The Scribe

Chapter Three

A cruise on the Bosphorus was hardly how Malachi would have chosen to spend a ninety-degree day, but that didn’t matter. He was still following Ava, which meant he did what she did. And currently, that meant sitting through an uneventful narration of the history of Istanbul while on the water. Ava perched on the port side of the cruise ship, snapping pictures. She was evenly split between amusement and boredom if he had to guess from her expression. He’d become reluctantly familiar with the human woman in the days he’d been guarding her.

There, the privately bemused smile.

There, the bored lift of her right eyebrow.

There, the slight pinch of her mouth when someone passed too close.

Malachi might have had his suspicions, but he questioned whether they were mere figments of his own hopeful imagination. He hadn’t spotted a Grigori in days—not surprising since the two who had approached her in the alley had seen Malachi, as well. No Grigori would willingly take on a trained Irin scribe alone, or even with a partner. But could Ava be what he suspected without attracting their attention? None of it added up.

Malachi heard his phone ring.

“‘Allo?”

“It’s Damien. Anything new?”

“You’re missing out. It’s a beautiful, hot day on the water. Lots of tourists. Sadly, no beer.”

His watcher ignored him. “No one is following her?”

“Other than me? No.”

There was a pause.

“If there has been no other threat to her—”

“They saw me.” He stood and moved to a more secluded part of the deck near the back, where the wind would carry his voice out over the water. He still kept an eye on Ava. “I imagine they’re being cautious. And since she thinks I’m some personal bodyguard her family hired to protect her, I don’t even have to hide. She sees me and says nothing. It’s the perfect cover to find out more about her.”

“Malachi, Rhys and I have been looking into her family history. There is no evidence—”

“That she’s Irina? I told you what she said.”

“She said, ‘I heard you.’ One statement that could mean any number of things, and then she ran away. If she was Irina, even if she didn’t know it, she’d be drawn to you. It’s part of who we are. And how could she be unaware?”

“If she was born after the Rending—”

“She was born Ava Russell, to Lena Russell, a single mother, in 1985. Born in Los Angeles, raised in Santa Monica. The scribe house there has no record of her or her mother. There is no father listed. What Irin would leave a child without giving her a name, Malachi? What Irina would raise her child outside the safety of a retreat?”

He had nothing to say. Damien was right. The number of Irin children born after the Rending could be counted on a few hands. They were never unguarded, particularly the young Irina. They were hidden away and treasured by their mothers, most of whom were in hiding. His people hadn’t been whole for two hundred years.

“I still think there is something different about her.” His voice was irritatingly hoarse. “How else would you explain the Grigori watching her like that?”

It was Damien who paused then.

“Jaron is…” His voice was halting. “Not as some others are. Since he has moved West, his people have not been as aggressive.”

A derisive snort was the only answer Malachi gave him.

Damien said, “It’s in their nature to be predators, yes. But there haven’t been as many deaths in Istanbul as you’d expect in the past twenty years. And yes, preying on women in the middle of the day like that is unusual. It’s possible that whoever was following her has been taken care of. He’s very controlling. That’s why this area has experienced the relative calm that it has.”

“You’re acting as if there is some kind of truce between you and him.”

“There isn’t. There can’t be; you know that. His nature has not changed, nor has ours. But he keeps a lower profile than what you were used to in Germany. Jaron is not Volund. He doesn’t like attention, and his Grigori are more subtle in their pursuits.”

Their pursuits. Malachi sneered. What a polite name for the Grigori practice of aggressively seducing and bedding human women, often leaving them half-dead or impregnated with children that could kill them simply by being born. Malachi had been tracking and killing Grigori soldiers for over four hundred years. It was his burning purpose in life. He had yet to see any soldier exhibit restraint.

“Nevertheless, I am going to stay with her.”

“And when she leaves? Rhys said she’s scheduled to leave Istanbul in another two weeks.”

“Then we’ll see what happens in two weeks.”

“You’re not following her out of the city, Malachi. I won’t allow it.”

Malachi bristled instinctively at the command. “Damien—”

“I am your superior,” his watcher reminded him coldly. “I will not allow it. Leave the human woman to whatever fate the Creator has for her.”

Malachi struggled to put into words the compulsion he felt. Ava Matheson needed to be protected. He knew she couldn’t be one of his kind, but there was still something…

“I sense something in her, Damien. Something different. I feel—”

“You feel hope, my friend.” The watcher’s voice softened slightly. “Something most of us haven’t felt for a very long time. But this hope… it’s your own desire. Nothing more. You’re not thinking clearly. She’s not Irina. She can’t be.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Did he? His eyes returned to her. Ava was sitting next to a group of children, her eyes easy, her expression relaxed. Everything Damien had said about Ava made sense. There was no logical way she could be one of their kind. None. But something about her—her reactions, her energy—screamed that she was more than human. She was other. Different. Even the way she held herself away from the crowd while trying to blend in was familiar.

“I’ll follow her while she’s in the city. After that…”

“You’ll return to your duties, Malachi. You have a job to do. Leo and Maxim are already covering your shifts.”

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “But I thought Jaron’s Grigori were the civilized ones.”

“A civilized Grigori is still a threat and an abomination. Some things will never change, including our mission.”

Malachi was tired of Damien’s constant discipline. Tired of the endless nights of stalking and waiting and violence. Perhaps someday he would join the more peaceful of their brethren in a rural scribe house like Rhys was always talking of doing. He would cloak his armor and spend his days copying sacred texts and his nights watching the stars, perhaps even some day counter the spells that prolonged his life so he could fade into the heavens as so many Irin had after their mates were torn from them.

Malachi had no mate. Only a handful of scribes did. And it was because of the cursed Grigori that he and all his kind were fated to spend their long lives alone.

He was kidding himself. He’d never retire from a warrior’s life. Malachi would fight them as long as he lived.

“You have a job to do, Malachi.” Damien was still talking. “And that job is not following a human woman who happens to catch your eye.”

“Yes, Watcher.”

“Keep me informed of your movements. I want to know where you are.”

“Have Rhys enable the tracker on my phone. He can do that now, you know. You can watch me move on the map, if you want.”

Damien paused. “He can do that?”

Malachi chuckled. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, old friend.”

The tour boat had reached the end of the Golden Horn and had turned back toward the Galata Bridge when Ava approached him. He’d been playing a game on his phone, some mind-numbing activity Leo was addicted to that involved shooting birds at pigs. It was oddly satisfying; the pigs exploded in a puff not unlike the Grigori when you put a knife in the right place. He glanced up when he saw her move, then watched silently as she approached the bench in the corner where he had positioned himself. Her camera bag bumped against her thigh as she walked, an unwieldy cargo he’d never seen her without.

She paused in front of him, then sank onto the wooden bench opposite as Malachi hid his phone.

“I’m incredibly bored.”

He shrugged. “So why did you take the tour?”

“You’re supposed to take a tour of Istanbul from the sea. Didn’t you know that?”

He smiled. “Do you always do what you’re supposed to?”

“Hardly ever, but this is work.”

“What do you do?” He already knew. Rhys had given him a full profile on her the day after he’d discovered her name.

“I take pictures for travel magazines.”

Ava Matheson was considered one of the top travel photojournalists in her field, distinguishing herself by her willingness to go to the most remote location and capture it for the hungry print and online world. In fact, the more remote the location, the more attractive the job seemed to be for her. She’d climbed mountains in Peru and Nepal, traversed the Gobi Desert, and boated the Orinoco. The burgeoning ecotourism industry loved her. Ava specialized in finding the luxurious in the most remote places in the world. She seemed to avoid cities unless there was a specific assignment calling her to one. Malachi had no idea what she was doing in Istanbul, as Rhys could find no record of a commission from any of her usual clients.

“Which magazine do you work for?”

“Lots of them.” Her gaze drifted off for a moment until it snapped back to his face. “I don’t want to talk about work. Isn’t that boring? I bet you hate to talk about bodyguard gigs. You probably have some great stories you can’t tell anyone though, huh?”

You have no idea. He lifted an eyebrow. “So what do you want to talk about?”

He hoped she wasn’t thinking about coming on to him. That was destined to end badly, then she’d call her parents—or whoever she thought had hired him—and start asking inconvenient questions.

“Are you Turkish? You don’t have the same accent as most of the people I’ve met.”

He could actually be honest about that one. “I am, but I’ve traveled a lot. Lived in a lot of other places. I imagine that’s influenced the accent. You?”

“All-American girl.”

“They write songs about your kind, you know.”

She laughed. “My kind? That’s a good one. I can pretty much promise they don’t write songs about my kind. Not good ones, anyway. Have you been to the States?”

“I lived in Chicago for a time, but that was years ago.”

Ava leaned forward, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as the breeze pulled dark hair into her eyes. “And what did you do in Chicago?”

I helped kill the upper echelon of Grigori soldiers belonging to a fallen angel who preys on the women of the Upper Midwest. And his pack of dogs. He was pissed about the dogs.

“The same thing I do here.”

“Exciting.”

“It has its moments.”

“Did you ever guard Oprah?”

“I don’t think so.” He frowned. “Not directly.”

“So, Malachi…” She shifted again, leaning back and lifting her face to the sun. It poured over her, warming her pale skin and lighting the red in her hair. She tilted her head back, closing her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Are you an independent contractor, or do you work for one of Carl’s usual companies?”

She was subtly digging for information, but he couldn’t figure out why. He decided to play along for now. It would be less suspicious.

“I’m somewhat independent, but I work with a larger company. The headquarters is in Vienna. I imagine Mr. Matheson was referred from there.”

“Probably. He’s doing a lot of work in Eastern Europe lately. Low production costs.”

Her stepfather was a film producer, but Ava seemed unimpressed. In fact, everything about her spoke of boredom. Jaded expression. Cynical quirk to her mouth. Malachi sensed something else, though.

Lonely. The woman was desperately lonely.

“Do you like to travel alone?”

She seemed surprised that he’d asked a question. Her head tilted forward and she looked at him. “What?”

“Am I not allowed to ask you questions?”

“It’s unusual.”

“Call me unusual, then.”

She smiled then, a genuine smile untouched by cynicism. “Yeah, I like it. I’m not the most social person in the world.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Wow. That bad, huh?”

He shrugged. “You just seem to like your own space. I don’t see you chatting with many strangers like a lot of the tourists do.”

“My own space?” Her smile hinted at some inside joke. “You could call it that. I don’t travel much in cities. They’re very…”

He waited, but she seemed to expect him to interrupt. He didn’t.

Finally, she said, “They’re crowded. Noisy. Too many smells and sounds and sights all crashing together. I don’t like them, usually.”

“Not even Constantinople?”

“You mean Istanbul?”

He grinned. “Are we going there?”

“We better not.” She laughed again. “I’ll have that song stuck in my head for days. But to answer your question, despite the noise and the people and the heat—”

“The heat is something else, isn’t it?”

“No worse than L.A. most summers. Despite all that…” Her eyes drifted toward the water. “I like it here. There’s something about it, isn’t there? It’s…” Her eyes sought his. “Seductive.”

Malachi could feel the tattoos covering his chest pulse. No… Not going there, either.

He straightened and cleared his throat. “It’s a fascinating place. Very complicated history.”

“I can tell.” Her golden-brown eyes seemed to mock him. “Just by looking at it.”

Silence fell between them as she held his stare. The wind picked up, teasing the fine hair at the back of his neck. He saw her glance down at the tattoo work along his collar, but she said nothing. Asked nothing.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Really?”

“Headaches.” The mask fell over her face. She had answered without thinking. He was betting she didn’t do that often.

“Headaches?”

“The condition I mentioned the other day.” She waved a careless hand. “There’s a doctor here who specializes in it. The appointment last week, remember? I was referred to him. And you don’t need to report that to Carl or my mom.”

“I don’t report on your activities to anyone unless I think there is some aspect of your safety in jeopardy. I’m not a stalker; I’m a guard.”

“Good.”

“Is he helping?”

“The doctor?”

“Yes.”

Her head bobbed back and forth, considering the question. “Maybe. I try not to get my hopes up, you know? I’ve lived with the headaches my whole life.”

Malachi knew all about not getting his hopes up. So why was he having a hard time believing Damien?

“And there is no cure for them?”

“Not that anyone has found. It’s not a tumor or anything. They’re a bit of a mystery.”

As are you, woman. It wasn’t headaches. At least, that wasn’t all of it. He didn’t know exactly what was going on with the interesting American woman, but he was determined to find out.

Malachi said, “It’s better to be cautious, even with doctors. If there is any background information you’d like on this doctor, let me know. I know many people in Istanbul. Maybe some of my friends or associates have gone to him.”

From her expression, she didn’t like that idea. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’m fine for right now.”

“I just wanted to offer.”

“Noted.” She forced a smile. “But not necessary. I’m fine.”

You are anything but fine.

The tour boat was pulling into the dock, and passengers rose to their feet. Ava joined them without a word, leaving Malachi behind to watch her walk down the gangway. Wordlessly, he stood, then followed her at a comfortable distance as she grabbed a fish sandwich from one of the floating restaurants and walked back toward her hotel, lonely and silent in the afternoon crowd.

Malachi strode into the house and straight to the library, not even stopping to rib Maxim about the bottle of beer the younger man was drinking in the kitchen. He’d left Ava exhausted. He was fairly sure she was done for the day, but the tiny tracker he’d slipped in her bag would alert him if she left the perimeter he’d set up around the grounds of the hotel. And if she was done for the day, then he had some questions for Rhys.

“Sadik,” he said when he spied the shorter scribe sitting at his computer. “He’s the doctor she’s seeing. I saw it on the directory at the building we visited. J. Sadik. I need to know everything about him.”

Rhys turned and frowned. “Had a great day, thanks. The air conditioner is fixed, and the activity logs have been updated and sent to Vienna. And I covered your patrol last night. How was the dinner cruise? Was there a show?”

“No dinner. No show. It was hot but informative.” He paused and tried to slow his brain. “Thank you for covering my shift.”

“Well, since you’re on babysitting duty for the mysterious human, we’re all more than happy to pitch in.” Not even Rhys’s polite accent could hide the sarcasm. Malachi knew the others thought he was following a rabbit trail, but he didn’t care.

“Dr. J. Sa—”

“Sadik.” Rhys turned back to the computer. “I heard you the first time. I’m just trying to force you into social niceties you seem to have forgotten living among the barbarians.” Rhys’s fingers began typing rapidly. The three-hundred-year— old scribe had taken to modern information technology like a duck to water. Not all Irin did. Damien still considered anything more advanced than a telegraph suspicious.

“Thank you, Rhys.”

“Don’t mention it. Really. What kind of doctor?”

“I don’t know. She says she has headaches.”

“Headaches?” he muttered. “That could by physical, psychological… You have no idea what kind of headaches?”

“She wasn’t exactly forthcoming. She said he was a specialist she was referred to.”

Rhys gave him a quiet “ hmph” and kept typing.

“Where?”

“He’s in the city. Just a few miles from here. She saw him last week after the attack in the alley.”

More typing.

“Sadik? You’re sure of it?”

“Who is he? Yes, I’m sure.” Malachi leaned in, looking over the other man’s shoulder, but nothing on the screen made sense.

“There are a number of Sadiks, but none of them are specialists in anything to do with headaches.” More typing. More muttering. Rhys shook his head. “Nothing in the government system… nothing in private. Here’s one who is a pediatrician. An oncologist?”

“It didn’t sound like cancer.”

“That one is a woman, anyway. She said it was a male?”

“Ava referred to ‘him.’”

More typing. “I’m not finding anything that would match. Not in this part of the city.”

Alarm bells started to go off. “What do you mean? There has to be a record. Maybe he moved his office.”

“I’m not finding anything…” Rhys started typing again. “If he’s practicing anywhere in Turkey, I should be able to find him. He’s not in initial searches. I suppose I can keep looking…”

“Yes,” he said. Then quickly added, “Please.”

“See? You can be taught.”

J. Sadik, who are you?

He patted Rhys’s shoulder. “Thanks for checking. I may have to look in other directions.”

Rhys was still frowning, and Malachi knew the scribe was irritated that he hadn’t been able to find the answers his friend was looking for. “She was in Israel before she came here. Maybe the referral came from a doctor there. I’m going to search her medical records. I’ll see what I can find online.”

For some reason, the idea of Rhys digging into Ava’s background irked him. “Is that necessary?”

“Do you want to find out who this doctor is and why she’s seeing him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why do you care?”

The other man went back to furious typing while Malachi drifted back toward the kitchen. It was a good question.

Why did he care?