A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(73)

She braced herself, half expecting him to finally unburden himself and tell her everything. “What?”

“This.” He pulled something out of the glove compartment. It was a long black piece of cloth.

“Is that a blindfold?” she asked uneasily.

He nodded. “You can’t see where I’m taking you, and you can’t know the route.”

“Why not?”

He let out a long sigh. “Please, Crissy, just do as I ask. Don’t argue or the meeting is canceled.”

She regarded the blindfold with apprehension and considered her options. But nothing other than doing as he asked came to mind.

“Fine,” she said. She took off her glasses, slipped them into her bag, and then put on the blindfold, tying it into a knot at the back of her head.

The world went dark all around her.

“This is all very cloak-and-dagger,” she said, trying to sound natural, as if putting on a blindfold to meet someone like Markus King was totally routine for her.

He snorted softly. “If I’d known years ago that all it would take to get you to behave was to tell you that you might be able to join a secret society . . .”

“I really don’t like the word behave. A lot of rules were meant to be broken.” Crys bit her bottom lip. “Aren’t you concerned that someone will notice that you’re driving around with a blindfolded girl in your front seat?”

“Not particularly.” His voice was now edged with amusement. “These windows are tinted.”

After about fifteen minutes, the car pulled to a stop. She heard her father get out of the driver’s side and come around to the passenger side to help her out.

“This way,” he said. He guided her over a hard surface and up ten steps. A door creaked opened and they went through it.

The door clicked shut.

“Through here.” Taking her elbow, he directed her twenty paces forward, opened and closed another door, and then came to a stop. “You can remove the blindfold now.”

Crys didn’t hesitate. She pulled the material off her eyes and blinked as she took in her surroundings, blurry until she put on her glasses. They’d entered a large room, with cherry wood paneling and antique furniture. Gorgeous oil landscapes graced the walls and were, she assumed, all original and more than a century old, like something she’d find hanging in the AGO. The rugs were embroidered with intricate detail. A crystal chandelier hung from the high, ornately molded ceiling.

The room struck her as one she might see in a landmark museum like Casa Loma, roped off and untouchable as tourists walked through it.

“This is his home, isn’t it?” she asked.

“It is. He’ll meet you in the library, where he does most of his work. This way.”

Crys followed him through the door on the far side of the room, which led to a hallway. They went down a flight of stairs and then along another corridor. Finally, they entered a huge, lofted room with books displayed floor-to-ceiling and sliding ladders to reach the volumes on the uppermost shelves. The room smelled like leather, smoke, and roses.

There was someone leaning against the shelf to her left, reading a book, near a multipaned window that looked out toward an expansive backyard with a large marble pool and sculptured bushes and trees.

She recognized him immediately.

“You,” Crys said with surprise. “I know you.”

It was the golden boy, the gorgeous blond guy she’d seen on the university campus, the one who’d given her directions to Dr. Vega’s office. He turned his dreamy blue eyes on her and the corners of his mouth curved up into a smile.

“Hello again,” he said as he slid the book back into place on the shelf.

“Do you live here, too?”

“Yes, I do.”

Her father frowned with confusion, his gaze moving to Golden Boy. “You’ve already met?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Please, Daniel, introduce us.”

“Crys . . . I’d like you to meet Markus King. Markus, this is my daughter, Crystal Hatcher.”

Golden Boy walked toward her, reaching out his hand. “A pleasure, Crystal.”

She didn’t move to shake his hand, all she could do was stare. “Is this some kind of joke?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Joke?”

“You can’t be Markus King. Not the Markus King, anyway. You must be his, I don’t know, grandson? Great-grandson?” She turned to her father. “What’s going on here?”

He shook his head. “This is Markus King, Crissy.”

Crys turned to once again regard the guy, who looked like any college kid might. A college kid who also happened to moonlight as a male model, that is. “You’re, like, twenty years old.”

“I do appear to be that age,” Markus agreed.

What was that supposed to mean?

This did not compute, and a sick, twisting sensation in her gut made her question her current hold on reality. She’d expected the leader of the Hawkspear Society, who had a rich history that included an intense conflict between her mother and aunt, not to mention with Dr. Vega, to be a senior citizen by now.

“You expected someone ancient,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You were right to expect that.”

In seconds, her mouth had become as dry as a desert. “How is this possible?”