“Vienna,” Malachi barked. “Please. What have you found out about the Irina?”
“Phillip is right, there are definitely more Irina in the city, and they’re becoming more visible. One of my sources was watching an interview with Edmund’s mate—”
“Edmund?”
“British council member. He’s become very pro-compulsion.”
Malachi glanced to Leo. “Explain.”
Leo said, “There is a movement to solve the Irina problem. Critics are calling it ‘compulsion.’ Basically, some elders want to force the Irina back into retreats.”
Max said, “They claim it is for their own protection and to protect the future of the Irin race. It’s gaining popularity among younger scribes who want the opportunity to find a mate—as slim as that chance may be—and among scribes who see our race dying off if nothing is done.”
“Our race is dying off,” Malachi said.
“Yes,” Max said, “but trying to force the Irina back into the retreats where they were all but slaughtered isn’t exactly the wisest way of coaxing them back, is it?”
“All the elders want the Irina back,” Leo said, “but they don’t agree how to achieve it. Gabriel works for Konrad, who is more traditionalist. He says the reason Irina fled was because of the retreats, so it’s useless to try to force them back. He’s proposing to reform the full council. Irin and Irina elders, the way it used to be. That way the Irina would know they have a full vote by their own elders and not just a bunch of old scribes.”
Malachi narrowed his eyes, watching the road as he mulled over what Leo and Max had told him. “Max, how are the elders chosen?”
“By the watchers,” Max said.
“But I thought the watchers were chosen by the Council.”
Leo said, “It’s not a perfect system. Irina elders were chosen more democratically. Singers voted based on regions. Seven regions for seven council members.”
“Keep in mind,” Max said, “it was easier for the Irina, because they were more centralized. Most singers were in retreats and didn’t move around much, whereas the scribes were scattered. Different cities. We move much more. Having the watchers choose the seven elders does make a kind of sense.”
“Yes, but it also leaves a lot to be desired, considering there is no check on the council’s power,” Leo said. “Corruption is inevitable.”
“It’s inevitable in any government, Leo.” Malachi took the turnoff from the highway. They were only half an hour outside the city that governed the Irin people. He knew that he must have been there before, but he didn’t remember it. It all looked foreign. He felt as if he were stepping into an alien world, and he had no idea who was a friend and who was an enemy. Instinct told him that nothing in Vienna could be taken at face value, including the intentions of the scribe they were meeting.
He knew little about Gabriel except that he was Damien’s brother-in-law, and it was possible that Damien’s actions had led to the death of Gabriel’s mate. Hardly surprising the two didn’t get along. Gabriel also worked for Konrad. And Konrad sounded like someone Malachi might agree with.
But then, politicians were liars. That, he knew, was true of every race.
Compulsion.
The very word made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
“Tell us more about the Irina in Vienna,” Malachi said.
Max and Leo had been chatting in Russian, but they switched back to English. “The Irina who have been out publicly are those whose mates are very pro-compulsion. They’ve been talking about ‘tradition,’ but there’s little traditional about their conversation. They’re talking about other Irina as if they were the enemy. Talking about ‘the good of our children’ and ‘meeting the needs of our scribes.’ Acting like all they want is to be protected. The few Irina I’ve met would spit in their faces.”
“So the Irina are back, according to them, and eager to go into retreats again? I find that hard to believe.”
“Those speaking publicly claim to speak for their sisters, but we have no idea where they’ve even been hiding for the last two hundred years.”
Max said, “There are rumors that some of the old council hid their wives and wouldn’t let them leave their homes. Claimed it was for their own protection. This happened for years. Then a few started coming back to the city. Now, there is a small Irina presence, but it’s still very quiet. Out of the public eye. Nothing like what it used to be, according to the older scribes. But it’s Vienna, so they’re safe.”
“And now we have the complication of Ava, as well,” Leo said.
Malachi glared. “Ava’s not a complication.”
“She is in the sense that we still don’t know where she comes from.” Leo’s voice was logical, but his words scraped Malachi’s nerves. “And the council will want to know. Have you heard from Rhys?”
Rhys had rented a car and driven ahead to Vienna days before. He’d told Malachi and Leo he needed to check in with a few “associates.” Plus, he was the one arranging a meeting with Gabriel since the two scribes had always been friendly.
“No.”
“I need to go,” Max said. “I’m meeting with a few people here. I think Ava and Damien came through the city on their way to Sari. I’m going to try to get more information in case Gabriel can’t or won’t tell you what he knows.”
“Good luck,” Malachi said. “Keep us updated.”
“Call me after you’ve spoken to Gabriel.”
Leo put the phone away and silence filled the car.
After a few minutes, the lights of Vienna shone in the distance and traffic started to thicken.
“You know I didn’t mean ‘complication’ in a bad way, don’t you?” Leo finally asked.
“I know.”
“It’s more hopeful than anything else, isn’t it? Finding Ava.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that if Ava was out there for so many years, then that could mean there are others we don’t know about, too.” The longing in Leo’s voice was almost painful. “There could be other Irina out there. Not only the survivors of the Rending, but others.”
Malachi shrugged. “It’s possible. They’d be outsiders, though. Different from the humans around them.”
“Ava said that the humans thought she was mentally ill,” Leo said quietly. “They thought she was crazy.”
The mere idea infuriated him in a way he couldn’t articulate.
He said, “If there are other Irina out there—lost Irina—”
“We need to find them.”
The call came through only minutes after they’d checked into the Irin-friendly hotel near the city center. It was a boarding house, set over a handsome kaffeehaus lined with wood panels and buzzing with activity from young patrons. There was a message from Rhys telling them that Gabriel would meet them at a different coffee house near the archives. Leo and Malachi quickly stowed their weapons and made their way across town.
Most of the Irin buildings were in the oldest neighborhoods of Vienna; handsome baroque facades hid offices that most humans would simply assume belonged one of the many corporations or international organizations that made Vienna their home. It was a diverse city, the perfect place for the Irin to hide. And the archives themselves, where Rhys was doing research, were mostly underground, centralized during the late medieval period when the city walls were built.
Leo spotted Gabriel the moment he walked in, and Malachi followed his gaze. Nothing about the Spanish scribe was familiar to him. He had average looks, and his dark suit gave the impression of an ordinary businessman out for a late lunch. Only those who looked closely might notice the edges of tattoo work that peeked above his collar, which was hardly unusual anymore for a man who appeared to be in his late twenties.
But Gabriel was far older. And the wary dark eyes that finally met Malachi’s over the French newspaper made that clear.
Leo and Malachi sat down at Gabriel’s table, which was in a corner, isolated from t
he busier tables in the room. Still, Malachi looked around cautiously.
“The owners are Irin,” Gabriel said quietly, putting down the newspaper and leaning back. His English was softly accented but precise. He did not offer any greeting. “You are some of Damien’s scribes.”
“We are,” Leo said. “I am Leo. This is Malachi.”
“The Istanbul house burned,” Gabriel said. “It was noted with some interest here in the city, even though the cause was determined to be accidental.”
Malachi spoke. “It wasn’t.”
“We didn’t really think it was,” Gabriel said.
Malachi wondered who the “we” referred to. Gabriel and his employer, the Elder named Konrad? The council as a whole?
Leo said, “Our house was targeted by a group of Grigori that belonged to Volund.”
A reaction, finally. One eyebrow lifted. Leo might have been the one speaking, but Gabriel was looking at Malachi when he said, “Istanbul is Jaron’s territory. It has been since he spread from Persepolis.”
Malachi answered the unspoken question. “Not anymore.”
“Where is my brother-in-law?”
Leo and Malachi exchanged glances.
Finally, Malachi said, “We don’t know.”
“The watcher of a scribe house lets his house burn, set on by Grigori outside their known territory, and he does not report it.” Gabriel’s voice almost sounded amused, but Malachi could sense the man’s tightly leashed tension. “In fact, he doesn’t report in at all. He disappears with the previously unknown mate of a fallen brother, and no one knows where they are.”
Malachi’s heart raced. Apparently, Max was right. The Irin council really did have eyes and ears everywhere.
“Needless to say,” Gabriel continued, “I am surprised to see you looking so very much alive, Malachi of Sakarya.”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m still surprised she let me go.”
“Let you go?” Renata’s eyebrow lifted. “She’s not some despot. You wanted to go. You went. We’re not military, like scribes.”
Mala signed something and Renata interpreted. “Mala says we’re also not as organized or efficient.”
Ava leaned back in her chair as they sat in the small restaurant beneath the room Renata kept in Bergen. “It probably also helped that Sari and Damien appear to have reconciled.”
Mala snorted and began signing again.
“Yes,” Renata said with a laugh. “Very loudly.”
“I don’t even need to speak sign language to get that,” Ava said. “But yes, I don’t think they’re noticing much about anything except each other at the moment.”
It was nice to see. Painful, but nice. Everyone was happy for them. Damien hadn’t slept a night in the guesthouse since the night they’d argued there. Argued and not returned. Now Ava’s nights were guarded by a series of friendly scribes and singers who watched over the house while she slept. She could hardly begrudge Damien his time, and it made her early nights less noticeable to the others. She escaped into dreams. It was none of their business how often.
They sat near the window, not chancing the freezing temperatures outside. The window was cold enough. A few tourists still wandered the streets of the charming Norwegian town, taking pictures of the bright houses and soaring, snow-covered mountains.
Winter had descended on the fjords, and though the small valley where Sarihöfn lay was protected from the worst of the elements by Sari’s magic, Bergen was not shielded. It was a bone-chilling cold that Ava hadn’t experienced for a few years, though it wasn’t anything she could forget. She looked with longing at the visitors loading skis into cars, wishing she had the time to join them.
But, as Renata reminded her, this was work. Not fun.
Mala and Renata had fallen silent, sipping their coffee and allowing Ava to listen. Other than brief snatches of conversation, she’d been scanning voices for hours. Most of it was still meaningless babble to her, but she was beginning to recognize a few common words and phrases in the Old Language.
Humans, she realized, were more than a little repetitive.
Worry. Worry. Longing. Joy.
A frustrated man stormed past. His voice felt like anger. She caught the word for “wife” in his thoughts, but not much else.
Worry. Worry. Joy. Contentment.
Love her.
Happy.
Stop. Must stop.
Understanding came in flashes. The drone of the whispers never ceased. Adults were anxiety and longing. Children were laughter, but simple worry was still there. Names flashed. Voices rose and fell.
Ava rubbed her head. In the safety and silence of Sarihöfn, she’d forgotten how exhausting people could be. Luckily, both Mala and Renata hummed low repetitive tunes that blended into a kind of white noise. If she’d heard them in isolation, they would have driven her crazy. But among the throngs of other voices, the background music helped her focus.
…he comes…
Where? Here? Now?
…pretty, pretty human…
Her ears perked at the odd tone of the whisper. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the single voice that had mentioned the human.
…work… morning…
So much meaningless babble. She couldn’t wait to understand more than just—there!
…human …want…
It was faint and scratchy. Discordant. Just like the Grigori she remembered from Istanbul.
“I’ve got one,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Mala and Renata were silent, but she could hear their humming stop. Their inner voices jumped, alive with curiosity. Excitement.
“Shut up!” Ava said. The humming started again as she tried to track the voice. It was moving away. Ava stood and grabbed her jacket, desperate to find it.
I’ve got you, asshole. No humans for you today.
She bumped into two people near the door, but she didn’t apologize. She walked out into the snow-covered streets, searching for it, hoping that Renata and Mala were following. Not paying attention to anything but—
“Got you,” she whispered when her eyes fell on him. Like all his kind, he was beautiful. Golden-brown hair shone in the low sun. He was laughing, flirting with a woman in front of a hotel who looked at him as if he’d hung the moon in the sky along with all the Northern Lights. If Ava didn’t know what he was, she would have stopped and stared, too.
Ava paused at the corner and turned to Renata and Mala, who hung back, careful not to get too close. “Him. On the corner in the blue sweater.”
“Oh yes,” Renata said with glee, “I see him now.”
Mala signed and Renata said, “Do you hear any others?”
She tried to focus again, narrowing her mind to the area around the small hotel. “I think… there are some in the hotel, too. Two more voices. It’s hard to say for sure.”
“That would make the three Sari heard about. Hunting on the ski slopes, it looks like. Tourist areas are always popular. Makes women disappearing much harder to find if they’re not in their regular routine. This is good, actually. It means they’re not here because of anything but the tourists. It’s no wonder with this mild weather we’re having.”
Ava said, “This is mild?”
Mala just grinned and shook her head. Renata said, “Only in Norway.”
Ava murmured the shielding spell and happily slammed the door shut. She took a deep breath and felt immediate relief. The world around her muffled and her vision cleared. Her eyes returned to the Grigori, who was helping the woman load two sets of skis onto the top of her car.
“So, what are we doing with Prince Charming there?”
Renata and Mala exchanged a flurry of signs before Mala nodded and Renata said, “I have all my gear at my place. I’ll follow them up the mountain. Skiing is the perfect cover.” She smiled. “Snow. Dust. It’s easy to lose yourself on the trails.”
“You’re going after all three by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. You and M
ala hang out here until I get back. Then we’ll return to Sarihöfn in the morning.”
“You have my number if you need help?”
Renata gave her an indulgent smile. “Trust me, I’m looking forward to this. Humans have their fun…” She waved at a car full of skiers as they walked back to Renata’s flat. “…and we have ours. Mala’s just jealous right now because she doesn’t ski.”
Mala gave Renata a sign that needed no interpretation.
“What do you do when you’re not here?” he asked.
She stared into the dark branches overhead. Her head still ached, but she couldn’t remember why.
“I don’t know.”
He took his arms from around her waist and put both palms at her temples. She closed her eyes and felt the soft whisper of his power as he traced spells on her skin. Slowly, the pain began to recede.
“Whatever you are doing, it hurts you.” There was disapproval in his tone.
“But then I come here, and you make me feel better. I’m fine now.”
She was. The pain was gone, and in its place was a reassuring warmth. The sounds of the forest began to creep in. Low rustles and bird calls. Wind in the trees. They were lying on a bed again, but this time it wasn’t in the meadow. It had been drawn farther into the forest. She could hear water flowing in the distance.
He tucked her head on his shoulder and lay back, looking up into the trees as they rested. He lifted one arm, and she could see the marks there, silver and gleaming in the moonlight.
“You made more.”
“What?”
“When you sang to me. They grew. I noticed it later.”
She lifted her head and frowned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Good, I think.”
“Oh.” She lay back down again. If it was good, then she’d sing some more. “What do you want me to sing for you?”
“What do you remember?”
She closed her eyes and let her mind loose. The pictures fell into her memory, like photographs scattered across a table. She focused on one and smiled.
“We were near the ocean once. There were lanterns, and they floated into the sky.”
The Singer Page 18
