Текст книги "The Singer"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Hunter

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“I’m fine.”

“What did you do to the Grigori?”

“What?” Ava sniffed. “Mala, how do you sleep with those on your legs?”

“Pay attention.” Renata swatted her cheek, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to notice. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know.” Ava curled up on her side, shaking with cold and not caring that she was lying on the floor. She reached for a blanket that had half fallen off the bed. She was freezing and she shook so hard she felt as if her skin might fly off her body. “Maybe h…he was scared of the black angel, too.”

Renata looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. Adrenaline coursed through her system. She felt hopped up, despite the tears on her face. “I didn’t even get a punch in. Not even a kick. Need to practice more. And my magic—”

“She’s rambling,” Renata said. “Ava, sit up. Take deep breaths.”

She could breathe now. She hadn’t been able to when the Grigori had his hand on her throat. Hadn’t been able to say anything. The black spots danced across her eyes again, so she sat up carefully.

Renata stood and crossed the room to the window.

“Three sets of prints below the snow.” She secured the blinds and turned. “Just those three?”

Mala nodded and signed some more. She also kept her distance from Ava.

Renata said, “Mala says thank you for turning on the lights. And she doesn’t know what you did to the Grigori, but whatever it was incapacitated both the one she was fighting and the one who had you.”

“Oh…” She sniffed. “Well, that’s good.”

“And she always sleeps with her daggers. Her mate thought it was sexy.”

Somehow, an Irin scribe thinking sleeping with a deadly woman was sexy didn’t surprise Ava at all.

Mala was still signing and Renata watched her with a frown.

“No,” she said. “I have no idea.”

More signing as Ava climbed to her knees, smoothing the sheets on the beds and wondering if she would ever sleep again.

Renata said, “I told you, I don’t know. Orsala said she sees visions. You said their eyes went black?”

If Ava couldn’t sleep, then when would she see Malachi?

“Wake up, Ava. Wake up now!”

He’d known. He’d warned her.

She shook her head. No, of course not. She was being absurd. It wasn’t Malachi. Her subconscious had sensed danger and used her dream to wake her. Her quivering hands pulled on another sweater.

“I’m not there.”

The pain in his voice… It was almost as if he was speaking from far away. As if he could swoop in and protect her. Impossible. Fresh grief threatened to swamp her, and Ava thought she heard a flutter of wings in the air. She shoved the grief to the back of her mind.

Mala and Renata were still speaking.

She felt like climbing the walls. Her skin crawled. Were shadows moving in the corner of the room? There was something just beyond her perception. Some instinct needled her. She couldn’t pinpoint the threat, but she could feel it.

Run.

She started packing up, throwing her things into the small bag she’d brought, scanning the room for other belongings.

“What are you doing?” Renata asked.

“Packing.”

“Oh?” Ava could hear the humor in her voice. “And where are you going at three in the morning?”

“I don’t know. Away. I don’t want to be here.” The threat might have passed, but she could still feel it, like eyes on her back.

Someone, something was watching. She could sense it.

“You’re not going anywhere. Mala and I will take turns watching, then we’ll leave in the morning.”

“No.” She shook her head, hands trembling. “I can’t stay here. Not here.”

“Ava, there’s no—”

“I will not stay here!” she yelled. “It is not safe. Maybe you don’t feel it, but I do. We are not safe here. Someone can see us!”

Mala stepped closer. She put her hands on Ava’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. Mala’s eyes were deep brown, like the darkest coffee. Ava didn’t flinch when she held her gaze. Something shifted in the Irina’s expression, and she nodded. She stepped away and signed to Renata.

“What?”

More signing.

“So you’re just going to drive back to Sarihöfn in the middle of the night because—”

Mala interrupted her with two clicks of her tongue, then a long stream of signs passed between Renata and Mala. Ava was frustrated, catching only the occasional word or phrase, but they seemed to be arguing.

“Fine,” Renata finally said. “Ava, you and Mala are going back to Sarihöfn right now.”

Mala walked to the sofa where she’d been sleeping and pulled on a pair of pants.

“You’re not coming?”

“No,” Renata said, her mouth twisted in irritation. “There is someone I need to contact. I’ll go to Oslo and meet him there. He’s… very well connected and he knows more about Grigori politics than most. Mala thinks that one of the Fallen may have eyes on you. That may be what you’re feeling. How that could be is a mystery to me, but I haven’t studied them. This scribe has.”

“But we’ll be safe in Sarihöfn?” The creeping feeling still stalked her. She could sense it, like darkness outside a lit room.

“Did you feel this way in Sarihöfn before?”

“No.”

“Then it’s possible that Sari and Orsala’s shields work to protect you from… whatever it is you’re feeling. Either way, it’s the safest place for you.”

“Okay.” She let out a breath. “Okay. The ones today, on the ski slope—?”

“Dust,” she said. “Gone now. They were from the city. Just looking for easy prey. No one else with them that I could see.”

“So the ones that came here tonight—”

“Coincidence.”

Ava thought that was about as likely as Mala giving up her knives. Still, she had no other explanation to offer. She just wanted to go.

They packed quickly and Renata brought her car around. She’d catch the train to Oslo, then stay in a safe house she kept. She promised to call within a week to check in. Sooner if she had news.

Within an hour, Mala and Ava were back on the road, heading into the countryside. It was quiet in the car, but Ava didn’t sleep. And the feeling of being watched never went away.

IV.

Szentendre, Hungary

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed into Svarog’s home. The angel’s residence in the small town near Budapest was not nearly as grand as the most humble of Volund’s homes. The entryway was light and airy, with potted plants and many windows facing an interior garden that was a riot of colors, despite the cold air. Svarog must have put an enchantment over the garden to keep the springlike look of the place, even in the dead of winter. Still, it was doubtful the angel truly lived here any more than was necessary to breed with the human women Brage had seen passing. They greeted him with friendly and aloof smiles but did not speak to him.

Most appeared to be pregnant or nursing. The pregnant had the healthy glow he recognized in those carrying angelic offspring. The nursing mothers were in various stages of slow decline, no matter how they adored their beautiful sons. Eventually, their children would drain and kill them.

A small boy skidded into the entry and almost ran into Brage’s legs.

“Szia,” Brage said to the Grigori child.

“Jó napot,” the child replied politely.

“English?” He hoped an adult would appear. He did not speak more than the most cursory Hungarian.

The little one shook his head.

The boy was beautiful, as all Grigori children were. His skin had a faint glow and his eyes were clear blue, the color of a summer sky. He started babbling at Brage, who only watched him with pleasant indifference. It wasn’t unheard of for an angel to keep their offspring near, but it was unusual. Volund had sired Brage, but he’d never met his father until he was ready to serve. Children were not welcome in Volund’s house.

A harried-looking soldier appeared in the entryway and barked at the child. Despite the harsh tone, the child turned to his keeper with a mischievous gleam in his eye that told Brage he wasn’t afraid in the least. He waved at Brage and then trotted off after the grim man, grabbing his hand as he skipped toward French doors that led to a garden.

“He lost his mother only a month ago.”

Brage turned toward the sad voice of the woman who carried an infant. They were wrapped in blankets on a chaise near the windows.

The woman continued, “He seems to be doing well.”

Brage gave her a polite smile. “They always do.”

“Are you here to see the master?”

“I am.”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“I’m sure he will.” Brage didn’t want to speak to the woman anymore. He hoped she’d lose interest in him. They were broodmares to the Fallen, nothing more. It was useless to converse with something so ephemeral. The child she held and nursed was far more valuable than the mother.

The woman’s face broke into a glorious smile when Svarog appeared. “Aranyom!”

The Fallen put an absent hand on the woman’s cheek and smiled at the child in her arms. Then he turned to Brage. “Come.”

The angel led him down a hallway lined with books, then past another sitting room and a large dining room where more women ate and chattered. It was not unpleasant, but Brage wondered how the Fallen lived with so many around him. It was like living with livestock, to his mind. The Fallen led him to a small library where a fire burned. He’d taken the guise of a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and vivid blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and slacks, the picture of a successful human in his country retreat, but Brage knew better. Svarog, for all his affection toward his offspring, was a vicious killer who had no regard for any but his own. Humans he didn’t breed with were nothing to him. It was one of the reasons he and Volund had always been allies.

“So,” Svarog said, closing the door behind them, “what does Volund’s oldest son want in my territory?”

“I am looking for someone.” No subterfuge was necessary. Svarog, like all fallen angels, understood vendetta. “An Irin scribe my father wants me to kill.”

“And you know he is here?”

“He was driving from Istanbul to Vienna. I am hoping to catch him before he enters the city.”

Svarog nodded. “Fine. Hunt if you like. But I have a message for your father, and I expect you to deliver it. Your mouth to his ears, do you understand?”

“I do.”

Cautioned by Svarog’s tone, Brage waited.

“Tell him I know what he is doing, and I want no part of it. If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”

Brage blinked but showed no other outward sign of surprise. “Why do you ask me to deliver this message?”

The Fallen had ways of communicating with their own kind that surpassed human or Grigori understanding.

Svarog stepped closer, letting the human mask fall. The angel’s eyes shone gold and the automatic terror froze Brage in place.

“I want you to deliver the message,” he said, “because I want Volund to know that his most valued son was in my house, near my children, and I let him live. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go. And do not bother telling your father where I dwell. By the time you leave my city, this house will be gone.”

“I understand.”

Brage left the house quickly and drove toward Budapest, more confused than ever.

“I know what he is doing…”

What was Volund’s plan? Brage was reminded of his early years as a soldier. The years just before the Irina slaughter had been like this. Mixed messages and mysterious errands. Half-truths and outright lies. He’d understood nothing until the order had come from the oldest soldiers in their house in Berlin. They were leaving the city for some tiny village in the country. They slaughtered women and children, ripping out their throats so they were defenseless.

He’d told himself it was no different from killing humans.

He still told himself that.

“If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”

He tried to drive the doubt from his mind. Volund would sense it. Doubt was death to the Fallen. Nothing was accepted but utter and complete loyalty. After all, there were hundreds of brothers waiting to take his place if he stumbled.

Brage would not stumble.

A chirp from his mobile phone. It was the number for one of the Grigori who ran Volund’s house.

 “Yes?”

“Our father has a message for you.”

“What is it?”

“Come to the house in Göteborg immediately. He will meet you there.”

Brage stopped the protest on his lips. The scribe was in Budapest, he was sure of it. To pull him away now—

“Do you understand?” his brother asked.

It didn’t matter. He was a weapon, nothing more. Volund’s to command, like the blade Brage wore under his shirt.

“I understand. I will be on a plane tonight.”

Chapter Fifteen

His roar of frustration finally brought a pounding at the door. Malachi had been pacing for hours. It was the middle of the night, but somewhere his mate was in danger. Someone had attacked her. He’d woken from his dream with sweat pouring from him, his heart racing, and adrenaline pumping through his system. He’d bolted from the bed, ready for battle.

But there was nothing to do.

He was in one of the secured guest rooms at Gabriel’s townhouse. Leo was in the room next to him. They’d followed Damien’s brother-in-law there after their meeting.

“How did you know? Who told you?”

“Evren called me when he found some information he thought you should know. He knew my father, and he trusts me. You really ought to be better about checking your messages, Leo.”

“What—?”

“It has to do with Ava’s father. And… an impossibility that is looking more possible all the time.”

Gabriel had tucked them into his black chauffeured car and hidden Malachi and Leo away in his spacious home. Gabriel, along with being Konrad’s right hand, was a financier in the city and had accumulated more than his share of wealth. They’d left a message for Rhys to meet them there. As much as Malachi distrusted everything around him, Leo was certain that Gabriel was an ally. Max—who seemed to know just about everyone—confirmed it.

Leo called, “Malachi?”

He said nothing. He couldn’t stop the animalistic growl that left his throat. She was out there, and he had no power to help her. He didn’t even know where she was. Every night since he’d realized his dreams were more than dreams, he went to sleep commanding himself to ask her where she was. To tell her that he was alive. Truly alive. And every night, his mind hazed and he could focus only on her. The outside world fell into shadow. His conscious demands drifted away.

The pounding came again.

“Malachi.” It was Gabriel. “Open the door, or I will break it.”

Something in the scribe’s voice told Malachi he wasn’t joking. He opened the door.

Leo and Gabriel stood there, both dressed in pajamas, both with clenched fists.

“What the—”

“She’s in danger.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“I know! We were there, in the dream, and I felt it. Like a shadow surrounding us. Then it came closer. It was searching for her. For Ava.”

“Where?” Gabriel stepped into the room. “Where were you?”

“In the dreams…” The truth tumbled from his lips. “I’ve been dreaming. Well, I thought they were dreams at first, but they’re not.” He held out his arm. “She sings to me and they grow. She’s… healing me. But I can’t talk to her. It’s so—”

“Dreamy?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I could have told you. That’s how the dream walks work.”

“Dream walking?” Leo slapped his forehead and followed Gabriel into Malachi’s room. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it? She’s his mate! How could I be so stupid?”

“Since you’ve never been mated, it probably wouldn’t be the first thing you thought of.” Gabriel sat on the bench near the foot of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “And there was no way of knowing how Malachi’s death would affect their bond. Tell me more details. Well… not all the details. But there might be clues.”

“Are you listening to me?” Malachi said. “She is in danger!”

“And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? To know that your mate is threatened. To know her fear. Her panic.”

“You have no idea.”

“I have every idea.” The cold words cut through the room, reminding all of them that Gabriel had lost his mate, Tala. Damien had taken her into battle, and she had perished.

Gabriel continued in his chilling voice. “But there’s nothing you can do for her right now. If she was dead, you would feel it.”

“Does it hurt?” The fire went out of Malachi’s belly. The pain twisted in his chest. “When I died, did it hurt her?”

He wasn’t sure whether or not Gabriel would even answer. But the scribe raised his chin and said, “Yes. It hurts. Physically. Emotionally. If she was gravely injured, you would feel it. Not in an incapacitating way, but you would know. Do you feel anything like that?”

“No.”

“Then she was in danger, but the danger has passed. Tell me about your dreams.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks and Gabriel gave him a knowing look. “We don’t talk much.”

“That’s normal. Most Irin couples who are physically parted don’t spend their dream walks in conversation.”

The three men settled into seats near the fireplace. Clearly, sleep was a memory.

“Why can’t I ask her questions?” Malachi asked. “Every night, I go to sleep, and I tell myself I will ask her where she is. But when the dream starts…”

Gabriel crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “I’ve heard it said by scholars far more intelligent than me that the Forgiven gave Irin mates their ability to dream walk in order to feed the soul. It is not conscious life, though it still feeds us physically. Otherwise, our tactile need for each other when we were separated would become a liability.”

“So even though I’m away from her, I’m still caring for her?” It helped. To know that he was at least doing something.

Gabriel nodded. “She’s probably sleeping better than most widowed mates would. She’d be more calm. Centered. Physically, she will be stronger because of the walks.”

“But why can’t I ask her anything? Why can’t I ask here where she is, like I always tell myself to.”

“You don’t understand. You’re not meeting on a conscious level. Dream walks are your souls speaking to each other. And the soul isn’t concerned about worldly problems. Day-to-day worries never enter into a dream walk. You don’t chat about the children or work. If you’re fighting, your souls would reach for each other more, not less. Dream walks are the place Irin mates connect on the most spiritual level, where your soul reads your mate’s and gives it exactly what it needs. Connection. Comfort. Pleasure. It’s not like a normal conversation.”

“So her soul doesn’t need me to find her?” That couldn’t be correct. He had reached for her even when he didn’t know her name.

“Don’t you see?” Gabriel asked. “Her soul has already found you, Malachi. Within her dreams. Your souls have found each other. It is only your bodies that have not.”

Leo asked, “Do you think she knows they’re more than dreams?”

“Probably not. After all, why would she even consider it?” Gabriel’s voice was rough. “She thinks Malachi is dead. They all do. After Tala died, I dreamed of her almost every night. For years. I knew it wasn’t the same because I’d experienced dream walking, so I knew the difference. Ava does not. She probably thinks her walks with Malachi are only that. Very vivid dreams.”

Malachi cursed silently. Then he held out his arm. “And this? My talesm returning?”

“That, I have no idea about.” Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not like we’ve seen many resurrected scribes. It must have something to do with her particular magic. The scholars would drool over this.”

Leo said, “And the reason we’re not consulting them is…?”

“I finally spoke to Rhys last night,” Gabriel said. “He’s been here for a week now, doing research. Based on what he’s seen,  he thinks there is too much division in the archives. He wants to keep Ava and Malachi as quiet as possible, at least for now. All the elders have their own scholars doing research into the Irina problem, trying to find writings or visions that back up their own position.” He shrugged. “Konrad does. And he’s one of the most honorable elders on the council. But he’s not going to actively support research that could favor compulsion any more than Edmund is going to support research in favor of restoration.”

According to Gabriel, the Irin Council had become fairly evenly divided into two camps: those elders supporting compulsion, which would hunt down the Irina and force them back into heavily guarded retreats “for their own safety and the future of the Irin race”; and restoration, which would petition the most respected Irina to reform the Irina Council so that Irina could come back to public life with full protection.

It was more complicated than Malachi had expected. Compulsion grated on his instincts, but the arguments were compelling. The Irin were dying off. Generations of Irin children had been lost. The Irina needed to be protected. In fact, some of the most pro-compulsion elders on the council had lost mates and daughters during the Rending. They were passionate about the safety of the Irina. Passionate about the need for them to be protected from the Grigori. And most did not downplay the Grigori threat.

On the other hand, many of the elders who supported restoration clearly had no idea just how much the Grigori were spreading. They dismissed the Fallen, almost as if they were something out of a myth. They claimed that those in favor of compulsion were fear-mongering bigots, that there was little threat to the Irina. They needed to simply step back into public life and everything would sort itself out.

Vienna was a city riddled by politics, confused by its own safety, and flush with more money than Malachi had ever imagined. It was lazy and indulgent. The city stank of greed.

“We should try to get some sleep,” Leo said. “Rhys will be by in the morning, and Max is supposed to call around noon.”

“Where is Max?”

“I don’t know,” Leo said. “He mentioned a message from a contact the last time I talked to him. I think he was in Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

Leo grinned. “They asked after you. If we’re going to keep your story a secret, we may need to avoid the city. You spent many years in Berlin.”

By noon, Gabriel had gone into his offices and Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met with Konrad in Gabriel’s library.

“So you are the scribes that nobody and everybody is talking about,” Konrad said. He was a gruff man. Not handsome in the least, he appeared to bear the weight of the world on his stooped shoulders. He was barrel-chested and gray-haired, clearly having cut back on the longevity spells after he’d lost his mate, Catherine. She had not died in the Rending but, of all things, a traffic collision while they were on holiday. It was a shocking reminder to Malachi of how dangerous the world could be, even in ordinary times.

“I don’t know about that,” Malachi said. “I’m not much for gossip.”

“Oh, we eminent politicians don’t call it gossip, Malachi. We call it ‘intelligence.’” He lifted the corner of his mouth in what could almost be a smile. “I knew your father for a time. You look like him. When we were young, we trained together near Jerusalem. Of course, that was very long ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You lost him during the Rending?”

Malachi looked at Leo. He was trusting that the story the scribe had told him was true, since he didn’t remember much about his parents. “They were in the conflict in Berlin. They were living in a retreat near there and both went into the city to fight.”

“And I suppose that is why the Grigori call you the Butcher of Berlin, eh?” Konrad sniffed. “Good work there. We need more soldiers like you.”

Malachi blinked, unaware of the nickname. Leo smiled nervously. Clearly, he’d forgotten to give Malachi all the details of his past life.

Ignoring it, Malachi steered the conversation in another direction. “It’s good to know that not all the elders are unaware of the escalating Grigori threat.”

“No, not all of us are unaware.”

Rhys muttered, “But enough to make it a concern.”

Konrad said, “Well, it doesn’t help convincing people when things like Grigori burning down scribe houses are left unreported.”

Rhys said, “That, I do not understand. I know Damien reported it. I heard him make the call.”

“Oh, we knew it had burned, but it was ruled accidental by the Turkish authorities.”

“No.” Rhys shook his head. “Damien was on the phone with someone in Vienna. He told them it was a Grigori attack. He told them that Volund’s soldiers were in the city. That Jaron has ceded control.”

Konrad said, “We never got that message. I only heard rumors and innuendo. Someone died. Someone found a mate. It was never clear what had happened to whom.” He nodded toward Malachi. “And now the story you tell me? If I hadn’t seen his talesm so depleted, I’d think you were liars. But no scribe reaches his age with so few spells. It’s unnatural.”

“Did Evren call you?”

“No, but he called an associate I trust. A genealogist from America.” Konrad raised an eyebrow. “This theory they have about your mate’s identity is… unorthodox.”

“Everything we know tells us that it should be impossible,” Rhys said. “But I agree with Evren, no other option makes sense.”

“Irina have taken human lovers over the centuries,” Konrad said. “This has always happened, because they are not bound by touch as we are. It’s not something a family would talk about. As far as I can tell, no children have ever come from those unions. Biologically, we’ve never understood why, but—”

“But Ava’s father is the only possibility at this point. If Jasper Reed’s mother was Irina—who somehow had a child by a human—it’s possible she could have hidden it.”

“And who is his mother? Your mate’s grandmother? Do we know? She must have been extraordinarily powerful for her granddaughter to control so much magic with only a fraction of Irin blood.”

Rhys said, “That’s the problem. We’re having trouble finding anything about her. We found Reed’s medical records from the American foster-care system. Her name had been erased, but that’s not a problem for us, of course.” Rhys glanced at Malachi. “Her first name was Ava, and that’s the only name listed. We have no other evidence of her. No paperwork. She disappeared from the system after she surrendered her son.”

“Is she alive?”

Leo said, “Ava says she isn’t. That her father told her his mother died when he was a child.”

Konrad said to Malachi, “And your mate was named after her grandmother.”

“Apparently.”

“Ava is a very common Irina name,” Rhys added quietly.

Konrad sat back in his chair and looked between the three of them. He looked for a long while as a smile teased the corner of his lips. “You think this is bigger than one misplaced Irina,” he finally said, smiling at Malachi. “You think there are more.”

“If we didn’t know about Ava, maybe we don’t know about others,” Malachi said. “If one Irina had a child with a human lover and hid it, others could have as well. Maybe there are lost Irina out there. If there are, they need us to find them. They are not at home in the human world.”

Rhys added, “And if there are more Irina, if our race was not in danger of dying out, it would change the balance of the council, would it not? If there are lost Irina out there, Grigori would be drawn to them. Perhaps some unity of purpose could be sought. Contain the Grigori and find our lost sisters.”

“It would be a goal all would be able to support, even the most hesitant members of the council. An interesting theory,” Konrad acknowledged as he rose to his feet, coffee finished. “But it is only a theory right now. The more pressing issue is the Grigori problem. We don’t need our focus shifted from hunting Grigori to hunting Irina who may not want to be found. It’s foolish and useless. Find Damien. I need to speak to him. If he reported the details of the Grigori attack to someone in Vienna and the report was hidden, I need to know.”

“And you need to know whether whoever he spoke to has suppressed other reports of Grigori aggression,” Leo said. “Communication may have broken down. And if protocol isn’t being followed…”

“I will look into this,” Konrad said. “But now, I must go.”

Malachi, Leo, and Rhys stood to walk Konrad to the door.

“The scribe house in Budapest says that requests for funds are being ignored,” Malachi told him. “They feel they are fighting Grigori without support. Is he the only one?”

Konrad shook his head. “No. But I’m one of the lone voices in the wilderness on this issue.” He waved his arms around the room. “We are in Vienna! Jewel of the Irin crown. Grigori attacks are almost unheard of. They happen… elsewhere. More scribes are concerned about their empty houses and empty beds than the human population. They want mates and families, not war in far-off places.”

Leo snorted. “Budapest is not so far away.”

“Nor is Istanbul. Paris. London.” Rhys frowned. “Do Irin here really not know?”

“Some do. Some don’t. They ignore it if it’s convenient for them.”

Malachi shook his head. “Vienna is slowly being surrounded by increasingly aggressive Grigori. The Fallen are showing their face to us. Powers are shifting. Vienna will not be able to bury the truth for long.”

Konrad said, “Bring Ava and Damien to the city. Give me proof to show the council. Without proof, without testimony, I am speaking to deaf ears.”

“Has Max called yet?”

“No.”

Leo was sitting near the window, staring out into the quiet street when Malachi walked in. He felt restless. There was nothing to do in the city. Rhys was continuing his research at the archives, trying to track down the families and genealogies of other Irina who were known to have taken human mates. Gabriel was at his office, putting together more funds for their search, which Konrad had quietly approved. Leo and Malachi were stuck at the house with nothing to do and no Grigori to fight.

Malachi sat down across from him. “Ava was named after her grandmother,” he said. “It can’t be a coincidence that Jasper Reed named his daughter his biological mother’s name. He was put into the system when he was very young, but he must have known her name.”

“I’m surprised Ava’s mother allowed Reed to name her,” Leo said. “I thought she didn’t have much to do with him.”

“Lena Matheson might not have known the significance. And Ava is a common enough human name.”