A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(40)

“Really? I didn’t notice anything.”

“Yeah, he went from being a nice guy to being a total dick. Could it have been the circle? Did it do something to him?”

“Like what?” Lucas eyed him sideways. “Like make him want to kill himself? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. I’m still just trying to figure it all out.”

“Trust me, Farrell. Nobody wants your brother alive more than I do. I was his best friend. I didn’t see it coming, even when Mallory dumped him. And if I did, I damn well would have done whatever I could have to stop it.”

The words were there, the words Farrell needed to hear from Lucas. But his tone was off. Lucas spoke without any emotion, like he didn’t care one way or the other. Like he was paying lip service to shut Farrell up.

A horrible thought rose to the surface of Farrell’s mind. Did you have something to do with my brother’s death, Lucas?

“I think you and I could be friends, now that we’re about to have a lot more in common,” Lucas said. “Which is interesting, since I always thought you were a prick.”

“Ditto.” Farrell had no idea how to interpret this conversation, but he knew he didn’t want to push Lucas too far. It would be best to befriend him, to get to the real story of his brother’s final days. He needed to coax the truth—if there was any new truth to tell—out of the guy as smoothly as possible. “But I need more friends in my life. I’ve almost run out of people to braid my hair and talk about cute boys with.”

They both laughed, Farrell trying to sound as natural as possible, as they navigated the maze of tunnels. The hallways now had better lighting, but they were still much dimmer than the tunnels under the restaurant leading to Markus’s theater.

“Do all these tunnels connect?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Farrell glared at him for giving yet another nonanswer. “How about I ask you all these questions again after I’m in?”

In the faint light, he saw Lucas’s lips quirk up. “Good idea.”

They walked in silence for a while, Lucas leading the way as the tunnels got narrower, then wider, then narrower again with each turn they made. Finally, Farrell ventured to speak again. “Any advice when it comes to my meeting with His Majesty?”

“Sure. Be honest. Answer his questions with nothing but the exact truth. He’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I don’t know. I lie really well.”

“He’ll know. But you should also be honest about what you want. If you don’t want in—”

“I do,” Farrell interrupted before Lucas could finish his sentence. Failure was not an option. He’d come this far, and he refused to leave without being accepted into the circle. Every step he took was one his brother had also taken. One way or another, Farrell was determined to get to the truth.

Lucas shrugged. “Then I don’t see a problem.”

Farrell absently played with the gold society crest he’d pinned to the lapel of his blue shirt, beneath his leather jacket. It was incredible to know that the circle had existed for decades, yet he had never heard of it before Saturday night. “How long has he been considering me?”

“A year,” Lucas replied.

So as long as Connor has been gone. The thought made him grimace but also brought up another question. “So am I taking my brother’s place?”

“I thought so to begin with, but apparently not. Markus believes he sees something special in you.”

Farrell considered that. Special, huh? That would be news to his mother. “What’s in it for you? What do you get out of being part of the circle?”

“I get to serve Markus,” Lucas said, as if it were obvious.

“Is that it? Why not just serve at the Red Lobster, then? Way less blood and death to clean up there. More tips, too.”

Lucas’s gritted teeth glinted in the torchlight. “Keep walking, Grayson.”

They walked for what felt like a mile, passing flickering lights set into the ceiling every twenty feet. It was damp down there and as cold as winter—like walking through a meat locker. The floor was slippery, coated thinly by patches of ice.

Finally, they reached an iron spiral staircase, nearly identical to the one that led to the theater, except that this one was painted red instead of black.

“Up we go,” Lucas said.

With trepidation, Farrell eyed the stairs leading up into more darkness. “If I’d known this would be a major hike, I would have worn my Nikes.”

Up and up the staircase went, until the air grew warmer again. Finally, they reached a silver door that bore the Hawkspear crest.

Lucas knocked. Two quick knocks, four slow knocks: a different sequence from the one used at the theater. Farrell filed that bit of information in his head for future reference.

The door creaked open, and a man Farrell recognized from the society meetings peered out at them. He wasn’t sure of his name; he’d never really paid much attention to the particularities of society life before.

“We’re here,” Lucas said.

The man opened the door wider to allow them entry, and suddenly Farrell found himself out of the dark stairwell and inside a warm building that was, judging by the walk through the tunnels, at least a mile from the cathedral. It must be accessible by secret passageway that also connected to the theater and the restaurant, Farrell thought.