A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(42)

He hadn’t even realized it was the truth until he spoke it out loud. He felt as if he’d just purged something dark and cold inside him by giving it a voice.

Markus regarded him silently. “Do you feel conflicted in any way about how I choose to deal with my prisoners?”

Farrell remembered his argument with Adam about how being judge, jury, and executioner of criminals wasn’t any less evil than the crimes those prisoners were accused of.

Of course Farrell had had his doubts in the beginning, but he’d come to accept that there was no other way. Markus’s mission, if somewhat extreme, was important to the world.

Four executions a year wasn’t that many. And they were symbolic. They meant something. They gave the society the motivation to go out and do good for the world around them whenever possible.

“I don’t necessarily enjoy witnessing those people die,” Farrell said, “but I know it’s important and necessary, and I’m honored that I’ve been given the chance to be a part of it.”

Lucas said Markus could sense a liar, so Farrell had not even tried to speak untruthfully. He had no idea what Markus could be thinking right now, or how Markus was judging him.

Was he saying the right things?

When Lucas first told him about the circle, he hadn’t been absolutely certain he wanted any part of it. He’d mostly just considered it as a means to trace Connor during his last days, taking his last steps. But being here, face-to-face with a man who emanated waves of power from anywhere he was, Farrell realized this venture was more than just an investigation into his brother’s suicide. He actually wanted this for himself. He needed this.

His mother thought he was nothing, especially compared with the perfect genius Connor was or the full-of-potential angel Adam was. But Farrell was not nothing, and this proved it in black and white.

This was his destiny.

“I have no reason to think you’ll ever amount to anything of note. Therefore, I expect very little from you.”

One day, he’d force Isabelle Grayson to eat every last one of her words, as if they were ingredients in a rancid soufflé.

“Do you have questions for me?” Markus asked.

Perhaps he should have just said no, but Farrell couldn’t resist the opportunity to gather more information.

“How many are in your circle?” he asked.

“It would be six, including you. They become my eyes and ears in the world beyond these walls. I need those I trust without question to assist me.”

“Are there always six?”

“Now, yes,” Markus said. “At one time, years ago, there were eight, but two chose to leave the society and return to their regular lives. I require quite a lot of dedication from society members, and even more from those in my circle of trust, but neither needs to be a lifelong commitment, unless one chooses it to be so. One can always leave if they wish.”

Farrell considered this. It was a strange relief, knowing that the commitment to the society wasn’t forever if one chose a different path. “So you trusted my brother.”

Another nod. “I did.”

His heart ached at remembering Connor, at walking in his older brother’s footsteps. “How long was he part of your circle?”

“Only a few months, I’m afraid.”

Farrell cast away the memory of his brother’s bedsheets, covered in blood from the cuts on his wrists. “And what does your trusted circle do for you that the other society members do not?”

Markus folded his hands on the desktop. “Their most important task is to search the city for specific criminals to be tried at our meetings. These searches can sometimes take quite a while, as the evil ones among us prefer to hide in the shadows, away from the glare of judgment.” Markus paused, as if giving Farrell time to consider the gravity of what he’d just said. “And of course my circle also completes various other tasks and errands for me when required.”

He didn’t go into further detail, but Farrell got the impression that he shouldn’t ask any more questions, and that he’d learned enough for today. If he were to join the circle, he’d need to capture criminals and bring them to the theater, knowing fully that he’d be leading them to their deaths. He would be responsible for claiming lives so that the society could grow stronger in their efforts to watch over the city—the world—to keep it safe from evil.

At the thought, he felt a rush of power similar to what he felt every time Markus spilled blood on the stage.

“Are you really a god of death like they say you are?” Farrell asked under his breath before he realized what he’d said. He half hoped that Markus didn’t hear him.

“I am,” Markus replied plainly and without hesitation.

Farrell’s eyes snapped to his. He hadn’t expected an answer from the mysterious man, let alone a perfectly clear and simple one, but there it was: confirmation that Markus was so much more than a secret society leader with a few magic tricks up his sleeves.

“Knowing this to be true, will you accept your position as a trusted member of my circle?” Markus asked. “And will you pledge to do whatever I ask of you, whenever I ask it?”

“I will.” The words left his mouth before he realized it, an echo of his original commitment to the society.

“Good. Your agreement means that you will also accept a generous gift from me, one that will aid you in your service.”