The Singer

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Reed’s an ass, but the test proved he is her biological father. And Lena is her mother. They’re human, Malachi.”

  “But she’s not.”

  “Well, no. Clearly not.” Rhys took a deep breath. “We have no idea.”

  Malachi frowned. “So what were you talking about earlier? Why were you looking at the foster-care system in California?”

  Rhys frowned at the screen, then snapped the laptop closed. “It’s probably nothing, but I’m trying to find out more information about Ava’s parents. Her mother is fairly easy. Easily traceable history for over one hundred years. Her father, however…”

  “What?” There it was again, that stirring in his gut. The awareness that there was something beneath the surface that he needed to find. It wasn’t unlike the feeling he had when looking at a blank piece of paper or clay tablet where he knew words had been. There was something on the edge of his mind that told him Jasper Reed, Ava’s do-nothing father, was the key to her identity.

  “He’s a black hole, Malachi. He grew up in the foster-care system, but that’s as much as I can find.” Rhys crossed his arms. “And I can find a lot. But for him? Nothing. No records at all. It’s as if the man didn’t exist until he started waiting tables at a beach bar in Santa Monica when he was eighteen. No mother. No father. I can’t even find a record of the last foster home he was in.”

  “No one just appears out of nowhere, Rhys.”

  “You’re right.” He crossed his arms. “And Irina aren’t born to human parents. Irin magic always stems from the female line. And there are no human Irina, Malachi. Except…” He leaned forward. “There are.”

  They fell silent as three scribes walked past, arguing in French.

  “Does the council know about her?” Malachi asked Rhys when they had passed.

  “No. I’ve been trying to keep it as quiet as I can while I dig through the online archives. I have a friend in Los Angeles who’s been making local inquiries for me. I’ve asked him to be discreet.”

  “Is it just me? Why do I feel like the fewer people who know about her, the better?”

  “It’s not just you.” Rhys leaned back but kept his voice low. “Because if there’s a way for some human women to become Irina, then that changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  “It might not be just Ava.”

  Rhys nodded. “Ava told you, and you told me and Leo before you… died, that Jaron had helped others with ‘her condition.’ Had helped other humans who heard voices. Malachi, if that’s correct, then—”

  “There might be more human Irina out there.”

  The idea of lost Irina living in the human world was shoved to the back of Malachi’s mind when he entered the ritual room with Leo. Both men wore nothing but the traditional linen wrap used during ceremonies. Malachi’s unmarked skin was stark in the shadowed room, which had been decorated with countless spells and enchantments dug into the soft rock. Some were scribed in different colors. Some surrounded intricate mosaics and paintings in vivid hues. The entire room, from the polished floor to the ceiling, was covered with Irin magic.

  Evren followed them. He and Leo spoke words over the fire that was burning in the center of the room. Then Leo waved Malachi over, and the ritual began.

  First, he prepared the ink, made from the ashes of the fire Evren tended every morning. Mixing the powdered ash with oil, he carefully poured the ink into an alabaster bowl that had been stained black from hundreds of years of use. Then he reached for the needle that Leo held out.

  Leo was murmuring under his breath. “…and for the blessing of this power, handed down to us from our fathers. For the right use of our magic. For the balance of our race. We ask the Creator’s blessing on this scribe.”

  Evren echoed Leo’s words with a few of his own, but Malachi heard little. There was only the ivory needle in his right hand. The ink in his left. He sat down on the stool with the small table before it and imagined in his mind the characters he would write. He closed his eyes and felt a slow curl of power building up from his chest, clearing his mind, and steadying the hand that had been shaking.

  Then Malachi opened his eyes and began to write.

  The first prick of the needle pierced the fog of magic that had covered his mind. It hurt. He dipped into the ink and made a few more rapid strikes the way Leo had shown him. It still hurt, but slowly he reached past it. The first character formed under his skin, glowing with a dull, pewter-like shine. Malachi started on the second. He felt the magic unfurling within as the pain reached a clarifying plateau.

  By the fourth letter, his muscle memory awakened, and the magic took over.

  Dipping from the ink to his hand, over and over again, Malachi steadily scribed the ancient words, calling on his angelic ancestors, his mother, his father, and the long line of Irin before them. He claimed his power in black ink as the spells circled the inside of his wrist, slowly curling like a snake around his forearm and crawling up his elbow. They twisted and shone as he marked himself, calling on the powers of Uriel, for longevity. On Rafael for swift healing. He harnessed Mikhael’s magic for swift hands in battle and Ariel’s for protection from blades.

  Malachi focused on the oldest of the Irin spells, those given to the earliest scribes by the Forgiven. Other, more nuanced, magic could come in time. The power flowed over and through him. His skin was alive with it. His hand never wavered.

  Behind him, he felt Leo’s hand on his shoulder, his brother sharing the magic and grounding him as he wrote. He took deep, steady breaths that Malachi copied when he realized he was holding his own breath, gritting his teeth against the constant pain.

  And there was pain.

  Through the endorphin rush and the magical high, Malachi could feel the sharp ache as his skin closed around the ink, red and angry from the ivory needle.

  He didn’t stop.

  Finally, Leo squeezed his shoulder and leaned down.

  “Finish this spell, and then enough, brother.”

  Malachi blinked, not halting in the repetitive tapping that dug the needle into his flesh. “Enough?”

  “It’s been seven hours, Malachi. That’s enough.”

  “Not finished…” He knew—an ancient, aching part of him knew that this magic only touched the edge of what he’d once owned. He wanted more.

  More power.

  More strength.

  More.

  “Enough.” Leo squeezed again, and Malachi finally paused. “Enough, brother.”

  “Enough for now,” Malachi said, finishing the last character on a spell that he knew would help him see more clearly through deception.

  “Fine.” Leo sounded amused. “Enough for now. And you better not eat anything for at least a day. You’ll be sick from it. It’s well past midnight. Go lie down and let your system even out.”

  Malachi knew what he needed and, though his skin was still bloody and raw, he’d never wished more fervently that his mate was nearby.

  Evren must have come back to the ritual room sometime in the previous hours. He took one look at Malachi’s expression and raised an eyebrow.

  “Shower, then lie down. Leo’s right. You’re flush with magic. How do you feel?”

  Malachi’s voice was rough. “Strong.”

  And hungry. He’d never felt more hungry.

  He rose and put one hand on the wall to steady himself. His left arm ached where his new talesm shone, glowing in the candlelight. The spells had reached halfway up his arm before Leo stopped him. He slowly walked toward the door, leaning against the wall for another moment to let a wave of dizziness pass.

  Leo laughed and slapped his right shoulder before he hefted an arm around Malachi and led him toward his room.

  “This, my brother, is as close to intoxicated as we get. Enjoy.”

  All Malachi could think was he’d enjoy it a lot more with his soft mate under him.

  He managed to make it into his room and get cleaned off before he fell into bed, exhausted, wired, and aching.r />
  “Come to me,” he whispered before he fell into dreams.

  She was there when he opened his eyes. The fog lifted just enough to reveal her form, standing on the edge of the dark wood. The misty air nipped at his bare skin as he ran to her. She must have heard him a moment before he reached her, because she was already turning and her mating marks gleamed gold in the low light.

  He didn’t speak. He simply picked her up at the waist and walked to the edge of the wood, laying her down on a bed of leaves that appeared before him. She opened her mouth, but he covered it with his own, catching her gasp as he spread her legs and lay in the cradle of her body.

  He kissed her over and over again. Her fingers twisted in his hair and dug into his neck, pulling him closer. Her legs wrapped around his hips.

  “More,” she murmured when his mouth left hers and he buried his face in her neck, biting the soft skin there as she arched beneath him. “More.”

  “Yes.” He hissed out in pleasure when his hips surged forward and his body breached hers. The sharp bite of her nails in his shoulder reminded him of the needle in his arm and the heady pleasure and pain of his new spells.

  He pulled back to meet her eyes, and the naked desire in them fed his own. She bit her lip, then pulled his head down, sinking her teeth into the full curve of his lower lip as he moved faster and harder within her.

  More.

  The magic surged through him and into her, linking them. Every mark on her body was lit up, and her eyes glowed gold in the darkness.

  More.

  She cried out when she came, pulling him closer and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he continued to drive into her. Inextricably, eternally linked. The other half of his soul, reaching for its mate. He found what he’d been searching for in the darkness, and he pulled her with him over the edge.

  And still he craved more.

  Chapter Eight

  Ava woke in the pitch black, her body aching in awareness and his voice whispering in her mind.

  “I love you, reshon.”

  She pressed her eyes tight, holding on to the dream. She could sense his phantom touch. Smell his scent. Feel the rough stubble along his jaw as it brushed over the sensitive skin on her belly. Her stomach was in knots and she ached.

  Ached.

  As if her muscles remembered loving him, even though months had passed. As if she could turn over in her bed and he would be there. She forced back the tears in her eyes, shutting them in the darkness and holding on to the shadowy images that haunted her nights.

  “Reshon…”

  Ava sat up, pushing back the down comforter and letting the cold bite her skin. She rubbed her arms in the brisk northern air and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She’d get no more sleep that night. Dressing in the warm clothes Max had found for her in Turkey, she crawled out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. The clock in the corner told her it was only three a.m.

  Amazingly, when she got to the kitchen, she saw a lantern set on the counter and a woman’s figure bending over the table.

  Ava halted, trying not to be alarmed.

  The woman must have heard her, because she turned and held up her hands, smiling. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I’m Karen. I woke very early this morning, and I just knew you would need breakfast.”

  “Hi.” She relaxed. She’d heard Karen’s name before. “I’m Ava.”

  The woman gave a rosy smile. “I know.”

  She was short and curvaceous, exactly what Ava would have pictured for the woman who made the delicious breads and pastries that were delivered fresh every morning. Her blond hair was tucked under a wool hat, but Ava could see spun-gold curls poking out around her ears. She was bundled against the cold morning air, and a basket of steaming baked goods was sitting on the table.

  “I was just going to tuck these in the oven and leave a note. It’s getting so cold in the mornings I don’t like leaving the bread outside.”

  “Thanks. That’s really considerate.” Ava’s stomach growled to life. “You’re an amazing baker, by the way. I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

  “You’re welcome!” A dimple popped out on Karen’s cheek just as Ava heard a rustling and stomping at the door. “Oh, that’s Bruno. He’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

  The door cracked open, and a bear of a man poked his head through. He had to have been six and a half feet, with a long brown beard and shaggy hair that hung over his ears, as if he were overdue for a haircut. His shoulders filled the doorway, and his flannel shirt hung open at the neck, revealing dark talesm that stood out against pale skin.

  “Sweet, what is taking so—oh, hallo!” His eyes swung toward her, and Ava pulled on her sweater as she lifted a hand in greeting. The bear grinned. “How did my sweet girl know you would be awake? But that’s her gift, yes? She just knows these things, my Karen. A touch of Chamuel’s blood in her.”

  He stepped through the door and seemed to get impossibly taller.

  “Bruno,” Karen hissed. “It’s early. Ava might not want company.”

  Bruno’s eyes turned toward hers, wide and blue, as if shocked by the thought of a neighbor not wanting to visit at three in the morning.

  “Sorry. Would you rather we…” He motioned to the door.

  “No.” Ava was quick to smile. Something about the giant man reminded her of Leo. “No, that’s fine. I’m not going to get any more sleep.”

  “Well sit, then.” Karen began bustling around the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee. I’m sorry about this, Ava. You were probably hoping for a quiet morning.”

  All her mornings were quiet now. There was no teasing Malachi trying to keep her in bed, whispering delicious secrets and making her laugh. There was nothing.

  “No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “I like the company. I haven’t met many people yet.”

  “Oh.” Karen waved a hand as she filled the electric kettle. “They don’t want to overwhelm you. Sari warned them your mind isn’t protected yet. But you’ll learn the spells soon, and then they’ll introduce themselves. Everyone’s excited to meet you. We don’t get many new people.”

  Bruno crossed to her and reached out his hand. Ava took it, and the immediate wash of comfort almost broke her control. Bruno held her hand in both of his big paws and bent down, smiling. “Welcome, Ava. I’m Bruno, and this is my mate, Karen. It’s very nice to meet you. We’re glad you’re here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll try to be quiet, huh? So we don’t wake your guard.” He winked one blue eye, and Ava had the sudden image of Bruno in a red cap and coat.

  “Do you ever play Santa at Christmas? Because you’d be awesome.”

  Bruno threw his head back and laughed, patting his flat stomach. “I’ve been trying to fatten up, but it doesn’t seem to work.”

  “Shh! You’ll wake Damien.” Karen shook her head and turned back to the kettle.

  Ava shook her head, smiling as she walked to the table. Bruno slipped behind Karen at the counter, bending down to wrap his arms around his mate.

  “Did you hear, sweet? Ava says you’re not feeding me enough.”

  Karen said something Ava didn’t understand; it made Bruno growl low in his throat and pull Karen closer to drop a kiss on her neck. Ava turned her head from the easy intimacy between them. She pulled three plates from the cupboard, then turned back and got another. There was no way that Damien would be sleeping for long, not with Bruno’s booming voice filling the kitchen.

  In fact, by the time the coffee was poured, dark and steaming from the French press on the counter, Damien was wandering out of his room, hair mussed from the night but already dressed in warm flannels.

  “We took down a tree yesterday, and he’s still awake at this hour,” Damien said, eyeing the steaming cup that Karen was already pouring cream into. “Bruno, you’ve scribed a spell I don’t know.”

  Bruno winked
at Ava again and pulled Karen’s chair closer. “Yes, but I’m not sharing. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

  “Damien, how is Sari?” Karen asked. “Any progress?”

  Bruno guffawed as Damien closed his eyes. “Woman, don’t you know he gets that question in some form or another ten times a day?”

  Karen shrugged. “That’s because we all know she’d be far less… cranky if they reconciled.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Damien said, sipping his coffee. “I’m not leaving until we’ve resolved some things.”

  “Good,” Bruno said, reaching for some of the spiced nut bread that Karen had set out. Instead of grabbing a piece for himself, he reached across the table and put a piece first on Ava’s plate, then Karen’s, before passing the basket to Damien. “What I want to know is when Ava is meeting with Orsala.” He looked at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “We’re all very curious what you can do.”

  Ava tried to smile. From the first day here, she’d felt and heard the probing curiosity. She wasn’t convinced there was anything special about her other than her mysterious parentage. Certainly nothing like Sari’s elemental powers or the healing she’d witnessed Astrid perform the day before. Even Karen seemed to have some sixth sense regarding baked goods.

  “I can take really good pictures,” Ava said. “But that’s not very supernatural.”

  “Hmm,” Karen mused. “But why are you such a talented photographer? Practice and training, I’m sure. But often, we hone our gifts without realizing their full potential. I wouldn’t be surprised if something about your chosen profession relates to your talents as an Irina.”

  Bruno winked again. “See? Chamuel’s blood. My sweet girl has a sense about these things.” His eyes flicked to Damien. “I have a feeling our friend here has his suspicions, as well.”

  Damien shrugged when Ava turned to him. “You’ll meet Orsala this afternoon. She’ll be able to read you.”

  “How?” Ava asked.