A Book of Spirits and Thieves

One year since Connor died.

It would be so nice to forget. But it didn’t matter how much he drank. That image of Connor was always there, burned into his brain.

“I get it, kid. I do. The need to belong, to have people to depend on through thick and thin. But losers like Peter and Nick aren’t going to give you that. I know what you need.”

“What?”

“Dad was going to tell you over breakfast, but I’m more than happy to spoil the surprise. The next society meeting is tomorrow night, and you’re on the list. You’re going to be initiated.”

Adam gaped at him, his eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Yup. You’re in.”

“I mean, I know practically nothing about it.”

Farrell shrugged. “What happens at the Hawkspear Society stays at the Hawkspear Society. But you’ll learn soon enough.”

Adam just stood there, shaking his head in disbelief, before a gigantic smile spread across his face. “This is amazing.”

“Congrats.” Farrell couldn’t help but smile at his little brother’s exuberant reaction. It wasn’t every day that someone got initiated into a secret society made up of Toronto’s most elite and powerful.

Adam had no idea what lay behind those locked doors, but Farrell knew it would most definitely make him feel like he belonged somewhere. Somewhere incredibly special. Somewhere powerful.

Somewhere magical.

Sixteen was the minimum age for members, but it was still very young. Farrell wasn’t totally certain his brother was ready for what he’d witness tomorrow night.

But rules were rules. And family was family.

Adam Grayson was about to grow up fast. Farrell could only hope like hell that he wouldn’t end up like Connor.





Chapter 3


MADDOX

NORTHERN MYTICA—

Year 15 of the Goddess Valoria’s Reign



If he valued his life—and he most certainly did—then he needed to hurry. He’d already kept Livius waiting far too long.

The journey from his mother’s small village to the city of Ravenswood had been nearly impossible to complete in only two days while still taking the time to rest and eat. His mother had begged him to stay with her another day, saying she’d cook him a stew from the rabbit she’d caught in her snares that morning. Though his stomach had protested giving up such a fine meal, he’d kissed her quickly on both of her cheeks and embraced her tightly.

“I promise I’ll return the very next chance I get,” he’d told her.

If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t earn enough to pay the taxes owed on her small cottage. She’d be cast out by the lord of the land, and, like many poor women in the North, she’d be forced to become a beggar.

He’d never allow that to happen.

So he made his way quickly to the city, a treacherous journey across roughly hewn paths and dirt roads, through forests thick with criminals, stinging insects, and beasts with sharp teeth. He had no weapon—he wasn’t allowed to have one of his own—so all he had to aid him were his wits.

At the edge of the forest less than a mile from the city, Maddox’s pace slowed to a halt as he came across an old man lying next to a tipped-over wooden cart, his face and shirt bloodied.

“Boy . . . ,” the old man moaned, reaching out toward Maddox as he approached with apprehension. “Please—please . . . help me.”

“Of course I’ll help you.” He would never ignore someone in dire need like this, even though the sight of blood made his stomach lurch. “What happened here?”

The man’s white hair was sparse, his mostly bald scalp red from the blazing sun. “Thieves stopped my cart. They attacked me and left me for dead. Come closer. You must help me to my feet, help me get to the city.”

Maddox scanned the tree line, now nervous that thieves might be lying in wait. “What direction did they go?”

“Take my hand, boy.”

Maddox hesitated only another moment before he clasped the old man’s hand and helped him to his feet. “You’ve lost a great deal of blood.”

“Not nearly as much as you’ll lose if you don’t do exactly as I say.” The old man produced a dagger and held the sharp edge of steel to Maddox’s throat. “A trusting youth, aren’t you?”

Trusting. Or stupid. In Maddox’s experience, they seemed to be interchangeable when it came to many of his choices.

“Give me all your coin.” The old man’s lips peeled back from broken teeth. His breath smelled like rotting vegetables. “Or I’ll slit your throat.”

Stupid. So very, very stupid.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any coin on me.” Maddox grimaced as the man pressed the blade harder and warm blood trickled down his neck. “If you let me go, I promise I can get you plenty.”

“Promises don’t work for me.”

“You’ve obviously confused me with someone else, someone with coin to spare. Do I look like someone who carries bags of gold and silver with me?”