The Singer (29 page)

“Then take off your mask.”

“Are you sure you want to see me as I am?” He must have read the uncertainty in her eyes. “I will show you a shadow of my face in this world, but that is all.”

The man grew. Expanded. His soft face shimmered away and a harder one took its place. A beautiful face. Unearthly. His hair was black and shining as a raven’s wing. His eyes were a glittering amber gold. Smooth tan skin was marked by raised letters she recognized. They were like her mate’s, but more. This being’s magic was not written on him, it was part of him. She knew he would not hurt her. He was frightening, but she felt no fear.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You are not the first to say so.”

“Your spells…” She stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. The skin was warm under her fingertips. The raised letters glimmered with a faint, silver sheen.

“They are not spells.”

“What are they?”

“Magic that is part of me.”

“Like my magic is part of me?”

“No. They are more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not meant to, child. It is a thing beyond your ken.”

She looked around the forest. The darkness crept closer. Around the glowing being, it was held back, but it did not seem afraid of him any more than she was.

“Why does it find me here?”

“He finds you because he can. Just as I can.”

She looked up into his glowing face. “Will it hurt me?”

He cocked his head. “I do not know his purpose. Only that he would thwart mine.”

“And what is your purpose?”

He smiled. “That is not for you to know yet. I gave you my vision once. I will give you others when you need them.”

“When will I need them?”

He shook his head. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Wake up, or the darkness will find you.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave yet. You don’t answer my questions.”

His smile turned sad. He lifted his hand to her cheek and trailed a warm finger there. “I had hoped… You look nothing like your mother. But your voice reminds me of her.”

She felt tears on her cheek, but he brushed them away. “I don’t understand you.”

He vanished from her sight, but his whisper came from the trees around her.

“Wake, Ava…”
 

She woke, and the tears were cold on her cheeks. There was a commotion outside the cottage. She could hear shouting and car engines roaring to life.

Ava bolted up in bed, throwing on her clothes and racing from the bedroom. Damien burst through the door a moment later.

“Two Grigori. Both dead. But they found us, Ava.” His cold voice turned Ava’s stomach. “They found Sarihöfn.”

“This is my fault,” she whispered at the kitchen table, listening to Sari plan the evacuation of the entire community. Orsala sat on one side. Damien sat on the other. Irina bustled around, listening for instructions and then setting about tasks as Sari gave them.

“No.” Damien gripped her hand. “You did nothing wrong. Mala is sure you were not tailed from Bergen. This is from some other crack in our defenses. It was… surprising. But we had become too complacent. It was probably inevitable after so much time. There have been so many who have used Sarihöfn as a refuge over the years. No magic is impenetrable. And with the Grigori becoming more aggressive, we should not be surprised.”

Far from chaos, a quiet urgency lay over the house. There was no shouting or panic. The Grigori soldiers the guards had apprehended in the woods had been killed, but plans were underway to empty the haven. If there were two, there would be others. Listening to Sari give instructions to Mala and Astrid, Bruno and Karen, she realized that this had always been planned. As secure as Sarihöfn was, the Irin were a people constantly at war. No place was truly safe.
 

And Ava realized it would always be this way.

Even before the Rending, they had hidden. Hidden from the humans. From the Fallen. The Irin lived as a people under siege. It was frightening. Exhausting. And this was her future.

No mate. No family. Constantly on the move. Half of her reasoned it wasn’t all that different from how she’d lived before she knew she was Irina. The other half just wanted to run like she had in Bergen.

Run from Istanbul.

Run from Turkey.

Run from Sarihöfn.

Where would she run next?

Families were evacuated first; multiple backup plans were already in place. Irina with mates were calling them, finding places to meet. There were other havens around the world. Other havens could be formed in out-of-the-way places. Some Irina would go to them while others would scatter. For many, Sarihöfn had provided a place to train and grow. Now they could fight their own battles.

“What will they do about money?” Ava asked. “And the farm?”

“There are humans Sari trusts who will take care of the farm. And they have saved money for hundreds of years. They will give money to families and individuals as they need it. They have enough.”

“I have money. More than I need. If any of them—”

“Keep your money, sister.” Damien placed a hand on her shoulder. “They will be fine.”

“They planned for this.”

“Yes,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice. “After the Rending, we knew no place would be safe forever.”

Within hours, cars and trucks were already leaving the barn. People took only what they needed. Furniture would be left behind. Perhaps, at some point, it could be retrieved, but safety was more important than sentiment.

“We’ll stay here a few days with Sari,” Damien said. “We’re still deciding where our family will go. Sari and I have different ideas about what should happen now.”

“And me?”

“You’re coming with us, of course.” He smiled. “That we all agree on. You still have many lessons with Orsala. And you’re part of our family.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m not sure I’m a very safe person to be around right now.”

“Good!” Sari’s voice sounded from across the room. “Then my plan it is, Damien.”

Damien shook his head. “
Milá
…”

“I know you want to go someplace safe and hidden, my love.” A wild smile crossed Sari’s face, and there was fire in her eyes. “But I cannot agree. I have taken care of my sisters. I have sheltered those who needed it. I have been peaceful too long. Give me an enemy to bloody my hands on.”

“The Irina need—”

“We know what we need.” Ava hadn’t expected the soft-spoken Karen’s voice to be so strong. “And that is not to have others dictate to us. Bruno and I can take care of those who need shelter. There is a house that belonged to my mother outside Prague. It has been empty for many years. Bruno and I will create a safe place and let you know when it is ready. I am not a warrior.” She looked up at her mate. “And my Bruno knows this. But your mate is, Damien. And you know that.”

“I will go with Karen and Bruno,” Astrid said, looking at Ava. “And know that you can always come to my door if you need healing. Any of you.”

Mala signed something to Sari.

“Mala will go with them, as well, at least for a time,” Sari said. She looked around, frowning. “Has anyone been able to call Renata?”

Ava said, “Candace was trying to call her mobile. She’s not at her apartment in Bergen. She might still be in Oslo. Candace and Brooke are going to the scribe house there with Chelsea. Her mate is stationed there.”

Sari nodded, then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In that moment, Ava could see the years on her face, though it remained the smooth porcelain of youth. The kitchen was almost empty. Within hours, the evacuation would be complete.

“We always knew this place could not last forever,” Sari said, reaching for her grandmother’s hand. “Change has come. We are ready. Now let this quiet war end.”

Chapter Seventeen

They debated flying to Oslo, but in the end decided that a plane would be too problematic. And traceable. Malachi, Leo, and Rhys decided to drive. Borrowing a new car from Gabriel, they left as soon as Rhys made it back to the house. The scholar was going in circles with his research into Ava’s family background, so he decided to join them. Max hadn’t given them much information. He didn’t know Ava’s exact location, only how to find her, and he claimed that Oslo was the starting point.

“Be prepared,” he had warned. “There is something going on here. Something big. Grigori are swarming the city. The local scribe house has been inundated and has even called on neighboring houses to help. It’s dangerous. Volund’s soldiers are everywhere.”

There was, of course, no talk of Grigori aggression in Vienna. Gabriel quietly took note of the information, then procured a car for the three scribes to borrow indefinitely. It might have been cramped in back, but it was enough for Leo to stretch out while Rhys took a turn during the eighteen-hour drive.

The modern highway sped past as Malachi watched out the window, alternately disturbed and comforted by how familiar and yet foreign the drive turned out to be.

“I’ve driven this route before,” he said to Rhys. “Many times, I think.”

“Probably.” Rhys reached for the cup of coffee he’d been nursing. “You were in Berlin for a long time. I imagine you drove this way when you went to Vienna.”

He frowned. “Would I have gone to Vienna much?”

“You were second to the Watcher in Berlin. I imagine you spent plenty of time there.”

Malachi shifted uncomfortably. “Konrad called me something when we met with him.”

“What?” The corner of Rhys’s mouth lifted. “The ‘Butcher’ thing?”

“Yes.”

The other scribe chuckled. “You loved that nickname. Cultivated it, once upon a time.”

“Why?”

“Because fear is as potent a weapon as fists or knives,” Rhys said. “Think of how many Grigori avoided Berlin knowing that a scribe known as ‘The Butcher’ was there.”

“So they simply went someplace else. What made Berlin more important than any other city?”

“It’s not more important or less, Malachi. But… we all have places that are significant.”

“And my parents died in Berlin.” He remembered what Konrad had said.
 

“Yes, they did,” Rhys said. “And when you returned to the city, you painted the walls red with Grigori blood.”

“It sounds like I was very angry.”

“You were. For hundreds of years, you were angry. Until you met Ava, I think.”

Ava. His heart ached with unknown longing. He hungered for something but couldn’t remember the taste.

“We all grieve in different ways,” Rhys said quietly.

Malachi tried to control his frustration. His past was a giant empty wound that would occasionally offer up a bubble of insight. But for the most part, there was nothing. Flashes of knowledge. An image. A scent memory. Most of what his mind offered him came from his childhood. His training. There were occasional flashes of Ava, but nothing concrete.

“You weren’t getting anywhere with the research into her family?” he asked Rhys.

“I’ve run into a brick wall. Her mother’s family is transparent. Grandparents. Great-grandparents. Ava told me once that her mother’s family didn’t talk much about their history, but it was relatively easy to find. French and German, mostly. Midwestern immigrants who came in the middle of the 1800s. Nothing about them stands out as having any supernatural origins. It’s her father who is the problem.”

“So it must be there.”

Rhys opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally, he said, “It goes against everything we know about Irin biology, but yes, it must be on her father’s side.”

“So her grandmother must have been Irina?”

“She must have been. And for Ava to be as powerful as she is, her blood must have been potent. Old. To not be diluted in the third generation, her grandmother must have been extraordinary.”

“But we know nothing about her.”

Rhys shook his head. “Her father is a musical genius, obviously, so the angelic blood shows there. But he had a normal—well, normal for him—relationship with Ava’s mother, so he’s not an Irin male. Not like we are.”

“Does he have any other children beside Ava?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Curious.”

“Or just careful,” Rhys said. “He doesn’t seem like the fatherly type.”

“No.” Though from what Malachi had learned of Ava’s father, perhaps his absence had been a blessing in disguise.

“So, Ava’s magic must come from her paternal grandmother, whom we have no records for except a single note on her father’s file that his mother was also named Ava.”

Malachi said, “Leo and I think that Reed hid her records. As an adult, we think he paid to have them disappear.”

“Why?”

“Why do we think so?” he asked. “Or why would he hide them at all?”

“Both.”

“He named his only daughter the same name as his mother. Do you think that is a coincidence?”