A Book of Spirits and Thieves (14 page)

Still, there was only one answer he could give, and he knew what it was.

“Of course I will, Markus.”

Chapter 12

MADDOX

T
he guards threw Maddox back into his dungeon cell, laughing as they slammed the door shut behind them. Maddox lay on the dirt floor, staring up at the low stone ceiling, stunned by the harsh treatment and by everything he’d witnessed.

“Maddox . . .” Becca crouched down next to him and peered at his face with concern. “Can you hear me?”

“No. I can’t hear anything anymore.”

“Clearly you can hear me if you’re answering me.”

“She ordered that snake to kill Livius. A big snake with fangs . . . that grew even bigger. Did you see it grow?”

“I saw.” She nodded. “So she’s really a goddess, huh?”

He finally met her gaze. “You’re accepting all this much more calmly than I would have expected.”

“Do I seem calm? Because I’m not. I’m screaming on the inside, but I’m trying to keep it together because losing my mind will not help either of us right now.” She exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry Livius is dead.”

“I’m not.”

“He was horrible to you, but nobody deserves to die like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re far too kind. You really aren’t from Mytica, are you?”

“No,” she replied. “I’m
really
not.”

He forced himself to sit up, pressing his back against the hard wall. He regarded the spirit girl in silence for a long time—so long that she began to twist the end of her golden braid around her index finger.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re staring. Staring makes me nervous. I don’t like being the center of attention. I even dropped out of Drama Club last month because of stage fright, which is strange because I’m normally very self-confident.”

He blinked. “You say a lot of words that don’t make any sense to me.”

“Sorry, your tourism bureau didn’t supply me with a dictio-nary upon arrival.”

“What’s a dictionary?”

“It’s a book that . . . oh, it’s not important right now.” She stood up and went to the door to peer out of the tiny window that looked out at the hallway. Moans and coughs and the occasional shriek could be heard from other cells. “We have to get out of here.”

“We?” he repeated. “I don’t know why you’re even still here. You could walk through that wall and leave this place far behind you.”

“That wouldn’t solve anything, would it? I need you out of here, too. You’re the only one who can help me.”

A fresh burst of frustration blossomed in his chest. “Why are you so sure I can help you?”

“Because you’re the only one who can see me and talk to me! And you can work spirit magic.”

He held his head in his hands and looked up at her. “Are you sure you want to call it that?”

“I do. Yes, let’s call it spirit magic. There has to be a reason why I first appeared in the very place you were. It’s all connected.
We’re
connected, Maddox. Don’t ask me how I know it. I just do. You can help me get back home.”

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

Becca didn’t reply but instead moved closer to him—so close that only a few inches separated them—and studied his face. Now
he
was the nervous one. He tried not to look away. Tried to hold her blue-eyed gaze. In the dim light of the cell, her eyes reminded him of the clear night sky. And her pink lips were so very . . .

“You don’t believe in yourself,” she said, shattering his concentration. “But you should. I saw what you did at the festival. I saw what you did to Livius here in this cell.”

“My curse, you mean.” It was how he’d come to think of his magic over the years.

“It’s not a curse. It’s a gift. Are there others in this place who can do what you can?”

He shook his head. He’d never heard of anyone in Mytica who possessed the same kind of magic he did. “There are witches, said to have the blood of the immortals in their veins. They can work with elemental magic in small amounts. Blood can strengthen their power when they’ve gotten weak. I’ve never met a real witch, so all my knowledge springs from the rumors I’ve heard.”

“Witches with the blood of the immortals? Seriously?” she said, then raised a hand when Maddox opened his mouth to explain further about the golden beings said to have walked side by side with mortals before he was born. “No, let’s put a pin in that for
now and focus on you. Okay? I want to know everything there is to know about you.”

Her current proximity to him made him feel half excited and half uncomfortable. If she were flesh and blood, he could easily reach out and touch her. The texture of her strange woolen tunic mesmerized him. It looked so soft.

He gulped. “There isn’t much to tell. Livius always said I was duller than a dirtworm.”

“Well, Livius was wrong. You’re anything but dull to me. You’re . . . fascinating.” She actually smiled, a beautiful smile that sent a pleasant shiver running through him.

“I’ve never been fascinating to anyone,” he admitted.

“Wow, we really need to work on your self-confidence, don’t we? We have a good section of self-help books at the shop back home. I wish I had a couple to quote from right now.”

Maddox frowned. “You’re wasting your time, Becca Hatcher. When the goddess learns that my magic is not controllable and that I’m unable to summon the spirit of someone she’s only
guessing
is dead, she’ll have me put to death. I have a day to live, if that.”

Her smile fell away. “If I could slap you right now, I would. Really hard.”

This reaction coaxed a nervous laugh from him. “Apologies if it sounds grim, but it’s the truth. I’m going to die, and there’s no one here to help me. Without Livius, I’m all alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have
me
, and I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. Angrily. “When the going gets tough, I believe in one thing, Maddox. My gut. It tells me which book to read next, even if it has lousy reviews; which movie to see, even if no one else wants to see it; which friends to hang out with, whether they’re popular or loners or smart or dumb as bricks. And my gut tells me that
you’re not going to die. You’re important to this world. And you’re important to
me
. Got it? You and me, we’re friends now. And friends help each other out in bad, snake-monster, scary-goddess times.”

Friends.
He mouthed the word. Of course he knew what it meant. However, he’d never really had a true friend before. Not one he could depend on, or trust with his secrets. With his life.

“Now, stop being a coward,” Becca went on, “and let’s get a plan together to get you the hell out of here.”

He lurched up to his feet, his eyes blazing—going from feeling awkward to furious in a single moment. “
Coward?
I’m not a coward. How can you say I’m—”

“Finally, a little passion! Good to see it.” She was grinning now. “And I don’t actually think you’re a coward. I just said that to get a reaction. Anyone who could face that Valoria woman and her magic snake and not crumple into a sobbing heap is brave.
You’re
brave, Maddox.”

The moment of outrage passed as quickly as it arrived. He wasn’t brave, not really, but he chose not to correct her. But if she really did believe in him, maybe he could try to believe in himself. And if by some miracle he could help her as she thought he could, then he would do so without question.

“Tell me more about this book you mentioned before. The one you believe sent you here.”

Becca began speaking about the leather-bound manuscript with the unfamiliar, unreadable gold and black lettering and painted illustrations but was interrupted by the sound of a metal key in the lock. The cell door swung open.

Two guards shoved a dirty man wearing ragged clothes inside. His face was bloody, as if he’d recently been beaten, and he smelled like he’d just been rolling around in a pile of cow manure.

“Here’s some company for you, witch boy,” the smirking guard told Maddox. “If you live through the night with the likes of him in here, the goddess will see you first thing tomorrow.”

“Wait, no—” Maddox began, but they closed the door, and the small cell was plunged back into shadows.

The man stood in the center of the cell, staring at Maddox, his eyes shiny orbs in the center of his dirty, bloody face.

Maddox exchanged a wary, worried look with Becca.

“Today,” the man said. “Tomorrow. Yesterday. All of them. All in a row. And here you are, and there we go. Dancing along. Happily and merrily, tra-la-la.”

Maddox heard the guards cackling outside the cell, then saw a bloodshot eye appear at the window, peering in at them.

“Enjoy your new friend, witch boy,” said a guard. “Perhaps Crazy Barney will tear you apart and eat you piece by piece before dawn, sucking the marrow from your bones. Sleep well!”

“Yes, the marrow,” Crazy Barney said, raking his fingers, black with grime, through his long, tangled hair. “My favorite part. Slurp, slurp! Eat it all up!”

Maddox dodged past him to get to the door, and he pounded on it until he was sure his fist would bruise. “Let me out of here!”

The guards just laughed. On his tiptoes, he peered out the window to watch them as they strolled away down the hall, looking in on other prisoners.

“Don’t panic,” Becca said, her attention fixed on their new cellmate. “There’s a way out of this.”

“Really? Suggestions, please?”

“Well, there is that shove-and-choke magic trick you did before. I know you say you can’t control it, but maybe if your life is in jeopardy. . . .”

He chewed his bottom lip. “Any other ideas when that doesn’t work?”

“Ah, he talks to the spirits,” Crazy Barney said, staring up at the ceiling, which was only an inch or two above their heads. He held his arms out to either side, palms up. “Spirits, come to us. Present us with your offerings. We will accept them with gratitude.”

Then he spun around in a slow circle, laughing maniacally.

Maddox stared at him.

Crazy Barney stopped turning and cast a curious look at Maddox. “Are they gone . . . those who listen in? Those who cast their ears in our direction and take pleasure in our discomfort? Silly them, silly us.” He cocked his head. “I’m very hungry. Will dinner be served soon?”

Maddox pressed his back against the wall. “I’m sure they’ll be back any moment with a tray.”

“Yes, yes. Yes. Of course they will. Wouldn’t want to let their prize prisoner talk too long with someone like me without something to quell my appetite.”

“Talking is good,” Becca said, her expression squeamish. “Keep him talking. He looks seriously crazy.”

Yes, it would seem that Crazy Barney came by his nickname honestly. “We can talk as long as you like . . . Barney. May I call you Barney? I’m Maddox.”

“I know who you are.” Barney moved toward the door, and Maddox jumped out of his way. The man glanced through the tiny window.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Maddox said. Becca was right, keeping him talking was probably the best thing to do. If Barney was busy talking, he wouldn’t be busy craving bone marrow. “Tell
me about yourself. From where do you hail? Here in the North? Overseas, perhaps?”

“No time for unimportant questions.” Barney turned around and swept his gaze over Maddox from head to toe.

“Your magic?” Becca stood next to him, fists clenched, as if she was ready to assist him in a fight. “Now would be great.”

“I’m trying. It’s not working,” Maddox growled. His head already hurt from concentrating so hard.

“Try again,” she insisted.

And so he did. He tried to summon his inner strength to shove Crazy Barney backward, cutting off his air supply, hopefully enough to knock him out until the guards returned.

“Can’t feel a thing,” Barney said, cocking his head. “But you’re still very young. Your magic has yet to manifest fully. Is the spirit attempting to guide you?”

“Yes,” Maddox said slowly. “A beautiful spirit girl is guiding me. And she’s telling me that you’re very special, Barney. Very special indeed.”

“Did you say
beautiful
?” Becca asked.

Curse it.
Maddox tried to concentrate only on the madman. “You and me, we’re going to get along just fine. We’re going to be good friends. And, um . . . friends don’t eat friends.”

Barney regarded him patiently. “Let’s get a few things straight right away,
friend
. I’m not crazy. My name is Barnabas, so you can quit with
Barney
. And you’re going to help me with two very important tasks.”

What just happened?
“Excuse me?”

“First you’re going to break us out of this dungeon. And second we’re going to use your magic to destroy Valoria and save the world.”

Chapter 13

CRYSTAL

T
he University of Toronto was so close to the Speckled Muse that in mere minutes after she left the bookshop, she found herself among the buildings and residences of the expansive St. George campus that was integrated into the heart of the city like just another neighborhood surrounding the green-and-blue football field.

Jackie hadn’t given her much to go on, just a name and a department, so she did her best. But it wasn’t long until she had to admit she was overwhelmed. A campus like this made the halls of her high school look like a dollhouse in comparison. She’d never had a great sense of direction to begin with, so even with the
YOU
ARE
HERE
signs, she had a difficult time finding her way along the labyrinthine streets and pathways.

“Do you know where I can find Dr. Vega?” Crys asked a student, who ignored her completely, keeping her attention on the screen of her phone.

She asked someone else.

“Who?” the girl asked distractedly.

“Dr. Vega. He’s in the Anthropology Department?”

The student flicked her hand but didn’t slow her steps. “I think it’s over there somewhere.”

“Over . . . where?” Crys began, but the girl had already walked away.

She stopped in her tracks and tried to compose herself by snapping a few pictures of the ornate, multilayered Romanesque arch over the south entrance of the main University College building on King’s College Circle. So beautiful, like something she’d expect to find in Europe, only a short walk from her own home.

But admiring pretty stone archways wouldn’t help her current situation.

“Breathe,” she told herself. “You’re not lost or in over your head, you’re just dealing with a momentary setback. One more picture, then let’s go find one of those maps again.”

Another student walked through the shot just as she took it.

“Hey!” she protested grumpily.

“Sorry.” The male student raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost? Anything I can do?”

Crys lowered her camera. The guy was twenty, maybe twenty-one. Blond hair, dreamy dark blue eyes, completely gorgeous, like a model or an actor. She searched his face but couldn’t find a single flaw.

“Is it that obvious I’m lost?” She tried to sound as calm as possible. “Vega. I mean,
Dr.
Vega. I’m looking for his office in the Anthropology Department. Can you help?”

“Of course I can,” he said.

“My hero.” She groaned inwardly. If she didn’t watch it, she’d be giggling in a minute.

Crystal Hatcher didn’t giggle.

He turned and pointed. “Head through here and turn left on Saint George Street and then right on Russell. The Anthropology Building will be on your left. You’ll find Dr. Vega’s office there.” His smile widened, showing off perfect white teeth. “Closer than you probably thought you were, right? Never lose hope.”

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Any time I can be a hero for a beautiful girl like you, it’s my honor. Have a good day.” With another smile, he turned and began walking in the other direction.

A beautiful girl like me?
Nobody had ever called her beautiful to her face before; that was a compliment usually reserved for her sister.

She took another snapshot of the guy, noting that he looked good from both the front and the back.

Maybe she’d have to rethink her original plan to not go to university.

Crys shook her head, trying to clear it. She wasn’t usually so quickly smitten by guys just because they were good-looking.

Whatever
, she told herself, and then headed confidently in the right direction.

In the Anthropology Building, she finally found a list of offices. Dr. Uriah Vega was on the second floor.

She took a deep breath before getting in the elevator, then navigated the gray hallway, before she found the door that held his name placard. After only a slight hesitation, she knocked.

When the only reply she heard was a grunt, she knocked again.

“Well, come in, then,” a grudging voice said. “And be quick about it.”

She turned the handle and eased the door open.

A man sat behind a desk piled high with stacks of paper surrounding an old computer covered in colorful sticky notes. He
had reddish-blond hair, thinning across his scalp, round wire-rim glasses, and an unfriendly scowl on his face.

“If this is about the paper due today, I’m not taking anyone’s excuses. If you’re late, you’ll be penalized.”

Her heart thundered. “Dr. Vega?”

“Who else would I be? And to remind you, students need to make appointments to see me outside of my listed hours. Check the door.”

“I’m not a student.”

His scowl deepened. “Then who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Jackie Kendall told me to come and see you.”

His eyes bugged out. A moment later, he jumped up from his desk and reached the door in three big steps, pulling her farther inside. “Jackie sent you?”

It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a complete personality change in a split second. “Yes, I’m . . . I’m Crys Hatcher. Her niece. She said this would be a good time to talk.”

“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” He pushed the door shut and locked it, then pressed his back against it. “Were you followed?”

The question made her feel queasy. “Uh . . . I don’t think so.”

He went to the small window behind his desk and peered outside, scanning the area before yanking down the blinds. “You must know these things. You must always be vigilant.”

Jackie hadn’t said anything about watching for stalkers—although, she had mentioned self-defense. Was Dr. Vega totally paranoid or was he simply being cautious, like Jackie?

She nudged her glasses back up her nose. “I’ll remember that in the future. Promise.”

He sat down with a heavy thud behind his desk and signaled for her to take a seat on the rather uncomfortable-looking wooden stool across from him. The professor reminded Crys of a youngish Albert Einstein: frazzle-haired, wild-eyed, eccentric.

Hopefully nearly as brilliant.

“Where is Jackie?” he asked.

“In Paris, I think. She’s trying to get here as soon as she can.”

“Really? She’s coming here?” He leaned back in his chair, his expression now wistful. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, not since our last meeting in London. A beautiful woman, your aunt. She’s . . . quite remarkable. I look forward to every e-mail she sends me.”

Crys could practically see the little cartoon hearts popping up over his head. He wouldn’t be the first, or even the fiftieth, man who’d fallen hard for her free spirit of an aunt.

Vega’s frown returned slowly, popping the cartoon hearts like soap bubbles. “Jackie always informs me of any news or changes. She didn’t mention anything about you.” He swept a skeptical gaze over Crys. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Let me see your ID. I have no proof that you are who you say you are.”

Definitely paranoid. She fished around in her bag and pulled out her Sunderland High School student card. “Good enough?”

He pursed his lips as he studied it. “Hmm. I suppose.” He leaned back again and eyed her guardedly. “What do you want?”

How was she supposed to get information from a man whose mood swung so wildly from minute to minute? “Jackie said that you’d give me”—did she really have to say it out loud?—“the . . .
full monty
on the book.”

The bug eyes returned. He whipped off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “She said that? Those words exactly?”

“Um, yes.”

“Does this mean that you have it?” Vega asked, his voice hushed to a hoarse whisper.

“Have what?”

“The Bronze Codex.”

He was speaking another language, and she tried to keep up. “What’s the Bronze . . . ?” And then it clicked. “That’s what the book’s called, isn’t it?”

He drew in a ragged breath. “So you
do
have it?”

She wasn’t going to admit anything. Not now. “I didn’t say that. Jackie just said you’d tell me what it is and what it can do. Can you do that?” Jackie hadn’t been that specific, but he didn’t have to know that.

“The Bronze Codex is my life’s work. Of course I can.” He stared into her eyes so deeply she thought he might be trying to see her brain. “Very well, if Jackie says the full monty, the full monty’s what you shall get.”

He stood up and went to his bookshelves, then pulled a full set of volumes off a midlevel shelf, tossing them carelessly to the floor. They had hidden a safe behind them. He worked the combination lock until it clicked, then opened the door and pulled out a thick black binder, nothing more extraordinary than something she might carry around at school.

He brought it to his desk and placed it down gently.

“Jackie sent me digital photos of each page when she first acquired it.” He flipped through the photos, and Crys watched with amazement as images of the pages that had been burned into
her memory flitted across her eyes as three-hole-punched black-and-white printouts. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“You said it’s your life’s work.”

He nodded. “It was my father’s obsession first. The Codex was brought to him by its original owner many years ago for an initial assessment of the language and origins. My father named it the Bronze Codex, after the bronze hawk on its cover, a symbol that is repeated on twenty-four of its pages.” He flipped through the binder, brushing his index finger over every hawk illustration he came across.

“So your father saw the book in real life. Who was the owner?”

Vega’s brows drew together, studying Crys as if to second-guess how much of the “full monty” he should actually divulge. “A Toronto woman who had been a classmate of my father’s. She trusted him more than anyone else. He is the one who persuaded her, after a time, to get rid of it.”

“Why?”

“Because, while he was unable to translate it himself, he still knew it was dangerous. So, yes, the book has been lost to us for well over twenty years.”

“Didn’t your father know where it ended up? Or the woman who brought it to him, at least? Couldn’t you have asked?”

“Both of them died fifteen years ago.”

Crys’s chest tightened. “They died . . .” She hated to ask, but she had to. “From natural causes?”

“No. The woman . . .” He swallowed hard. “She fell from the twenty-fifth floor of a high-rise building. My father . . . he drowned. Which is suspicious considering he was a silver medalist for the Canadian Olympic swim team in his youth.”

A chill swept over Crys, raising the fine hairs on her arms.
“You’re saying that you think they were murdered because of this book.”

“Yes, I do. I believe they were murdered by Markus King.”

Her breath caught in her chest.

Dr. Vega raised a bushy eyebrow. “You know the name, don’t you?”

All she could do was nod.

“And you know that your aunt wants to use this book to draw King out of his hiding spot—wherever that is. To make him pay for his many crimes.”

“I don’t know all the details, but yes.” She chewed her bottom lip, staring down at a black-and-white sketch of a hawk parting a column of indecipherable words with its wide wings. “How did she find it, after all this time?”

“Nothing more than a lucky break. We found a listing of it in the online archives of an exclusive auction house. I received a tip that a—quote—‘unreadable book’ had been secretly sold into the private collection of a British family who had no idea what they had actually acquired. The family had simply placed it in a curio as if it were nothing more than a valuable first edition to display in their library. It had been hidden there in plain sight for at least a decade, lost to the world, until Jackie found a way to procure it from them.”

“You mean she stole it.”

He shrugged. “Procured. Stole. Your aunt certainly has her ways to get what she wants.”

Crys could easily picture her pretty blond aunt talking her way into a stately British home, scanning the shelves while she flirted with whoever stood in her way, wearing a short skirt and stiletto heels that showed off her long legs. Then the moment their backs
were turned, Jackie would have disappeared from the home like a puff of smoke, the book tucked under her arm.

“But what
is
it, Dr. Vega?” Crys asked, knowing she had yet to uncover the most vital information about the book. “What is the Bronze Codex?”

She expected him to brush off the question, just as her mother had, to change the subject to something safe and distracting. But instead, he studied her for exactly five seconds before pulling a scientific journal out of his lower desk drawer, flipping through the pages, and turning it around so she could read the heading.

Obsidia: A Magical Language from Another World

By Dr. Uriah Vega, PhD

The article was dated fifteen years ago.

“I wrote this shortly after I completed my doctorate,” he explained. “So foolish, looking for credentials and praise, ignoring the potential danger that going public with such information would cause.”