covered in mold and mildew, lit by blazing torches, leading to a cavernous hall with mysterious strangers in hooded robes. The scent of ancient traditions and history itself in the musty air.
Instead, he got something much less medieval and much more modern. This hallway reminded him of a narrower version of the city’s PATH system: a maze of underground tunnels connecting the subway to stores and buildings in the business district so that commuters could avoid the slush and ice whenever possible during Toronto’s harsh winters.
But this wasn’t the PATH. These hallways were privately owned and maintained. Only a privileged few ever got to see these walls. But it
was
a maze of tunnels that led to many different places—or so he’d heard. So far, he’d only used them to travel from the restaurant to the society’s inner sanctum.
Left turn, right turn, right, left, left . . . and so on. Farrell had never bothered to fully learn the route himself, because his parents had always been there to guide him.
“How far until we get there?” Adam asked.
“Not very,” Farrell replied. Up ahead, he could see some other members headed to the same destination. “We’re almost there.”
Which was good, since his new shoes were killing him.
Finally, they came to a spiral staircase, which they ascended slowly and carefully. The staircase led to an iron door covered in mysterious symbols. Edward Grayson knocked—three quick, then three slow.
A moment later, the door opened, and they entered the society’s headquarters.
“First we’re at a fancy restaurant,” Adam said loud enough for only Farrell to hear. “And now
this
?”
The disappointment and uncertainty had returned to his brother’s voice.
Farrell knew that entering a grand theater dressed in formal wear, as if attending the latest touring Broadway musical, was not what Adam ever would have anticipated. “Just wait till showtime,” Farrell replied under his breath.
Nearly two hundred other society members were already here, all taking their seats in the rows closest to the stage. This theater could easily seat six hundred, but the leader preferred to keep his numbers to a minimum.
Out of the corner of his eye, Farrell spotted a familiar face. Lucas Barrington stood at the very front near the wide stage and beckoned toward Farrell to join him.
“What the hell does he want?” he muttered to himself.
Lucas had been Connor’s best friend for years, but Farrell hadnever liked him. He’d always been too . . . shiny. Too slick and polite and full of compliments, like he was trying to sell something. Farrell wasn’t buying the suck-up act, so he usually tried to avoid the guy whenever possible and lately had only seen him at the quarterly meetings, every three months. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in six months.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Farrell said to Adam. Then, without waiting for a reply, he walked toward Lucas.
“How are you doing?” Lucas asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I hope you mean that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s been a whole year now. I miss him, too. We all do.”
Farrell’s gut lurched. He wished he could find a way to turn off his emotions, once and for all. “Has it really been that long? Time sure flies. Is that what you called me over here to say?”
“No. Let’s go over there. It’s more private.” Lucas nodded to the other side of the stage, where there was a small alcove away from the other members.
Once there, Farrell crossed his arms. “So, what’s up?”
“I’ll make this short and sweet.” Lucas scanned the theater before his dark eyes met Farrell’s. “You’ve been chosen.”
“Chosen? For what?”
“For Markus’s inner circle.”
Farrell nodded slowly, not understanding. “Which is . . . ?”
“Markus’s
secret
inner circle. It’s always existed. Carefully selected members are chosen to help him on a more personal level. It’s a huge honor.”
Farrell
Instead, he got something much less medieval and much more modern. This hallway reminded him of a narrower version of the city’s PATH system: a maze of underground tunnels connecting the subway to stores and buildings in the business district so that commuters could avoid the slush and ice whenever possible during Toronto’s harsh winters.
But this wasn’t the PATH. These hallways were privately owned and maintained. Only a privileged few ever got to see these walls. But it
was
a maze of tunnels that led to many different places—or so he’d heard. So far, he’d only used them to travel from the restaurant to the society’s inner sanctum.
Left turn, right turn, right, left, left . . . and so on. Farrell had never bothered to fully learn the route himself, because his parents had always been there to guide him.
“How far until we get there?” Adam asked.
“Not very,” Farrell replied. Up ahead, he could see some other members headed to the same destination. “We’re almost there.”
Which was good, since his new shoes were killing him.
Finally, they came to a spiral staircase, which they ascended slowly and carefully. The staircase led to an iron door covered in mysterious symbols. Edward Grayson knocked—three quick, then three slow.
A moment later, the door opened, and they entered the society’s headquarters.
“First we’re at a fancy restaurant,” Adam said loud enough for only Farrell to hear. “And now
this
?”
The disappointment and uncertainty had returned to his brother’s voice.
Farrell knew that entering a grand theater dressed in formal wear, as if attending the latest touring Broadway musical, was not what Adam ever would have anticipated. “Just wait till showtime,” Farrell replied under his breath.
Nearly two hundred other society members were already here, all taking their seats in the rows closest to the stage. This theater could easily seat six hundred, but the leader preferred to keep his numbers to a minimum.
Out of the corner of his eye, Farrell spotted a familiar face. Lucas Barrington stood at the very front near the wide stage and beckoned toward Farrell to join him.
“What the hell does he want?” he muttered to himself.
Lucas had been Connor’s best friend for years, but Farrell hadnever liked him. He’d always been too . . . shiny. Too slick and polite and full of compliments, like he was trying to sell something. Farrell wasn’t buying the suck-up act, so he usually tried to avoid the guy whenever possible and lately had only seen him at the quarterly meetings, every three months. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other in six months.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Farrell said to Adam. Then, without waiting for a reply, he walked toward Lucas.
“How are you doing?” Lucas asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I hope you mean that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s been a whole year now. I miss him, too. We all do.”
Farrell’s gut lurched. He wished he could find a way to turn off his emotions, once and for all. “Has it really been that long? Time sure flies. Is that what you called me over here to say?”
“No. Let’s go over there. It’s more private.” Lucas nodded to the other side of the stage, where there was a small alcove away from the other members.
Once there, Farrell crossed his arms. “So, what’s up?”
“I’ll make this short and sweet.” Lucas scanned the theater before his dark eyes met Farrell’s. “You’ve been chosen.”
“Chosen? For what?”
“For Markus’s inner circle.”
Farrell nodded slowly, not understanding. “Which is . . . ?”
“Markus’s
secret
inner circle. It’s always existed. Carefully selected members are chosen to help him on a more personal level. It’s a huge honor.”
Farrell
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