The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “As I was saying, be wary of any unknown scribes.”

  Rhys asked, “Are we declining hospitality?”

  “No. We can’t do that.”

  Ava knew that would be a serious breach of Irin etiquette. Scribes were always welcomed by other scribes. No matter what. To go against that would raise alarms in Vienna and create enemies out of those who should be friends.

  “Officially, I’m still here petitioning on the part of the watchers. I have letters from the houses in Berlin, Oslo, Budapest, and Paris. I’m warning the council about the rising threat, but I’m not having much success. They’re loosening funds for repairs and rebuilding our house and other houses, but other than that, they’re much more occupied with the Irina question.”

  Malachi asked, “The Irina question?”

  It was Sari who responded. “The threat against Sarihöfn and the attacks in Oslo have finally spurred a response. I’ve been in contact with other havens. The leaders there are mostly of the same mind as I am.”

  “Which is?” Rhys was perched on the edge of his chair.

  Sari paused. Ava held her breath.

  “It’s time,” Sari said. “We can’t ignore those calling for compulsion. If we’re going to come out of hiding, it will be on our own terms, not the result of politicians threatening us. It has already started.”

  “I’ve heard,” Rhys said quietly. “There are Irina showing up at scribe houses all over the world. The children and many of the others are still concealed, but more and more Irina are stepping forward and demanding a place at the scribe houses.”

  “The council must love that,” Malachi said.

  Ava put her knives down, no longer able to concentrate. “What can they do, though? They can’t force Irina into retreats. Not when they’ve been hiding for so long. What right do they have? What—”

  “No right, Ava.” Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “But there are those who could make life difficult if they chose to.”

  “How?”

  Sari answered again. “Most of us have mates who are active in Irin society. Soldiers. Watchers. Teachers. Right now, if a scribe has a mate and family, it is accepted that he might be gone for a time. Sometimes for a very long time. But if those in authority over them wanted to, they could make it impossible for those scribes to see their mates and children.”

  “They would break up families?” Ava asked.

  Damien said, “They would make it sound like they are only thinking of the safety of those families. The problem is, the Irin council members who take the Grigori threat seriously are the ones most adamant that the Irina must be forced into retreats. And those who believe the Grigori are no threat are those who would allow the Irina to step forward on their own. In their own time.”

  It was Malachi who asked the question. “Sari, what do the Irina you speak to want?”

  She walked over and kissed him on the mouth. “Yes, Sari, what do the Irina want?”

  Leo and Rhys laughed, but Malachi just smiled and pulled her down to sit next to him.

  Sari said, “Right now, we’re trying to decide who should come to Vienna. We haven’t had a ruling council for over two hundred years. My grandmother is adamant that it must be reformed if anything is to be accomplished.”

  Rhys asked, “And what does the Irin Council think about that?”

  “They’re old men not used to sharing power,” Leo said. “What do you think?”

  Damien said, “They know it is inevitable. With Irina raising their voices again, they cannot ignore it. They’re positioning singers who believe in compulsion to take positions of power.”

  “There are Irina who believe in compulsion?” Ava asked.

  “Yes,” Sari answered. “We are not of one mind. Nor do we have to be. But we’ve changed in the years since the Rending. There are too many who lost everything to the Grigori and the Fallen. They won’t be compliant again.”

  They spoke of specifics for some time. Which council members were sympathetic. Which were hostile. Sari was passionate. Damien was fed up and clearly wanted to kill someone or something as soon as possible.

  It was a full hour later before she and Sari could speak privately.

  “You’re not using your magic,” Sari said.

  “Sari, I—”

  “I don’t want to hear excuses. I want to know why.”

  Ava pursed her lips. “You’re not my mother or my boss.”

  “I care about you, Ava. And your mate is one of Damien’s closest friends. Your power is substantial, and whatever we may be facing, we need you to be able to control it.”

  She said nothing. How could she explain the threat she felt inside? It came from within. There was a darkness that lived in her. Ava had never sensed the same in Sari or Orsala or any of the Irina she’d met at the haven.

  “I’m different, Sari.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Did Orsala—”

  “My grandmother knows your power is not like the others. That doesn’t make it dangerous unless you don’t learn control. Are you shielding at least?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about offensive spells? Have you practiced those? Malachi and Rhys can help you.”

  She clammed up.

  Sari huffed out a breath. “You have to use your magic.”

  “I’m using it.”

  “Not the way you need to be.”

  She picked at the edge of the blanket in their bedroom. She could hear Malachi waiting in the hall, trying to give her privacy. She wished he would just come in.

  “I have other stuff on my mind, Sari.”

  “What is more important than learning how to harness your power?”

  “I don’t know. Learning where it came from, maybe?”

  The other woman was quiet, and Ava heard Malachi pacing. Frustrated, she sent out a tentative brush of power. It was hard to describe. A little like blowing air in his direction, but with her mind. A second later, she felt an answering brush of awareness, and he cracked the door open with a grin.

  “You called me,” he whispered, smiling.

  She shrugged one shoulder and said, “I need to go, Sari. Malachi is here.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s a pain in the ass sometimes. Right now he’s very smug.” Her mate kept smiling and lay down on the bed, putting his head in her lap. “But he’s mine.”

  “You sound content.”

  She brushed a hand through his hair. “I am.”

  Malachi let out a rumble of pleasure and turned his face to her belly, putting an arm around her waist.

  “I’m going to send Orsala to you.”

  Her fingers tightened in his hair. “What?”

  “Ouch,” he said. “Ava, really… ow.”

  “I just decided. This will be good! You were going to come here, but Vienna is unstable right now. I don’t know how you’d be received. Instead, Orsala can go to you. Mala is here and restless. I’ll send them both to you in Istanbul. Damien says Rhys is one scribe short for the house. Mala will more than make up for that.”

  “And she’ll torture me.”

  “You’re probably out of shape.”

  “Sari!”

  “Let go,” Malachi said with a grunt. “It’s not my fault she’s sending them.”

  “Tell Malachi I heard that,” Sari said. “What are you doing to him?”

  Ava was panicking. “Sari, I really don’t think—”

  “Damien is nodding. He agrees with me. I’ll talk to her tonight, and we’ll let you know when they will arrive.”

  Malachi untangled her frozen hand and sat up next to her.

  “But I need to go find my—”

  “Whatever it is, my grandmother can help. She needs something to do anyway, and that way she’ll be able to continue your lessons like she was going to after Oslo. This is an excellent plan. Damien agrees.”

  “Sari!”

  “I need to go. I’ll e-mail with details later.”<
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  The phone was silent a second later, and Ava sat with her mouth hanging open. “I was ambushed.”

  “I was injured,” he said, rubbing his scalp. “Sari’s wrong. I don’t think you’re out of shape at all.”

  THE phone rang late that night. She was in Malachi’s arms, and she reached across his chest to grab it before he could wake, putting it on silent as she checked the number. She didn’t recognize it, so she answered cautiously.

  “Hello?”

  “Ava?”

  “Max?”

  “Your father is in Genoa. Well, a little town in that region. Not far from Portofino.”

  “Portofino?”

  “He has a house there. An old castle he’s renting.”

  She blinked, trying to clear her mind. “You’ve seen him?”

  “Renata found him. He’s not in good shape, sister.”

  She was still only half awake when Malachi took the phone from her.

  “Send us the details,” he said, rubbing her shoulders, which had gone stiff at Max’s tone. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  MALACHI OPENED HIS EYES, knowing he was no longer in Istanbul.

  He dreamed, but Ava was not with him.

  He was no longer in the forest of his mate’s walks, but a room that resembled the ritual room of a scribe house. Wax candles dripped on the center table where coals from the sacred fire forced tendrils of heat through the room. Etchings marked the walls, ancient spells protecting the children of the Forgiven from harm.

  And the black presence that stalked his mate lurked at the edge of his dreaming.

  An epicene figure rose in the corner of the room. “I cannot reach her, but I can reach you.”

  Malachi turned, recognizing the voice that laughed in some shadowed corner of his lost memory. “Volund.”

  “Yes.”

  Malachi scanned the room, reassuring himself that Ava was nowhere near.

  “She is not here,” the angel said. “I have tried. He has shielded her from my sight. He excels in such things.”

  Malachi stepped closer. “Show yourself.”

  The slim figure rose and grew, abandoning the sculptural facade he showed the human world. Here, Malachi realized—in dreams—he could see the angel’s true face. All traces of human flaw fled from Volund’s visage. Blue eyes bled to gold. His skin, pale before, grew luminous as the moon. His hair, a sandy brown that would blend with the human masses, became true amber, translucent in the glow of the candles flickering in the center of the room.

  He was utterly beautiful. A god to human sight.

  Malachi was transfixed.

  The angel’s eyes glowed with barely restrained power, like the sun hiding behind a morning fog.

  “Do you love me?” Volund stared into Malachi’s eyes.

  “No,” Malachi said. “You do not want to be loved.”

  Volund smiled with closed lips. “No, I do not.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to be feared. Worshipped.”

  “You were not meant to be worshipped.”

  Volund laughed, the cynical smirk marring the angel’s handsome face, which melted back into a more human appearance. Stunning, but less otherworldly. And yet it was as if his power had simply condensed. Black energy licked along Malachi’s skin.

  This is a dream.

  “If you think I have no power over your dreams,” Volund said, “you are mistaken, Scribe.”

  “I am protected.”

  “By whom? Jaron guards your mate, though you know not his reasons.” Volund’s blue eyes danced. “You are nothing.”

  Malachi took a deep breath and closed his eyes, breaking the connection with the monster who taunted him and willing himself to return to waking.

  “You are nothing.” The voice was different.

  Malachi opened his eyes, and the angel had departed. Left in his place, the phantom of the Grigori soldier he’d killed on the rooftop in Oslo.

  Brage’s expression held nothing of the arrogance he’d exhibited in life. His blue eyes were blank and hollow. His face was as beautiful as the day Malachi had slain him.

  “We are nothing,” Brage said. “Nothing.”

  “You are an illusion.”

  Then the corner of the Grigori’s mouth turned up, and Malachi saw the wicked edge.

  “Since when have dreams ever been illusion for those of our kind?”

  “I am nothing like you.”

  Brage only laughed.

  Volund appeared over his shoulder, his human face now a mirror of his son’s. He embraced his child, stroking the hair back from his forehead and closing his eyes in sensual pleasure.

  “I can be patient,” he whispered. “Now that I have found you, I will find you again.”

  “Go away,” Malachi said, stepping closer to the sacred fire.

  “For now.”

  A spark of recognition showed terror on Brage’s face, as if illusion had passed from his mind and stark reality intruded. The Grigori’s eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened in a scream.

  Volund pulled his child into the darkness and was gone.

  Malachi bolted up in bed, a harsh gasp ripping from his lungs. He looked around the room, but there was nothing. No trace remained of the ritual room or the angel’s darkness. He looked down.

  Ava slept beside him, and she did not wake.

  HE didn’t tell Ava about his dream. Malachi didn’t know if it was a nightmare or a vision, and his mate had too many other things on her mind.

  The train that took them along the coast of Liguria chugged steadily, stopping at the small towns along the route, exchanging a mix of humans for other humans varied in age and shape. Grandmothers going for a visit. Tourists with cameras. Hikers with backpacks. They came and went, and Malachi wished that he and Ava had reserved a private car. If that was even possible. She was firm in her belief that their best concealment was the routine of the mundane, so he indulged her.

  Currently, he could not fault her reasoning. She managed to fit in with the humans with ease. She was the native, the tourist, the anonymous traveler with a small satchel and a camera. Unless he had the preternatural senses to feel her power, he never would have noticed her.

  “Hmm,” he mused, watching her as she snapped pictures out the window.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He was thinking about Volund’s unexpected ability to invade his unconscious, but he didn’t want to bring it up. Luckily, his mind could turn to pleasant things very quickly when he was with her.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  It was true. Ava wasn’t a woman who felt the need to fill the air with chatter. He wondered if years of traveling alone had trained it out of her or if the constant voices that had once plagued her were company enough.

  “I am thinking… you’re very beautiful.”

  He loved the slight flush she gave him when he complimented her. It made the offer of his praise all the more satisfying.

  “You’re the only one who’s ever said that.”

  He was surprised, but not overly. Humans could be very superficial, and Ava’s physical features were not the most astonishing thing about her. Pretty, but not uncommonly so. Clear skin. Dark hair. Her eyes were the most arresting part of her face, but only other Irin would recognize the unusual shade of gold as anything more than light brown or amber.

  No, it wasn’t her physical features that were remarkable. And Malachi loved that only he saw the secret of his mate.

  Her beauty lay in her mind and her heart. Quiet strength and resilient humor were not things valued enough by the world.

  “Hmm.”

  She gave him a quiet smile. “You always did that,” she said. “Before. ‘Hmm.’ You’d be thinking something you didn’t want to say, but I knew it was about me when you would say ‘Hmm.’”

  “I often think about you.”

&nb
sp; “That’s probably a good thing.”

  They were sitting across from each other in the compartment. He put his foot on the edge of the bench beside her, enclosing them. Doing his best to block out the world. Ava set down her camera and slid a hand up his pant leg, her fingers playing along his skin.

  “I think about you too,” she said. “Some would say I’m obsessed.”

  “And you take pictures of me when I sleep. I hear the clicking in my dreams. It’s borderline stalker behavior, really.”

  “It’s settled then. We’re both certifiable.” She smiled and closed her eyes, sliding down in her seat and tilting her face toward the sun as it shone through the window. The weather was cool, but it was still sunny.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  “So handsome.”

  “Hmm.” He nudged her hip with his foot when she laughed. “You just like my tattoos.”

  He’d seen a few humans on the train eyeing his arms when they sat down. He’d shoved up his sleeves because the compartment was warm, and his talesm were visible. It was a relief, living in a time when body modification was not as unusual as it had once been. Humans did all sorts of things to mark themselves now, so the intricate lettering on his arms was noticed but rarely remarked upon.

  “Only yours,” Ava said. “I was never a tattoo girl before I met you.”

  “No?”

  She shrugged. “I never thought much about them.”

  “And you don’t have any yourself.”

  “Only the ones you gave me.” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “And those aren’t for everyone’s eyes.”

  Malachi supposed a more evolved scribe would try to suppress the surge of possessive satisfaction.

  He wasn’t that evolved.

  Forcing back a smile, he glanced around the compartment. Since no one was paying attention to them, he decided to broach a subject he knew she’d been avoiding.

  “Your shields,” he said and felt the immediate tension in her fingers where they lay on his calf.

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Because we need to. I know you’re still shielding yourself from the voices, but—”