The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves) (17 page)

Oh no
, she thought, as her gaze locked with a pair of unforgettable hazel eyes.

“No need, little brother,” Farrell said, his tone as smug as ever. “I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m not thirsty,” Crys managed.

She glanced at Becca. From the tightness of her jaw and the poisonous glare in her blue eyes, it was clear that she remembered Farrell from the theater that night. Crys had shared little else with her sister about that snake or the things that had happened between them.

Farrell walked around the table so that he faced Crys and Becca. He looked far too relaxed and confident in his perfectly fitting tuxedo, and Crys imagined that this must be what the devil himself looked like when he got dressed up to go out on the town to devour some souls.

“Don’t be silly,” Farrell said. “Everyone’s always thirsty for champagne.”

“Farrell?” Mrs. Grayson said in the least convincing fake-nice voice Crys had ever heard. “Do you know these girls?”

“Oh, sure. Crys and I, we’re practically the best of friends. Aren’t we, Crys? But I had no idea you were going to be here tonight. And Becca—so glad to see you’re feeling better. What a wonderful surprise to see you both.”

Becca glared at him. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Oh—ouch.” He pressed his hand against his heart. “That hurts. Come on, Crys—that’s expensive bubbly. Drink up.”

Crys finally grabbed the champagne by the stem and pulled it toward her. But she refused to take a sip.

“It’s not poisoned,” he assured her.

“Better safe than sorry,” she said.

“Best of friends, you say?” Mrs. Grayson eyed them all with a furrowed brow. “Apparently, Adam invited Crystal and Becca to the ball without telling anyone.”

“Hmm. Well, Adam’s in the habit of surprising the people he’s closest to these days. Aren’t you, Adam?”

“I learned from the best,” Adam retorted.

“Farrell, where’s Felicity?” Mrs. Grayson asked. Clearly she was accustomed to ignoring any tension between her children.

“Somewhere,” Farrell replied, clearly untroubled. “I lost track of her a while ago after dealing with that little annoyance of ours, Mother, but I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually. She always does. In the meantime . . .”

Crys eyed him warily as he extended his right hand to her.

“What?” she asked sharply.

“Dance with me.”

“Hell no.”

Mrs. Grayson responded to Crys’s rude reply with an audible gasp.

Farrell’s smile grew wider. “Oh, come on. Humor me. We’re in a beautiful ballroom, and the band is playing beautiful music. You’re a beautiful girl, I’m a beautiful guy. Why let all this beauty go to waste? I’m sure Becca wouldn’t mind.”

“Becca
does
mind,” said Becca.

“Then luckily for me, it’s Crys’s decision.”

“No,” Crys said again, more firmly.

“Disgraceful,” Mrs. Grayson muttered.

“Farrell,” Adam growled. “Leave her alone.”

“One more try,” Farrell said, then he leaned over to hover above Crys’s ear. “Dance with me,” he whispered, “or I’ll go up to the microphone and tell everybody who you and your sister really are. There’ll be no more hiding then, will there?”

Her heart pounded as she considered his ultimatum.

She’d never been blackmailed before, and she hated to admit that it was incredibly effective.

Forcing a smile of her own, she took his hand. “Fine. One song.”

“That’s more like it.”

With one last apologetic glance and a reassuring nod sent toward a worried-looking Becca, Crys let Farrell lead her to the crowded dance floor. He entwined his fingers with hers and placed his other hand on the small of her back.

“You smell like strawberries again,” he said.

She looked up at him, surprised to discover that at this close vantage point she could see dark circles under his eyes. “And you look like you haven’t slept in a couple of days.”

“Can you blame me? I’ve been tossing and turning all night, thinking about you and how to win you back.”

With anyone else she’d reply with a polite laugh, but there was nothing remotely funny about this. “Where’s my father?” she said bluntly.

“Not here.”

“Then where is he?”

“No idea. I’m not his personal assistant.”

She wanted to scream. “Is this fun for you? These games you play?”

“So much fun. And what game is it you’re playing tonight? Don’t tell me you’re only here to ask around about your father. I know there’s something else that drew you into this sticky little spider web. Or is it just what my mother thinks, that you’re here to celebrate literacy because your family owns a local bookshop?”

She tried to look anywhere but up at him, dismayed at being stuck so close to him. “That’s the first true thing I’ve heard you say all night. Yes, we do own a bookshop.”

“A famous bookshop that’s currently closed until further notice. All those poor readers, hungry for books, but no one to buy them from.” Reluctantly, she listened to him talk as he slowly
moved her around the dance floor—with far more skill than she might have guessed. “You know, this is the perfect song.”

“What song is it?”

“‘The Look of Love.’” He smirked. “See? That look you’re giving me right now . . . it’s sizzling.”

“That’s probably because I’m trying to burn your eyeballs out of your head with the power of my mind while I wish I’d never met you.”

His expression grew more pensive. “Our relationship started off so much better. You were real with me. Believe it or not, that’s not something I experience too often. That . . .
realness
. I liked it.”

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

“Not everything. Eighty-eight percent, tops.”

“You blackmailed me to get me onto this dance floor.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. Maybe I wanted the chance to talk to you without my mother and both of our siblings listening in.”

There was a strange weight to his words now that was absent before. Suddenly, that weight grabbed hold of her full attention.

In mere seconds, her heart rate had doubled. “So talk. If you have something important to say, say it. Are you actually going to tell me where my father is? Can you help me? Would you even be
willing
to help me?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Maybe I’m still lying. Maybe the only reason I wanted you to dance with me is to make Felicity jealous.”

Crys tried to pull away, but he held on tight.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s my defensive-asshole mechanism kicking in. For what it’s worth, she means nothing to me.”

She glared up at him. “You’re not making this any better.”

“I guess what I’m trying to tell you is . . . you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

“Who said I was afraid of you?”

He laughed, but the sound was humorless. “I’m not exactly good at being genuine, so just try to take me at face value tonight. Maybe I deserve your hatred, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want you to hate me.”

This was the point when she should have been pushing him away and storming back to Becca at the table, but something held her in place. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and from a distance, she was sure they looked like any other couple on the dance floor.

She searched his face, his intense eyes—a swirling mix of taupe and emerald—framed with thick black lashes, his dark brows drawn together into a serious expression. Her gaze came to rest on the spot under his right eye where his birthmark used to be.

“Why did you have it removed?” she asked.

He blinked. “It was ugly.”

She disagreed, but she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. “It healed fast.”

“Accelerated healing comes with the territory.” His jaw tightened. “Actually, I sliced it off myself.”

She regarded him with horror.
“What?”

“I only wish I could cut every ugly part out of myself, but then I guess there’d be nothing left.”

For a moment, she found herself utterly speechless. “Farrell, my God, why would you even
tell
me something like that, let alone think or do it?”

“Because sometimes I speak the truth. Don’t ask me why I chose to reveal that in particular.” His gaze became clouded with confusion and his frown deepened. “No damn idea, really.”

It was as if everyone else on the dance floor had vanished and she and he were out there alone. She was staring up at him—his perfect face, perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, tailored tuxedo that felt like the softest silk beneath her touch. And his scent—some musky cologne or aftershave that she hated herself for appreciating even a little.

Was she starting to feel something other than loathing for him? She couldn’t be. That would require her to care in some way about the fate of Farrell Grayson, marks or no marks.

All she cared about right now was her family. To hell with everyone else.

You don’t really believe that. Farrell needs your help—just like your mother does—with the marks that control him, that make him do such awful things. You know you can’t turn your back on someone in that great of need.

“Fine, I’ll admit it,” she said after another long pause between them. “I did like you when we first met, and I don’t think I hid it very well. Was any of that really you?”

“More than you might think.”

“I know what the marks do,” Crys said, her throat tight. “They
change
you. They mess with your head, with your morals. Markus controls you now—you and everyone in his society.”

“Markus doesn’t control me. No one is in control of me except me.” Farrell had stiffened at the accusation, but he didn’t draw back from her.

“Look at me,” she said. Finally, he met her gaze, and she searched his eyes for some clue as to what he might really be feeling. “He made you do something you didn’t want to do, didn’t he?”

His brow furrowed. “Why would you say that?”

“Call it a hunch. Was it . . . something really bad?”

“The worst,” he whispered so quietly that she could barely hear him over the crowd.

“Tell me.”

After a long pause, he answered. “You know, these eyes of yours—this pale, icy blue that bores right into my soul—they’ve haunted me since the first day we met.”

No one had ever said anything like that to her. Again, he’d rendered her completely speechless.

This is bad
, she thought
. Very bad. I can’t let him get to me like this.

And what would be the worst thing to happen if you did?

She didn’t have the energy to push the thoughts away this time. When Farrell drew her even closer to him, she didn’t immediately pull away.

“Your eyes are just like your father’s, aren’t they?” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Becca also has her father’s eyes—dark blue, like the ocean at dusk.”

That was all it took to shock her out of whatever spell she’d fallen under. Her mind snapped back into clear focus as she tried to break away, but he only tightened his hold.

“That’s right,” Farrell said evenly. “Markus knows the truth. And he needs that book.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she managed, but already she knew that she’d lost this battle.

“Huh. It seems I’m not the only liar here tonight, am I?”

“Let go of me,” she snarled, and she tugged away as hard as she could.

Finally, he released her, just as the song was dying down but before the band had come to a complete stop. She turned and headed right toward the table where she’d left Becca.

But Becca was gone.

BECCA

T
he shadow that was invisible to everyone but Becca remained with her, even here at the ball, so far away from the book. Right now it lurked beneath the round dinner table at which she sat, while she tried to feel at ease in her fancy clothes and high heels—a big departure from her usual style, which consisted primarily of jeans, sneakers, and sweaters. She felt like a completely different person tonight.

“What on earth is going on?” Isabelle Grayson muttered under her breath a moment after Farrell and Crys took to the dance floor.

The haughty woman gave Becca a bad vibe from the first moment she saw her, even before Adam introduced them. Even from a seated position, she’d managed to look down her nose at them.

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

“Farrell and that . . .
girl
. They’re not . . . involved, are they?”

“It’s just a dance, Mom.”

“Doesn’t look like just a dance to me.” She eyed Becca. “Let me guess: You have your sights set on Farrell’s younger brother?”

“Um,” Becca stumbled, “I barely know Adam.”

Thankfully, a tall willowy blonde approached the table before
Mrs. Grayson could counter. The blonde held two glasses of champagne, one of which she gave to Mrs. Grayson.

“Felicity, darling,” Mrs. Grayson said after taking a sip. “Have you heard that my Adam has gone out of his way to bring two young booksellers to this event? Quite a foolish way for him to spend his allowance, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it depends on how much he likes the booksellers,” Felicity replied, eyeing Becca. “Where is Farrell?”

Mrs. Grayson flicked her hand toward the dance floor. “Having a spin with the other one.”

Felicity peered through the crowd with widening eyes. “I know her,” she said after a heavy pause. “We met at the photography show on Sunday. She’s Farrell’s ex-girlfriend.”

“Whoa, what?” Becca blurted, horrified at the suggestion. “She’s definitely
not
his ex-girlfriend.”

Mrs. Grayson straightened her shoulders even more. “I should certainly hope not.”

“I think I need more champagne,” Felicity said weakly and turned away.

“As do I.” Mrs. Grayson made a little huffing noise in the back of her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I see some colleagues I need to say hello to.”

She stood up and left them alone at the table, disappearing into the crowd.

“So . . . ,” Becca said. “She seems nice?”

Adam snorted. “Sorry about her. She’s kind of, uh, how do I put it . . . ?”

“Not super open to adding to her friend group?”

“I was going to say
a major snob
, but that works too.”

Becca’s heart raced. Every cell in her body wanted to get up,
move around, search for Markus, and do what she came here to do before she chickened out.

She knew Crys thought she was crazy. Hell, she probably was. But what was that saying? She’d read it once in a novel about the Civil War, and it had stuck with her ever since:
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
She knew Markus was no one’s friend here, not really. But she also knew for a fact—had seen it with her own eyes—that Valoria was obsessed with seeking vengeance on him for stealing the dagger. And from what little Becca knew about Valoria, she was fairly certain that the immortal didn’t have any plans to cease her hunt for Markus, no matter what world she might find him in. She also knew that, Codex or no Codex, Valoria would be after Maddox for his rare magic that could help open the gateway between worlds.

Which only made Becca worry more about Maddox than she already did. It was so strange—the whole time her spirit was in Mytica, all she’d cared about was finding a way to get back home. Now, she felt completely different. She didn’t want to go
back
there, of course . . . but she did wish there was a way to communicate with him.

The shadow was no help at all—unless the definition of
help
had been changed to include constant and unnerving distraction.

Please be okay
,
Maddox
, she thought, her heart twisting.

“You still with me?” Adam asked, pulling her away from those clinging thoughts.

“Mostly.” Becca gave him a weak smile, then turned her gaze again on Crys and Farrell, who were still dancing. She was surprised that her sister hadn’t stormed off the floor yet or kicked him in the groin. She’d even give away her cherished signed copy of
The Fault in Our Stars
to witness that.

“Why would that girl Felicity think that Crys is his ex?” Becca mumbled. “As if that could ever be a possibility. Crys hates your brother.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” Becca glared at him, and Adam flinched. “Sorry,” he said. “I mean, I totally understand why you hate him. Why
she
hates him. He’s made a pretty terrible first impression on both of you. But all of that—the things he’s been doing and saying lately—that’s not really him. It’s those marks.”

“So I keep hearing. The marks.” She’d really come to hate that previously common word. “Those marks are the reason my father left to be with Markus and Hawkspear instead of with us.”

Adam nodded apologetically. “They’re powerful. Even just one is enough to trap you and make you completely deny that anything’s wrong.”

“You don’t deny it, though. And you’re in the society.”

“I’m different from the others, I guess,” he said, glancing around nervously.

“And Farrell hasn’t sold you out yet?”

“No.” He shook his head grimly. “And he won’t.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know him like I do. He’s actually pretty decent. Well, most of the time. I think all the power and importance he’s been feeling recently have messed with his head—along with everything else that’s been going on. I’m not surprised. My mother’s always treated him like a second-class citizen, always telling him he’s a disappointment. He shrugs it off, but I know it hurts him.”

“Well, I’ve met your mother now. And I get the feeling that there’s not much in this world that
wouldn’t
disappoint her.”

Adam smiled slightly, but then worry crossed his expression
again. “My whole life, whenever I’ve needed him, Farrell’s been there for me. More like a friend than a brother. Even more than Connor was.”

“Connor?” Becca asked absently. Again she was distracted by Crys and Farrell and was trying very hard to send Crys a mental message:
Come back. He’s hot, but he’s also Markus’s brainwashed minion, remember?

“My oldest brother. Or he
was
my oldest brother.”

She turned immediately back to face him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. He died last year. It was in the news.” Adam offered her another small, sad smile. “Our family’s kind of famous in this city, you know.”

“So I’m learning.”

“Yeah. Well, when it happened, Connor was very much in Markus’s good graces, just like Farrell is now. That’s another reason why I’m worried about him. I know Farrell never believed that Connor killed himself. From the moment they found him, Farrell felt in his gut that he was murdered and that whoever did it wanted to make it look like suicide. I’m starting to wonder if he might be right.”

“Oh my God,” Becca gasped.

“If it is true, I’d be surprised if it didn’t have something to do with Markus. The timing’s way too coincidental.”

Becca studied Adam Grayson for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not she could trust him. He
had
already helped her and Crys twice now, and it was clear he felt the same way about Markus and his influence that the Hatchers did. She didn’t want to give him every detail about what their research had concluded—that they needed to get the dagger as soon as possible to try to put an end to this whole terrible chain of events—but the
truth was that she could really use some help from someone on the inside.

Suddenly, something caught Adam’s eye, and his gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Becca. His expression darkened.

Becca glanced over her shoulder. There, making his way through the crowd, was Markus King. Her breath caught in her chest. This was her chance, but she felt completely paralyzed.

No
, Becca told herself.
No second thoughts.
She knew what she had to do. And right here, in the middle of a huge party, provided the safest environment to do it.

Unless . . .

“How many people here are in the Hawkspear Society?” she asked Adam warily.

Adam thought for a moment, scanning the room. “Less than half, I’d say.”

The tight feeling that had built up in her chest eased off by a fraction. “That means more than half of them
aren’t
under Markus’s spell?”

“What, you’re imagining all the Hawkspears will start grabbing at you like zombies if they see you approach their leader at a public event?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually.”

She turned back to the crowd to make sure she didn’t lose track of Markus, and a familiar flash of blond hair caught her eye. Jackie was trailing only a few paces behind Markus, her gaze fixed on him like a predator on her prey.

Becca stood up, the black shadow slithering out from under the table along with her. She spared it only a short glance before returning her attention to Markus and Jackie.

“Are you even listening to me?” Adam’s voice was wary as he
touched her arm. “Markus is dangerous. He kidnapped you a week ago, or did you forget that already?”

“I have to do this.”

“You are seriously the most frustrating girl I’ve ever met.” His jaw was set as he also watched Markus. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

“No.”

“What you’re doing—what you think you’re doing . . .” He hesitated. “Do you think there’s a chance that it could help free my brother? Free my family from that man?”

The pain in his voice captured her full attention. She met his gaze. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Adam responded with only a solemn gaze, but Becca saw enough sadness and empathy in it to keep going.

“Will you help me?” she asked. “I need to get close to him.”

Adam was silent for so long that Becca began to worry she’d made a horrible mistake—what if his big speech about morality was all a ploy to get her to trust him when he was the last person she should begin to trust? What if his questions about helping his family were part of the same ploy? She was seriously considering bolting when, finally, Adam nodded firmly.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Becca let out a small sigh of relief. They began making their way across the crowded ballroom.

Valoria claimed that she wanted that dagger to ensure that the mortals she used it on would be loyal, obedient, and trustworthy. She’d used those exact words—
loyalty, obedience, and trust
—but that was a very mild way of saying what she actually had in mind.

What the goddess really wanted was an army of slaves.

Was that what Markus already had in half of these people in
the ballroom tonight, dressed to the nines in their sparkles and masks? Were all these refined members of high society merely slaves required to carry out any evil deed their master commanded of them?

Becca knew how strong and determined Jackie was and that her heart was definitely in the right place. Jackie wanted to save her family and prevent an evil man from doing even more harm, but was she a fool to go after a dangerous immortal who possessed so much power?

Then again, wasn’t that almost exactly the same thing that Becca was doing?

All Becca could do was hope that her theory was right: that destroying that dagger would free not just her mother but everyone in Markus’s secret society.

With Adam close by her side, she kept Markus and Jackie in her sight. She watched Markus pluck two glasses of champagne from a passing tray while her aunt lurked behind him. Markus turned around, practically facing Jackie now, and Becca almost flinched. But Jackie didn’t turn away or act aloof. She just stood there while Markus King handed her a glass of champagne, which she accepted.

Should this have come as such a surprise to Becca? Jackie and Julia were known to Markus, of course. The Kendalls had been a part of the society for generations until the sisters had left it. Jackie must have figured that the best way to get closer to Markus would be to play the
long time, no see
card so she could butter him up and get the dagger.

And kill him.

Becca and Adam followed the pair to the back of the ballroom, opposite the entrance, to an archway that led into a small alcove.
Becca pressed back against the wall and signaled Adam to do the same next to her, making sure that they were out of sight of the pair but still within earshot of their conversation. The ball continued in full view only twenty feet away.

The shadow came to rest next to the nearest empty table, its occupants currently on the adjacent dance floor. She stared at the inky blot of darkness as she strained her ears to hear anything over the sound of the band and the constant din of conversation.

“You spared no expense tonight,” Jackie said. “This is wonderful champagne.”

“Do you remember your first taste?” Markus replied.

“How could I forget? It’s not like every girl gets her first sip of champagne while sitting in the shadow of the Eifel Tower with . . . well, someone like you.”

“I’m so glad you came tonight. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I wasn’t sure I would either. But I’m glad too.”

Becca and Adam exchanged a confused look. After seeing that first exchange with the champagne, Becca had certainly been expecting her aunt to flirt, but this discussion seemed
too
friendly. More than flirting. These two had history. Much more than two people merely acquainted through a shared organization should have.

“Honestly, Markus?” Jackie continued. “I’m amazed by your patience all these years.”

“With the book, you mean? Or with you?”

“Both, really. I know how furious you must have been to have lost it in the exact same moment you found it.”

“I went about things in a foolish way. I know that now, and I apologize. Knowing how much you hated me . . . I felt my choices were limited.”