A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(75)

This comment surprised her. “You’ve met my mother and Jackie?”

“Yes. I am quite acquainted with them both. They were once two of my most valued members.”

Time skidded to a halt, and Crys had to clutch the sides of her armchair to steady herself in the moment.

She must have heard him wrong.

“I take it that this is news to you.” A smile pulled at Markus’s lips again as he regarded her unshielded shock. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re saying that my mother and . . . and Jackie . . . were part of your society,” Crys managed to repeat, her voice strained.

“They certainly were. Have they told you anything about your family history, Ms. Hatcher? Anything at all?”

Any confidence she’d walked into this room with was now slipping through her grasp. She tried very hard to hold on to the small measure of composure she had left.

“I guess they haven’t,” she admitted quietly. “I know the bookshop has been in the family for a long time.”

“Yes. Your great-grandfather, Jonathan Kendall, purchased the building as a gift for his wife, Rebecca. She adored books, so she turned it into a bookshop. And now it’s all that remains of the Kendall fortune.”

“Yes, that’s pretty much the only story I know about him.”

“So I take it that you’re not aware that Jonathan Kendall also cofounded the Hawkspear Society with me.”

She tried to keep the fresh wash of shock off her face but knew she’d failed. “No, can’t say that’s ever come up at the family dinner table.”

“When I first came to Toronto, Jonathan invited me to stay with his family, for as long as I liked. Eventually he confided in me that he’d had a powerful vision. Of me. Before I’d arrived and before we’d ever met. He told me he’d known for some time that we were destined to start an organization together, that we’d be dedicated to protecting the citizens of this city from those who’d want to harm them. And so the Hawkspear Society came into being. Generations later, your mother—when she was still a Kendall—and your aunt were inducted. Julia was the one who nominated Daniel for membership after they met and fell in love. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Crys had to take a moment to absorb this. It sounded like a piece of fantasy fiction, not the history of her own family. “But my mother and Jackie aren’t members anymore.”

“No. Unfortunately, we had a . . . falling-out. They chose to believe a series of unforgiveable lies about me. Once that trust between us had been lost, it couldn’t be regained, so I released them from their ties to the society. Years later, Daniel returned of his own free will. He knew he was needed, and he wanted to continue to help with our mission.”

Why wouldn’t her mother have told her something as important as this? Did she think Crys wouldn’t ever find out the truth?

If this was the truth.

Whatever lies Jackie and Julia had believed about Markus had turned their grandfather’s closest ally into a monster in their eyes.

Appearance-wise, at least, Markus King was anything but a monster.

“Did my mother and Jackie believe you’re a god, too?”

“They did,” he replied without hesitation. “But I can tell that you don’t. It’s understandable, since you’ve seen no proof. I do have abilities that regular people don’t possess. Would you like to see?”

She watched him in wary silence before finally nodding.

He held out his hand, and with a flick of the wrist, a bouquet of flames burst forth on his palm, rising up a foot, casting sparkling light into his dark blue eyes. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit too showy for my tastes. Any Las Vegas magician could do the same with the proper preparation.”

Crys struggled to catch her breath. “So what else can you do?” she said, trying not to sound like that was the strangest, most captivating thing she’d ever seen.

He studied her carefully. “You’ve cut your finger.”

She looked down at the bandage on her index finger. “It’s just a paper cut. Nothing major.”

He drew closer, crouching down in front of her. His demeanor was so calm that it helped to relax Crys a little, too. She didn’t cringe away from him as he gently pulled the bandage off her finger and inspected the sore red wound beneath.

“I can help with this,” he said, closing his grip around her finger.

She felt heat dance across her skin, penetrating deeper and deeper into her flesh. A strange, soft glow seemed to emanate from his hand. After a few more seconds, the sensation became unpleasant, but it couldn’t be described as pain.

“There,” he said, releasing her. “That’s not something a magician can do.”

She stared down in shock to see that her paper cut was gone, and that the previously wounded skin was unblemished.

No wonder his members believed he was a god.

“I’m going to need a moment to pick up my jaw off the floor,” she allowed herself to admit.

“Of course.” He returned to his seat opposite her, regarding her now with renewed amusement.

He’d healed her. No tricks involved, no smoke and mirrors. Healed her like some kind of miracle.

Crys had never been one to believe in the supernatural, but when she saw it with her own two eyes . . .