The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves) (29 page)

“Finished?” Angus asked. “Good. Should we continue, or do you need a quick nip of scotch to dull your pain?”

“You’re a serious douchebag, you know that?” Farrell growled.

“Oh yes. I know. Does that kind of convulsion happen all the time? Should I call my car insurance agent right now and upgrade my plan?”

“No. First time ever.”

That wasn’t normal. The marks on his arm should be healed if they’d been given to him by Markus. But Crys bit her tongue before she asked any questions she knew he wouldn’t answer.

But she was worried. Farrell’s sudden outburst of pain . . . it had to be due to something other than those marks. Something worse.

“Are we close?” Crys asked instead.

“Yeah, very close,” Farrell said, his voice shaky as he looked through the windshield. “Angus, park in the lot two blocks up so nobody spots us. I know a back way in.”

• • •

Farrell led them to a roped-off and boarded-up staircase that looked like it might lead down to a subway station. He removed four boards that seemed to be secured with what Crys could only guess were some kind of trick nails that he knew to look out for, and then he led them down the stairs.

Her limbs went numb as she realized where they were. “The society tunnels,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Oooh,” Angus said. “How exciting. I’ve heard stories but never seen them for myself.”

Farrell nodded grimly. “Of course it’s completely illegal for you two to come down with me this way without explicit permission, but my capacity for giving a damn about society rules is quickly
diminishing. Keep close to me. Less talking, more walking. I have the keys to the castle.”

“Divine. Lead the way, young man.”

Crys hated these cold, dank tunnels that alternated between narrow, suffocating, and pitch-black, and creepy, cavernous, and fluorescently lit. She had really hoped after her last time in here that she would never have to see them again.

Angus pulled out his phone.

“Don’t even think about taking pictures,” Farrell growled.

Angus cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He tucked the phone back into his jacket pocket.

Finally, they came to a winding metal staircase. They climbed to the top, where they faced an iron door covered in symbols that reminded Crys of the writing in the Codex. Hanging above it was a plaque that read: , , .

“Hawkspear motto,” Farrell said. “Catchy, right?”

Crys recognized it all: the tunnels, the staircase, the door. They were at the abandoned theater where the Hawkspear Society held its meetings.

Farrell pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. Carefully, he pushed it open a crack and peered inside.

“Let me go first,” Angus said, nudging Farrell out of the way.

“Why you?” Farrell said without any friendliness. “I’m the one who knows the way around here.”

“Perhaps. But I’m the one who has this.” He pulled out a gun from his jacket. The weapon was inlaid with red enamel and had the initials AB on the side in gold letters.

“Ugh, I hate guns,” Crys said. “But I guess I’m okay with that one. Just for today.”

“Goody,” Angus replied. “Any further arguments?”

“I suppose not,” Farrell said darkly. “Just be careful where you point that thing.”

Farrell crept closely behind Angus. Crys shifted her handbag to her other shoulder, feeling the weight of the dagger at the bottom, and followed Farrell.

They moved into the theater slowly, quietly, keeping to the walls and corners. Crys watched Angus lead the way with coolness and confidence.

The theater was completely empty, its lack of occupants making it seem more cavernous than opulent.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Crys whispered.

“I thought so,” Farrell replied.

Then an unbidden thought ripped through Crys’s mind, booming so loudly she was worried someone might hear it:

Don’t give up
.
This is only the auditorium, the tip of the iceberg. There are lots of hiding places in this theater where Becca might be.

She shook her head to try to clear it, succeeding only somewhat as the words kept ringing in her ears.

“We should check backstage,” she whispered.

Angus nodded. They moved closer to the stage, slipping through a door to the right of it.

The door led to a hallway. Also deserted.

“You’re too close to me,” Farrell growled at her. “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.”

She couldn’t risk an argument now, so she dropped back and put just a little more space between them.

“Should’ve stayed in the car,” he continued.

“You mean
you
should have? I guess you should have thought about that earlier.”

They’d reached a corner. Angus put up his hand to silence them. “Wait here, kids. I’ll do a quick sweep.”

He slipped around the corner while Crys and Farrell stood there in near silence, their shaky breathing the only sound.

Minutes passed. Crys wrung her hands. “How long do we wait?”

“Until now.” Farrell turned the corner and Crys followed, scanning the hallway for Angus or any other sign of life.

“Where did he go?”

Suddenly, Farrell grabbed Crys and clamped his hand down over her mouth. Crys tensed up and grabbed his arm as he dragged her into a room to their left. She was about to grab for the dagger when she heard footsteps.

She went very still. Farrell finally dropped his hand from her mouth.

Someone walked past the door, a masked man wearing all black. One of Damen’s gunmen from the ball.

A second man joined the first. They were checking rooms along the hallway.

Farrell nodded at a closet in the corner. They swiftly slipped inside of it, pulling the door closed just as one of the gunmen entered room. Crys could see him through the slats on the closet door.

They won’t find you. They’re not even looking for you. It’s all right, don’t worry. Everything’s fine. You should stay where you are for a few minutes. Wait for him to leave, and make sure he doesn’t come back.

The man scanned the room for several long seconds. Satisfied it was empty, he turned and exited to the hallway.

Farrell hissed out a long, shaky breath.

“Let’s give it a minute,” Crys whispered to him.

“Another minute this close to you might actually kill me,” Farrell gritted out.

She looked up at him. Even in the dim light filtering into the slatted door from the hallway, she could see that his forehead was damp, his jaw tight. His arms trembled.

Less than two hours ago he’d been trying to kill her, had to stab his own hand to a wall just to stop himself, and now she was pressed up against him in a tiny closet.

He doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to save you. He’s a hero, really. Fighting the marks, fighting Markus’s orders. For you, Crys. All for you. And you know why? Because he likes you. More than just a little.

What a ridiculous thought.

Or was it?

It seemed to make sense. If she meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t he have saved himself the pain and followed through on Markus’s orders?

Despite what he was desperate for everyone to believe, Farrell Grayson was a good person. She knew it now—she had the proof. He wasn’t a murderer.

He was a hero.

Yes, that’s right. And he wants you. Do you see the passion in his eyes? It’s all for you, all because of you. It was there when you danced together at the ball. It was there in Markus’s kitchen. And it’s there now. You know what you want to do, Crystal. Don’t be afraid. He wants it too.

Her head felt woozy, foggy, as if her mind were a separate entity sending her thoughts from some faraway space station.

“Farrell . . . I don’t know what’s happening here, but . . . but I have to do this . . .”

She felt his cool hands at her throat, trembling as they circled
her neck. “Me too . . . Crys, this is bad. I really, really don’t think I can stop myself from—”

She reached up and grabbed his face between her hands, rose up on the tips of her toes, and crushed her mouth against his.

His hands fell away from her throat. A second later, they were on her arms, gripping tight.

“What are you doing?” he managed to say.

“Kissing you.”

“Bad idea,” he whispered against her lips. “So very bad. You—you need to stop. We can’t do this.”

“Sure we can.”

Farrell pulled back and stared at her. His eyes were full of torment, but she watched as all that pain faded and was quickly replaced by desire.

He pressed her up against the closet wall and kissed her, his hands sliding down to her waist to pull her closer to him. Now chest to chest, she felt his heartbeat against hers.

She wanted more.

“Crys, you’re killing me,” he said, breaking away from her with a groan as she started to unbutton his shirt and slide her hands against his chest. “Like, literally. Please, stop. My resistance is . . . futile. Oh God.
Star Trek
quotes. Kill me now.”

Suddenly, with tortured effort, he pushed her hands away from him and escaped from the closet.

Slowly, the haze lifted from her mind, and she was struck full force by what had just happened.

She’d kissed Farrell Grayson. In the middle of a mission to rescue her sister.

And if he hadn’t stopped her . . .

“What the hell is wrong with me?” she mumbled.

Farrell swore under his breath. “Someone’s coming.”

Heart racing, she went to the exit and pressed herself up against the wall to the side of it.

“Crys?”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Mom?”

Julia Hatcher appeared at the entrance to the room, nervously looking left and right down the hallway. “I thought I heard you. My God, Crys, honey, what are you doing here?”

“
Me?
What are
you
doing here?”

“I had to come. Dr. Vega found a way to get ahold of me at the hotel, and he told me about Becca. I’m here for the same reason you are: to get her the hell away from Damen Winter.”

Crys hugged her mother. “Angus told me there was no way to reach you, but I’m so glad you’re here. Thank God for Vega’s research skills. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Crys . . . ,” Farrell said quietly, in a tone that set off an alarm bell in Crys’s heart. He was standing behind Julia, facing Crys as she hugged her.

“What?”

“Everything’s not going to be okay.”

She looked at him, frowning, and he nodded at her mother. Crys pulled back from the embrace and swept a quick glance over Julia. She was dressed all in black, her least favorite color.

She took another step back to see that in Julia’s right hand was a gun.

A gun with red enamel and stamped in gold with the initials AB.

Julia looked at them patiently. “It seems we’ll have to do this the hard way,” she said, then gestured at the doorway with the gun. “Come now. Damen wants a word with you both.”

MADDOX

F
or a long moment, all Maddox could do was stare at her.

“You,” he finally said. “You can’t really be here.”

“I
am
here.” Becca laughed then, and it sounded as stunned as Maddox felt.

“Just like before?”

“Um . . . not exactly.” She closed the distance between then and reached out and grabbed his hands. “This time I brought more than just my spirit.”

A strange warmth flooded him at her touch. Her soft skin, her delicate fingers . . . this
had
to be a dream. He needed Barnabas to slap him again, to wake him up to reality.

“How?” he asked, unwilling to let go of her just yet.

Becca’s smile faltered a bit. “Well, that’s the crazy part. I actually don’t remember how I got here. I do remember you giving me the magic to get back home . . .” She shook her head and frowned. “And that’s where things start to get seriously fuzzy.”

“What’s happening?” Al whispered, loud enough for all to hear, from his sack. “What am I missing?”

Startled, Becca let go of Maddox’s hands and took a shaky step
backward, as if noticing for the first time that they weren’t alone.

“This is Becca, you said?” Barnabas said, frowning as he came to Maddox’s side. Liana approached as well, keeping Al’s sack mostly closed. “That was the name of the spirit girl.”

Maddox’s heart began to overflow—it seemed this wasn’t a dream after all, but a wish come true.

“Yes, this is her,” Maddox said, unable to keep the smile from his face. “This is Becca Hatcher. Barnabas, you two have already met . . . in a way. Becca, this is our new friend Liana.”

“Very pleased to know you,” Liana said.

“So you both can see her,” Maddox said, half in disbelief.

“Clearly,” Barnabas confirmed.

Becca’s gaze was fixed fully upon the canvas sack. “Uh, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but . . . I heard another voice. Coming from”—she pointed—“there.”

Liana raised an eyebrow at the girl’s flustered expression. “That would be Al.”

Maddox touched her arm, drawing her gaze to his again. “Don’t be scared. Al—Alcander Verus is his full name, but he likes Al better—is . . . a severed head. I kind of used my magic to bring him back to life.”

“And will reunite me with my body very soon!” Al piped up from his hiding place. “Delightful to meet you, young lady!”

Becca’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap.”

Maddox frowned, uncertain about what that meant. “Erm, yes. Exactly.”

Barnabas’s mouth was set in a straight, skeptical line. He swept an appraising gaze over Becca. “So she says she doesn’t remember how she got here?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Becca said with a small, nervous
laugh. “You don’t have to talk to Maddox like I’m not here. It’s good to see you again, Barnabas. Sorry—learning about, uh,
Al
has me a bit frazzled.”

“Completely understandable,” Al allowed. “It is rather incredible, isn’t it?”

“To say the least,” she agreed in little more than a squeak.

“Pardon my skepticism, Becca,” Barnabas said, “but it’s been a most difficult day. We just barely escaped with our lives from Valoria and her army of assassins.”

“What?” she gasped, then turned to Maddox. “Are you guys okay?”

Are you guise o-kay.
Maddox had nearly forgotten Becca’s strange vocabulary, but he found he still understood her meaning.

“Yes, indeed,” he assured her. “O-kay.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for that unexpected blast of air magic,” Barnabas said suspiciously.

All Maddox could do was stare at Becca, still stunned that she was here, standing before him, as solid and real as anyone he’d ever met.

To be reunited with this girl—the one who visited only briefly before she was sent back to her world, but about whom he hadn’t been able to stop thinking ever since—was the happiest and most surprising moment in his entire life.

And yet, he knew it meant something had gone wrong. Something very important.

“Becca, what else do you remember?” Maddox asked urgently. “Why are you here?
How
are you here?”

A shadow crossed her expression, and she furrowed her brow. “I—I remember the book. The book Valoria wanted, which she used to open the gateway. It’s in my world because you threw it
through the gateway.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Kind of ironic, right?”

Maddox gasped. He very clearly remembered the moment he threw the book through the gateway just before it closed. He couldn’t believe he’d been the one to send it to Becca’s world.

“I—I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“What book are you talking about?” Liana asked.

“The Book of the Immortals,” Maddox said shakily. “It’s in Becca’s world.”

“The Book of the—?” Liana shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

Barnabas eyed the young witch. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it in further detail later.”

She met his gaze and nodded slowly. “I look forward to it.”

“The other day, I touched the book,” Becca continued. “The first time I did that, it sent my spirit here. But the second time . . . I saw you, Barnabas, and Camilla at Valoria’s palace.” Her expression was strained. She bit her bottom lip, making Maddox think she was about to arrive at something crucial, but then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s all I remember right now.”

“It’s . . .
o-kay
,” he said, using her word again and hoping he’d done so correctly. Becca smiled at him. “I’m just thankful that you’re safe and that your path quickly crossed with ours.”

“Is that what’s happened here?” Barnabas asked, this time speaking directly to Becca. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it, that in this entire kingdom, on the day you magically returned to Mytica—body and spirit combined—we were traveling the same route at the same time?”

Becca scowled at him. “I don’t know what to tell you, Barnabas. I’m just as confused as you are. I just figure it must be like last
time—I, like,
honed
in
on Maddox’s magic, and it led me to him.”

“How positively romantic.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Al spoke up. “Young love always finds a way.”

Maddox shot Barnabas a dark look. “You don’t believe a word Becca says, do you?”

Barnabas’s face remained stony. “Frankly, I don’t believe that
this
Becca is the same Becca whose spirit you remember so clearly. She could be a witch, perhaps the witch who sent that gust of wind into the village, and maybe now she’s using the same air magic to look like someone you think you know.”

“A common witch wouldn’t be able to summon air magic strong enough to change her appearance so drastically that she’d be able to fool someone up close,” Al commented. “This is a fact.”

“You’re wrong,” Maddox said bluntly, ignoring Al. “Besides, I’m the one who could see Becca when she was here last. I’m the only one who knows what she looks like.”

Why was Barnabas being so combative? This was the best thing that had happened to Maddox in . . . well, ever.

But was it possibly the worst thing as well? Arguing with Barnabas now didn’t make him any less excited to see Becca, but it did make him see a simple, strange truth: Becca Hatcher shouldn’t be here. Not again, not like this. She was from an entirely different world—a different time altogether, perhaps—and all she’d wanted last time was to go home to her family. Why, after all that, would she return? And in such a . . .
complete
state?

She wouldn’t.

Well, not unless she had a very good reason.

The gateway magic that allowed her to pass through these different worlds allegedly did strange things to time and space—and memory, it would seem. He had no idea how long she’d even been
back in her world. For him, it had only been a fortnight. For her, it could have been anywhere from two seconds to two hundred years.

But, aside from the clothing she wore, she looked exactly the same today as she did that fortnight ago. When she’d first been to Mytica, she’d worn blue trousers and a soft tunic the color of a rose. This silky black . . . garment—he truly couldn’t place it in the same category as any gown he’d ever seen before—was incredibly, shockingly revealing.

But not necessarily in a bad way.

“I hate to be the one to mention this,” Maddox said, clearing his throat nervously, “but I believe something may have happened during your travels. It seems you are in your . . . undergarments.”

Becca winced, frowned in embarrassment, and looked down at herself. Instantly her serious expression faded, and she laughed. “This is a dress, silly! And a pretty fancy one for me. I definitely prefer jeans.”

Jeans.
Jeans.
Perhaps that was the word for the style of tunic she’d worn last time?

“Oh, of course,” he said, trying to hide his embarrassment. “It
is
pretty. But you will definitely need different clothing now that you—both your spirit
and
your body—are here.”

“Wonderful,” Barnabas said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go find a dressmaker. We’ve nothing important to do at the moment, after all.”

“What of continuing our journey to visit the southern goddess?” asked Al.

Barnabas sighed with frustration. “Shut up, Al.”

Al said something under his breath that Maddox didn’t catch, but it didn’t sound friendly.

Becca looked at Maddox, her previously happy expression now
only a memory. “Last time I was here, Barnabas didn’t hate me. Or at least that’s what I thought.”

“I don’t hate you now either,” Barnabas said. “But do consider me extremely skeptical about the circumstances under which we met today.”

“Of course you’re skeptical,” Maddox growled, annoyed at Barnabas’s tone. “When are you not? But whether you like it or not, she’s coming with us.”

“By all means. She’ll be your responsibility.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Well, wasn’t that a riveting debate between father and son?” Liana said good-naturedly. “Now that that’s all settled, I’d like to volunteer my services to you, Becca, in helping you find some new clothing. Maddox is right: It would be best for you to fit in a little better around here.” Becca smiled gratefully, and then Liana turned to Barnabas. “It won’t take long. In fact, while we’re doing that, you can find us some horses and a wagon, and then we’ll meet up.”

Barnabas grumbled but didn’t argue, and Maddox felt just as grateful to Liana as Becca seemed to be.

They continued on, swiftly reaching the next village to the south. At the edge of the forest, Barnabas disappeared to search for means of transportation. Liana planned to go to the city center to find Becca a new gown.

“I’d take you with me,” Liana said to Becca. “It would be lovely to learn more about you, after all . . . but I do worry about the reaction you’ll get in that . . . rather daring ensemble.”

Becca laughed. “I understand completely. Thank you for doing this, Liana. It’s very nice of you.”

Liana nodded and set off in the opposite direction that Barnabas had.

Maddox remained behind with Becca. Alcander stayed too, so that Liana could have full use of her arms at the dressmaker’s.

Maddox held the sack beneath his arm, keeping it open so that Al could breathe easily, as he stared at Becca.

“What is it?” Becca said, twisting a piece of her hair. “You’re making me more nervous than I already am!”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I know.” She furrowed her brow. “Me neither. I hate that I can’t remember what happened. It’s like when there’s a word on the tip of your tongue but you just can’t think of it, no matter how hard you try. It’s there—the memory, the reason I’m here—and I know it’s really important, but I . . . it’s just not coming to me.”

A word on the tip of your tongue.
Maddox quite liked that strange expression.

“Was that the way it was last time? When you—your spirit—first arrived here in Mytica?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, when I was all of a sudden in the garden at that lord’s house—where I met you—I was
seriously
freaked out. And I knew exactly why. One second I was in my family’s bookstore and the next I was here, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was the book that did it.”

“
Seriously . . . freaked . . . out?
” said Al. “She speaks in coded riddles! Are you able to decipher them, Maddox?”

“I understand her meaning, yes.”

“Loosen up this sack a bit more, young man. I want to see this creature with my own eyes.”

Maddox shrugged and looked to Becca. “Would that be . . .
o-kay
with you?”

She nodded.

Maddox folded the edge of the canvas sack down so that Al was fully exposed from the mouth up.

Becca’s face paled. “Um, hi there.”

His eyes widened. “Oh yes. That’s better. She
is
beautiful.”

“Very,” Maddox agreed, then felt a bolt of heat reach his cheeks.

They’d been through so much together. Why did he revert to being so bashful around her?

But it seemed that Becca either didn’t notice the embarrassing way he was acting or didn’t care. Instead, she just kept staring at Al and then at Maddox. “Wow. Maddox, I still can’t believe you did
this
with your magic.”

“Well, don’t say too much about it to Barnabas,” he said. She looked at him curiously. “He’s absolutely certain that if I do something like this again, my soul will go dark. I’m not sure he’s right, but I have no way to know if he’s wrong.”

“Well, he’s given his blessing for you to work your magic at least one more time,” Al said. “And then, once you’ve reunited me with my body and made me whole, you will never delve into such dark magic again.”

“You really think you can do something like that?” Becca asked with surprise.

“He can and he will!” Al replied before Maddox had a chance to sidestep the question. After all, Maddox still didn’t know if he could, let alone whether he should, and the guilt was eating at him.

Al had helped them find the princess. It hadn’t been his fault that Cassia chose to ruin everything with her unreasonable demands. Whether or not Al would be of further help in defeating Valoria, Maddox felt as if the scribe had already fulfilled his end of the bargain.