A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(16)

“All I know for sure is he started acting differently after Mallory broke up with him.”

“He took it hard when she left.”

“To say the least.” That was a short answer. The truth was, Farrell had heard Connor threatening his girlfriend of four years over the phone—telling her that if she didn’t change her mind and come back to him that he was going to find her, hurt her. Make her regret her choice.

His voice . . . it had been so cold and dark and obsessed that it had made Farrell’s blood turn to ice.

That hadn’t been like Connor. The last couple of months of his life, he’d started to withdraw from Farrell, from Adam. He’d started acting like he had a secret, one he’d protect at any cost. . . .

Was it that he’d become part of Markus’s circle?

“When does Markus want to meet with me?” Farrell asked.

“Soon. I’ll notify you.”

Farrell let out a slow, even breath. “Hopefully I’ll be available at short notice.”

Lucas grinned at Farrell’s flippant comment. “Even you know to jump when he says so. And I hope it goes without saying that you’ll tell no one about this.”

Farrell’s gaze moved to the audience of society members—some of the richest and most influential people in the city—all getting comfortable in their plush red-velvet seats and chatting politely to one another, as they did at the beginning of every meeting. Each one wore the same gold pin to show they belonged here. That they, too, had been chosen.

How many of them are also part of Markus’s inner circle? Farrell wondered.

“My lips are sealed,” he promised aloud.

Mind swirling, he returned to his seat.

“What was that all about?” his mother asked.

Farrell waved a hand. “Oh, you know Lucas and his girl problems. I told him he’s way too young to be considering Viagra. Hopefully he listened.”

“I will ignore your questionable attempt at humor.” Her red lips thinned. “Speaking of girls, a friend of mine has a daughter I’d like you to begin dating.”

“Really.” He raised an eyebrow. “My mother, the matchmaker.”

“Felicity Seaton is beautiful and poised, goes to an excellent school, and comes from an exemplary family.”

“She sounds so shiny that I’d need sunglasses to date her.”

“I’ve set up a dinner for the two of you at seven o’clock, Tuesday evening at Scaramouche.”

Before he could protest, the lights began to dim and the theater went silent. A spotlight shone down on the brocade curtains as they parted to reveal the figure of a man. Like all the men here, he wore a tailored tuxedo that perfectly fit his tall frame.

“Who is that?” Adam whispered to Farrell.

“Our illustrious leader, Markus King,” he whispered back.

Adam’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s our leader?”

“Uh-huh.”

Markus King, the leader and cofounder of the Hawkspear Society, an organization that had existed for sixty years. A man who stayed out of the public eye and who cherished his absolute privacy, trusting very few.

Those who saw him for the first time always had the same reaction: disbelief followed by complete awe. Farrell had formed his own expectations as a young initiate. He’d imagined a wise, old man who watched over his society and its members with sharp eyes and no sense of humor.

Or, perhaps, a senile, old man who muttered to himself, and whom no one wished to upset by asking him to step down from his place of power after six decades to make way for a newer, younger leader.

Farrell quickly learned that Markus King could not be summed up by the naive expectations of a sixteen-year-old mind.

Tonight, he regarded their enigmatic leader with bottomless curiosity about what their private meeting would entail.

“How old is he?” Adam asked, his voice hushed.

“No one knows for sure.”

Markus had bought this theater soon after he’d arrived in Toronto. In the 1950s, he closed it down, choosing not to reopen it to the general public. To anyone walking along the street, the theater would appear as nothing more than a sad old building. This was one of the reasons why it was accessed by the tunnels. If anyone noticed that two hundred men and women in tuxedos and evening gowns were entering an abandoned theater once every three months at midnight, there might be some difficult questions asked.

“I welcome you, brothers and sisters,” Markus began. The acoustics of the theater helped make his deep voice all the more majestic. “I welcome you, one and all, with open arms. Thank you for coming here tonight. Without you, I would not be able to share my knowledge and my miraculous gifts. Without you, there is no past and there is no future. Without you, I would be lost in a sea of enemies. Together we are strong. Together we can make a difference in this world today, tomorrow, and always.”

It was the credo of the society, which everyone repeated in unison: “Today, tomorrow, and always.”

In all the meetings he’d ever attended, Farrell had never paid as close attention to the standard greeting as he did now. This powerful man had chosen Farrell to join his inner circle—just as he’d chosen Connor. Before his suicide, Connor had kept this secret—even from his own brother, with whom he once shared everything. What did it mean?