The Singer (24 page)

Slamming the soldier into the cobblestone street, Malachi tried to flip him to his belly so he could pierce his spine, but the man proved as stubborn as he was fast.

“No,” he hissed, finally starting to panic. “Not like this!”

Malachi could not turn him, not while he had to hold his dagger with one hand and straddle the man to keep him from running. Irritating little bastard.

“Why don’t you just cooperate and die like a good monster?” he grunted, holding the man by his hair.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s not nice.” He grinned as an idea came to him. “Maybe you’re too much trouble after all.”

Malachi slid to his right knee, letting the man lunge up, desperate for escape, but the scribe’s heavy leg still lay over the Grigori’s waist. With a quick twist, Malachi slammed his opponent’s face into his braced knee and felt the nose crunch. The back of the Grigori’s neck suddenly bared, Malachi brought the silver blade home, piercing the man’s spine. The only sound was the sucking gasp as the soldier began to dissolve.

For a moment, Malachi saw her face. Felt the cold water at his waist. He was in the cistern again, and he heard Ava’s scream.
 

“NO!”

Then the memory was gone.
 

And so was the Grigori.

He sat in the dirt of the alley and stretched his back. He could feel the deep gash over his kidneys mending. He pushed up his sleeve and traced over the healing spell again, letting his fingers linger over the new marks that had bloomed as Ava sang to him in his dream.

She did this.

Malachi pushed his sleeve down when he heard Leo and Phillip coming down the street. But he still sat, rubbing his knee a bit where the Grigori’s nose had left a spurt of blood. That was irritating. He didn’t have that many clothes, and he hated asking Leo for things.

The two scribes turned the corner, chuckling when they saw him sitting in the center of the alley.

“Did you get tired?” Leo asked.

“Just taking in the sights.”

Phillip glanced around. “Well, if you were looking for a scenic corner of Budapest to loiter and people watch, you did not find it.” Then he grinned and held out a hand.

Malachi grasped it and pulled himself to his feet.

“Take care of the runner?” Leo asked.

“Yes.”

“He was fast.”

“Faster than me.” Malachi twisted his neck to the side, feeling the joints release. “Luckily, big guys get lucky sometimes.”

Phillip said, “More than luck, my friend. If you don’t remember Chicago in ’72, then I’ll remind you someday.”

“Maybe later.” He wanted a shower; he could still feel the dust on his skin. And then they needed to get on the road. He and Leo had only run out for a quick hunt when Tas decided they needed a different car. The irritable scribe had gone out to procure one from questionable sources while Leo and Malachi helped Phillip on patrol.
 

“Tas should be back by now, huh?” Leo asked.

Phillip shrugged. “Probably.”

“And where is this car coming from?” Malachi asked.

“It won’t be stolen,” the watcher said. “Not recently, anyway. But he’s right. If any of the Fallen have you on their radar, it’d be good to change cars occasionally. How are you doing on funds?”

“We’re all right,” Leo said. “Max left us some money.”

“He still playing cards?”

Leo smiled. “He calls it supplemental income.”

“The boy has rich tastes,” Malachi said. “Always has.”

Both of them stopped and looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Malachi said. “I remember bits and pieces. Most of it is still a blank.”

“If you say so,” Phillip said.
 

“Besides, Max’s taste is obvious. How many scribes do you know who wear a five-thousand-dollar watch?”

“It didn’t cost me five thousand dollars, Leo.”

“But Malachi said—”

Leo held the phone out. Max was on speaker, calling from Berlin.

“If he bought it in a store, it would cost that,” Malachi said, eyes on the road.

 
“But you didn’t buy it in a store, did you, Max?”

“Where I buy my watches is no one’s business but mine. Now, can we talk about Vienna, or did you want to discuss my shoes?”

Leo bit back a laugh. “You do have a pair of grey loafers that—”

“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 the 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?