A Book of Spirits and Thieves - Morgan Rhodes Page 0,29
squeezed her bottle of water, the cold condensation sliding between her fingers. “I can’t believe you’ve been in Toronto the whole time. You’ve been so close, and I didn’t know.”
“How did you find out?”
She considered her words. “I overheard Mom and Jackie on the phone. Your name came up.”
She wasn’t going to tell him everything. The book, what had happened to Becca—that was too precious, too fragile. This was an information-gathering mission only—information-giving was not on today’s menu. And as much as her heart was in turmoil over this meeting, her brain was focused on what mattered.
She hoped very much the ratio would remain that way. Hearts and brains didn’t always get along so well.
“Eavesdropping,” he said. “So things at home are the same as always, huh? You’re still a troublemaker.”
It wasn’t said as an insult but rather more with grudging admiration. “It’s one of my talents.”
“What were they saying about me?”
“Something about Mom still believing in you, but Jackie telling her you’re old news.”
She watched closely to see if this would get a reaction, but there was nothing in his expression to give her any clue what he might be thinking. Not even a blink or a twitch.
“Jackie never liked me,” he allowed. “What else?”
“They said you’re part of some exclusive society,” she ventured tentatively.
He’s been swallowed up by that monster’s secret society long enough for us to know he’s lost to us had been Jackie’s exact words. They’d been branded into Crys’s memory verbatim.
“Did they.” He said this flatly and not as a question.
His bland reaction infuriated her. “Is it true? You left us because of some secret group you joined? What is it, like a cult that brainwashes its members to leave their families?”
Yeah, she definitely didn’t have her emotions properly bottled up today.
She forced herself to take a shaky sip of her water.
She liked to think she had a talent for reading faces, after studying so many at a distance through her camera lens. Most people wore their emotions openly on their faces—anger, sadness, happiness, disappointment. Emotion was beautiful, no matter what it was. The more powerful the emotion, the better the picture turned out.
It felt a lot different not being the one behind the camera.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, and she began picking at her muffin.
“It’s not what you might think,” he said finally. “I am involved in an important organization . . . one that I believe in with all my heart and soul. It’s a good thing, Crissy. The only bad thing about it was that I had to make an extremely difficult choice I never wanted to have to make.”
“So this society made you choose them or us.”
“No. Your mother is the one who made me choose. And I know you’ll never fully understand why I had to make the choice I did, but maybe you will someday. I don’t expect your forgiveness. I would be too embarrassed to even ask for it.”
“Wait.” Crys’s brain began to swim. “You’re telling me that Mom made you choose.”
His lips thinned. “I could never make her understand how important that organization is to me. It’s about life or death, Crissy. I know that sounds far-fetched, but it’s true. The good I’m doing, the good I’m a part of—”
“What? Are you saving the world or something?” she said, trying to find a joke somewhere in all this and move away from how blindsided she felt to learn that her mother had been the one who’d issued the ultimatum that had caused her father to leave them.
“It would sound crazy to an outsider, but . . . yes. In a very large way I believe I am.”
She stared at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“You’re old enough for me to try to explain it to you, but you won’t truly understand unless you’re a part of it.” He absently stirred his coffee. “How are you doing in school, anyway? You’re graduating in June, aren’t you?”
“And you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Temporarily. Indulge me by answering my questions, and I might answer yours in return.”
She exhaled slowly, reminding herself that she had to stay calm and not push him too hard. Otherwise this meeting might end much sooner than she wanted it to. “How am I doing in school? I’ve been going to as few classes as possible ever since Amanda and Sara moved away, and I’ve found myself with few friends and no interest in dealing with teachers,” she admitted. “Actually, I’m thinking about officially dropping out