The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves) (22 page)

Suddenly a wash of weariness hit her. Crys was tired. So utterly tired, in a way she’d never been before, she could barely keep her eyes open any longer.

“Don’t you dare think about leaving without me in the morning,” Crys warned.

“I think I’d be happy going the rest of my life without attracting the further wrath of Crystal Hatcher,” Jackie said. She smiled briefly, then looked tenderly at her niece. “I’m sorry, Crys. For all of this. I mean it.”

Crys nodded. “I know.”

She hugged her aunt again, then she hugged Dr. Vega too. He looked desperately like he needed one after being the sole witness of Crys and Jackie’s confrontation tonight.

Tomorrow they would fix this.

• • •

Jackie gently shook her awake. Crys stared at the clock next to her single bed in shock as she realized it was nearly seven o’clock.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“This is early,” Jackie said. “Go get ready.”

Crys was out of bed and dressed in less than five minutes. Dr. Vega and Jackie waited for her downstairs.

“I considered taking the tunnels,” Jackie said to Crys as she entered the kitchen. “But I don’t trust them. It’s been a while since I last navigated them, and I don’t want to get us lost. We’ll take my car.”

That was fine with Crys; if she never found herself in the society’s underground tunnels again, it would be too soon.

“Did Angus call you back?” Dr. Vega asked as they moved toward the door.

“Not yet.”

“But didn’t you tell him in the messages why it’s so urgent that you talk to him?”

“No. You never know who could be listening in.”

There was a firm knock at the door.

Crys and Jackie exchanged a worried look. Dr. Vega went to the door and looked through the peephole. His shoulders tense, he opened the door while Crys looked on, holding her breath.

Two uniformed police officers were standing on the other side.

“We’re looking for Jackie Kendall,” one officer said, his gaze tracking directly to Jackie, who came to stand next to Dr. Vega.

“I’m Jackie,” she said.

He nodded grimly. “We have a warrant for your arrest. We have to take you into custody.” The officer pulled out a pair of handcuffs and began to read Jackie her rights.

“Wait—what?” Crys snapped. “What’s happening?”

“Looks like my past picked a hell of a time to catch up to me. Markus probably told the police where I was. He’s got everyone tied up in his schemes.” Jackie gritted her teeth. “Uriah, I’ll call you as soon as I can. And Crys—do not do anything crazy without me.”

It was the last thing she said before they took her, handcuffed, out of the apartment. The door closed behind them, and Crys just stood there, frozen in utter shock.

She looked at Dr. Vega. “What now?” she asked.

“Whatever Jackie worried you’re going to do without her,” he said, “I suggest you do it. And as quickly as possible.”

It was all the encouragement she needed.

BECCA

T
hough she felt more desperate than anything, as Becca let go of Crys in the ballroom, she decided she needed to try to be brave. The look on her sister’s face, that naked fear when Becca agreed to leave with Damen and his people . . .

But what other choice did she have?

Now she tried not to think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other. She lost track of Damen when they put her in the back of one of three black limos with a gunman at her side. Markus disappeared into the backseat of another car with two gunmen, and though everything inside of her screamed, needing to know where they were taking her, she didn’t ask. Crys probably would have—whenever she was scared, she tended to cover her fear with bravado or sarcasm. They were alike in a lot of ways, but not that one.

When Becca was scared—really and truly scared—she got really quiet.

They didn’t blindfold her. At first she was glad for this one small allowance, but the more she thought about it, the less fortunate it seemed. There was no reason to blindfold a
kidnapped victim if the kidnappers knew she wasn’t ever going to be released.

She couldn’t see the driver, only the silent masked man seated next to her.

And she could also see the shadow, which had joined her. It stayed down by her feet, almost touching her but not. The realization made her feel insane, but seeing that frightening yet familiar piece of darkness helped calm her just a little.

Thoughts of what she’d learned at the ball vividly and painfully replayed through her mind during the drive.

Jackie, her aunt—her beloved, fun-loving, fascinating aunt whom she’d adored all her life—was a liar who’d kept the truth from Becca since her birth. Julia, her mother, had been in on it the whole time. And Crys—what did Crys know about the horribly well-kept secret that Becca’s life was nothing that she thought it was?

The three of them had been whispering to each other all week, and Becca hadn’t known why. She’d assumed they were discussing everything she’d told them about Maddox and Mytica, and perhaps that was partially true. But now she saw that there was more to the truth.

The magical book had affected her, had pulled her into Mytica. She’d wondered what made her so different from anyone else.

Now she wished she didn’t know.

It was life-altering information. No,
life-altering
didn’t even come close to what it was. The second she heard the truth about her origins, her entire worldview changed. But Becca couldn’t process what it meant—not yet.

After what felt like a half an hour, the driver pulled the car to the side of the road. It wasn’t a good part of town.

One of the men dressed in black opened the back door. He
was positioned to catch her in case she tried to flee, but she didn’t resist and got out on her own. She looked up to see they were parked in front of an old deserted building with chipped and crumbling plaster and a marquee that, in faded letters, read:
KING’S PALACE THEATRE.
Her masked escort then led her up to the entrance.

The shadow followed her.

Becca hadn’t recognized the place on the outside, but as soon as she stepped inside, she knew exactly where she was.

It was Markus’s theater, where the Hawkspear Society met and where Becca had found herself when she’d woken from her coma. She had been laid out on a table on the stage, surrounded by people, as if she were some sort of sacrificial offering. It actually had been a ceremony of exchange—Becca for the Bronze Codex.

They entered from the back of the theater, walking first through the shamble of a lobby. As Becca descended the narrow aisle to the main stage, she looked at the rows upon rows of red seats, all of which had been immaculately maintained. Adorning the walls were geometric patterns in once bold, now fading colors, and on several panels there were twenty-foot murals depicting glamorous women wearing sullen expressions, holding instruments and lilies.

Art Deco
, she thought randomly, the name of the theater’s aesthetic popping into her mind.
That’s the style.

The abandoned exterior of the building was the perfect way to camouflage the headquarters of a secret society.

The masked man guided Becca in farther. She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Markus walking in after her, two of Damen’s henchmen on either side of him, regarding his theater with a stony look in his eyes.

Damen stood at center stage, alone, his hands clasped behind his back, watching them.

Including Becca, seven people were present. She wondered where the rest of Damen’s gunmen had gone.

“Why here?” Markus asked.

“Because this is your domain,” Damen said simply. “Your kingdom, Markus King. I do like the surname you chose. A bit vain and pompous, perhaps, but that’s you.”

“And you chose Winter for yours. Frigid and unpleasant to endure.”

“I thought you liked winter, Markus?” Damen descended from the stage and moved toward them. “You chose to make Toronto your new home.”

“I didn’t choose it.”

“Yet you’ve stayed here all these years.”

Damen knew a lot about Markus. And by the look on Markus’s face, he didn’t like it one bit.

Were they alone in here? Perhaps there was someone else in the building, a janitor or maintenance worker? What about Hawkspear members? Did they have access to the theater in between official gatherings?

Becca was bursting with questions, but she stayed silent. Besides, she knew they were probably futile. A psycho mastermind like Damen wouldn’t choose a venue that could be compromised by random visitors at any given moment.

“Becca.” Damen came to stand right in front of her, stunning her out of her thoughts. “Look at me.”

She really, really didn’t want to. Still looking down, she clasped her hands together, tightly, until she felt pain. She tried to focus on that pain and nothing else.

She so wanted to be brave. She so wanted to be like Crys, to say something snarky to trick everyone into thinking she wasn’t terrified. She’d experienced so much fear in Mytica—even as a spirit, she’d still been faced with the horror of ravenous magic—but it had been nothing like this. That terror descended upon her quickly, and it was over before she knew it.

And in Mytica, Maddox had been by her side every step of the way. They’d helped each other find enough bravery to survive. Here, in this eerily immaculate theater with these demons from another world, Becca had no one to help her find that strength.

The shadow was still with her now, but sadly that didn’t count.

“Becca,” Damen said again, slower and more deliberately. “Look at me.”

But she still didn’t look.

“She can resist your magic,” Markus said.

“I’m not using magic. Should I, Becca?”

She set her jaw and forced herself to look at him. She met his chilling black and reptilian eyes straight on and couldn’t hold back a flinch.

Damen nodded, his pale face expressionless as he walked through the theater, forcing Becca to follow him with her gaze. “It’s disturbing to you, isn’t it? My appearance?”

She bit her lip, afraid of how he’d retaliate if she agreed or disagreed with him.

“You look very tired,” he continued. He reached the foot of stage and climbed its steps up to the hardwood surface. He paced the stage, glancing up at the rafters and lights. “It was a big night for us all. You need to rest.”

“
Rest?
” Markus said. “This is hardly a time for rest. Tell us why you brought us here.”

“Not yet.”

“You think you can just keep me here until you feel ready?”

“Yes, I do. And what will you do about it? Your magic is so faded, it’s almost as if it were never there at all. You’re not much stronger than a mortal now.” He nodded at two of the masked men, who came up on either side of Markus. “You’ve built a nice little dungeon downstairs,” Damen said. “I assume that’s where you keep the accused before they face their society trials.”

Markus said nothing, so Damen went on talking.

“Fortunately it’s empty. Otherwise I would have had to empty it myself. Now, go with my people, Markus. And please don’t give me any problems tonight. You know very well that I will make you regret it.”

Markus eyed Becca for a few tense moments as she braced herself for what would follow when Markus inevitably disobeyed Damen. But suddenly, to her great surprise, Markus turned away and, without a word, accompanied the two men out of the theater.

Becca held her breath and waited for what might happen next.

“I’m sorry tonight has been so difficult for you, Becca,” Damen said as he watched Markus be led out of the room. “You didn’t choose that man as your father.”

“That man
isn’t
my father,” Becca spat. “My father is Daniel Hatcher.”

Becca puffed out her chest in pride. She sounded strong. Brave. She took some comfort in that. From the corner of her eye, she watched the shadow slither beneath a red seat nearby.

A slight, chilly smile cracked Damen’s expressionless face. “Very well,” he said dismissively. “As I said before, you need to sleep.”

“No, I don’t—”

He narrowed his bottomless black eyes.
“Sleep.”

• • •

That slap of Damen’s magic was the last thing she remembered when she woke up on a cot in what looked like a backstage dressing room, covered in a soft gray blanket. She sat bolt upright and craned her neck all around. No one else was there.

What time was it? She fumbled for her phone but couldn’t find it and didn’t remember the last time she’d seen it. The clutch she’d taken to the ball was gone. The only belongings she had were the clothes she was wearing: the fancy black dress with the itchy beaded neckline, tight black shoes, and the silver rose necklace she always wore, which she twisted nervously.

And then there was that dense shadow, which lingered now in the corner.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said to the shadow. Her throat was raw. “I don’t know what you are, but . . . can you help me?”

The shadow simply continued to swirl in the corner.

She sighed and took another look around. All was quiet and still, and though she didn’t have a clock, she had the feeling that it might still be the middle of the night. Could it be possible that she was the only one awake in the theater? Quietly, she got up and went to the door. She tried the knob, gasping with surprise to find it unlocked.
Could this actually be happening? Could she just walk away from all of this, right now?
She had only a vague idea where she was in relation to Angus’s home, but if she could just get outside, she could find a way to get there. She’d borrow a phone, or she’d even be happy to take her chances on hitchhiking with a random stranger if it got her away from Damen and Markus.

The door creaked as she slowly pushed it open. Trembling, she slipped into the hallway.

But her heart plummeted to see that there was someone waiting for her just outside the door. It was one of Damen’s men in black, still wearing his mask.

“Damen will be happy to learn you’re awake,” he said. “Follow me.”

She knew she had no choice. Girding herself for the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours, she followed as the man led her through the backstage hallways and out to the stage. On top of the stage was a long wooden table. Damen stood at the end of it.

“Good morning, Becca,” he said. He gestured toward the chair opposite him, in front of which was a spread of food. “Please sit. I’ve arranged breakfast for you.”

Though he looked the same as he had last evening—those coal-black eyes were still burning in his face—there was something about him this morning, some invisible sense of danger, that made him even more frightening.

With nothing to do but obey, she walked stiffly toward the table and sat. On the table in front of her were platters of eggs—scrambled, fried, and poached—bacon, ham, sausages, pancakes, French toast, and several glass pitchers of fruit juice.

As if on autopilot, Becca put her napkin in her lap, and Damen took his seat across from her. “I hope it’s all right; I didn’t know what you like to eat.” Becca just stared at him, motionless and silent, her silverware untouched next to her plate. “Becca, I would like to apologize for using my magic on you last night.”

“Ha!” she said immediately, surprised and a bit horrified at herself, but seemingly unable to stop now that she’d started. “Why apologize? You can get people to do whatever you want them to do, whenever you want them to do it. Why wouldn’t you use that magic all the time?”

“Many reasons,” he replied coldly.

They were interrupted by a shuffling sound somewhere backstage, and Becca followed Damen’s demon eyes to the source. Entering through the curtains was Markus, flanked by two more of Damen’s men.

Upon seeing Becca, Damen, and the man in black who’d been chaperoning Becca, Markus groaned. “Why are they still wearing masks?” His escorts led him to his chair, right between Becca and Damen, facing the sea of vacant red seats.

“Why do you think?” Damen asked as Markus sat down.

“Oh, please, Damen,” Markus said and sneered. “You think I don’t know what you’ve done? They’re wearing masks because you don’t want me to see their faces. Faces that I’d recognize, because they belong to Hawkspear members you’ve enslaved to do your bidding.”

Damen smiled sickly in response. “Did you rest well in your dungeon?”

Markus flicked a brief glance at Becca. Her food was still untouched, and she had no plans to change that. “I assume we’re here because you mean to put me on trial for my crimes,” Markus said, ignoring Damen’s taunts.

“Interesting thought. Do you believe you’ve committed crimes against me?”

“I did nothing to you that you didn’t fully deserve.”

“You’re right, Markus. I did deserve my punishment. All those awful deeds? I was practically begging for it.” Damen paused and shifted his chilling gaze to Becca. “I wonder what you’d think of me, Becca, if you knew the truth.”

“I don’t think anything of you,” Becca said as steadily as possible. “I don’t even know you.”