The Scribe

Chapter Eight

Ava woke slowly. Her eyes were stiff and heavy with exhaustion like she’d never known before. She stretched her legs, moving languidly in the cool sheets that smelled of lemon and… Malachi?

She forced her eyes open, blinking as she looked around. Early morning sun spilled across the sheets, crisscrossed by shadows from the wooden blinds. She was alone in the room, but it wasn’t hers. A thousand mornings waking in foreign rooms had trained her. Her bag would be in one corner. Her phone by the bed. Shoes set by the door.

This room was not hers.

It was dominated by a wall of bookcases. On the bookcases were volumes of paperbacks, hardcovers, and more. Intricate, leather-bound tomes. Books in boxes. Even a few scrolls. And the walls that didn’t have books had art. It was a small room, narrow and long, but packed with traces of its owner.

It was Malachi’s room. It had his smell. Even more, there was a certain odd balance and masculinity to it that reminded her of him. Simple and bold at the same time. At the foot of the bed, Ava noticed some books had been pulled out. She crawled that direction, unwinding the sheet that covered her.

How had she gotten here?

She searched her memories, but they were fuzzy. Her whole head was fuzzy, an odd feeling for her, though not entirely unpleasant. Usually, Ava woke restless. She rose with the feeling that she was already behind in… something. Some task had escaped her. Some memory forgotten. If she was in a hotel, early morning voices whispered to her, almost always in a hurry.

Rush rush rush.

Mornings for Ava were manic.

But this morning…

She took a deep breath and leaned against the wall where the large bed had been pushed and looked around again. The room almost reminded her of a dorm room. A small desk was in one corner with a computer on top. Packing boxes were stacked in another. She saw a narrow door she suspected was a closet.

Or a bathroom.

She jumped up and ran to it, disappointed when she saw all the clothes. Luckily, another glance to the right revealed a narrow door open to a sliver of a sink. With a sigh of relief, Ava walked in and took care of her most urgent concern, looking around for a moment as she sat.

If this was Malachi’s room—and she was almost certain it was—how did his shoulders fit through that door? Did he walk sideways into his own bathroom? And that shower was ridiculous. Did he crouch in it? His scent was stronger in the bathroom. As she was washing up, she picked up a bar of soap.

Yep, definitely Malachi.

“Think, Ava.” Her voice was rasping and hoarse. She needed water. There’d been some in the backpack she took to the island…

“The island.” She met her own surprised gaze in the mirror. “We were on the island.”

The island. The mountain. The monastery.

The gun.

She groaned. Leave it to Carl to send her a .45. He knew she was more accurate with a 9mm. Still, when one was sending contraband handguns to one’s stepdaughter in Turkey, Ava supposed one couldn’t be too picky. And leave it to Malachi to be more concerned than frightened when he saw it.

She walked back out to the bedroom, head still a little fuzzy.

What was she doing in Malachi’s room? How had he gotten her there? The whole time between the hike and waking was a blur. They’d been hiking to the monastery. Ava had confronted Malachi with the gun.

And then…

The memory rang clear as the morning light.

Where have you heard this, Ava?

She almost ran into the door.

Malachi had spoken it! Her unknown language. Only a brief mutter at first, but her mind had latched on to it. Then more. He had spoken the words that haunted her. Not a whispered cadence. His voice had been real, and Ava had…

Well, she’d completely freaked out.

Where have you heard this, Ava?

He’d spoken it. Not in a whispered jumble. Not in a stutter or a whisper as she’d often tried. He’d spoken it like a native.

Malachi knew what her language was.

You’re not crazy. You’re a miracle.

A miracle of what? She closed her eyes and flushed at the memory of his kiss. More than a kiss. It had been more. Right and whole and real and true. Like the realization she’d had at the bar, it struck her soul-deep. Malachi was made to kiss her, and she was made to kiss him. He’d kissed her on the edge of that mountain like it was his purpose in life, and a small hopeful voice whispered to Ava that perhaps it was true.

She looked at the door, knowing that somewhere on the other side, she’d find him. She’d find Malachi, and he’d be able to answer her questions. Questions that had plagued her for twenty-eight years. And Ava had to admit the idea of finding answers was almost as frightening as the unknown. She sat down on the edge of the bed with trembling knees.

“Get a grip, Ava.” She clenched her eyes shut and commanded her heart to stop racing. “Focus.”

Irina, he’d whispered.

“Who is Irina?”

The sunlight flowed through the window, illuminating a book open at the end of the bed. There was a chest there with more books, but one was open, and Ava moved closer, drawn to the gold-trimmed page that glowed in the slanting light.

It was a manuscript. A very well-preserved one. The illuminations marked it as medieval, but the writing wasn’t like any she’d seen before. Ava had studied enough foreign languages and religions to know it was probably Middle Eastern. Something about it reminded her of Hebrew, but it wasn’t. It was older. Simpler. Not hieroglyphics. A simple alphabet that could be carved as easily as written, she was guessing. It had shades of both Hebrew and Arabic but was neither. Phoenician? And what was it doing combined with what looked like Medieval European illustrations?

The art next to the script was exquisite. It was a picture of a couple embracing. The man’s upper body was covered in strange, silver tattoos, and his face was a picture of ecstasy. The woman held him, her body also covered in the same marks, but the artist had used gold to draw hers. They twined together, two halves of one whole. Everything about them spoke of completion.

She closed the book and looked at the binding. It was old, but well oiled. The book, whatever language it had been written in, was exquisitely preserved. There were marks in the corners of the vellum and a few pages had been torn at the corner. This was not a museum piece. It had been treasured but used. Finally, she opened it at the beginning.

The first thing she saw was an intricate page of illuminated letters in the unknown language. Text only. Then, there were pictures of men with glowing faces and white robes. Beautiful women embraced them. Ava continued to turn the pages, not understanding the writing, but looking for the story the pictures told. Children were born. The figures showed both joy and sorrow. Then the men with glowing faces left, the women’s arms held out to them in supplication. There were more pictures of children. Pictures of young men building what looked like temples. Houses? More men copying books and building fires. Writing on walls. A room full of scrolls. A library?

There were pictures of women. Breathtakingly beautiful and detailed, the pictures of the women were wrought with infinite delicacy and vivid color. Women holding children. Women putting hands on the sick. Overseeing a building project. Tending and drying flowers. A woman standing in front of an assembly, who looked like she was singing. The faces of the audience, each rendered in detail, exhibited awe.

Ava paged through the book, questions flying through her mind until she got to the last page again. The page with the couple embracing. Tears had come to her eyes. Who were these people? And why had this been out for her to find?

From beyond the closed door, she heard voices. For a moment, it didn’t register. She was so used to hearing it, Ava hardly noticed. But then, she did. She put the book down carefully and walked to the door.

There it was again. It was real. Low male voices spoke in the language she’d heard from her youth. Not whispers. Not murmurs. They were actually speaking it. Out loud.

“I’m not crazy,” she whispered with a smile. “I’m really not.”

Ava cracked the door open and peeked out. Malachi’s bedroom was at the end of a dark hallway, and she could see stairs leading down. The room below glowed with morning light, and that was where the voices came from.

“Don’t chicken out now, Ava.” She patted her cheeks and left the room, walking slowly toward the stairs. The voices began to rise, and she paused.

They were arguing.

She heard Malachi and another man arguing. Another, calmer voice occasionally chimed in, but mostly she heard Malachi.

Beautiful. Rise and fall. The cadence of his voice in the unknown language drew her closer. She reached the stairs and started down. No one halted the argument as she walked. When she reached the bottom, she realized she was in a large open living area with couches and tables. There was even a flat-screen television surrounded by chairs in one corner, but the voices were coming from a room off the main one, a room with a door half open.

Ava walked toward it. The arguing was getting even more intense, but she told herself to be brave. She had to know what was going on. Where the hell was she? Who did they work for? She was assuming she wasn’t a hostage or prisoner, because she could see the front door from where she stood. No one guarded it. No alarms were going off. There was only intense arguing coming from unknown voices. She took a deep breath and walked in.

As soon as she stepped through the doorway, everything stopped. The arguing. Any and all movement. It was as if they had frozen.

She waited for someone to break the silence before she finally lifted a hand. “Hey.”

There were five men. Five very large men. She recognized Leo in the corner as he lifted a hand and smiled. Ava smiled back, relieved that someone was acting friendly. There was another man next to him who looked like he could be his brother, but his mouth only gaped in shock. Ava’s eyes swept the frozen room. Sitting at a desk, a tall, lanky man with black hair and very pale skin watched her with cautious green eyes. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t glare, either. And across the room, which appeared to be a library, Malachi stood with another man, braced for a fight.

The other man was even bigger than Malachi, almost a giant. His hair came down to his shoulders, but she could only see his back and bare arms, arms that were covered in the same intricate tattoos she’d seen in the book.

“Oh! The… the men. The ones in the manuscript? They have the same tattoos!”

Ava looked for Malachi, her eyes alight with curiosity, only to realize that—for the first time—his own arms were bare. He’d always worn long sleeves. Always. But he didn’t now, and the intricate tattoo work that she knew started at his collar crawled down his arms, covering his forearms and biceps. The words were scrawled at odd angles, like they’d been added and crowded into every available inch of skin. She looked at Leo. To the black-haired man.

“Holy shit, you all have them. Just like the men in the book.”

The giant threw up his arms and yelled, “I can’t believe you showed her one of the books, too!”

Malachi said, “Damien, she has to know.”

“Does secrecy mean nothing to you? Does the safety of our race—”

“She’s part of it!”

“She can’t be! We’ve searched the records. We know where she was born. We know who her mother is. There is no trace of—”

“Forget the records and look at her!” Malachi strode over to Ava, who stepped back. He slowed and held up his hands. “Please, Ava. I have to show them.”

She gulped. “Show them what?”

“What are you doing?” The green-eyed man’s voice was concerned. “Malachi, you mustn’t—”

“Trust me,” Malachi whispered, meeting her eyes. Ava felt instantly secure, warm and safe, despite the strangers surrounding her. Their inner voices, all alive since she’d walked into the room, were practically shouting now. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you won’t.”

The green-eyed man rose to his feet as his hands reached out. “Malachi!”

Malachi stepped behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist as the giant named Damien yelled, “No!” He lunged toward Ava and Malachi, but before he could reach them, he halted, and his eyes went wide with shock.

She felt Malachi’s finger trace along her collarbone and she shivered at the sensation. His finger moved up and down along her exposed skin. Was he writing? Her eyes were glued to the reactions of the men around her. Damien, who had been lunging toward them, fell to his knees, suddenly staring up at Ava with a wild expression of awe. The green-eyed man was just as shocked, his mouth frozen in an O. Leo and the other blond man grinned in the corner, expressions of sheer joy across both of their faces.

“You see?” Malachi pleaded. “It’s true. She does not faint at my touch.”

She might not faint, but swooning was a definite possibility if he kept drawing on her skin like that. It felt amazing and oddly intimate. She blushed furiously, aware of all the eyes on them as Malachi held her.

“Malachi, you have to…” She tried to push his arm away, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He did, however, stop writing on her skin. She felt his mouth at her ear.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s fine,” she whispered as his hand moved down her arm again. She glanced down to see his heavily marked forearm still around her waist, holding her up. His other arm lay against hers, and his finger was trailing… She blinked rapidly. “Holy shit, there are gold letters all over my arm.”

Then everything went black.

When she woke up this time, afternoon sun shone on the red roofs outside the window, and Malachi sat on the edge of the bed, a cool washcloth pressed to her forehead. In the chair by the desk, Damien also sat, unabashedly staring. Ava pushed Malachi’s hand away and sat up.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.” Malachi smiled. “And Damien was convinced that I’d killed you until I picked you up and showed him how deeply you were breathing. Are you all right?”

“Why would you have killed me? And where am I?”

Damien spoke from the corner. “You are in the Irin scribe house of Istanbul, Ava Matheson. And my brother’s touch would have eventually killed you… if you were human. But you’re not entirely human, are you?”

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m human.” She turned to Malachi. “And so are…”

You…?

She couldn’t say it, because in that moment, Ava knew it wasn’t true. Not entirely. The book. The strange tattoos. The language.

“Are you people aliens?” she whispered.

Malachi burst out laughing, and Damien rolled his eyes.

“What?” She was indignant. “What am I supposed to think?”

“Not aliens!”

“Well, I’m glad this is so funny to you, Mal. I’m just rolling with laughter here.”

Damien said, “We are not aliens, Ms. Matheson.”

“So, what are you?” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.

Malachi smiled and put his hand on her bare foot. “We are the Irin. The heavenly race.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know history?” Damien asked. “Think about human myths and legends. Genesis. The Book of Enoch. The heroes of Greek myth. You have written about us; you just never knew the whole story. Haven’t you heard the myths of those who fell from heaven? Of their offspring?”

“Fell from heaven?” she asked. “You’re talking about… angels? Fallen angels?”

“Of course.”

Her temper snapped. “Nothing is ‘of course’ about this situation!”

Damien said, “Please calm down, Ms. Matheson. We are trying to explain.”

“But you’re talking about angels.”

“Yes.”

“Actual angels. From heaven. Coming down and—and sleeping with human women?”

Malachi said, “Angels don’t sleep. But if you’re referring to sexual relations, yes. The Fallen took human women as mates.”

She turned to him. “And you’re telling me that you and your… whatever you all are would be their… what? Their sons? Is that what you’re trying to get me to believe? That you’re the sons of angels?”

“Not only the sons.” Damien looked offended. “What would that have to do with you, then?”

She frowned. “What are you—?”

“Did you think the angels only had sons?”

All the air left her lungs. Ava’s eyes were locked with Damien’s, but she felt Malachi reach for her.

“Ava, we are the Irin people. We are the descendants of those first children. We are the sons… and daughters of angels.”

“Daughters?” She looked back to Malachi as his thumb brushed her cheek. “Of angels? You must be—”

“Crazy?” he said quietly. “Is that what you think? Truly?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t know. Their words made no sense, and yet there was no hint of deception in them. No waver in their silent voices told her to guard from harm.

Malachi asked gently, “Did the humans call you crazy, Ava?”

“Of course they did.”

She could tell the knowledge pained him, but he kept his hand on her foot. His fingers on her cheek. Gentle and constant, his touch soothed her.

Damien asked, “Malachi says you hear voices. Is that correct?”

She shrank back. “Yes.”

“In the Old Language,” Damien mused. “If this is true, then you hear as the Irina do.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Irina hear the voice of the soul. It is one of their gifts.”

Her chest was tight. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t understand what that means. How can the soul have a voice?”

“How can it not?”

“I don’t understand any of this.” She was overwhelmed. Part of her wanted to keep firing questions, and the other part wanted to run away.

As if sensing her panic, Malachi grasped her hand in both of his. “We are all confused. None of us understands how this happened, Ava.”

“I don’t even know—”

“Know this: I believe you are one of us.” His grey eyes met hers. They burned with passion. “I know it. We will find the answers. We will help you.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on his. Even if nothing else made sense, some instinctive part of her trusted Malachi. Through all of this, he had watched out for her. He grounded her with his utter and complete confidence. She allowed herself to take a deep breath.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Malachi speaks the truth as he believes it,” Damien bit out. “I am not convinced. We know your mother is not one of us.”

“My mom?” She looked between Malachi and Damien in confusion. “What about my mom? What do you know about my mom?”

“You look just like your mother,” Damien said. “Almost exactly.”

“Yeah, so?” She was starting to get irritated. “And how did you get pictures of my mom?”

Damien turned from her and spoke to Malachi. “Irina only come from Irina.”

“That’s what we’ve always been told.”

Ava asked, “So why do you think I’m one of these Irina?”

Both men ignored her and continued to argue in low voices.

Malachi said, “She’s reacting like the Irina. She hears the soul-voice. She can bear our touch. Judging from the color in her face, she even seems to thrive on it.”

“It’s not enough. We need to know how this could happen. Admittedly, she looks healthier than she did when she first came here, but—”

“What do you mean, ‘when I first came here?’ Who all was following me?” As irritated as she was, Ava had to admit she did feel great. Malachi was holding her hand and she felt calm. He was like the medication she’d tried once, but without the awful side effects. Holding his hand muffled Damien’s inner voice, making it easier for her to concentrate. She felt centered and easy. Relaxed. Her head was clear, and she was starting to remember more about the day.

“She can’t go back to the hotel,” Damien said. “She has to stay here. Stay protected.”

“Hello?” Her voice rose. “I am still in the room.”

“The Grigori still followed her yesterday?”

“Leo and I lost them on the way back from the islands, but—”

She squeezed Malachi’s hand, trying to get his attention. “Who the hell are the Grigori, and why are they—” Her eyes widened. “Shit.”

That one word was enough to silence the two irritating men.

Damien asked, “What?”

“How long was I sleeping? After we…” She glanced at Malachi. “You know.”

Malachi ignored her embarrassed flush. “I carried you back from the island yesterday afternoon. I thought you’d wake up after a while, but I think I underestimated your exhaustion.”

“So I’ve been out of contact for over a day?” Ava pushed his hand away and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Where’s my phone? I have to call my mom and let her know I’m not dead, or she and Carl will be sending out the commandos.”

Malachi went to his desk and opened a drawer. “So you did call them the other night. Is that where you got the gun?”

“Carl sent it.” Ava glanced at Damien, who was watching her like she was some curious animal at the zoo. “I…” She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell her. Last I talked to them, I was convinced you guys were part of some international conspiracy to kidnap me.”

Damien murmured, “You might not be far off.”

“What does that mean? Does this have something to do with the Grigori guys you were talking about? What’s a Grigori?”

Malachi handed her the phone. “There are others related to our kind who are after you. We’re not sure why, but it cannot be good.”

“Supernatural bad guys? Of course there are supernatural bad guys.” She threw up her hands. “I mean, you don’t get superheroes without supervillains, right?”

“I wouldn’t call them super,” Damien said with a frown. “But they do have an interest in you.” He rose. “I need to call Vienna. Malachi, can I see you in the hall for a moment?”

Malachi glanced at Damien, then back to her. “I’ll be right back.”

“And I’ll call my mom.” She waved her phone. “I guess I’ll tell her… something.”

By the time Malachi returned to the room, Ava had ended the call with her mother after spinning a very elaborate story about Malachi and the old bodyguard miscommunicating. About how, really, it had all been a huge misunderstanding, and Ava was fine, and it had all worked out for the best.

Because she and Malachi were now involved in a whirlwind romance.

If there was anything that could distract Lena Matheson, it was speculating about her daughter’s love life. Plus, Ava figured that it would keep her mom from calling too often if she was daydreaming about the nonexistent grandchildren Ava might someday give her when she found “the right man.”

She had the book open again, staring at the entwined couple, tracing the edges of the page and remembering the way that Malachi’s touch had lit her skin from within.

“Ava?” His voice was soft and solemn.

“Hey.”

“How is your mother?”

“Happy, actually. I convinced her that it was all a misunderstanding, and we’re now involved in a torrid affair. That’ll distract her.” She kept her eyes on the book. Now that they were alone, she didn’t know how to act around him. She craved his touch, but the craving put her on edge. Was it natural? Normal? If he was really part of some supernatural race, could he make her feel things she wouldn’t otherwise feel? Her heart told her Malachi was trustworthy, but a lifetime of rejection warned her to be cautious.

Malachi said, “That would have distracted my mother, too.”

There was a strange sort of sadness in his tone. A tone that told her, somehow, in the moments they’d been apart, something delicate had shifted. He stood a little farther back, and a shadow tinged his voice.

“Your mom…” She lifted the corner of the page and tried to pretend the shadow wasn’t there. “She’s…”

“She was Irina. Our women are called Irina.”

“Ah. And you think I’m one of them.” Her finger trailed lightly over the gold leaf on the woman’s skin, illuminated just as hers had been when Malachi touched her.

“I think you have to be.”

“You think I’m part… angel?”

“It’s slightly more complicated than that, but yes.” He brought a chair over and sat across from her.

“My stepdad would disagree strongly with that.”

“It’s not what humans think.”

“But you think I’m like you.” She pointed to the woman in the book. “Like her?”

“I do.”

She paged through the book a bit more but kept coming back to the picture of the couple he’d left the book open to at first.

Malachi said, “You’re taking this all rather well. No running and screaming. Part of me expected you to be on a plane back to Los Angeles by now.”

“You have to remember”—she closed the book and let out a rueful laugh—“you’re talking to a woman who’s heard strange voices from people’s heads her whole life, remember? I don’t think you can classify me as a skeptic.”

“I suppose that’s true. So you believe us?”

“Sort of. Kind of. There’s a lot I don’t understand.”

She heard him shift in his seat, but he didn’t come closer. “Then we will help you find the answers.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” she asked quietly. “Because you wanted to know if I was like them?”

He paused. “Partly.”

“Of course.” Ava nodded. “That makes sense.”

Malachi said nothing, and Ava refused to look up. She just stared at the couple. A perfect balance of male and female. Perfect longing. Perfect love. She ached for something always out of reach. She’d thought she felt a hint of it with him, but maybe it was all an illusion. Malachi certainly wasn’t making any grand declarations about his feelings. His arms were crossed over his chest; his eyes avoided hers. Ava itched to reach out and trace the intricate letters that were marked on his skin, taste the edge of his jaw the way she had when they kissed, but everything about his body language screamed stop, even as his silent voice coaxed her closer.

“Ava, there is a scribe house east of here, in Cappadocia. One of the oldest in existence. There are scribes there who are far older than me or even Damien. Scribes who might know how all this is happening. Understand why you have the magic you do, even though you weren’t born Irina. I think there might be answers there.”

“You want me to go with you.”

“Yes.”

“To Cappadocia?”

“Yes.”

“To visit a bunch of old scribes.”

He finally cracked a smile. “We’re a bunch of old scribes, too. We just don’t look it.”

And suddenly, she was wondering just how old he was. “I’m almost afraid to ask. So, you really think there are answers there?”

“There’s a greater chance of answers there than here. The library of Cappadocia has been preserved for hundreds of years. And it would also be for your safety. To get you out of the city. Damien will continue to investigate why the others are looking for you. But in the meantime, you’d be somewhere much safer.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s also very unusual.” His tone was more coaxing. “You could visit the underground cities and churches. There is nowhere else like it on earth.”

She narrowed her eyes, knowing that he was tempting her curiosity, but unable to argue against his reasoning. “I suppose… there’d be lots of time for pictures?”

“As much time as you want.”

“So you and me—”

“It won’t be just me,” he said in a rush. “Rhys will go with us. He’s our resident researcher and scholar. He’s the one most familiar with our history.”

“That’s the black-haired guy by the computer, right?” The lanky one with the vivid green eyes.

“Rhys is also a very fierce warrior if he needs to be.”

“So Rhys and you and me?”

“I know I’m asking you to trust me. Trust others you don’t even know.” He cleared his throat. “But I promise you have nothing to fear. You are… a miracle, Ava. Any one of us would guard you with our lives.”

A memory of Malachi came to her. Rough and angry. Standing at the door of the bar with a bandage across his abdomen. Ava shivered, knowing there was far more to that story than she’d been told. “I don’t want anyone hurt because of me. I’m not worth that.”

“Of course you are,” he said roughly. “You are Irina. We know how precious you are.”

Ava took a deep breath. What were her options? Stay in Istanbul and continue seeing a psychologist for voices that never went away, or go to some place in the middle of Turkey with tattooed people she barely knew in order to research whether she was some obscure form of angel spawn.

Well, she couldn’t call it a boring vacation.

“Okay. Why not?”