A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(28)

Farrell didn’t bother getting dressed. Wearing only his loose black pajama bottoms tied with a drawstring at his waist, he left his room barefoot and headed for Adam’s. Ignoring his throbbing head, he knocked on his brother’s door.

“Who is it?” Adam asked sullenly.

“Me. Can I come in?”

“No.”

Farrell pushed open the door. “Thanks so much. Good morning, sunshine.”

“I said no.”

He shrugged. “I’m a rebel.”

Adam sat in a chair by the window on the other side of the expansive room, which was decorated in the style of the rest of the Grayson estate—expensive and to their mother’s tastes, via her favorite interior designer. Only a couple of rock band posters taped to the gold-and-bronze designer wallpaper claimed the space as Adam’s.

“So what’s the problem?” Farrell asked, taking a seat on the edge of Adam’s messy king-sized bed.

“I don’t know.” Adam raked his hand through his light brown hair. Farrell’s was several shades darker and always a mess—luckily, it was a look that was currently in fashion.

In last year’s photo spread in the FocusToronto magazine, Adam had been referred to as the “angel” of the Grayson family because of his innocent, boyish looks and polite demeanor. Connor had been the “gifted artist.” Farrell hadn’t been referred to as anything except “the middle child” of one of the richest men in Toronto. And this was the publication that had removed his birthmark without question or consultation.

Asses.

“Come on,” Farrell prodded when Adam fell silent. “Talk to me. Something’s up.”

“I can’t stop thinking about when Markus stabbed that guy. I don’t want Dad to know I’m still messed up because of it, but . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“‘That guy’ was a murderer,” Farrell reasoned. “A drug lord. Who knows how many people he would have killed if he hadn’t been eliminated?”

“Okay. Maybe that’s true, but it’s just . . .” Adam hissed out a breath. “Why not call the cops? Give him a real trial? Life in prison?”

“That’s not how the society works,” Farrell explained calmly. “Everything has a reason, kid. Trust me on that. How’s that arm of yours feeling today?”

“Sore.” Adam ran his fingers over his forearm, frowning hard. “What was that symbol he carved into me? What does it mean? What does it do?”

Farrell spread his hands. “It’s protection—it keeps us from getting sick. No cancer, no diabetes, no nasty debilitating diseases. It’s his gift to us, exactly what he told you.”

“Who is he? I mean, what is he, that he can do something like that?”

They weren’t supposed to discuss any of this outside society meetings, but Farrell felt that he had to reassure Adam that everything was okay. “You don’t have to worry about any of this, Adam. Markus is what he is.”

“Which is? What? A wizard?”

“I don’t think he went to Hogwarts, no.”

“I can’t believe you’re joking around about this.”

Farrell sighed, then sat down on the edge of Adam’s bed. “Look. I don’t know for sure what’s myth and what’s real, but the story goes that the original cofounder of the society once had a dream about a god of death. He took the dream as a prophecy and started hunting down murderers and other bad people and going all vigilante justice on their asses. Then he met Markus, the very same god he had dreamed about. They partnered up, started the society as a more organized venture, and recruited members—rich ones, since they both knew that money talks when it comes to trying to make a difference in the world.”

Adam stared at him as if he were a complete stranger. “You’re saying that Markus King is a god.”

“I don’t know. You’ve seen him. You’ve seen what he can do. . . . Don’t you think it just might be possible?”

“I don’t know what I think right now. How are you okay with all this, like it’s no big deal? You’re the one who’s always asking questions about everything. Why is this different?”

Farrell shifted his bare feet uncomfortably. Was he okay with it? Yeah . . . he was. He’d made his peace with what happened at the meetings because he believed in Markus’s mission—to protect the world from evil.

But he’d had three years to come to accept it as something right and good. Adam had barely had a weekend.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “I promise you will.”

“I don’t want to get used to seeing people killed right in front of me, no matter who does the killing, or why.”

Farrell tried to stay calm, but the thought that his kid brother was having a meltdown over this troubled him deeply. This could cause serious problems, not only for Adam personally, but also for the Graysons as a family.

“I get that you’re feeling uneasy,” Farrell said, forcing himself to sound calm. “I sort of felt similarly after my first meeting. But you need to hear what I’m saying to you. Are you listening?”

Adam turned his pale face to Farrell. “Yes.”

“You agreed. When Markus gave you the choice to stay or go, you chose to stay. You got to the point of no return, and you went beyond it, kid.”