The Scribe

Chapter Sixteen

By the time they arrived at the scribe house on the other side of the bridge, morning traffic had started. Cafés and shops were stirring, and the corner market near the old wooden house in Beyoğlu was opening its doors. Ava held Malachi’s hand as they walked from the car park. She had slept in the car, but not deeply. She needed quiet, food, and warm arms surrounding her while she slept.

I love you. Of course I love you.

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Ava, despite a lifetime’s worth of disappointment, was starting to believe it.

“Malachi.” She tugged on his arm a few steps away from the front door. The sun was rising, painting the side of the house a warm red-brown. It touched his hair, and Ava was blinded for a moment by the planes of his face. The warmth in his eyes as he looked down on her. He was becoming the most handsome man in the world to her. Just the sight of him stole her breath.

“What?”

“What happens now?”

He smiled and touched her cheek with a finger. “Now my brothers will greet us, and we will both get some rest. We eat something. We take things one step at a time, Ava. We will find who is after you and what they want. Then, we will make you safe.”

“It sounds pretty simple when you put it like that.” She felt her head swimming and knew she’d reached the end of her rope. She was five steps from the door, but minutes away from collapse.

Malachi squeezed her hand and reached over to knock, but the green door was already opening. Damien stood in the doorway, a fierce, intimidating figure, his torso bare save for the markings across his chest, shoulders, and arms. A linen cloth hung around his waist, and Ava saw black stains on his hands. His hair hung past his shoulders, and Ava could see the ancient warrior in his eyes as he stared.

“Morning greetings, brother,” he said quietly, opening the door farther and holding out his hand. Malachi put a hand at the small of her back and grasped Damien’s forearm with his hand.

Malachi asked, “Does the fire still burn in this house?”

“It does, and you are welcome to its light.” Then the stern expression melted, and Damien looked down at her. “You and your own.”

With that, some kind of wall was breached, and she heard Malachi’s thoughts swell with pride and excitement. He held her with one arm while grabbing his friend in a fierce embrace. The two men’s quiet laughter enveloped her as they ushered Ava through the door, and she saw Leo and Maxim standing behind Damien, both wearing the same joyful expressions. They lined up to greet her. Damien was first, leaning down to put both hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheeks, right and left.

“You are welcome, sister.” Damien’s voice held a slight waver. “You honor us with your voice.”

Aware that there was some meaning she didn’t quite grasp, Ava only said, “Thank you.”

Maxim was next. His vivid blue eyes held a devious glint, but his smile was warm. “Welcome, sister.” He leaned down and also kissed her cheeks in greeting.

“Thank you.”

Leo was the last to say hello, but Ava was grateful to see his familiar, playful expression. “Welcome home, Ava. I’m so happy you’re back.”

She was almost ready to burst into tears when his lips touched her cheek. She felt Malachi’s hand at her back a moment before he pulled her back and into his chest.

“Rhys?” he asked as she tried to recover her composure. She had never felt so welcomed in her life. A small, abandoned corner of her heart sighed and whispered, Home.

“He arrived a few hours ago. Still sleeping.”

“Is our room ready? We both need sleep.”

“Of course,” Damien said. “Leo?”

The smiling man stepped forward. “We moved you to the second floor. The east room has the most space, and it’s coolest in the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Malachi said.

“Wait.” She put a hand on his arm. “They moved your room?”

“Our room,” he said softly, leading her toward the stairs. “Thank you, Leo. We’ll see you later.”

“Rest well.” Without a whisper, he disappeared, along with every other man who’d been there a minute ago. Ava blinked back the blurriness in her eyes and followed Malachi.

“Wait… so, what? They moved me in?”

“I believe Maxim collected your things from your hotel after we left Istanbul. They simply moved them to a new room along with my things.”

“Isn’t that—” She couldn’t stop the yawn. “—a little premature? I mean, we’ve been… whatever-we-are for—”

“They don’t think like that,” he said with a smile. “They see the truth.”

“Oh?” She yawned again, walking through the door he held open for her. She entered a dim room surrounded by bookcases on three walls. There was a window shielded by wooden blinds and a beautiful mural painted around it. But all Ava saw was the bed. Low, covered with pillows, with the bedspread turned down. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She collapsed face-first onto the pillows, barely registering Malachi’s quiet chuckle.

“A little tired?”

“You haven’t let me get much sleep the past week, you insatiable man.”

“I think you’ve worn me out, too,” he said as he tugged off her shoes and jeans. Then he rolled her over and eased off the button-down shirt she’d worn, leaving her in a lightweight tank and her panties. The cotton sheets were a cool kiss against her skin, and Ava burrowed into the pillows as he pulled the bedspread up to her chin. “Sleep, my love.”

“You, too. Come to bed.” She pulled at his hand, rolling toward him with her eyes closed when she felt the other side of the bed dip. Then his arm was around her, and his skin pressed against her own. Leg to leg. Chest to back. His arms encircled her as oblivion descended.

“Malachi?”

“Hmm?”

“Your brothers… what do you mean, ‘they see the truth’?”

“About you and me.”

“And?”

“We belong to each other,” he murmured, his voice growing dim. “The Irin know how precious love is. How quickly it can be taken from us.”

“Still, so fast…”

“Perhaps… we have learned not to wait.”

Reshon, reshon, reshon.

She didn’t know whether the whispers were coming from his mind or her own. And for the first time, Ava didn’t care.

She woke slowly, the knowledge of who reaching her before the where. Malachi was with her, arm still wrapped securely around her waist. As her eyes blinked open, she realized they were back in Istanbul, in the wooden house with the green door, where she’d been greeted like family before falling asleep with the man she loved.

Loved to distraction.

She turned carefully, wanting to watch him as he slept. His face was covered with dark stubble, and his hair fell across his forehead, a frown on his face as he dreamed. His full lips pursed in disapproval at whatever visions he saw, and long lashes curled on his cheeks. He really did have the most beautiful eyes; his lashes would be the envy of women everywhere.

“Angels would weep,” she whispered, only realizing after she’d said it how truly ironic it was. Angels probably had wept.

The Forgiven. The angelic ancestors of the Irin. In the story Rhys told her, the Forgiven had been the ones who left. Leaving behind their women and children to return to heaven when they were called. And in return, their descendants had been blessed with knowledge and magic in exchange for their sacrifice. Ava traced the stern line of Malachi’s lip.

“I think I’d pull down heaven,” she said, “if that’s what it took to keep you here with me.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “And I’d abandon it if you weren’t there.” His eyes flickered open. “Good morning.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s afternoon.”

“Oh well.” He rolled over, dragging her with him so she lay over his chest. “Let’s go back to sleep and forget them all.”

Ava giggled and squirmed as he held her. “We should get up.”

“I’m well on the way. Can’t you tell?”

“Clearly.” She managed to wiggle to his side. “But I have some questions.”

“Oh…” He groaned and buried his face in her neck, nipping at the soft skin with gentle teeth. “Do I get a prize if I answer correctly?”

“Not those kind of questions.”

“What kind then?”

“Last night…” She shook her head. “This morning. When we got here. The things they said… That meant something, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” His voice held an abundance of caution.

“What did it mean?” When he didn’t answer, she rolled over. “Well?”

She started to sit up, but he grabbed her and pulled her down, curling around her as he spoke.

“When we went to Cappadocia, the scribes there greeted us as guests. You might not have noticed, as they’re not as formal there.”

“You were speaking in the Old Language, too.”

“Yes. But here… When we arrived this morning, Damien greeted us as family. In the old way, the way the head of a household would greet a mated couple returning to a retreat. He called you sister. He called you my own.”

A quiet suspicion began to take shape. “They moved us into this room. Which is quite obviously intended for two people.”

“Yes.”

“And all your stuff is here. And my stuff.”

“Ava, I—”

“Are you telling me they think we’re married or something?” Her heart started pounding.

“Irin don’t marry,” he said, just a little too quickly. “So, no.”

“But they think something.”

“They know we’re together. That’s all. I told them we were together. Aren’t we?”

“I guess…” Ava felt like she was trying to find her way in a dark room that everyone could see but her. “Yes, we’re together. I just want to know what’s going on. This is all happening really fast. Do they think I’m going to live here forever or something?”

She felt him stiffen, and his face went blank. “Are you planning to leave?”

“Not right now. But… I don’t know.” She knew her words caused him pain, but they had to be said. “I have a life, Malachi.”

He drew back, and Ava hated the distance immediately. “Yes, you have a life.”

“And I can’t just—”

“A life where you travel from place to place every few months, never putting down roots.” His voice was brittle. “You don’t speak of any close friends. You have a mother who loves you but doesn’t understand you. A stepfather who protects you but doesn’t love you.”

His words stung, even though Ava knew they were true. “You have no right—”

“You were alone,” he said, grabbing her hand and stopping her from leaving the bed. “Like I was. Even more than I was. We were alone, but now we’re not.”

The urgency in his voice, the raw honesty of it, cooled her anger. “Malachi—”

“Why do you want to leave that? I need you, as you need me.” He drew her back down and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. “We can stay here. We can go another place. We can seek out the Irina who have hidden themselves and ask them to train you in magic. We can hide from the world if we must. I don’t know what we’ll do for money, but we’ll find—”

“I have plenty of money,” Ava said. “Money for a lifetime. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then why?” He kissed her again. “Why leave? I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together.”

Her heart swelled, and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Is this real?”

He smiled a glorious smile and kissed her again. “Of course it is. We can live forever. The two of us. Forever. Have a family. A life.”

“I love you.” Ava kissed him back, her heart pounding out of her chest with a mad hope. She believed him, and it scared her. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

He held her on the bed, rocking back and forth as Ava bit her lip and tentatively allowed the dreams he shared to take root in her heart. She could see it. For the first time in her life, she caught a glimpse of a life that didn’t end in loneliness and pain. She wanted to be cautious, but her reckless heart ran toward him.

“To be completely honest, however…” He glanced down. “Some might consider us… mated.”

Ava sat up. “That’s the Irin version of married, isn’t it?”

“It’s not exactly…” He was fiddling with the fingers on her right hand in what had become his own nervous gesture. “Yes.”

“I knew it!”

Ava and Rhys were looking through old record books, trying to identify the Grigori she and Malachi had seen in Kuşadası. Unlike police lineup books, which Ava had been acquainted with due to her kidnapping as a child, the Irin records were a mix of pictures and sketches. The profiles she paged through were only for the longest-lived and most dangerous soldiers, which meant it read more like an encyclopedia of evil than a suspect book.

Ulrich, son of Grimold. 1734. Took part in Rending near Stockholm.

Finn, son of Volund. 1856. Known kills in Barcelona, Madrid, and Rabat.

Michael, son of Svarog. 1699. Took part in attack of Prague prior to Rending.

Kemal, son of Jaron. 1955. Known kills, multiple victims in Istanbul, Athens, and throughout Romania.

Joseph, son of Volund. 1902. Known kills in London, Edinburgh, Manchester, Brittany, Lyon, and Milan.

Some of the names had been crossed out, usually with a notation about who had killed them. There were also notes about how each Grigori fought or who their associates were. Certain names kept popping up over and over.

Volund.

Jaron.

Svarog.

Galal.

“Hey, Rhys?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from his computer.

“These names—the fathers of the Grigori listed—so are these…?”

“Fallen angels,” he said. “The real kind. Not offspring like us, and definitely not the nice fluffy variety you see on the television. The Fallen never left Earth, and they’re incredibly powerful. Incredibly cruel. We’ve killed a few over the years, but it’s very difficult. They can shapeshift and cloak their power, so more than one Irin scribe has lost his life thinking one of the Fallen is a harmless old woman or child in need of help. It’s more common they kill each other than we’re able to kill them.”

“How do you kill an angel?” she whispered to herself.

“There are only a few weapons that can do it. Most are in the possession of the Council in Vienna. They have an ancient armory they loan out to very specific people. One of their daggers showed up on a Grigori soldier last month, which has everyone scrambling. Damien was up in arms when he called Vienna, wanted to know how the bastard had obtained it.”

“Does anyone know?”

Rhys shrugged. “It’s possible an assassin they sent to kill one of the Fallen failed. Brage—that’s the one who had it—is one of Volund’s most trusted children. Volund controls most of Northern Europe and Russia. He might have given it to him, but if he did, he’d have a very specific purpose for it. It’s not something you’d give away lightly or carry every day.”

“Is it weird that one of Volund’s Grigori is here in Istanbul?”

“It could be, but then, it may be nothing. Most go back and forth despite some rivalry.”

“Huh.”

“Though… there’s a lot of strange happenings lately,” he muttered, still searching for something online. “Like your Dr. Sadik.”

Ava burned just thinking about him. Bastard. She’d trusted him, and now she had no idea who the doctor was, or even if he was a doctor at all. Rhys was still trying to track him down. They worked in silence for several more minutes, but Ava could feel Rhys’s eyes keep coming back to her.

“What?”

“I’m curious about something.” Rhys handed her a book written in what looked like Farsi just as Malachi entered the room. Ava tried to push down her own annoyance at seeing him.

“I can’t read this,” she protested, looking through the book. “I can speak a little Farsi, but—”

“Just look at the pictures,” Rhys said. “See if you recognize anyone.”

Malachi walked toward her, but she shot him a look. She was irritated about the whole “mated-not-married” thing, and she wasn’t going to try to make him feel better. He could have at least warned her. And the fact that everyone around her was so damn happy only irked her more. Would it have killed him to keep her informed?

“If you want to punish him, you’re doing a bang-up job,” Rhys said when Malachi crossed the room to speak to Maxim about something. The two conferred for a moment before heading toward the library door, leaving her and Rhys alone. Ava turned to him.

“I’ll get over it eventually, but right now I’m pissed.”

“He didn’t mean to anger you. I’m sure of it.”

“But he didn’t exactly keep me informed, did he? Did Malachi tell you we were mated?”

Rhys’s mouth did a little gasping-fish thing. “Not in those words… exactly.”

“Really? When?”

He muttered something that sounded like “Captain Donkey.”

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Cappadocia.”

“Oh really?” She glared at the door. “We were there one night after we… you know.”

“I think the whole valley knew. Caves echo.” Rhys kept talking, even though her face reddened. “Honestly, love, the two of you had been dancing around each other for weeks. Stop being such a fussbudget.”

“A…a what?” She tried to hold in the laugh as Rhys blushed.

“Nothing.”

“Did you just call me a…a fussbudget?” The snicker turned into a laugh.

“I… well, you are. Being very fussy about all this. You’re—”

“Showing your age, old man.” Ava couldn’t stop laughing.

“And you’re being annoyed for the sake of being annoyed.” At least Rhys was laughing, too. His eyes were lighter than they had been since the disastrous night she’d kissed him. “So just stop.” The laughter left his voice and Ava wiped the tears from her eyes. “You two have what most of us have only dreamed of for over two hundred years. A mate. A partner. We can all see it, even when you’re annoyed and he’s exasperated.”

She sighed. “I do exasperate him.”

“And he loves it. He loves you. And you’re clearly besotted with him.” Rhys grabbed her hand and squeezed it for a second. “So stop trying to be sensible about it. Grab love when you can. It doesn’t come around for everyone.”

“I’ll try.”

“You’ll try…” He shook his head and turned back to the computer screen. “You know what? Keep fighting the inevitable. It makes for very entertaining—”

“Oh my God,” she breathed out, staring at the face on the page. The vivid green eyes were rendered in black and white, but the shape was exactly as she remembered. The sketch looked old, maybe from the turn of the century or earlier. It was hard to tell. After all, that particular style of glasses was classic. “It’s him.”

Rhys whipped around. “Who?”

“Him.” She pointed to the angular face on the page. “It’s him. Dr. Sadik.”

“You’re positive, Ava?”

“I’m sure! It looks just like him. Exactly.” She looked at the other pictures on the page. Even though she couldn’t read the writing, it was clearly an extensive entry. “You’re saying my therapist is really a Grigori soldier?”

“No, he isn’t.” Rhys reached over and closed the book, swiping a thumb over the title. For a moment, the letters shimmered and shifted, then the characters reshaped into the more recognizable Roman alphabet.

“That spell is incredibly…” Ava blinked when she read the title. “Oh. My—”

“Your therapist isn’t a Grigori,” Rhys said, pulling away the book. For a moment the letters held, then the title shifted back to the original Farsi. But the name was branded onto her mind.

JARON.

“Your Dr. Sadik is a fallen angel.”