The Singer Page 7

  His old friend’s head snapped back in surprise, and his green eyes widened. “I…I’m not.”

  “You are. Why?”

  Rhys’s mouth dropped open, but he did not speak. When his words finally came, they were almost inaudible. “I love her, you know. Maybe not like you did, but I do love her.”

  He shoved back the instinctive anger and spoke calmly. “She is my mate.”

  “She is.” Rhys looked down, shuffling the papers they’d been looking at into a pile. “She is, without a doubt, your reshon. A true soul mate. I saw it even before you did, I think.”

  Malachi didn’t know how, but the emotion was there, wrapping his mind with certainty. “I love her.”

  “I believe you,” Rhys said, before clearing his throat. “You love your mate. But… you don’t love Ava. You can’t, because you don’t know her anymore.”

  The hollow loss rang in his chest, and he knew, in part, that Rhys was correct. As much as he hated it, Malachi knew the other man spoke the truth. And there was nothing he could do about it.

  “She needed you back. And you are. But you’re not the same man. I don’t know if you ever will be. And that—that is why I am angry.”

  Maxim, Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met in the sitting room that evening. The outside air had taken on the snap of autumn, but in the house in the caves, the fire warmed the small room where they sat, drinking tea and talking.

  “It’s clear we’re not going to find any written or electronic records,” Max said. “Damien is too savvy for that. What we need is a personal connection.”

  Rhys scowled. “Damien doesn’t have any personal connections. Why do you think he made such a good watcher?”

  “Watcher?” Malachi asked.

  Leo was the one who answered. The friendly scribe had been the one person with whom Malachi felt at complete ease. “All scribe houses in cities are organized in teams of five to eight men. A watcher is the head of the house. He tends the sacred fire and makes the most important decisions. Damien’s your boss, in other words.”

  Max said, “Watchers also watch. Don’t ever forget that. They’re the ones who report to our main council in Vienna. It’s very structured. Damien reported to the lieutenant of a councilor. That councilor reported to his elder. Every area is tightly controlled. The Irin council has ears everywhere.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound so sinister,” Rhys said. “Damien knew when to keep a confidence.”

  “He did.” Max nodded. “Why do you think he was still a house watcher, as old and experienced as he is? If he were more politically savvy and less loyal, he’d be a lieutenant or even a councilor in Vienna now.”

  Leo said, “It’s true, and you know it, Rhys. Damien became a problem for them when he mated Sari.”

  Malachi asked, “Why? She’s the Irina he took Ava to?”

  “His mate,” Leo said. “And Sari was a problem because her parents were well-known to the council as dissenters .”

  “What does that mean?”

  Max continued, “It means they didn’t agree with the steps taken when the retreats were formed. They didn’t believe that women and children should be isolated or that Irina should withdraw from the human world.”

  “But Rhys said the Irina were being attacked by the humans for practicing magic. Wasn’t it wiser to protect them?” Malachi frowned, remembering the painful history lesson he’d been forced to sit through. As always, once he’d been told, he could remember some things, though they mostly came in the recollection of feelings. Horror over the Rending, pain from the loss of his parents and village. A dull, burning anger toward an enemy he couldn’t remember. The memories were shadowed and fleeting.

  “True, they were being attacked,” Max said. “But the dissenters didn’t believe in turning from the old ways. Didn’t believe in separation. They were proponents of the Irina being trained in more offensive magic and not focusing on only creative and healing work. Sari’s parents were some of the most outspoken.”

  “Isolating half our population was never a smart idea,” Leo said. “It left them too vulnerable.”

  “Be careful,” Rhys said in a low voice. “You and Max were both children during the Rending. You don’t remember before. You may not agree, but there were reasons the retreats were formed.”

  Max frowned. “I know—”

  “No,” Rhys continued in a quiet voice. “You think you know, but you don’t. Not really. Try to imagine the pain of losing your mate and child because an ignorant human thought she was a witch sent by the devil and your child the devil’s spawn. Imagine the rage you’d feel, then multiply that by the Inquisition. It wasn’t only the Irin males who proposed the retreats, many Irina did, too. They didn’t want to worry about their safety or the safety of their children. Didn’t want to live as we do now, constantly battling against the Grigori and looking over their shoulder for humans, too. The retreats were not concentration camps; they were communities. There is no black and white here.”

  “The Irina left their protection in the hands of others,” Max said. “How was that wise?”

  “They left their protection in the hands of their mates.” Rhys said. “Their fathers and brothers. How were we to foresee the Rending? Yes, there was fault, but our race’s tragedy wasn’t born from hate, Max. It was born from love. And the fear of losing what we loved.”

  “But now our race is dying because of it,” Leo said. “And the council does nothing. Younger Irin want change—we know how much we need the Irina back—but no one will listen to us. Damien wouldn’t listen to us.”

  “Maybe not as much as you’d wish, but he did listen. To me. To Malachi. He wasn’t some puppet of Vienna, so don’t make him out that way. And do you read any news? Vienna is churning with proposals to get the Irina back. You have to remember change comes slowly, Leo.”

  “Who did Damien trust?” Malachi asked, uninterested in the politics they were caught up in. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? Who else would know where his mate has hidden?”

  Max and Leo exchanged a look Malachi couldn’t decipher, then Max said, “I’ve heard Sari has a haven somewhere in Norway with a large group of Irina, but no one knows for sure. Her family was very secretive about their land after the retreats were formed, so only other members of the family knew about it.”

  “But Damien would have known?”

  “Yes. I’m sure of it.”

  “And Gabriel,” Rhys said under his breath. “Gabriel would know, too.”

  “You can’t possibly think Damien would go to Gabriel,” Max said. “Even I know the bad blood there. And there’s no way he’d take Ava to Vienna.”

  “Of course Damien wouldn’t go to him,” Rhys said. “I’m just saying Gabriel might know where Sari is.”

  “Gabriel?” Malachi asked. “Who is… Are you talking about the angel?”

  Max looked at Malachi as if he’d just spit on the floor between them. Leo laughed, and he could see Rhys trying to stifle a smile.

  “Do you think archangels go for jaunts on the earthly realm?” Max said. “Of course not the angel Gabriel.”

  “Then who—”

  “Gabriel is Damien’s brother-in-law,” Rhys said. “Or he was. His mate was Sari’s twin sister. She was killed during the Rending.”

  “But why does he hate Damien? You said many scribes lost—”

  “Sari’s sister was killed during battle,” Max said. “Not an ambush on a retreat. Damien took Tala into battle because of her foresight, and Volund’s Grigori killed her.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly, the bad blood between Damien and his brother-in-law made more sense.

  Leo cleared his through. “As you can imagine, they don’t really get along.”

  It was Leo who was left teaching Malachi the next night. The two scribes were practicing Malachi’s writing in the library, practicing the spells in the Old Language, which he would scribe on his hands and arms to give himself the most basic protection before they left. Max and R
hys were still arguing about the best way to approach Gabriel, who was an assistant to one of the senior elders on the Irin council. They were going to Vienna, but everyone agreed that Malachi needed more strength before they left.

  “Your talesm prim will be much better this time,” Leo said with a smile, holding up his hand. “For scribes, our first tattoo is always the shakiest, because we do it when we’re young and first starting. Nothing can really prepare you for the pain of jabbing an ivory needle into your own skin over and over again.”

  Malachi tried to remain stoic. “I suppose not.”

  “We get better with practice, of course. But your writing is very good. Muscle memory, I imagine. We’ll have to see how you do with the needle.”

  Malachi wrote carefully, always stopping short of completely finishing a sequence. Leo told him he must only finish the spell when he was casting it on his body. For now, he would simply practice. He looked at the book the other man had given him, a scribe’s primer with dotted lines instead solid, to train the boys who would become warriors and scholars.

  “What was your first spell?” Malachi asked. “After your talesm prim, what was your first?”

  Leo smiled bashfully. “To be taller.”

  Malachi laughed. The man towered over everyone in the house except his cousin, who matched him in height. Yet, despite his great size, there was a playfulness about Leo that Malachi found endearing.

  “Well done. It worked.”

  “You think it’s funny now, but the summer I started scribing my talesm, Max had shot up a few inches on me. I was worried.”

  “You’re cousins?”

  He nodded. “Our mothers were twin sisters. Most Irin couples only have one pregnancy, but twins do happen. It’s considered a great blessing. Our mothers were very close. Max and I were born within months of each other, so we’re really more like brothers than cousins.”

  “Always a competition?”

  “When we were younger. Not as much now. We’re very different.”

  “Max is… intense.”

  Leo smiled. “He’s very passionate about the future. He questions everything, especially the politicians.”

  “It’s good that someone does.”

  “And I know he desperately wants a mate,” Leo said in a quieter voice. “We all do.”

  “It must be frustrating.” Malachi knew that Irin males couldn’t touch humans. He had no desire for anyone except Ava—even though he barely remembered her—but for unmated males like Leo and Max…

  Malachi saw a faint tinge of red on Leo’s cheekbones. “I believe that heaven has already chosen my reshon. I must simply be patient and wait for her. Though human females are… tempting. I cannot lie.”

  Malachi stopped his practice and put a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “She will be worthy of your patience, brother.”

  “Thank you.” Leo pointed back to the paper he’d been using. “Your letters are well formed. I really can’t help you any more with them. I can answer any questions you have about the tattooing, but I suspect your muscle memory will hold true in the ritual room, as well.”

  “And you’ll be there?”

  “I’m not your father, but we don’t do our first talesm alone, so yes.” Leo smiled. “I’d be honored to witness for you. It won’t be too much. Just the talesm prim to activate your magic and call on our forefathers’ magic, then the basic protection spells and a few others. You’re a good runner already—very fast—so I’d focus on eyesight, reflexes, and protection from blades. Those would be the most important if we encounter any fighting. After that, you can improvise spells as you need them. You’ll find all the basics in that book.”

  Malachi paged through the book for a moment, then looked up. “Thank you, Leo. You’ve been very patient with all this.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They both read in silence a bit longer, then Malachi said, “Rhys told me when I first started watching Ava, before I knew she was Irina, that you were the one to help me guard her.”

  “I was.”

  “Would you tell me about her? Can you?”

  Leo smiled. “Of course. I liked Ava very much. Even when we thought she was human.”

  “What is she like?”

  “She’s… unpredictable. She never really does what you expect.”

  Malachi frowned. “Oh?”

  “But then, looking back, you aren’t surprised at all.”

  “Why not?” He listened, rapt to hear any crumb of who this woman was. She’d captured Malachi’s heart without him knowing anything about her. He wanted to. Desperately.

  Leo continued, “I think it’s how she throws people off. By being unpredictable. She likes to keep others off-balance so they don’t look too closely.”

  That made him smile. “She doesn’t like being the center of attention?”

  “No, definitely not.” Leo grinned, then his smile fell. “Ava is, more than anything, a survivor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She had to be. She heard voices her whole life—like the Irina do—but she didn’t know what they were. Her parents thought she was mentally ill. I think she still thinks that sometimes. She makes jokes about being crazy.”

  “I think I remember that,” he said, recalling the password he’d typed into her computer.

  “You hated it; I could tell. Max and Damien say she’s actually very powerful. They think it’s because she has so much power bound up from living a life away from magic. I always thought it was because she’s not like other Irina.”

  Malachi frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Leo shrugged. “Her parents are human. We never did figure out where she came from, but biologically, she shouldn’t be Irina. I mean, Irin are not entirely human or angel. We’re different. And Ava is definitely like us, but we can’t figure out how a human could become Irina.”

  The answer seemed obvious to Malachi. “A lion doesn’t become a wolf, Leo, no matter how it might want to be.”

  “So?” Leo crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “It means her parents are Irin. They have to be.”

  The blond man smiled. “Our records—everything we could find about them—say they’re not.”

  Malachi frowned. “But humans don’t give birth to Irin children.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  “So if they produced Ava, then they’re not human.”

  “But they’re not Irin. We have a record of every Irin child ever born. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s keeping records.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Malachi murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  Malachi looked around the room filled with scrolls and tablets. Books and boxes were hidden in every corner. He turned back to Leo and said, “We’re an ancient race of angel and human hybrids that has lived under the nose of humanity for thousands of years.”

  “And?”

  “We may be good at keeping records, but we’re also good at keeping secrets.”

  I.

  Göteborg, Sweden

  It wasn’t often his father called him to appear in person. But given the task Brage had just accomplished, it could hardly be said he was dreading the appearance. He strolled through the Götaplatsen, ignoring the human women who cast longing looks in his direction. The package his father was expecting rested safely at his side.

  The blade from Istanbul had been found. A heavenly blade. It was one of only three that Brage had ever seen. The only one that had been in his hand. It would be nothing to human eyes. Dull. Devoid of decoration or flourish.

  But to one of heaven’s children, it was a treasure beyond price.

  Countless hours searching through mud and shit, through rotten food and human waste, and he’d found it. Or, his brothers had while he directed the search. They didn’t question him; few Grigori lasted as long as Brage. At nearly three hundred years old, he was almost as strong as one of the Irin he despised.
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  Fucking scribes with their fucking honor. Their fucking magic and mates and foolish sentimentality. They, like he and his Grigori brothers, could rule the humans if they wished. Rule as the ancients had.

  Brage stopped in front of the Poseidon statue and waited to feel him. He only waited moments.

  There.

  The soldier’s eyes closed, and his mouth dropped open as the wave of fear and adoration swept over him. The cynical soldier disappeared, and the child leapt to the surface. Brage wanted his father’s approval. Needed it. Would do anything, kill anything, steal anything to get it. He longed for the love of this creature, as if the lack of it would damn him.

  He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

  “Hello, Father.”

  “Brage.” The stunning man appeared at his side. The humans around him would notice nothing. They would have no memory of the angel appearing, for he had always been there. No side-glance or double take. The handsome man in the double-breasted suit and overcoat stood next to another man who could be his brother.

  Brage knew Volund appeared that way purposefully. If the angel had been speaking to one of his Russian or Turkish brothers, Volund’s appearance would have reflected their appearance, just as his blond hair and vivid green eyes reflected Brage in that moment. It appealed to the human side of the Grigori. Their vanity. The younger and more foolish soldiers believed this resemblance indicated some particular favor when they saw it. Brage had thought so himself when he was young.

  “Do you have the knife?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Good. I want you to keep it.”

  Brage worked to conceal his surprise, but it was useless. Volund knew him intimately. Like any of his blood, the angel could read his children. Read their moods, feel their fears, find them if they tried to hide. There were no secrets between the Fallen and their offspring. There was no place that Brage could hide, and for that reason—and many others—he didn’t even try.

  “I assumed you would want it back.”

  Volund turned to him, the edge of a sneer twisting his perfect lips. “That was when I thought it had done its job.”