because it was so senseless. I was furious at that senselessness, so when the idea was introduced, it was easier to blame you. And I’m sorry for that. And Grandmother . . . I see now that she took her own life.”

Becca felt Adam grow tense. She reached out to clutch his hand.

Another Markus-adjacent suicide, and a suspicious car accident too. It could be a coincidence. But Becca didn’t really believe in coincidences—especially not when Markus was involved.

Anyway, Becca couldn’t really focus on any of that at the moment. Those two words—
my love
—kept echoing in her mind over and over again.

Oh my God
, she thought.

They were together when Jackie was in the society. When she hadn’t been much older than Becca herself. Is that what that meant? Or was she reading too much into it?

A wave of nausea shot through her like a lightning bolt as she thought of her teenaged aunt falling in love with Markus, an ancient immortal being who treated murder like a day at the office.

She couldn’t breathe.

Becca had to find a way to focus, to keep her mind from reeling over this revelation. She closed her eyes and steadied her breath.
Okay. Maybe it’s a good thing Markus still has feelings for Jackie
, she thought. Maybe this was even what Jackie was hoping for—and with good reason too. Perhaps his love for her was the only thing that had kept him from muscling his way into Angus’s apartment and killing everyone in his path to get to the Codex.

“I have a confession to make, Markus,” Jackie said. Becca blinked away all the distracting thoughts from her head and listened, rapt. “I came here tonight to ask something of you. A personal favor.”

“What’s that?”

“The golden dagger,” Jackie said, and Becca’s heart leaped into her throat. Jackie continued before Markus could say a word. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want to see it again. I just want to learn more about it. As I’m sure you already know, I’ve become involved in an organization that has a special interest in such pieces.”

“You assume I’ve been keeping tabs on you all this time?” Markus’s question was innocent enough—he didn’t fly into a rage at Jackie’s mention of the dagger, as Becca would have expected. But there was a definite change in the tone of his voice, a note of something that wasn’t there before.

“I do.”

“Well, you assume correctly. And to say I don’t approve of your choice of vocation would be to put it mildly. These thieves you’ve chosen to associate yourself with—you’re part of something dangerous.”

“There you go again, just as overprotective of me as ever.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. I still don’t.”

“I know.”

“What are you asking of me, Jackie? What do you want to do?
Photograph the dagger? Put it into some kind of database to which your ring of thieves has access?”

“It’s not just a ring of thieves, Markus. It’s a group of people who are passionate about learning what lies beyond this world. About the possibility of magic within our—everyone’s—reach. It’s important work that could lead to better ways to protect everyone in this world—which is exactly what you say your society is trying to do.”

“Yes, of course. That work does sound very important.”

Doubt.
That’s what now coated Markus’s words.

If Becca heard it, Jackie must have as well.

“I do understand if this is something you don’t want to share. I know how important that dagger is to the society.”

“Do you? Because if you truly understood its importance, you wouldn’t ask such a favor of me. Especially given how long we’ve been apart.”

“Forget I mentioned it,” Jackie said with a nervous twist of her voice.

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Jackie. Is this a game to you? Coming here, trying to convince me that you’ve seen the error of your ways, that all is forgiven? I wanted to trust you. I really did. But I see that nothing’s changed between us. That, aside from your improved ability to lie, you haven’t changed at all.”

Becca’s stomach sank. Her aunt had moved too quickly, and it didn’t seem like she could recover.

“Really, Markus? You
wanted
to trust me?” Now there was something new in Jackie’s tone as well, a bite of iciness that chilled even Becca.

“Of course I did,” Markus said. “I knew you would bring me the book eventually, of your own free will, no less. I am not a patient
person, but when it comes to you, it seems I have all the patience in the world.”

“I see. Funny, though, because if that were true, you never would have started messing with Julia’s mind again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know you’ve been calling her, tapping back into her society marks to control her.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Markus said, impressing Becca with how genuinely scandalized he seemed. “Her marks were always weak, from the very beginning. I only allowed her to remain in the society because she was your sister, and a Kendall. Your marks, on the other hand, are completely gone. I tried to find you through them so many times, and I never succeeded. I always wondered why.”

“I guess they didn’t take as well as you always thought,” Jackie said, but her voice had grown quiet and timid, the iciness gone now.

“It was the pregnancy,” Markus said coolly. “Wasn’t it?”

Jackie fell silent. The accusation hung in the air between them as Becca tried to make sense of what Markus just said. Jackie, pregnant? As far as Becca knew, this couldn’t be further from the truth.

“See? You don’t attempt to deny it because you know it’s useless. I know.” Markus spoke slowly, his tone calm and even. “Becca is my daughter.”

Becca pressed herself hard against the wall so she wouldn’t fall when her legs gave out beneath her.

“Markus, I—”

“You’ve hidden her from me all these years, but now there will be no more hiding, Jackie. She’s mine. She belongs to me now.”

Becca’s mind had gone blank and silent. Behind her eyes was a
dark and empty cavern where nothing but the devastation of this moment existed.

“Becca is my daughter.”

“Becca.” Adam was whispering to her. Dimly, she realized that he had hooked his arm through hers and was helping to keep her vertical.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she managed.

This couldn’t be real. It
couldn’t
. Markus was lying, and Jackie was just too scared to deny it.

“I want the Codex, and I want the girl,” Markus growled. “And I want you out of my sight.”

With that, he turned and stormed out of the alcove to enter the main ballroom again. Adam tried to shock Becca into moving on her own, to maneuver in time to get out of Markus’s line of sight, but it was too late. The immortal fixed his hawkish eyes on Becca’s dazed ones. She stared at him, frozen in place, seeing him as if for the first time.

His dark blue eyes . . . the oval curve of his face . . . the slight dimple in his chin . . .

They were just like hers.

Jackie emerged from the alcove a moment later, a look of fierceness lighting up her face. But when she saw Becca, her hand flew to her mouth, and all that fiery determination was extinguished.

Markus hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his attention away from Becca for one moment.

“Becca,” Jackie gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Becca tried to speak, to make any sound at all, but she couldn’t. Her reeling mind and shattered heart wouldn’t let her.

Tears began to stream down Jackie’s face. “Damn it, Becca!” she swore loudly. “I told you to stay home, where it’s safe.”

“Nowhere is safe,” Markus said under his breath. “You should know that by now.”

Becca wasn’t crying—another thing her heart and mind wouldn’t let her do—but her body felt as cold as ice. Like one little fall would shatter her into a million pieces.

So this was real. If it were a nightmare, someone—Jackie, Adam, even Markus—would have told her.

The shadow at her feet drew closer to her, weaving back and forth at the floor before her in a slow figure eight. She started to shiver, and Adam took off his suit jacket and put it around her shoulders.

“Why?” Becca finally managed to ask, her voice cracking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jackie wiped at her tears and stole an apprehensive glance at Markus. “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Markus tore his gaze from Becca and glared harshly at Jackie.

Becca knew he was about to say something atrocious, something that might result in more damage than she could have ever been prepared for. But before he could say or do a single thing, a loud crashing sound rang out across the ballroom. They froze and turned to watch a group of about a dozen people dressed in black come through the entrance on the opposite side. They all wore thick black ski masks—not the kind found on a guest at a masquerade ball.

One of them raised a gun and pointed it at the ceiling. He fired off a shot, and the whole party fell into absolute silence.

FARRELL

T
he second the gunshot went off, his forearm lit up with a sharp, burning pain.

“
You have to find Markus
,” not-Connor’s voice instructed him. “
He’s going to need you.”

Farrell frowned. His mother and Felicity both looked at him fearfully from across the table.

“
Forget them
,” Connor snapped. “
Markus is more important—you know this already.
”

He stood up and scanned the room, all of his senses ramping up to better help him focus. His vision was clear, his hearing precise.

“
There he is. Go—now!”

Without a word, he left his mother and Felicity and, keeping his head low, swiftly weaved his way through the crowd. Every single guest was frozen in place as the group of masked and armed intruders entered the ballroom.

Markus stood on the far side of the dance floor, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. The moment he reached the Hawkspear leader’s side, a horrible tightness eased in Farrell’s chest, and the burning pain in his arm subsided somewhat.

“What the hell is this, Markus?” Farrell said under his breath
as the invaders continued to spread out in the ballroom. Two of them stayed in front of the main doors, guns ready, while a third approached from the reception area and roughly pushed Gloria St. Pierre inside. The old lady cowered in terror.

“I’ve no idea,” Markus said, scanning the room, his eyes darting and mouth set in a tense grimace.

Farrell waited for Markus to follow his flat reply with some sort of explanation or proposed solution, but when neither came, a dark sense of doom descended upon him and settled squarely in his chest.

“Where’re Mom and Dad?” Adam asked.

His brother’s voice managed to pull him from his intense focus on Markus, and he blinked, as if emerging from a daydream.

“Adam, I . . . ,” he began, but then faltered as his gaze shifted to the others standing near Markus. Adam had his arm around Becca, who now wore his dark blue suit jacket over her shoulders. Next to them was another woman: the beautiful blonde who’d captured Markus’s full attention at the end of his speech.

Jackie Kendall.

Her eyes were red and glossy but fierce, and the look she gave Farrell was one of disgust and hatred. It was a near match for the look on Becca’s face.

Something had happened here between them—something big.

“Somebody needs to call 9-1-1,” Adam growled. “I left my phone at the table.”

Farrell pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Don’t,” Markus said immediately. “I’m curious to see what they want.”

Farrell frowned down at the phone. It couldn’t find a network connection; he couldn’t call anyone even if he wanted to.

“Can you can stop them?” he asked.

“If they give me a reason to.”

“Take more of my strength if you need it,” Farrell whispered only loud enough for Markus to hear. As much as he dreaded the pain and weakness that would follow another draining of his vitality, he would happily suffer if it meant that Markus could stomp all over these gunmen.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” Markus replied.

Farrell watched as one of the thugs walked down a line of frozen, whimpering party guests, scanning them closely as if he were appraising items for a pawn shop.

“
A bunch of pathetic thieves
,” not-Connor said. “
They heard about the ball and came here thinking they’d have their pick of the finest jewelry and fattest wallets in the city.”

Idiots. Farrell couldn’t wait to watch Markus destroy them one by one.

“
And you’ll be more than happy to help
,” Connor added.

Yes, he certainly would be.

Suddenly, a thirty-something-year-old man, still in his costume mask, bolted toward the exit and tried to run past the two men stationed there. They were ready for him. The bigger gunman grabbed him, while the other hit him over the head with the butt of his gun. He dropped to the ground with a sickening thud.

“Remain calm!” boomed a voice before Farrell could properly react. One of the black-clad gunmen was standing on the other side of the dance floor, at the podium where Markus had given his speech. “Remain calm, and no one will get hurt.”

“Who are you?” a man bravely demanded. Farrell strained to see who it was, but he was too far away. “What do you want?”

“End this, Markus,” Jackie hissed. “What are you waiting for?”

“Not yet,” he replied.

“You can’t do anything, can you?” she said tauntingly. “Your magic is too faded, you couldn’t even take down one of them.”

Farrell eyed Markus with alarm, but Markus stayed silent, his full focus on the podium. He’d never heard anyone speak to Markus with such shocking disrespect.

“What
do
I want?” the gunman said calmly into the microphone. “What a dangerous question. Before we get into all of that, let me introduce myself.”

The gunman reached up and removed his mask to reveal a startlingly pale face, jet black hair that fell to his shoulders, and no eyebrows. His eyes were completely black, like shiny buttons, no whites to be seen. The ballroom echoed with gasps, but Farrell wasn’t fazed. He assumed the gunman was just wearing special contact lenses, nothing scarier than a Halloween accessory. Farrell noticed he was young—college-aged.

“My name is Damen Winter,” the unmasked man said. “It’s so lovely to meet you all. You want to know why I came here, what I want. Well, that’s simple. It’s the same thing I’ve always wanted, since the beginning of time.” Damen paused, clearly trying to build up some dramatic suspense.

Connor’s voice inwardly scoffed.
“Goth wannabe.
Just some kids playing at being dark and dangerous masterminds.”

“What I want,” the goth kid finally continued, “is utter chaos and destruction of this and every other world.”

Farrell glanced at Markus, expecting to exchange a look of relief with him. Instead, what he saw made his stomach sink.

Markus’s face was locked in an expression of complete and utter shock.

“No,” Markus whispered. “It’s impossible.”

Farrell didn’t know what to think. For a moment, he couldn’t
think. He’d never been more frightened than he was right now, watching Markus King show fear.

“Markus,” Farrell whispered, gripping the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Who is that, Markus?” Jackie whispered, moving closer.

“You want the golden dagger, Jackie?” Markus said, his voice hoarse and hollow. “It seems you’ve come to the right place. Damen’s magic is what created it.”

Jackie shook her head, clearly baffled. “You’re not making any sense.”

“No, I suppose I’m not. Because
this
doesn’t make sense. Damen is dead. He’s supposed to be dead.”

“I have a few questions for you all,” Damen continued. Farrell’s group went silent again, taut with fear as they focused once more on Damen. “I do hope that you will be truthful with me.” He gestured to one of the gunmen, who was standing near the man who’d first shouted up at Damen. The gunman grabbed the man and pulled him to his feet.

Now that he was standing, Farrell recognized the man as a society member. Robert Micelli. He was always complaining about something at Hawkspear meetings—that his charities were being cheated out of funding, that he needed a break on his dues because his business was taking a hit in the bad economy. Whenever Robert took the floor at meetings, Farrell took it as a cue to take out his phone and tune out.

Now, however, Robert Micelli had one hundred percent of Farrell’s attention.

The gunman had escorted Robert right up to the edge of the raised platform stage. “Tell me,” Damen said to him. “Is Markus King here tonight?”

Robert laughed. “I think anyone with access to a search engine would know that Markus was the keynote speaker at this charity event.”

“How charitable of him. Is he still here?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then you’re worthless to me.”

Slowly, while looking directly at Robert, Damen blinked in a purposeful, rhythmic way: a horrible fluttering of white eyelids over glossy black eyes.

Robert clutched his throat. He gasped desperately several times before collapsing to the floor. His wife screamed and lunged toward the podium, falling at her husband’s side.

“He’s dead!” she cried out. “Oh my God! He’s dead!”

Damen gestured to another man in black. This gunman yanked another guest out of her seat—a terrified woman with a purple streak in her short blond hair that exactly matched the color of her gown.

She wasn’t a Hawkspear member.

“Tell me, what do you know about Markus King?” Damen asked.

The young woman darted her eyes all around the ballroom, as if seeking answers on the walls and ceiling. “I—I don’t know very much about him. I think he’s the son of a wealthy man . . . wh-who is involved with lots of charities?”

“You also,” Damen said, “are worthless to me.”

The woman cried out, her eyes rolling back into her head, and she slipped from the gunman’s grasp and fell to the floor.

“Stop this!” Jackie pleaded to Markus in a whisper. “Whatever you have to do, you need to stop him!”

Markus hadn’t moved an inch—had barely breathed, as far as Farrell could tell, since Damen first began plucking people off one by one.

“He’s like you, isn’t he?” Farrell whispered, his throat raw. “A god of death? That’s who he is, right?”

Jackie snapped to attention. “Markus still has you all convinced he’s a god? You society members are so weak-minded.”

“Says the woman who used to sleep with him,” Farrell sneered.

She glared at him. “You would too, if he asked you to. You wouldn’t have a choice.”

Sounds just like something a delusional ex-girlfriend would say
, Farrell thought. He only had time to respond with a dismissive smirk before a harsh scream shattered the air around them.

“No!” Becca shrieked.

Farrell whipped his head around. One of Damen’s gunmen stood before the podium with a new victim in his grip: Crys.

Damen regarded her calmly, cocking his head to the side. “I certainly hope you’ll be of more help than those other two,” he said. “Tell me: Who is Markus King?”

Crys trembled, but she kept her chin high and her ice blue eyes focused on the man behind the microphone. “He’s the leader of the Hawkspear Society,” she said with an impressive amount of forced confidence.

Damen gave her a chilling smile. “Finally, someone who isn’t worthless. Tell me, what is the Hawkspear Society?”

“A secret organization founded about sixty years ago. Only the very wealthy are eligible to become members. They host events like this one, but mostly what they do is hold public executions at their meetings. Because Markus tells them it will make the world a better place.”

Farrell felt like he was going in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t sure if he was happy that Crys was still alive because she had told Damen the truth or if he was ready to kill her himself for outing Markus and the society.

He was leaning heavily toward door number two.

“
Just more proof that she’s trouble
,” Connor growled. “
And your fixation with her is a danger to Markus and the society.”

“And how old do you think he is?” Damen asked Crys, his lips curling again into that sinister smile.

“Old. I don’t know how old, exactly. But ancient. He’s immortal.”

The ballroom rose up in gasps again, rumbles of conversation spreading through the horrified guests. Damen held up his hand but was met with only the slightest hush before the talking continued again. He sent an exasperated signal to his gunmen, and another shot was fired into the air. Plaster streamed down from the ceiling, and silence fell again.

“How old do you think
I
am?” Damen asked now.

Crys drew in a shaky breath. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say twenty or so. But since, like you said yourself, I’m no fool, I’m going to go with about the same age as Markus.”

Damen let out a wretched little laugh. “Not quite. I’m much, much older than Markus.” Crys just stared at him, stunned, as if resigning herself to certain death. “So I’m afraid that’s one wrong answer from you.”

Every muscle in Farrell’s body grew tense. All the rage he’d felt toward Crys for revealing Markus’s secrets fell away as he ignited with vengeful energy from within. If Damen made one move to kill her, he was ready to close the distance between him and Crys in a heartbeat.

Instead, Damen only flicked his hand. The gunman released Crys, who staggered away from the podium.

“Crys!” Becca called out to her, and Crys ran across the dance floor to reach her side in moments. The sisters embraced, tears streaming down Becca’s cheeks while Crys seemed too shocked to weep. Jackie joined them, enfolding them both in her arms.

“It’s okay,” Crys said, stroking her sister’s hair. “I’m fine.”

“Let’s continue, shall we?” Damen boomed from the podium again.

As he gestured toward another gunman to find the next victim, Markus’s expression was rigid, eyes so furious that Farrell wondered if they might ignite.

“Enough, Damen!” Markus’s voice was commanding, loud enough for everyone in the ballroom to hear. He stepped past Farrell to the edge of the dance floor.

Damen looked over and found Markus’s gaze instantly. “Ah,” he cooed. “There you are.”

“Stop this.”

“Stop what? Ending little mortal lives that you and I both know are meaningless?”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what you’ve thought for some time now. Surprise.”

“The people here tonight don’t deserve this. All this fear and pain. They have nothing to do with you.”

“Fear and pain is what reminds them they’re alive. That they should actually use the small handful of years they have rather than waste them. You could say I’m doing them a service. Giving them a wakeup call.”

“You came here for me, not them. You want me to pay for what I helped the others do. So go ahead. Kill me.”

Farrell stared at Markus with horror.