A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(18)

“Tonight,” Markus said, walking a slow circle around him, “John Martino, forty-eight years old, appears before us. A man who has been in and out of prison since he was eighteen.”

“So you know who I am.” John eyed Markus with disdain, then glared at the two men who stood on either side of him like silent sentries. He turned back to Markus. “Who are you?”

Markus ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on his audience. “John is an executive in a very profitable industry—the illegal drug trade. Twenty dealers work under him. He supplies them with product, which they push on the streets to addicts and other victims of substance abuse. One of his recent shipments of ecstasy was laced with arsenic—”

“I had nothing to do with that!” John protested.

“—which caused the deaths of six people, including the daughter of one of our loyal members. After an investigation by the grieving father, her possession of the drug was linked to you, Mr. Martino. My loyal colleague asked that you be tried for your crimes here, tonight, so you will not harm anyone else in the future. Do you deny what you’ve done? Do you accept your guilt and your punishment? Only then can you be purged of the evil that taints your mortal soul.”

“Who are you?” John’s expression had grown even more wary. “You’re not the police. This isn’t a court of law.”

“The girl who died—the girl you murdered—had a bright future. She wanted to be a doctor, who would have made a difference in this world someday. She was only fifteen years old.”

“She was the one who swallowed the pill. She made her choice.”

“And you’ve made yours—over and over again.” Markus paused and then turned to address his members. “How many murders is this monster responsible for? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? And how many more will he be responsible for if we were to set him free without answering for his crimes?”

“Just give me the chance,” John snarled. “You’re next, you son of a bitch.”

“Pass your judgment,” Markus instructed the audience.

Silence fell over the theater.

A moment later, a man in the front row stood up. “Guilty,” he said.

Slowly, others stood and repeated the word. Another moment later, many more rose together, including Farrell and his parents, their voices rose in unison.

“Guilty.”

Markus glanced at Adam, who was watching all this with wide eyes. “And you, Adam? What is your verdict?”

Adam looked at John, really looked at him for a long searching moment. John stared back at him, as if trying to intimidate the kid. Then John threw his head back and laughed, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

“You’re just a little kid, aren’t you? What, your babysitter wasn’t available tonight?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Guilty,” he said.

“Great!” John was still laughing. “Guilty, guilty, guilty. How about I get a lawyer and sue all your asses for kidnapping me?”

Markus regarded the audience. “How can I protect the world from the darkness this murderer brings with him wherever he goes? The harm he dispenses with every selfish choice he makes? How shall John Martino be punished here tonight? What will cleanse him of the evil inside him that darkens this world wherever he goes?”

“Death,” the audience said in unison. Farrell felt the word leave his lips as it had at every meeting before.

This man before them was evil. Judgment had been passed by the Hawkspear Society.

And that judgment was final.

“What? What are you talking about?” John now struggled against the men who held him firmly in place. “Let me go!”

Markus approached him slowly, reaching beneath his jacket to pull out a golden dagger.

“I free you from this life of pain,” Markus preached to John. “I free you from this life of darkness. You can rest now. You will never harm anyone else ever again.”

“Wait, what is this? You can’t—!”

Markus thrust the dagger into the man’s chest. John gasped in pain and shock, then shrieked as Markus twisted the blade.

“Blood for blood, death for death,” Markus said, yanking the dagger from the man’s flesh.

“Blood for blood, death for death,” the society repeated.

John dropped to his knees, staring up at Markus. For a moment, it looked as if he were a wounded peasant kneeling before a conquering king, begging for mercy.

Then he fell to his side, blood welling next to him in a shallow crimson puddle.

Farrell felt it then, the same powerful sensation that overcame him four times a year after each execution.

Magic—Markus’s magic—strengthened by the spill of blood.

It charged the room like a whisper of electricity, raising the hair on Farrell’s arms and the back of his neck. It brought with it a sense of serenity, of righteousness. Of power.

“It is done,” Markus said solemnly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the blade.

Farrell’s gaze shot to Adam to see his reaction to witnessing a public execution with no prior warning. His brother’s face was unreadable, but he stood rigidly, fists clenched at his sides, his attention fixed on the dead body.

“Adam Grayson,” Markus said solemnly. “Will you accept the invitation to join my society as an official member, and in that capacity, will you agree to contribute heart, body, and mind to my mission to protect this world from evil? Will you keep our secrets and do all you can to serve the Hawkspear Society? Will you accept that the sacrifices made here are symbols of our focus on the greater good of this city, this country, and this world?”