A Book of Spirits and Thieves (22 page)

It was the golden boy, the gorgeous blond guy she’d seen on the university campus, the one who’d given her directions to Dr. Vega’s office. He turned his dreamy blue eyes on her and the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile.

“Hello again,” he said as he slid the book back into place on the shelf.

“Do you live here, too?”

“Yes, I do.”

Her father frowned with confusion, his gaze moving to Golden Boy. “You’ve already met?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Please, Daniel, introduce us.”

“Crys . . . I’d like you to meet Markus King. Markus, this is my daughter, Crystal Hatcher.”

Golden Boy walked toward her, reaching out his hand. “A pleasure, Crystal.”

She didn’t move to shake his hand, all she could do was stare. “Is this some kind of joke?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Joke?”

“You can’t be Markus King. Not
the
Markus King, anyway. You must be his, I don’t know, grandson? Great-grandson?” She turned to her father. “What’s going on here?”

He shook his head. “This is Markus King, Crissy.”

Crys turned to once again regard the guy, who looked like any college kid might. A college kid who also happened to moonlight as a male model, that is. “You’re, like, twenty years old.”

“I do appear to be that age,” Markus agreed.

What was that supposed to mean?

This did not compute, and a sick, twisting sensation in her gut made her question her current hold on reality. She’d expected the leader of the Hawkspear Society, who had a rich history that included an intense conflict between her mother and aunt, not to mention with Dr. Vega, to be a senior citizen by now.

“You expected someone ancient,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You were right to expect that.”

In seconds, her mouth had become as dry as a desert. “How is this possible?”

Golden Boy nodded at her father. “You have permission to tell her. I think she’d have an easier time understanding if it came from you.”

Her father nodded. There was absolutely nothing in his expression that made Crys think he was fooling around, playing some sort of epically unfunny practical joke on her. “I know that what I’m about to say will sound unbelievable to you, possibly even crazy, but . . . Markus is . . . immortal.” He took a breath and studied her stunned reaction before continuing. “He is ancient and wise and powerful. He will never age, because he is a god.”

And he said all this as if it made total sense.

Crys stared at him, unblinking. Her mind had gone utterly blank except for his words bouncing around inside her head as if they were in a pinball machine.

“He’s an immortal . . . god,” she repeated flatly, her throat nearly too tight to speak.

“Yes.” He gazed at Markus with a reverent look in his eyes that told Crys he believed all this without question.

“This is . . .” Crys fought to find her voice. “I—I don’t even know what to say. This was
not
what I was expecting.”

Markus laughed, and the sound shivered down her spine. “And what were your expectations for today, Ms. Hatcher?”

She forced herself to tear her gaze from her father to look at Golden Boy instead. He watched her with his head cocked, as if curious for her reaction. “Only that I’d be meeting a super old guy who’d probably smell like cough medicine.”

Her father’s jaw tensed. “Crystal, you mustn’t be so disrespectful.”

The corner of Markus’s mouth curved into a small smile. “It’s all right, Daniel. I find her plain way of speaking to be rather refreshing. Now, if you’d please leave your daughter and me for a few moments in privacy, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

Her father hesitated, but only for a short moment. “As you wish.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

And Crys found herself all alone with an immortal god.

“Ms. Hatcher,” Markus said, “please sit down with me. There’s much I need to ask you if I’m to consider you for membership.”

He indicated a small lounge area in the center of the room, next to a large ebony desk and directly under the skylight in the high ceiling. What was left of the natural light outside helped brighten the shadows that threatened to reach into every corner as the sun began to set.

Crys silently took a seat on a brocade chair and gripped the arms. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Markus since her father left the room, still stunned by the thought that this was the leader of the Hawkspear Society. His clothing was nothing remarkable; he wore black pants and a white button-down.

He sat down across from her. “You’re having a difficult time accepting your father’s words, aren’t you?”

She knew she had a lousy poker face. She’d have to snap out of her stunned fog and start really playing this game if she were to have any chance of winning.

“You mean the thing about how you’re an immortal god? Um . . . yeah, you could say I’m a little stunned. I’ve never met anyone like . . .” She cleared her throat, finding it tightening by the second. “. . . Like you.”

“I’m sure you have many questions, just as I have questions for you. I’d like to go first, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, trying to keep her stare steady.

“How did you learn about the Hawkspear Society?”

Crys was a terrible liar, so it was her policy to go with the truth whenever possible. Plus, despite Markus’s innocent, youthful appearance, there was something in his intense, wizened gaze that hinted that he was a pro at detecting cons.

“I overheard my mother and aunt on the phone talking about Dad and why he left us. I’d never known the truth before. Or anything about their separation, really.”

“Your mother and your aunt. Julia and . . . Jackie Kendall.”

“Yes.” Of course he’d know their names. He probably knew everything about his members’ families.

“And once you overheard this conversation, you immediately decided you wanted to join a society you knew nothing about?”

“Well, no. What I originally wanted was to have a relationship with my father again. But the more I learned about your society, the more interested I became in it.”

“What exactly did Daniel tell you about Hawkspear?” His tone was even and pleasant, but Crys was not about to mistake this
conversation for a friendly chat over tea and cookies. She knew that Markus was only gently grilling her to determine if she was worthy.

She needed to prove herself worthy. She needed to know more about the Bronze Codex, and to do that, she needed to gain Markus’s trust.

“He didn’t tell me much,” she admitted. “He even made me wear a blindfold on the way here. But I do know he’s committed to you. He chose this society over his family. My father never would have made a decision like that lightly. He believes in you. He believes in your mission. And if my father believes in you, then I know I can, too.”

He sat there, silently assessing her. His narrow-eyed gaze moved over her slowly. “You look quite a bit like Daniel, especially your eyes. But I see a great deal of Julia in you, too. Both your appearance and your demeanor. She and her sister always used humor to help lighten difficult discussions.”

This comment surprised her. “You’ve met my mother and Jackie?”

“Yes. I am quite acquainted with them both. They were once two of my most valued members.”

Time skidded to a halt, and Crys had to clutch the sides of her armchair to steady herself in the moment.

She must have heard him wrong.

“I take it that this is news to you.” A smile pulled at Markus’s lips again as he regarded her unshielded shock. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re saying that my mother and . . . and Jackie . . . were part of your society,” Crys managed to repeat, her voice strained.

“They certainly were. Have they told you anything about your family history, Ms. Hatcher? Anything at all?”

Any confidence she’d walked into this room with was now
slipping through her grasp. She tried very hard to hold on to the small measure of composure she had left.

“I guess they haven’t,” she admitted quietly. “I know the bookshop has been in the family for a long time.”

“Yes. Your great-grandfather, Jonathan Kendall, purchased the building as a gift for his wife, Rebecca. She adored books, so she turned it into a bookshop. And now it’s all that remains of the Kendall fortune.”

“Yes, that’s pretty much the only story I know about him.”

“So I take it that you’re not aware that Jonathan Kendall also cofounded the Hawkspear Society with me.”

She tried to keep the fresh wash of shock off her face but knew she’d failed. “No, can’t say that’s ever come up at the family dinner table.”

“When I first came to Toronto, Jonathan invited me to stay with his family, for as long as I liked. Eventually he confided in me that he’d had a powerful vision. Of me. Before I’d arrived and before we’d ever met. He told me he’d known for some time that we were destined to start an organization together, that we’d be dedicated to protecting the citizens of this city from those who’d want to harm them. And so the Hawkspear Society came into being. Generations later, your mother—when she was still a Kendall—and your aunt were inducted. Julia was the one who nominated Daniel for membership after they met and fell in love. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Crys had to take a moment to absorb this. It sounded like a piece of fantasy fiction, not the history of her own family. “But my mother and Jackie aren’t members anymore.”

“No. Unfortunately, we had a . . . falling-out. They chose to believe a series of unforgiveable lies about me. Once that trust
between us had been lost, it couldn’t be regained, so I released them from their ties to the society. Years later, Daniel returned of his own free will. He knew he was needed, and he wanted to continue to help with our mission.”

Why wouldn’t her mother have told her something as important as this? Did she think Crys wouldn’t ever find out the truth?

If this
was
the truth.

Whatever lies Jackie and Julia had believed about Markus had turned their grandfather’s closest ally into a monster in their eyes.

Appearance-wise, at least, Markus King was anything but a monster.

“Did my mother and Jackie believe you’re a god, too?”

“They did,” he replied without hesitation. “But I can tell that you don’t. It’s understandable, since you’ve seen no proof. I do have abilities that regular people don’t possess. Would you like to see?”

She watched him in wary silence before finally nodding.

He held out his hand, and with a flick of the wrist, a bouquet of flames burst forth on his palm, rising up a foot, casting sparkling light into his dark blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit too showy for my tastes. Any Las Vegas magician could do the same with the proper preparation.”

Crys struggled to catch her breath. “So what else can you do?” she said, trying not to sound like that was the strangest, most captivating thing she’d ever seen.

He studied her carefully. “You’ve cut your finger.”

She looked down at the bandage on her index finger. “It’s just a paper cut. Nothing major.”

He drew closer, crouching down in front of her. His demeanor was so calm that it helped to relax Crys a little, too. She didn’t
cringe away from him as he gently pulled the bandage off her finger and inspected the sore red wound beneath.

“I can help with this,” he said, closing his grip around her finger.

She felt heat dance across her skin, penetrating deeper and deeper into her flesh. A strange, soft glow seemed to emanate from his hand. After a few more seconds, the sensation became unpleasant, but it couldn’t be described as pain.

“There,” he said, releasing her. “That’s not something a magician can do.”

She stared down in shock to see that her paper cut was gone, and that the previously wounded skin was unblemished.

No wonder his members believed he was a god.

“I’m going to need a moment to pick up my jaw off the floor,” she allowed herself to admit.

“Of course.” He returned to his seat opposite her, regarding her now with renewed amusement.

He’d healed her. No tricks involved, no smoke and mirrors.
Healed her
like some kind of miracle.

Crys had never been one to believe in the supernatural, but when she saw it with her own two eyes . . .

Was there another explanation? To admit that he might be a god . . . it was too much to wrap her head around in ten minutes or less. Ten
years
might not be enough time.

And there were so many questions that now bubbled up in her throat, when before she’d been stunned silent. This was a man who kept the location of his home a secret. She’d think the same sort of person—god, or
whatever
—wouldn’t be one to simply stroll out in public.

“Why were you at the university that day?” she asked.

“Simply because I take classes there.” When she raised her eyebrows at him, his smile widened. “Even immortals have healthy curiosities—not to mention many long days to fill. It was my pleasure to help you find your way to Dr. Vega’s office.”

“You already know him.”

“Yes. And he knows me. Though I don’t think he’s aware that I’m a student in one of his classes. He doesn’t pay much attention to his pupils.”

Dr. Vega had accused Markus of murdering his father. But that wasn’t exactly something she could blurt out right now. Still, the thought unsettled her deeply.

Would her father leave her alone in the company of a murderer?

“When you met with him, did he tell you what you wanted to know about the Bronze Codex?” Markus asked.

Crys froze.

He asked it as if it were a question, but his tone was more like a statement. He knew. Of course he knew. He seemed to know absolutely everything.

Could he hear her heart pounding now, as desperately as a trapped animal’s?

He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Dr. Vega is a paranoid and vain little man who is desperately in love with your aunt. I feel sorry for him sometimes, how seriously he takes everything.”

“He . . . he seems to mean well.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does.” Markus’s gaze remained steady on her. “I know Jackie Kendall has recently acquired the Codex. I also know that you and your mother are quite close with your aunt, despite the fact that her main residence is in England now. Do you know where the Codex is?”