A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(64)

“Don’t you normally?”

“Sure, but I don’t have to. You know? I’d prefer not to go blind just by walking around in broad daylight if I can help it.”

Lucas nodded. “Same with me. We’re hypersensitive now. We’ve evolved.” He grinned. “But those quick moments of discomfort are a small price to pay for the chance to see in the dead of night, right?”

There was no argument there. “Absolutely.”

“So you feel good?”

“I feel renewed.” There had to be a better word for it, but it was the best he could come up with. “And I’m stronger. I know I am. It was no effort at all to smash in that scumbag’s face.” As he said it, he realized he didn’t feel even a sliver of remorse about that unplanned violent act. Just the opposite, actually. “I liked it. I liked seeing his blood flow and hearing his nose break. I liked knowing I was the one who’d hurt him. Is that wrong?”

“Not at all. Bastard got what he deserved, I’d say.”

Their target paused and moved his black-eyed gaze through the crowd. He made a right at the next intersection to follow a woman who’d broken away from her group of friends.

“Looks like he’s chosen his date for the evening,” Lucas said under his breath.

They kept at a healthy distance so they wouldn’t be noticed.

“Connor used to do this with you?” Farrell asked.

Lucas nodded. “Only once, but we made a good team.”

“Did he have any problems with it?”

“Not that I noticed.”

Other than the coincidental timing, Farrell hadn’t been able to find any real proof that Connor’s suicide had been related in any way to his induction into the circle.

So it had to be the girlfriend. Mallory had come to the funeral, her eyes red and puffy. The rest of the family had shunned her, but not Farrell.

“This is all my fault,” she’d whispered. “I shouldn’t have made things so final with him. I just needed some space to think about everything. But he’d been so cruel to me lately. . . . I don’t know. I thought he wanted to break up.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Farrell managed to reply. “He made the choice. He could have asked for help.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

Farrell pushed the memory out of his mind and drew a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He lit one, his mind drifting now toward his younger brother. “Here’s another question for you. Ever heard of the initiation mark not working properly?”

“No. Why?”

Farrell fought to keep his expression neutral. “Just wondering,” he lied. “You never know if someone might be immune to Markus’s magic.”

Lucas shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”

“What would happen to them?”

“Good question. Maybe he’d try again? It would suck to miss out on the gift of staying healthy for the rest of your life.”

“Does the mark do anything else other than the health thing?”

“What do you mean?”

Would it keep someone from freaking out over witnessing executions four times a year? he thought, but didn’t say out loud. “I don’t know. Just making conversation. We’d better focus or we’re going to lose him.” The bald man and his potential victim turned the next corner. It took a minute for Farrell and Lucas to catch up, but when they turned onto the next street, all they could see was the woman, fiddling in her purse for her keys. She let herself into a townhome and closed the door behind her, safe and sound.

“Where did he go?” Farrell asked.

“Good question. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

They began to search, passing the woman’s house and peering down alleyways.

“There he is,” Lucas said, nodding up ahead. A shadow disappeared behind a building lit by a bright streetlamp. He picked up his pace.

Farrell jogged to keep up with him.

“What? Can the guy walk through walls?” Farrell asked, frustrated, when they found no one there.

“The hell? Where did he—?” Then Lucas grunted with pain as he staggered forward, dropping hard to the ground. He’d been struck, hard, right below his kidneys.

“Are you following me?” the man asked, his voice a low growl. He’d crept up behind them, unseen and unheard. “That’s rude.”

“We don’t want any trouble.” Farrell raised his hands, trying to appear as if he wasn’t a threat. He wanted to give Lucas enough time to pick himself up and get the syringe ready.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He clamped his hand around Farrell’s throat and slammed him against the wall. The man’s cold black eyes narrowed as his grip increased.

The world began to bleed away at the edges of Farrell’s sight.

Then Lucas came at him, the sharp needle on the ring aimed for the rapist’s neck. The man knocked his hand away and slammed his fist into Lucas’s face, letting go of Farrell.

Farrell slumped to the ground, wheezing. His ears rang, his lungs burned.

But he didn’t hesitate. Farrell got back up and attacked.

Together, he and Lucas fought, punching and kicking the rapist as a team until they finally got the advantage.