The Singer

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?”

Rhys took the turnoff, concentrating on passing a large truck and ignoring Malachi’s comment. “I hadn’t considered that,” he said after traffic had cleared. “You’re right, a coincidence like that is highly unlikely.”

“So Jasper Reed knew his biological mother’s name. And he had money before Ava was born. He’d already made several records at that time. He would have had the money to make her records disappear if he wanted to and knew the right people.”

“And from what I’ve heard, there is more than one person in his employ who has a questionable relationship with the law.”

Malachi said, “So he knew his mother’s name and she has disappeared from the public record. It’s not hard to make the connection that it was deliberate.”

“So the other ‘why’ remains? Why would he hide it? I’ve read interviews with him. He’s very open about being raised in the foster system. Even seems proud of it, in his own way.”

“Maybe she was a criminal.”

“She blackmailed him?” Rhys offered. “And he didn’t want anyone to know?”

“Is she even still alive?”

“The secrecy doesn’t seem consistent with his public persona.”

Rhys nodded. “He’s very well-known. Most of his adult life has been lived in the public eye, and he’s notoriously unstable. He’s been arrested. Publicly intoxicated. Repeated stints in rehabilitation clinics for drugs and alcohol. He doesn’t seem to hide anything.”

“Except…” Malachi’s voice dropped when he realized what Rhys had missed. “Except Ava.”

“What?”

“Ava. He hides Ava. Have you ever heard of him having a daughter?”

Rhys thought for a moment. “No. He doesn’t speak about her in interviews.”

Malachi grudgingly acknowledged, “He seems to be very protective of her, as far as keeping her out of the spotlight. And from what you’ve said, it was his money and his influence with Ava’s mother that kept her independent.”

“Ava said her father was adamant that nothing was wrong with her mentally. Even…” The car slowed as Rhys’s thoughts drifted. He was blasted to awareness by an angry honk behind them. “Blast.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No. I’m not tired. I was just thinking of something Ava told me once.”

“What?”

“Her father set up an independent trust fund for her to access when she was twenty-two. Her. Only her. Her mother had no access, though she had other child support while Ava was growing up. But it was the trust fund that made Ava independent. She even owns a house in Los Angeles that Reed bought her in the hills near Malibu. Very private. She never stays there, but he bought it for her.”

“So—”

“Reed knew her as a child. She thought he was only a family friend, but she knew him. Quite well. And Ava said he was one of the few people who never treated her any differently, even when she had massive anxiety and mood swings. Even when the doctors were telling her mother to commit her. At her worst—which sounded like puberty—Reed was one of the few adults in her life that Ava said she didn’t have to guard herself around.”

The light began to dawn. “You think he knew she heard voices? Did she tell him?”

“No. But if his mother was Irina, maybe he did know, Malachi. Maybe in some way, he knew his mother was different. Knew his daughter was different in the same way.”

“He named his daughter after his mother, then hid both of them from the world.”

Rhys nodded. “We know what he was hiding with Ava. Or maybe what he thought he was hiding.”

“Maybe he hid his mother for the same reasons.”

It was close to midnight when the three finally arrived in Oslo. They hadn’t warned the scribe house there that three traveling scribes were coming. Rhys knew Lang, the Watcher of the house, and was certain they would be welcomed. Max said he would contact them the next night with more information.

They knocked on the door, knowing someone would answer even at midnight. Lights were on all over the house, and he could hear voices, even past the formidable old door. The cold wind whipped down the vacant street, and the air was bitter with snow. Malachi drew his jacket closer around him.

Rhys knocked on the door again, louder, and Malachi finally heard footsteps. The door was yanked open by a harried-looking man with shaggy blond hair and hard blue eyes. He frowned for a moment until his gaze settled on Rhys.

“Rhys,” he said, a smile cracking the hard planes of his face. “Thank heaven. I didn’t know if London would send anyone. Then… I didn’t know whether I should cancel the order for help. To see a trustworthy face is more than I could have asked.”

“Lang,” Rhys started, “what are you—”

“Your friends”—the sharp eyes grew cold again—“can I trust them?”

“Of course. These are my brothers from the Istanbul house. We’ve just come from—”

“Istanbul?” Lang stepped toward them, and Malachi realized how tall the scribe was. Standing next to him, Malachi almost felt like a boy. Lang had to have been at least six and a half feet, and though his build was lean, he was hard-muscled and quick. His eyes narrowed on Rhys. “That’s right… you’re not in London. Not anymore. You’ve been in Istanbul for years now.”

“You know this, Lang. I didn’t call before because—”

“What are you doing here?” The watcher crossed his arms, and Malachi could see a hint of old talesm at his wrists. All friendly welcome had dropped from the scribe’s face, and he reached back to bang his hand on the door in three sharp, rhythmic raps. Within seconds, two more scribes were there, one even paler than Lang, the other with skin dark as the night around them. They stood, two ominous counterpoints, behind Lang’s suddenly hostile stance.

“Lang?” Rhys’s normally pale face went even paler. “What is this?”

“I received no word that scribes from Istanbul would be coming to my city. What is the meaning of your presence here?”

Malachi tried to keep his voice low. “Has the hospitality of Oslo house fallen so far that three Irin brothers are not even given welcome on a freezing night?”

Lang’s attention shifted to Malachi. “The night may be frozen but my mind is not. You come here for some purpose. I can read it in the Englishman’s face. Who sent you?”

“No one sent us.”

“Really? Then state your purpose. Or leave.”

“Really, Lang!” Rhys was indignant. “What kind of nonsense—”

“Perhaps before we state our purpose,” Malachi said, “you should tell us why you called for help from London.”

“That’s none of your concern. If you will not state your business, leave now.”

He turned and the two scribes behind him stepped forward. Both would be formidable adversaries. Malachi’s palms itched for his knives.

“We’re looking for my cousin.” Leo, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped out of the shadow. Lang turned toward his voice. “You know him. Everyone knows Maxim.”

Lang blinked in surprise, then said, “If you hadn’t said cousin, I would have thought twin. Yes, I know Max.”

“He called us. Told us to come to Oslo. We are searching for someone. A woman.”

Lang’s eyes narrowed. “What would a woman be doing in a scribe house?”

Far from allaying suspicion, the three Oslo scribes became even more hostile.

“We don’t know,” Leo said. “Max told us to come here, so we did.”

Rhys said, “Lang, our house in Istanbul was attacked. Our watcher left with an Irina who had taken shelter with us.”

Lang’s eyes narrowed. “There was an Irina in your house? In Turkey?”

“An Irina who Volund’s Grigori were targeting. It’s a complicated story, but we have been looking for them. Max called and told us to come here. I don’t know why, but—”

A flurry of Norwegian broke out between the three scribes. Malachi could follow only parts of it, but one word stood out.

“Sarihöfn,” Malachi said. “What does Sarihöfn mean?”

The argument stopped, and Lang’s eyes swung toward him. “Who was the watcher who took the woman?”

Rhys said, “Who is the watcher of Istanbul? The same scribe for the last two hundred years, Lang! Damien, of course.”

“Sarihöfn… Sari’s haven? Is that what you’re talking about?” Malachi asked, slowly stepping toward Lang. “Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t know what business you have with Sari, but—”

“For heaven’s sake, Lang!” Rhys broke in. “You know Damien. Think! You know I’ve been serving under him. I am looking for my watcher, and I don’t understand why the hell you’re being so…”

It was a little sound that stopped him. Such a little sound, Malachi thought, to stop six grown men from almost coming to blows. A delicate sound, drifting from the warmth of the open door.

A child’s laughter.

A girl child’s laughter.

Lang barked out, “Close the door!”

But before he did, Rhys and Leo had both stepped forward.

“Who are you guarding, Lang?” Rhys asked. “What is going on here?”

“Can I trust you?” he asked Rhys.

“I can’t believe you’re even asking that.”

“Yes,” Malachi said. “You can trust us. All of us. We’re looking for Damien. I need to find him.”

“Why? I don’t even know your name, scribe.”

Malachi took a deep breath and fought the roar of anger that burned in his chest. “My name is Malachi of Sakarya. I am a bound scribe of Istanbul. And I am looking for Damien, because he is guarding my mate.”

“Your mate?”

Rhys said, “They met in Istanbul. Were mated there. Volund’s Grigori overran the city, and Damien took Malachi’s woman to Sari to keep her safe. But we need to find her. We need to find them both. That is the only reason we are here.”

Leo said, “Though I’d like to know who exactly you’re guarding behind those doors, Lang. That was no scribe’s laughter.”

“It is none of your concern.”

Rhys asked, “What do you know of Sarihöfn?”

“What is Sarihöfn?” Lang asked with a blank look on his face.

Malachi forced himself not to assault the scribe. “Why do you refuse to help us? What are you afraid of?”

The dark scribe who guarded the door stepped forward, putting a hand on Lang’s shoulder before he could lunge at Malachi. He was just as tall as Lang, but with an even broader build. “My name is Jeremiah,” he said, his accent marking him as American. “You must forgive our caution, but we do have reason. Lang—all of us—received a shock a few days ago when my mate returned from Sari’s haven, saying it had been compromised. We don’t know more than that.”

“Sari’s home has been compromised?” Leo asked. “When? How?”

“The Irina are here?” Malachi asked, his heart racing.

“Only a few,” Jeremiah held up a hand. “My mate, along with a widowed Irina and her child. They are only passing through the city.”

“We don’t know the details,” Lang said. “We’ve known Sari’s haven was somewhere in the Nordfjord region for centuries. Jeremiah and one other scribe had mates who sheltered there while they worked in the city.”

“You’ve been there?” Rhys asked Jeremiah.

“No. Chelsea and I met in other locations when we could. Away from the city and the haven. It was the safest way for her and the others.”

Lang said, “None of us—not even me—knew the location. The younger scribes didn’t even know it existed.”

“Vienna had no idea?” Leo asked cautiously.

“No,” Jeremiah said. “The havens are secret for a reason. They are the last places the Irina feel safe.”

“Vienna didn’t need to know,” Lang said. “The council would have the remaining Irina forced back into retreats and breeding like livestock. I would guard Sari’s location with my life, were it necessary. Any of the havens.”

“We have no quarrel with you,” Leo said. “I only ask because we are avoiding the council’s attention, as well.”

Jeremiah and Lang exchanged looks, and Malachi felt some of the tension lessen between them.

Lang said, “We have had no word from Istanbul. Your house burned in a Grigori attack?”

“We have had little news of any kind from Vienna,” Jeremiah said. “When did this happen?”

“Months ago,” Rhys said. “We know it was reported to the council, but someone is keeping it quiet.”

Leo stepped forward and said, “Please, brother, does the fire still burn in this house?”

The ancient plea for hospitality must have moved the watcher and his scribes. Or perhaps they were as cold as Malachi. Lang exchanged a look with both the men at his side, but especially Jeremiah, who gave a small nod.

“Yes,” he finally said. “The fire still burns for our brothers. You may shelter here.”

Malachi and Rhys responded at once. “We offer our strength to defend this house.”

“Your offer is accepted.”

Lang opened the door and let them in.

“I don’t know what to think,” Lang said, his shoulders slumping a little as the four scribes warmed themselves by a large fire in the front room. Jeremiah and the other scribe, who introduced himself as Ari, had retreated to the back of the house.

“Why did you call for help from London?”

“The Grigori have been swarming the city. In the last week, we’ve had a rush of attacks. I have six scribes here at the house, and they’ve all been patrolling every night, yet we’re still losing human women to the attacks. Then a few nights ago, Jeremiah’s mate, Chelsea, arrived with the other Irina, so I’ve kept Jeremiah and Ari here at the house guarding them while the others are out trying to cover even more territory. We’re overwhelmed.”

“So you called to London?” Rhys asked. “Stockholm would be the closest house, wouldn’t it?”

“We normally have a good relationship with Stockholm house, but for some reason, they haven’t returned my e-mails or calls as they normally would. Something is going on, but I don’t have anyone to send to them.”

“So you called London. They said they were sending help?”

Lang nodded. “Then, when Chelsea showed up, I almost considered calling them back and canceling, but I know the Watcher in London. We’ve… discussed some of the council debates in Vienna, and we’re of the same mind. I thought I could trust him. I hope I can, especially with Irina here now. Forgive me, Rhys. I didn’t want to be suspicious, but you have to understand how—”

“Please.” Rhys raised a hand. “Your brother’s mate brought others here for safety, including a child. Extra caution is understandable.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Leo added.

Malachi asked, “Did Chelsea say what was happening with the other Irina who’d been at Sarihöfn? Did she know where any were going?”

“She didn’t. I’m sure the less each knew about the others’ actions, the safer they all were. She did say Sari was staying back with her mate and a few others to secure the compound before they moved.”

Leo turned to Malachi. “I’m sure Ava would stay with them. Damien wouldn’t let her leave without him.”

“Ava? Is that your mate’s name?” Lang asked. There was a frown on his face.

“Yes, that is my mate’s name. Why?”

Lang was still frowning. “That name seems familiar.”

Rhys, Leo, and Malachi exchanged looks.

“Jeremiah?” Lang called.

They heard footsteps, then Jeremiah’s head popped around the corner. “Yes?”

“The American Irina. The one Brooke and Candice were talking about. What was her name?”

“Um… Ana? No, Ava. It was Ava.” Jeremiah’s eyes swung to Malachi. “Is she your mate? No, she can’t be.”

Lang asked, “Why not? How many Irina named Ava would be at Sarihöfn? It has to be her.”

“No…” Jeremiah stepped into the room, suspicion clear on his face. “Brooke said that Ava was widowed. That she was grieving her mate.”

Lang sprang to his feet and Rhys stood to meet him, holding up his hands.

“There was a mistake. He’s not lying. Malachi is her mate, but he’s not dead. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try,” Jeremiah said. “Because if he is truly her mate then she would know beyond a shadow of a doubt if he was living or dead. That is not something any Irin could confuse.”

Rhys looked at Malachi, then at Leo. Both of them nodded. “You have trusted us. Taken us into your home, even as you shelter your own Irina here. We give you our trust, in kind.”

Malachi rose, pulling up his sleeves to reveal his arms. He’d added to his talesm in Vienna, but they still only reached to the bicep on his left arm. A shadow of his old talesm could be seen on his right arm if he looked closely, but they were barely visible. Lang and Jeremiah halted, their aggression fading at the unexpected sight.

“I… I don’t understand,” Lang said. “How old are you?”

“That,” Rhys said, “is a somewhat complicated question.”

Malachi spoke, keeping his voice low. “I am over four hundred years old. This body, however, is… somewhat newer.”

Silence. Neither Lang nor Jeremiah were able to say a word.

Leo said, “We don’t know how it happened. He was killed. Max and Damien saw it with their own eyes. Ava did, as well. We saw her grief, and it was horrible. He was dead. But then… he came back. We don’t know how.”

“I heard her voice,” Malachi said to the stunned scribes. “It said, ‘Come back to me.’ And for some time, that was all I knew. My memories are coming back, but slowly. I dream walk with Ava, but—”

“She doesn’t know,” Lang said, his voice rough. “She would think they are only dreams, like we all experience after we lose a mate.”

“I didn’t even realize what was happening until we spoke to Gabriel.”

“Because I’m an idiot,” Leo said. “Sorry.”

“So, she is with Damien and Sari,” Jeremiah said. “If this Ava is the one who the girl speaks of, she stayed with Damien and Sari. As a sister. Brooke said she had no other people. She was alone.”

“She grieves for you,” Lang said, his voice still hoarse. “And you are alive. Heaven above, we have to help you find her.”

“Max called us,” Leo said. “He said to come here. He must know where she is.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “The location of Sarihöfn is guarded by very powerful magic. I do not know how he could have discovered it.”

“But you said it had been compromised,” Malachi said, pulling down his sleeves. It was still freezing cold in the room. “Perhaps he knows where they’ve gone now.”

Lang nodded. “It’s possible. Max knows all sorts of interesting types. He’s not the most conventional in his company.” He glanced at Leo. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Leo said. “My cousin claims to have gambled with the Fallen themselves. I’m hardly shocked by anything at this point.”

“Still,” Jeremiah said, “if he’s in the city, he’s keeping a low profile.”

“Is he keeping a low profile, or has he just not left his flat?” Jeremiah asked. “With Sarihöfn compromised, you know Renata is probably here.”

“Renata?” Leo asked. “Who is Renata?”

Lang smirked. “That, I’ll leave for your cousin to answer. Come.” He waved them toward the door. “Now that you’re here, we’ll feed you, then I’ll map out a section of the city for you to patrol tonight. You may have a mate to find, but until you do, you’re working for me. Oslo is a city under siege at the moment. We need as many hands as possible.” He looked over his shoulder at Malachi. “Even if they’re attached to bare arms.”