She sang softly, and as the old words left her mouth, she could see them take flight, winging their way to his mind. She reached down and felt for his hand. She knit their fingers together, and she could feel the warmth and magic flow between them.
“Ava, look.”
Her eyes opened and she looked down to where their hands joined. She saw it. The spells on his arm creeped up and over, curling into themselves as if drawn by an invisible hand. She watched them, still singing, and when she finally fell silent, the marks remained.
“I remember when you sing to me,” he said. “My mind. My heart.” He smiled before he kissed her. “You’re bringing me back to life.”
She smiled and leaned forward, craving another kiss.
There was a rustle in the forest and a blast of cold air.
His eyes narrowed and swung toward the disturbance.
The sound came again. Louder.
He squeezed her hand. “You need to wake up.”
“What?”
He sat and pulled her up with him. “Wake up, Ava.”
Fear clutched her throat. His name came to her. “Malachi?”
He shook her shoulders. “I’m not there. I’m not there, and there’s danger.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Wake up, Ava. Wake up now!”
“Malachi!”
She gasped, calling out his name as she sat bolt upright in bed. Renata’s flat was pitch-black, but Ava could hear someone struggling in the corner. Hissed voices and the rasping whispers that haunted her nightmares.
Grigori were in the room.
She heard a crack and a thud, then Mala stepped into a shaft of light, brandishing twin daggers that seemed to glow. She stalked toward Ava with death in her eyes.
“Mala?”
The Irina opened her mouth, but no sound came. It was enough to make Ava open her senses and listen.
Ava scrambled away from the hissing whisper she felt at her back just in time to escape the grip of the soldier who snuck from behind. He muttered a curse before he rolled away, dodging the silver daggers Mala threw at him. Ava kicked out, catching his knee with her heel. He grunted, still trying to remain quiet. The Grigori rolled into the darkness and Mala followed.
Ava yelled out, “Mala, lights?”
Two clicks of Mala’s tongue told her yes. She felt for the switch on the wall and flipped it up.
The smell of sandalwood filled the air, and the window to the bedroom was open. A flicker of the curtain as freezing air blasted into the room. Then another flicker as a shadow darted in the corner of her eye. The Grigori attacked silently, grabbing her neck as he tackled Ava to the ground. He forced a hand around her throat and pressed, cutting off both her voice and her air. She could hear another soldier climb in the window and run toward Mala.
The helpless rage filled her. His body trapped her on the ground. For all her training and preparation, she was no match for the large male. Her heart raced as his palm pressed harder. Her breath was running out. She would pass out soon, and there would be nothing to stop them.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Then the blackness grew and spread as the whispers in her mind grew louder.
Do not fear the darkness.
Ava closed her eyes.
A rush of wings and feathers from the corner of her vision. A rising shadow. Tall, as if a dark mountain had come to life, he loomed over her, cloaked in the void. A soughing breath stirred the black feathers that drooped over his hood. He was nothing. As if the stars had been snuffed in the night, he bore no face behind the droop of his black cloak. A nightmare. A monster. He leaned closer, forcing her to look. Forcing her to face the secret—
Her eyes flew open with the screaming.
No hand clutched at her throat. It had fallen away, and the Grigori soldier was screaming in her ear. She rolled over, shoving him off, but he kept up his hoarse cries, even as the building began to come alive. Someone pounded on the door. Ava heard shouts and running steps. All the while, the soldier rolled on the ground, clutching his hands to his temples, his eyes frozen on some invisible terror, his pupils dilated so his eyes appeared pure black.
In a blink, Mala rolled him over and speared her knife into his neck, ending the screams and releasing the creature’s dark soul. Then she turned to Ava with fear in her eyes.
There was a muffled conversation at the door, then the voices died away and Ava heard the deadbolt turn. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the bite of the winter air that still poured into the room.
“What happened?” It was Renata. “The neighbors thought someone was being murdered!”
There was silence, so Ava knew Mala was signing the answer. She simply rolled over, making no attempt to rise. She watched the two women who stood at the door. Mala was almost naked. She was only wearing a T-shirt and underwear to sleep. Two empty knife sheaths were strapped to her thighs. Renata looked exhausted. Covered with a dusting of snow, her hair was almost grey. Mala’s explanation went on a long time, then Renata finally turned to Ava as Mala went to snap the window closed.
“Ava, are you all right?” Renata knelt down and shook her shoulders. “Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”
She hadn’t realized she was crying.
“I’m fine.”
“What did you do to the Grigori?”
“What?” Ava sniffed. “Mala, how do you sleep with those on your legs?”
“Pay attention.” Renata swatted her cheek, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to notice. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know.” Ava curled up on her side, shaking with cold and not caring that she was lying on the floor. She reached for a blanket that had half fallen off the bed. She was freezing and she shook so hard she felt as if her skin might fly off her body. “Maybe h…he was scared of the black angel, too.”
Renata looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. Adrenaline coursed through her system. She felt hopped up, despite the tears on her face. “I didn’t even get a punch in. Not even a kick. Need to practice more. And my magic—”
“She’s rambling,” Renata said. “Ava, sit up. Take deep breaths.”
She could breathe now. She hadn’t been able to when the Grigori had his hand on her throat. Hadn’t been able to say anything. The black spots danced across her eyes again, so she sat up carefully.
Renata stood and crossed the room to the window.
“Three sets of prints below the snow.” She secured the blinds and turned. “Just those three?”
Mala nodded and signed some more. She also kept her distance from Ava.
Renata said, “Mala says thank you for turning on the lights. And she doesn’t know what you did to the Grigori, but whatever it was incapacitated both the one she was fighting and the one who had you.”
“Oh…” She sniffed. “Well, that’s good.”
“And she always sleeps with her daggers. Her mate thought it was sexy.”
Somehow, an Irin scribe thinking sleeping with a deadly woman was sexy didn’t surprise Ava at all.
Mala was still signing and Renata watched her with a frown.
“No,” she said. “I have no idea.”
More signing as Ava climbed to her knees, smoothing the sheets on the beds and wondering if she would ever sleep again.
Renata said, “I told you, I don’t know. Orsala said she sees visions. You said their eyes went black?”
If Ava couldn’t sleep, then when would she see Malachi?
“Wake up, Ava. Wake up now!”
He’d known. He’d warned her.
She shook her head. No, of course not. She was being absurd. It wasn’t Malachi. Her subconscious had sensed danger and used her dream to wake her. Her quivering hands pulled on another sweater.
“I’m not there.”
The pain in his voice… It was almost as if he was speaking from far away. As if he could swoop in and protect her. Impossible. Fresh grief threatened to swamp her, and Ava tho
ught she heard a flutter of wings in the air. She shoved the grief to the back of her mind.
Mala and Renata were still speaking.
She felt like climbing the walls. Her skin crawled. Were shadows moving in the corner of the room? There was something just beyond her perception. Some instinct needled her. She couldn’t pinpoint the threat, but she could feel it.
Run.
She started packing up, throwing her things into the small bag she’d brought, scanning the room for other belongings.
“What are you doing?” Renata asked.
“Packing.”
“Oh?” Ava could hear the humor in her voice. “And where are you going at three in the morning?”
“I don’t know. Away. I don’t want to be here.” The threat might have passed, but she could still feel it, like eyes on her back.
Someone, something was watching. She could sense it.
“You’re not going anywhere. Mala and I will take turns watching, then we’ll leave in the morning.”
“No.” She shook her head, hands trembling. “I can’t stay here. Not here.”
“Ava, there’s no—”
“I will not stay here!” she yelled. “It is not safe. Maybe you don’t feel it, but I do. We are not safe here. Someone can see us!”
Mala stepped closer. She put her hands on Ava’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. Mala’s eyes were deep brown, like the darkest coffee. Ava didn’t flinch when she held her gaze. Something shifted in the Irina’s expression, and she nodded. She stepped away and signed to Renata.
“What?”
More signing.
“So you’re just going to drive back to Sarihöfn in the middle of the night because—”
Mala interrupted her with two clicks of her tongue, then a long stream of signs passed between Renata and Mala. Ava was frustrated, catching only the occasional word or phrase, but they seemed to be arguing.
“Fine,” Renata finally said. “Ava, you and Mala are going back to Sarihöfn right now.”
Mala walked to the sofa where she’d been sleeping and pulled on a pair of pants.
“You’re not coming?”
“No,” Renata said, her mouth twisted in irritation. “There is someone I need to contact. I’ll go to Oslo and meet him there. He’s… very well connected and he knows more about Grigori politics than most. Mala thinks that one of the Fallen may have eyes on you. That may be what you’re feeling. How that could be is a mystery to me, but I haven’t studied them. This scribe has.”
“But we’ll be safe in Sarihöfn?” The creeping feeling still stalked her. She could sense it, like darkness outside a lit room.
“Did you feel this way in Sarihöfn before?”
“No.”
“Then it’s possible that Sari and Orsala’s shields work to protect you from… whatever it is you’re feeling. Either way, it’s the safest place for you.”
“Okay.” She let out a breath. “Okay. The ones today, on the ski slope—?”
“Dust,” she said. “Gone now. They were from the city. Just looking for easy prey. No one else with them that I could see.”
“So the ones that came here tonight—”
“Coincidence.”
Ava thought that was about as likely as Mala giving up her knives. Still, she had no other explanation to offer. She just wanted to go.
They packed quickly and Renata brought her car around. She’d catch the train to Oslo, then stay in a safe house she kept. She promised to call within a week to check in. Sooner if she had news.
Within an hour, Mala and Ava were back on the road, heading into the countryside. It was quiet in the car, but Ava didn’t sleep. And the feeling of being watched never went away.
IV.
Szentendre, Hungary
He hadn’t expected to be welcomed into Svarog’s home. The angel’s residence in the small town near Budapest was not nearly as grand as the most humble of Volund’s homes. The entryway was light and airy, with potted plants and many windows facing an interior garden that was a riot of colors, despite the cold air. Svarog must have put an enchantment over the garden to keep the springlike look of the place, even in the dead of winter. Still, it was doubtful the angel truly lived here any more than was necessary to breed with the human women Brage had seen passing. They greeted him with friendly and aloof smiles but did not speak to him.
Most appeared to be pregnant or nursing. The pregnant had the healthy glow he recognized in those carrying angelic offspring. The nursing mothers were in various stages of slow decline, no matter how they adored their beautiful sons. Eventually, their children would drain and kill them.
A small boy skidded into the entry and almost ran into Brage’s legs.
“Szia,” Brage said to the Grigori child.
“Jó napot,” the child replied politely.
“English?” He hoped an adult would appear. He did not speak more than the most cursory Hungarian.
The little one shook his head.
The boy was beautiful, as all Grigori children were. His skin had a faint glow and his eyes were clear blue, the color of a summer sky. He started babbling at Brage, who only watched him with pleasant indifference. It wasn’t unheard of for an angel to keep their offspring near, but it was unusual. Volund had sired Brage, but he’d never met his father until he was ready to serve. Children were not welcome in Volund’s house.
A harried-looking soldier appeared in the entryway and barked at the child. Despite the harsh tone, the child turned to his keeper with a mischievous gleam in his eye that told Brage he wasn’t afraid in the least. He waved at Brage and then trotted off after the grim man, grabbing his hand as he skipped toward French doors that led to a garden.
“He lost his mother only a month ago.”
Brage turned toward the sad voice of the woman who carried an infant. They were wrapped in blankets on a chaise near the windows.
The woman continued, “He seems to be doing well.”
Brage gave her a polite smile. “They always do.”
“Are you here to see the master?”
“I am.”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“I’m sure he will.” Brage didn’t want to speak to the woman anymore. He hoped she’d lose interest in him. They were broodmares to the Fallen, nothing more. It was useless to converse with something so ephemeral. The child she held and nursed was far more valuable than the mother.
The woman’s face broke into a glorious smile when Svarog appeared. “Aranyom!”
The Fallen put an absent hand on the woman’s cheek and smiled at the child in her arms. Then he turned to Brage. “Come.”
The angel led him down a hallway lined with books, then past another sitting room and a large dining room where more women ate and chattered. It was not unpleasant, but Brage wondered how the Fallen lived with so many around him. It was like living with livestock, to his mind. The Fallen led him to a small library where a fire burned. He’d taken the guise of a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and vivid blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and slacks, the picture of a successful human in his country retreat, but Brage knew better. Svarog, for all his affection toward his offspring, was a vicious killer who had no regard for any but his own. Humans he didn’t breed with were nothing to him. It was one of the reasons he and Volund had always been allies.
“So,” Svarog said, closing the door behind them, “what does Volund’s oldest son want in my territory?”
“I am looking for someone.” No subterfuge was necessary. Svarog, like all fallen angels, understood vendetta. “An Irin scribe my father wants me to kill.”
“And you know he is here?”
“He was driving from Istanbul to Vienna. I am hoping to catch him before he enters the city.”
Svarog nodded. “Fine. Hunt if you like. But I have a message for your father, and I expect you to deliver it. Your mouth to his ears, do you understand?”
“I do.”
Cautioned by Svarog�
��s tone, Brage waited.
“Tell him I know what he is doing, and I want no part of it. If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”
Brage blinked but showed no other outward sign of surprise. “Why do you ask me to deliver this message?”
The Fallen had ways of communicating with their own kind that surpassed human or Grigori understanding.
Svarog stepped closer, letting the human mask fall. The angel’s eyes shone gold and the automatic terror froze Brage in place.
“I want you to deliver the message,” he said, “because I want Volund to know that his most valued son was in my house, near my children, and I let him live. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Go. And do not bother telling your father where I dwell. By the time you leave my city, this house will be gone.”
“I understand.”
Brage left the house quickly and drove toward Budapest, more confused than ever.
“I know what he is doing…”
What was Volund’s plan? Brage was reminded of his early years as a soldier. The years just before the Irina slaughter had been like this. Mixed messages and mysterious errands. Half-truths and outright lies. He’d understood nothing until the order had come from the oldest soldiers in their house in Berlin. They were leaving the city for some tiny village in the country. They slaughtered women and children, ripping out their throats so they were defenseless.
He’d told himself it was no different from killing humans.
He still told himself that.
“If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”
He tried to drive the doubt from his mind. Volund would sense it. Doubt was death to the Fallen. Nothing was accepted but utter and complete loyalty. After all, there were hundreds of brothers waiting to take his place if he stumbled.
Brage would not stumble.
A chirp from his mobile phone. It was the number for one of the Grigori who ran Volund’s house.
“Yes?”
“Our father has a message for you.”
“What is it?”
“Come to the house in Göteborg immediately. He will meet you there.”
The Singer Page 19
