Then both birds dropped, twisting into men of impossible beauty, and a jagged sword rose from the city of stone, piercing the angels as they fell.
As the last note carried over the assembly, Ava’s breath left her and everything went black.
VI.
THE THREE ANGELS KNELT beside her, Vasu brushing the hair from her forehead as delicately as a mother with a child.
“Will she survive?”
“Yes.” Jaron’s eyes swept the Library, but the assembly had shifted, a slight twist in dimension allowing him a last moment alone with her.
Though Ava still slept, he gathered the girl into his arms and rocked her as he had seen her mother do when she was a child.
Thirty years of watching over her at a distance. A blink of an eye. A sudden gasp of breath.
And yet.
Within her blood lay the secret.
“I know.” Jaron bent to her ear, uncaring of his brothers, who listened in. “I understand why now.”
Ava’s eyes fluttered open. “Me too.”
“What have you done to me, daughter?”
“The only worthy sacrifice is the one that hurts. How much do you want forgiveness?”
A drop fell on her cheek, and Jaron realized he was weeping.
“Will you tell her?” he asked his daughter’s daughter.
“I’ll tell her you loved her, and you wished you could say good-bye.”
“I called her Ava because she was the voice of heaven to me. She called me Bâbâ when she was a child.”
Ava put her hand on his cheek, and for the first time in thousands of years, Jaron felt it. He had been hollow before. Ava’s union with the scribe—their impossible, unpredictable love—had altered his reality forever.
For the first time in his eons of existence, Jaron felt. “Now that I must leave, I find that I do not want to go.”
“Bâbâ,” Ava whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Free her. Free them all. And return.”
“Ava,” he said. “Daughter of my blood.” Jaron bent down and kissed her forehead, then he whispered in her ear.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Then Jaron blinked, and Ava was gone. He stood and faced his chosen brothers: Barak, who would be with him until the end, and Vasu, who had chosen to stay behind.
“Do you understand what you lose, brother?” he asked Barak.
“Unlike you”—the angel’s eyes held what Jaron now recognized as torment—“my magic mixed with the Forgiven’s long ago. I am ready.”
Jaron narrowed his eyes but asked no more questions.
“And you?” he asked Vasu.
“Someone has to stay behind and watch,” Vasu said with a casual shrug.
“Do it,” Barak said. “She is one of them now. Power surrounds her. Lower the shields and call him.”
Jaron looked at Vasu. “Are you ready?”
The dark angel grinned a predatory smile. “Go.”
Chapter Twenty-five
MALACHI HELD ANOTHER KNIFE out to Kostas, who tucked it into the cleverly sewn pockets in his robe. Damien was searching the armory for one specific weapon, but Malachi didn’t know what it was. The chamber held case after case of blades of various eras and styles. Knives were most common, with throwing daggers a close second. Spears and swords hung on the stone walls. There were even a few crossbows and an ax or two. Malachi and Kostas were looking through the knives and hiding those they would smuggle out of the Library.
After a few more minutes, Damien came back bearing an intricately cut dagger. “Thought you might like to use this one.”
“Why?”
He looked confused. “It’s the one Brage used in Istanbul when he killed you. Too morbid?”
Malachi looked at the dagger, remembering the pitch-black blade the Grigori had balanced on his finger on the roof of the building in Oslo, then he looked back at Damien. “This isn’t Brage’s dagger. He carried it in Oslo. Ava gave it to Jaron when I killed Brage.”
Damien’s eyes went hard. “Are you saying this isn’t a heaven-forged blade?”
Malachi shrugged. “I have no idea. But I know that’s not the dagger that killed me.”
“Dammit.” Damien looked around the armory. “I wonder—”
“How many of these are actually heaven forged?” Kostas asked, picking through the rows of weapons. “Not all of them. Maybe half. Some of these are far too new.”
“What do you know about angel blades?” Malachi asked.
“We all have our hobbies,” Kostas said, picking up a rusted weapon that looked far from useful.
The Grigori brought it up to his face and breathed on it. Taking the edge of his own knife, he cut a long gash in his forearm, wetting the edge of one of his linen wrappings with blood before he took it and carefully wiped the blade. After a few minutes, he held it up again. The blade was a dull pewter in color, but the edge was sharp again, the blade now clearly lethal.
“Angel blades are best cleaned with blood. It restores them. If you’re not sure if a blade is genuine, try that. A good rule of thumb is that anything forged in the past thousand years is probably a fake or simply something confiscated from an angel but isn’t a heaven-forged blade.”
“I thought all angels carried them,” Malachi said.
“They’re rare,” Kostas told them, “even among the Fallen. Lesser angels usually can’t keep them, so any blade taken from one of the lesser Fallen is probably just a sword. And of course, some of them don’t need them. Guardians of heaven carry swords within their bodies.”
Malachi and Damien both gawked.
“Unlike you,” Kostas said with a grim smile, “my father is an angel. I do know a few things.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Malachi said, turning back to the racks.
“Wait.” Damien held up a hand. “I hear…”
Without warning, the doors to the armory groaned and swung open. Library guards rushed in, only to halt with wide eyes when they saw the two scribes and the man dressed as a Rafaene in the process of stealing weapons.
“Well,” Kostas muttered, “this is awkward.”
Damien stepped forward. “Brothers, we are—”
“Out of time.” The captain of the Library Guard stepped forward. “I know who you are, Damien of Bohemia. The enemy is here. There are Fallen in the Library as we speak.”
“Is it Jaron?”
“How did you know that?” the captain asked.
“Jaron is an ally. For now,” Malachi said. “But there are others who are not.”
The captain did not question him but nodded briskly and spoke to his men. “Distribute the weapons. Take one for yourself and others for the men under you, then head back to the Library and join those protecting the council.”
Malachi saw Kostas swipe another blade. He must have had almost a dozen hidden in his robe. He tugged on the heavy wool and nodded toward the doors just as the captain of the guard turned back to them.
“I recognize you too, Malachi of Sakarya. I fought with your father. I will trust the son of Ilyas and Hanna would not betray his brothers.”
“You trust rightly.”
“Then go. We need all the able warriors we can spare,” the captain growled. “This city has been soft for too long. Politicians and financiers are not warriors. They forget what it means to fear.”
Damien, Kostas, and Malachi ran down the hallway as more guards flooded in. They ran up the stairs and out the main entrance, which was completely unguarded.
“Damien?” Someone shouted across the empty courtyard.
Malachi turned his head. It was Sari.
She came to her mate, completely out of breath. “The humans. They’re gone.”
“What do you mean, they’re gone?”
Malachi walked toward one of the larger courtyards in the Hofburg, searching for the bustle of tourists or the honking of taxis.
There was nothing.
Cars sat empty on the small side streets. Horses snuffled
and shuffled, waiting for empty carriages to roll.
“Heaven above,” he whispered.
Who had done it? Jaron or Volund? More importantly, where was his mate?
He walked back to Kostas, Damien, and Sari, who were all frozen in the center of the courtyard.
“This is Jaron’s doing,” Malachi said. “Or one of the other angels.”
“It’s a city of ghosts,” Sari said. “What have they done with them?”
“I don’t think any of the humans will be harmed. They’re just… away. More importantly, where is Ava? Which angels were in the library?”
Sari said, “It was Vasu first, then Jaron and Barak. I’ve just called Renata and told her, Rhys, Max, and Leo to meet us here. She checked the elder singers’ homes this morning, and every one had been ransacked. The Grigori have been watching.”
“They know the singers have returned,” Damien said. “And your men, Kostas?”
“I’ll call.” The Grigori pulled his mobile phone from a pocket in his robe before he handed a gold blade to Sari with a wink. “That’s for you. Matches your hair.”
Sari frowned at Damien but took the blade. “Is this—”
“We’ll explain later,” Malachi said. “For now, let’s head into the library. If the enemy has finally reached Vienna, we need a plan. And I want to see my mate.”
AVA’S eyes were closed, but she heard the whispered command.
“Go.”
For a moment, she was still in her dream, then her eyes blinked open and three angels stood over her. Jaron and Barak she knew. The third was a frighteningly pale figure with icy gold eyes and face cut from pale marble.
“Yes,” he whispered, and with his voice she knew.
Volund.
But Ava didn’t have time to be frightened before Vasu was there. He wrapped his arms around Volund from the back, then with a wink, both angels were gone.
Jaron held out a hand. “Come and stand with your people.”
“What just happened?”
“You are no longer under my shields,” Jaron said. “Be wary. Vasu will keep Volund occupied for a time. You have no defenses against him except the words my brother spoke to you. Do you remember them?”
Ava nodded.
“Good. Use them if he comes near.”
He began to walk from the room. Barak followed.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “And can’t you just… blink away or something?”
Jaron smiled, and for once, it appeared to be a true smile. “Only Vasu can do that without cost, as it is in his nature. For us, transporting takes power I would rather save for now. I am not, after all, a god.”
“Oh.”
Jaron looked around to the crowd of still-staring Irin. “These women and their kind are precious. Will you protect them?”
Daina stepped forward. “I give them my protection.”
Jerome joined her. “As do I.”
“Ava!”
She heard her name from down the hall. Jaron spared her a single look before he melted into the facade of her old doctor from Istanbul, then he and an older man with a beard slipped out of the hall as if no one had seen them transform.
Malachi stormed into the room, Damien, Sari, and Kostas on his heels. He ran down the stairs and caught her in an embrace.
“You’re here,” he breathed out in relief. “You’re safe.”
The elders around them were silent, but Ava could feel their eyes.
“So you are the scribe,” Abigail said, “who mated with the daughter of the Fallen.”
It was a little more complicated than that, but Ava didn’t feel like explaining.
Malachi simply said, “I am. We are reshon.”
She heard the concerned muttering around the room.
“What is your name, brother?”
“Malachi of Sakarya. Right now, we must—”
His words were cut off when a dozen solemn men marched into the library. The remaining scribes parted as they headed for the stairs and sped down, surrounding the Irin and Irina elders.
“Elders,” the captain said, “we must make you safe.”
“No,” Carmina said. “We are the strongest singers in the city. We need to face this threat and defend our people.”
“No, sister,” Daina counseled, “we must make the council safe. For the Irina council to be wiped out now—just when we’ve finally reformed—would be devastating to our people. We will let the captain guard us and trust our sisters to play their part in the battle.”
Several of the elder singers glared, but none contradicted Daina. They knew the woman was right.
Sari stepped forward. “We believe that Grimold’s children are in the city. The human population appears to be gone. They have come for us.”
“What do you mean ‘gone?’” Konrad asked.
“Just that,” Damien said. “They are not here. One of the archangels appears to have put the city in stasis.”
“The whole city?” Jerome asked. “But—”
“It doesn’t work on any with angelic blood,” Ava said. “Jaron told us. So there may be humans with Grigori blood roaming around really, really confused. Other than that, yes, they can do it. I’ve seen Jaron do it before, and it may be something that other angels can do too. The humans aren’t gone, they’re just… elsewhere right now.”
“Vienna is under attack,” Malachi said. “The elder singers’ homes have been invaded. We need to get guards checking any Irina safe houses in the city.”
Constance stepped forward and said, “I will tell the captain where they are, but I only trust the Library guards.”
Jerome sighed. “Constance—”
“The Library Guard or we stay in hiding,” the singer said with an ironclad will. “These are not warriors. These are teachers and healers. And I will not trust these women to any but our strongest.”
“How many?” Damien asked. “How many of your Irina are in the city right now?”
Constance glared at him, but then looked between him and Sari and relented. “No more than forty. Some are capable of defending themselves. But if we are overrun—”
“There is a Rafaene house in the second district near the Carmelite Church. Your sisters could take refuge there. The scribes would be bound to protect them.”
Constance nodded. “They are mostly in the first district. That could work.”
“Let the Library Guard protect you and the other elders,” Damien said. “When my men get here, I will give them the task of helping your sisters to the Rafaene scribe house. No one will be able to touch them there.”
“Very well,” Constance said. “And the rest of us?”
The fourteen elders stood solemnly, watching the captain of the Library Guard.
“Come with me,” he said. “We have defenses set up to protect the Council.” He held out a hand when the secretaries and other assistants stepped forward. “Only the council.”
A pale scribe asked, “But what should we do?”
“Fight,” Malachi said. “Or stay out of the way of those who will.”
VASU materialized in midair, tossing Volund’s body into the sculpture rising from the stones of the Graben. The normally bustling pedestrian mall was empty, thanks to Jaron’s manipulations, and no one was there to hear the archangel scream.
“Did that hurt?” Vasu taunted. “Surely not. Surely an archangel has more fortitude than to be hurt by the petty constructions of man.”
“You?” Volund roared and flung himself across the street, tackling the younger angel from his perch near the column of a nearby building. The stone cracked as they rolled into it, and the towering structure groaned. “Galal killed you!”
“Obviously not.” Vasu laughed and blinked away, appearing to perch on top of the marble and gold angels of the plague column, the grand Baroque sculpture in the heart of Old Vienna some human ruler had commissioned to thank their god for mercy.
“Why do the humans make angels look like babies?�
� he mused. “It’s insulting.”
He ducked to the side as Volund leapt for him, his hands and feet crumbling the marble like so much dust as he crawled up the column.
“You do like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Volund sneered.
“Yes.” Vasu stood balanced on one foot at the very top of the twenty-one- meter column. “I’m very clever.”
“You’re very irritating. I’m going to kill you now, whelp. Then I will deal with Galal.”
“You can try. But don’t worry.” His voice lost its humor. “I have my own plans for Galal.”
From his perch, Vasu could see the shadows of Grigori slipping into the city. But he couldn’t look long because Volund grabbed his foot, flinging him from the sculpture and slamming him into the stones below.
He’d forgotten how much impact could hurt in this form. How irritating. Still, it was better to be able to shift quickly.
Volund’s lip curled. He stopped playing and drew a flaming sword from his side. “Do you remember this?”
Vasu’s eyes gleamed. “Oh yes.”
“I will slay you with it and feed your body to your children.”
He ignored Volund but not the sword. “A Guardian’s sword. Oh Volund, I should be afraid, shouldn’t I?” He paused, looked his enemy in the eye. “And yet… I wonder.”
“You won’t have to wonder for long,” Volund growled.
“Would Jaron trust me with her location?”
Volund froze.
“I could be there in a heartbeat.” Vasu smiled. “Did you think your secret was safe?”
The other angel bared his teeth.
“I’ve always wondered what would happen if one of us killed her. Killed your mate.” Vasu sneered.
Volund roared and swung his sword at Vasu. He flipped and spun, an expert with the angelic blade. And yet Vasu had been created to be a messenger of the heavens. His speed exceeded even the most dangerous of the Creator’s guard.
“Would it hurt, Volund?” Vasu appeared behind Volund. “Would you bleed if she died?”
The Secret Page 31
