A Book of Spirits and Thieves - Morgan Rhodes Page 0,21

man’s flesh.

“Blood for blood, death for death,” the society repeated.

John dropped to his knees, staring up at Markus. For a moment, it looked as if he were a wounded peasant kneeling before a conquering king, begging for mercy.

Then he fell to his side, blood welling next to him in a shallow crimson puddle.

Farrell felt it then, the same powerful sensation that overcame him four times a year after each execution.

Magic—Markus’s magic—strengthened by the spill of blood.

It charged the room like a whisper of electricity, raising the hair on Farrell’s arms and the back of his neck. It brought with it a sense of serenity, of righteousness. Of power.

“It is done,” Markus said solemnly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from the blade.

Farrell’s gaze shot to Adam to see his reaction to witnessing a public execution with no prior warning. His brother’s face was unreadable, but he stood rigidly, fists clenched at his sides, his attention fixed on the dead body.

“Adam Grayson,” Markus said solemnly. “Will you accept the invitation to join my society as an official member, and in that capacity, will you agree to contribute heart, body, and mind to my mission to protect this world from evil? Will you keep our secrets and do all you can to serve the Hawkspear Society? Will you accept that the sacrifices made here are symbols of our focus on the greater good of this city, this country, and this world?”

Adam hesitated for only a moment. Then he raised his chin and, without looking in Farrell’s direction again for encouragement, spoke the words that would seal his destiny.

“Yes, I will.” His voice was strong and filled with determination.

Farrell let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

It was the right answer, of course. The only answer.

“Remove your jacket and pull up the sleeve on your left forearm,” Markus instructed.

A frown of confusion creased Adam’s forehead, but he did as asked, letting his tuxedo jacket fall to the floor. He fumbled with the button at his left wrist and then pushed the crisp white sleeve up to his elbow.

Markus took Adam’s wrist and, without warning, he touched the sharp tip of the golden dagger to Adam’s flesh and pressed down.

Adam inhaled sharply but didn’t flinch or make a single sound of protest.

“The mark I give you now,” Markus said, “binds you to my society. It will also free you from any human ailments you may have previously been susceptible to. No disease, no sickness, for as long as you remain one of my trusted members. This is my gift to you.” He continued to trace the dagger across Adam’s forearm in a precise pattern—a circle, or was it a triangle? Farrell had closely watched as it had been cut into his own arm three years ago, but he couldn’t seem to recall what symbol it was. The memory was a blur.

Bright red blood dripped to the stage floor. With every drop, the charge of magic pulsing through the gathered members strengthened. The air itself seemed to shimmer with it.

When it was done, Markus pressed his hand against the wound. White light began to glow around his hand, and when Markus let go of Adam, the wound had been completely healed. It left no scar.

“There,” Markus said. “You are now one of us.”

Adam looked down at his arm with amazement. “Thank you.”

Once again, Farrell thought back to the night of his initiation. His fear, his anxiety. His doubt. There he stood before everyone, with Connor in the audience, watching and worrying, just as Farrell did for Adam tonight.

He’d seen the grimness on Adam’s face upon witnessing the execution from only steps away. His little brother knew he’d just made a serious commitment to a society dedicated to saving the world from evil. That what they did here was important. Necessary.

Farrell had already seen behind the first curtain.

Now he’d been chosen to see what hid behind the next.

Chapter 6

MADDOX

“I know one thing. You’re going to help me get back home.”

Right after the spirit girl said this, she’d vanished into thin air, leaving Maddox turning around in circles, confused by everything he’d seen and heard, until Livius barked at him that it was time to leave Lord Gillis’s villa.

Thankfully, it seemed as if the strangely dressed girl had only been a figment of his imagination.

It was entirely possible that such hallucinations had been caused by Maddox’s not getting very much sleep lately. He’d recently begun having nightmares. Always the