A Book of Spirits and Thieves (Spirits and Thieves #1)(86)

She clamped her hand down and squeezed, hard.

Pain tore through his arm. He clenched his teeth and tried not to react to it.

“Oops. Did that hurt?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he managed.

“Right.” Crys smiled. It was, hands down, the most unpleasant smile he’d ever received. “I’m not stupid, Farrell. Everything you’ve said, it’s all been lies to get closer to me, so I’ll give up something you need. Otherwise, you wouldn’t give the smallest damn about getting to know someone like me. Markus told you to do this, right? Find out Crys Hatcher’s secrets and report back?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He finally withdrew his arm from her grasp and fixed a steady smirk on his face. There was no sense in trying to deny this. She knew the truth. “Don’t lie. You were all over me—all over the idea of me. But, yeah, you’re right. I’m way out of your league. Sorry to disappoint you.”

She winced, a very small one, but he caught it.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” she said tightly.

“My pleasure.”

“Can you do me a couple of favors, Farrell?” she asked.

“Depends what they are.”

“Tell Markus that if he’s going to send spies after me, he should send smarter ones.”

Charming. “I’ll think about it. And the second favor?”

Crys stood up, took a final sip from her glass of ice water, and then poured the rest onto his lap. “Go to hell.”

She left him sitting there, his pants soaked and his cover blown. In another life, he would have found this absolutely hilarious.

Tonight, he didn’t. His mind darkened at the edges, his thoughts becoming sharp as knives, as he watched her walk past the window, heading back to her little bookshop.





Chapter 23


MADDOX



This book—the book that belonged to an immortal sorceress—was the same book that had sent Becca’s spirit here from her world.

“But how could it be here?” he asked her under his breath. “If it’s already, um, there? It can’t be in two places at the same time.”

Becca drew closer to it, looking past Camilla’s shoulder as the witch flipped through the pages of strange gold and black writing and detailed illustrations of animals, trees, flowers, and landscapes.

“I’m sure of it,” Becca said. “Unless this is an identical copy.” Doubt began to cloud her expression.

“Camilla, is there more than one book like this?” he asked.

“I highly doubt it, but I suppose . . . there is a slight chance a forgery could have been made, to throw off any potential thieves.” She shook her head. “But this is the original. I swear, I feel the hum of its magic, like I’m pressing my hands against a beehive.”

But it did sound as if there could possibly be a duplicate somewhere. There had to be a reasonable explanation for what Becca had experienced.

“Look, here’s a rendering of the stone wheel.” Camilla ran a long, sharp fingernail over an extremely accurate illustration of the wheel in her garden.

“The language . . .” Becca studied the book warily as if it might jump up and bite her. “Can you read it?”

“No.” Maddox peered down at the strange words. “What language is this, Camilla? I don’t recognize it.”

“It’s the language of the immortals, of course.”

Well, of course.

Barnabas had stayed surprisingly quiet, watching Maddox and the witch, his arms crossed. “Quite a day,” he said. “We’re alive, we’re free, and we finally have the means to destroy Valoria once and for all. I suggest we celebrate.”

“I don’t know,” Maddox said. “We’ve been traveling on foot for days. I, for one, am incredibly tired and—”

“Now, don’t you go and spoil the fun.” Camilla slapped his shoulder lightly. “I side with Barnabas on this. To the tavern we go!”



The tavern was called the Battering Ram and was filled to the rafters with villagers, drinking and socializing. The excuse for this particular gathering was meant to be a continuation of the festival celebrating Valoria’s reign, but in these revelers’ hearts it was anything but. Valoria had recently made a decree that would ban the selling of inebriants and outlaw public drunkenness within the year.

“Here you go.” Barnabas slid a gigantic tankard of ale along the table toward Maddox, where he sat at the long wooden bench they’d managed to wedge themselves into, shoulder-to-shoulder with the other patrons. Two women and a man were at the other end of the table, on top of it, dancing to the loud band that played a familiar song about immortals and magic.

Maddox knew the words to this song very well. His mother used to sing it often.

We’ll live forever, side by side

We’ll stay together, ’neath starry skies

Tonight and always, destiny guides us

Tonight and always, magic binds us

Maddox took a sip of ale—his first. Livius had rarely ever drunk anything stronger than cider, and he’d never allowed Maddox to touch a drop.

“You like?” Camilla asked, grinning lasciviously, showing off her broken teeth.

“It’s good,” he had to admit.