A Book of Spirits and Thieves - Morgan Rhodes Page 0,105
all the fear and uncertainty she’d encountered on the way to discovering it: It all finally crashed down on her with the weight of a collapsing building.
This was all her fault.
She dropped to the ground, surrounded by all the fallen books—books she’d read when she was younger, when she’d loved the written word and the escape it offered. She ran her hand over a fantasy novel that had been one of Becca’s favorites.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then pulled her legs to her chest and lay there, her cheeks wet, her heart aching. “I wanted to help you, but I failed.”
Charlie entered the nook, now at eye level with her. He came closer, and, as if sensing her distress, he nuzzled his face against the top of her head.
“What do I do, Charlie? Please tell me what to do.”
He pranced over to an empty bottom bookshelf, where he curled up in a ball and went to sleep.
“Helpful, thanks,” she whispered.
Crys kept her eyes on the kitten until her gaze drifted a couple of inches away. From her supine position, she could see a gap between the shelf and the floor.
And that something had been tucked into that small space.
Her chest tightened. “No way.”
She crawled over to the gap, pushing the fallen books out of the way, and reached under the shelf to pull out the hidden object.
It was the Bronze Codex.
A black limousine arrived right on schedule. Crys slung her fuchsia bag over her shoulder, clutched the Codex to her chest, and left the store.
The chauffeur wore an unreadable expression as he came around to the back to open up the door for her. She faltered, but only momentarily. Summoning every last shred of courage she had left, she climbed inside.
The chauffeur shut the door behind her.
“I bet you thought we’d never see each other again,” Farrell Grayson said. “And yet, here we are.”
Chapter 25
FARRELL
If looks could kill . . .
Farrell tried not to grin at the fiery glare he received from Crys Hatcher as she got into the back of the limo. He failed.
Hatred emanated off her in palpable waves as they drove away from the bookshop.
“Don’t you feel like chatting?” he asked.
“Why you?” she said through clenched teeth.
“That is a very philosophical question. Why any of us? Why do we exist? What is our reason for being here? Is it all just a waste of time?”
“Why did they send you and not someone else?”
“Because Markus knows what good friends we’ve become.”
“Cut the crap.”
He spread his hands, as if in surrender. “Markus asked me to be your escort tonight. I told him you might not appreciate seeing me again so soon after our date yesterday.”
“So he knows I figured out all your secrets.”
“Not all my secrets. Just one.” He smirked. He knew she wanted him to feel bad, to feel guilty about all this. But he didn’t. Which made everything so much simpler.
Crys twisted her silver rose ring. “Why are you doing this?”
“You have something Markus wants. I’m just helping him get it.” He eyed the book she held tight to her chest. “Show it to me.”
“Fetch the girl,” Markus had said when he’d called Farrell earlier. “Bring her to the theater. Ensure that she has the book with her—check for the bronze hawk on the cover. If she doesn’t have it, inform me immediately.”
Reluctantly, she turned the book around.
There was the bronze hawk, just as he’d described.
“Nice to know you can follow directions when given the right motivations,” he said, then cocked his head. “Oh, come on, Crys. Why do you have to be so serious? You work at a bookshop, and now you’re delivering a book. Seems like it fits the job description nicely enough.”
“He has my sister. Did you know that? He stole her right out of the hospital. She’s in a coma, Farrell. A coma. And he kidnapped her.”
Of course he knew that. He was in Markus’s inner circle. “Your point?”
“Do you even have a soul?” she demanded. “Or are you made of pure evil, just like your lord and master?”
He watched her, coolly amused by how hard she was trying to get under his skin. “Go ahead. Compare me to Markus. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
She stared at him in silence for a full minute, a stare so smoldering it practically burned.
“Like what you see?” he asked, trying to rattle her. “Maybe you’re ready to rethink last night’s ‘go to hell’ suggestion and take a closer look.” He patted the seat next to him.