The Singer

Chapter Nineteen

The streets of Oslo later that afternoon were just as cold as Malachi expected. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to keep the Grigori inside.

“Another one,” Rhys grunted, turning down an alley behind a bar on the outskirts of town, following the scent of sandalwood.

Malachi and Lang slipped into the alley behind the other scribe, and Malachi pulled down his leather glove to trace the edges of his talesm prim. Within seconds, he could feel the surge of power. He’d slept fitfully that evening, and his dream walk with Ava was murky. He’d woken from a brief nap with a feeling of dread and loss that chased him out of the scribe house and on patrol with Rhys and Lang.

Urgency stalked him. Some instinct warned him that something very dark and very dangerous was heading toward the cold city on the edge of the fjord. The sky hung bitter and grey, and the clouds were low.

They reached the end of the alley to see two Grigori with human women wrapped around them. The women moaned with pleasure, but as the Grigori turned their heads, the twin expressions on their faces chilled him.

Dead. Malachi had never seen colder eyes. No smirk of pleasure. No vengeful gleam. They were animals, feeding from prey. They shoved off and stepped away from the women in unison, turning to the Irin scribes as they zipped up their pants and pulled out their knives.

“Rhys,” Lang called, “get the women inside somewhere. They’ll die of exposure with this wind.”

Rhys waited until the two soldiers were distracted by Malachi and Lang, then he bent down and tried to help both of the humans up with gloved hands, careful not to touch their skin for fear of harming them further.

The Grigori didn’t stop. They didn’t charge. They walked steadily toward Malachi and Lang, no expression on their pale faces, no caution in their steps. Their dead faces were eerie. Malachi and Lang spread to opposite sides of the alley and the two Grigori split to mirror them.

Malachi raised his dagger, feinting right before he lunged left, flipping the dagger to his left hand and trying to slip under his opponent’s arm, which had lifted to stab him. He felt a quick slice along his shoulder, but within seconds, the Grigori was shoved up against the wall of the alley, and Malachi’s blade was piercing his spine.

The soldier said nothing in his last breaths. Then his dust rose to heaven and the silent monster was gone.

Malachi turned to see Lang with the other soldier propped against a wall. The Grigori’s face was bloody and his hands hung limply at his sides.

“Who sent you?” Lang didn’t yell, and his voice was all the more frightening because of it. “Hmm? I understand what you need. Do you think I do not pity you? To have to touch these… humans, just to feel alive. No one pities you more than I. But tell me, who sent you to my city, eh?”

The Grigori soldier said nothing, perhaps sensing Lang’s false sincerity. He looked exactly like his brother. Pale and ethereally handsome, the two could have been runway models. Their light brown hair was close-cropped and their skin unlined. The two humans would have been entranced by the sight of them, Malachi was sure.

Undiluted by generations, Grigori were bred from the Fallen themselves. Direct descendants of the ancients, and their looks proved it. Not even the Irina were immune to their unnatural charm. But for Malachi, Grigori perfection prompted an instinctive revulsion.

“There are more of you this past week,” Lang continued to speak softly, but the Grigori still had no expression. “Is there a master in the city? Has Volund come for a visit?”

With any luck, Rhys would have both of the women at the hospital. Human medicine couldn’t do much for them if the Grigori had drained too much of their energy, but the doctors would provide a safe place for the women’s bodies to heal themselves if they were able.

“Tell me what is happening,” Lang said, “and I will let you go. You can chase after the human again. She probably didn’t go far.”

Finally, the Grigori’s expression changed. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Why run after the humans, scribe, when far more delectable flesh awaits those who please my father?”

The air might have been sucked from Malachi’s lungs.

“We know…” The soldier grinned, the smile of a predator assured of his prey. He sang, “They’re baaaack. We know—”

He broke off when Lang’s fist met his mouth. But the Grigori only spit out blood and smiled again.

“My brothers look forward to welcoming the Irina home.”

Lang did not hesitate. He pulled the soldier forward by the ear and smashed the monster’s nose into his knee. Then the silver knife plunged in, and the Grigori dust rose.

The watcher said nothing, staring at the grimy wall while music and voices from the bar filtered through the alley.

“It’s happening again,” he said. Spinning around, Lang walked quickly, his long legs eating up the length of the alley while Malachi hurried to keep up.

“Find Rhys. Keep hunting. I need to make calls. We’ll not be taken by surprise again. Look for Max and Renata. If anyone knows what the Grigori may be up to, it will be Max. And Renata will be able to contact Sari.”

“I’ll keep hunting,” Malachi assured him, halting near the car while Lang opened the door.

“This will not happen again,” Lang said. “Not in my city.”

Then he got in the car and shot out into the street. Rhys found Malachi only a few moments later.

“Hey.” Rhys’s breath froze in the night air. “Where did Lang go?”

“The Grigori know the Irina are back,” he said. “He went back to the house.”

“Damn.”

“We need to find Max.”

Rhys shrugged. “No need. He keeps a flat downtown. He’s not nearly as secretive as he’d like to think.”

“Is it far?” It was cold, and Malachi didn’t relish trudging through the dark streets, though it was possible they would pick up a few more Grigori kills along the way. The two they’d just hunted had been their sixth and seventh of the night. The city truly was flooded with the creatures.

Rhys watched the taillights of Lang’s car turn left at the light. “Does it matter? We’re walking, whether we like it or not.”

“Lead the way.”

They turned in the opposite direction and began walking. Silent, at first, then remarking on the streets they passed and the human traffic, which didn’t seem to slow, even so late at night. They passed many young people, but no other Grigori crossed their path. By the time they made it to the nondescript apartment building where Max kept a flat, Malachi was ready for a drink.

“Do you think he has beer?” he asked Rhys.

“You know, even without your memories, you’re still remarkably you.”

“And even though I don’t remember you, I know that statement should annoy me, and yet it doesn’t.”

The two scribes entered the building smiling, only to be met in the lobby by a muttered curse. Malachi lifted his eyes to see a stunning, dark-haired Irina, as tall as he was, though far better dressed. He didn’t know how he knew she was Irina. Some instinct drew him. Her aura radiated power.

“Ren, do you know where I put my—” Max stepped out of the stairwell, breaking off when he saw them. He halted in the act of wrapping a dark red scarf around his neck and practically shouted, “You’re here!” His smile made no mystery of their welcome. “We were just about to drive to Oslo house to find you.”

Max walked over and embraced Rhys, slapping him on the back, but Malachi’s eyes never left the woman that Max had called Ren.

She stared at him, her face growing pale. He could see her hand trembling and knew just by looking at her that the gesture was uncharacteristic. Max went to her side.

“Renata?”

“You told me… I didn’t believe you. Not really. But it’s really him.”

“I told you.”

“He’s really alive.”

Malachi might have been mistaken, but he thought he saw tears in the corners of the woman’s eyes. She walked over, tentatively reaching out a hand.

“I’ve seen you, scribe. In pictures. In her visions. Her memories of you. She sang them to us. Her grief… To see you here, I cannot—”

“I told you,” Max said quietly, putting an arm around Renata’s waist.

“You tell me many things, Maxim.” Her voice held a note of irritation, even as her hand lifted to Malachi’s cheek. It rested there while he met her wondering eyes.

“She thinks you dead, Malachi.”

“Please.” He fought back the hitch in his voice. “Where is she?”

They sat around the table in Max’s stylish apartment, waiting for Renata to finish her phone call. Malachi looked around warily.

“You live well, Max.”

The scribe crossed his tattooed arms and smiled. “I’ve never been very comfortable with the communal life. I serve my scribe house, but that doesn’t mean that other… projects do not interest me.”

Rhys said, “Max has always been an excellent gambler.”

“And investor.” He shrugged. “Sometimes interesting opportunities present themselves. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of them.”

“This is all very interesting, but why can’t Renata just tell us where Ava is? We know Sarihöfn was compromised. Surely Renata knows where they would take her.”

“That was a surprise to her. I can tell you that much. She’d not checked her messages for a few days as we were busy. She’s contacting Sari right now. They have a system, and I’m not privy to it. No scribe is.”

Rhys said, “They’re very cautious.”

“They’ve managed to stay hidden for over two hundred years. Of course they’re cautious.”

“Have you ever been there?” Malachi asked. “To this haven where Ava was?”

“No. And I’ve no idea how to find it. She couldn’t tell me if she wanted to. Which she doesn’t.”

Rhys shifted in his seat. “Renata doesn’t seem like your average Irina.”

“She’s not.”

“What does she do?”

Renata walked into the dining room, phone still in her hand. “Whatever I want to, scribe.” She looked at Max. “I left her a message with this number. May I keep this phone for a while?”

“Of course.”

She sat down, plainly staring at Malachi.

“How?” she finally asked. “Max said he saw you die.”

“We don’t know,” Malachi said. “Her magic. I don’t remember much.”

“I’ve seen her do many things,” Renata said. “None of them close to bringing someone back to life.”

Rhys said, “Maybe she didn’t know she was doing it.”

“Obviously.” Renata rolled her eyes at Rhys. “She thinks he’s dead.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“The question is,” Max broke in. “How are we going to tell her that you’re not dead without her going into shock?”

“Would she think it’s a trick?” Renata asked. “Not that any of us would be that cruel, but she’s going to have a hard time accepting it.”

“Maybe not as hard as we think,” Rhys said. “They’ve been dream walking.”

“I know they have!” Renata said. “They’ve been giving her a hard time about sleeping so much. They think she’s depressed. Of course, we all thought they were only dreams. There was no way of knowing he was actually… you know.”

“Alive?” Malachi said. “Is it that hard to say?”

“It’s that hard to believe, and I am not your mate.”

What was she, exactly? Malachi looked between Renata and Max. There was clearly some intimacy there, but Malachi was too weary to try to decode it.

“When will they be here?” He sighed. “I just want to see her. We can sort out what to say later. I just… I need to see her, Renata.”

Her hand slid across the table and enveloped his. Malachi chanced a look at Max, who had his eyes locked on Renata’s hand, clearly displeased.

Oh yes. There was something there.

“I cannot imagine what the two of you have been going through,” she said. “But we will make it right. You will be together again. I imagine with the message I left Sari, they will be here by tomorrow. Then you will see your Ava again.”

“Thank you,” Malachi said. “I know this is all hard to fathom.”

She smiled, lifting a hand to tug on the front of his hair. “You’re a miracle. Her miracle.”

“I hope she thinks the same.”

Rhys went back to the Oslo house to let Lang know what was happening. Malachi stayed in the spare bedroom at Max’s. Renata had given Sari that address. When Ava came to the city, she would meet them there.

Malachi tried to sleep, but his dreams troubled him. He was once again walking through a dark forest. Ava was nowhere in sight, and she no longer called for him. In fact, the air was dead silent. No birds sang. It was as if all life had left the place. He walked through the shadows, softly calling for her, but she did not answer.

When he woke, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what it meant. From the beginning, his dreams of her had kept him sane. Was she simply not sleeping? Had she withdrawn? Was that even possible between mates?

It was early morning, but the moon was still out. He stared into the blackness outside Max’s flat, ignoring the city lights and looking at the stars. A soft knock came at the front door, and he sat bolt upright in bed.

His heart raced, but the only voice he heard was unfamiliar. And male.

Malachi threw on a shirt and walked to the door. Cracking it open, he saw an Irin couple standing in the entry way. The woman was embracing Renata, the man was shaking hands with Max.

Damien. This must be the Watcher they spoke of. He was imposing. Commanding. His presence filled the room, and keen eyes swept the apartment. Malachi opened the door a few more inches and watched as Damien finally saw him.

Shock. Grief. Disbelief. Awe. The emotions flickered through his eyes though his expression did not change. “Impossible,” he whispered.

“Not impossible,” said Max. “He’s here. It’s him.”

Malachi stepped into the room and saw Sari watching him.

“It’s him. It’s…” She grabbed for her mate’s hand. “Damien?”

“Yes.” The first hint of emotion hit Damien’s voice. “It looks like him. Brother?”

Malachi approached. “It’s me, Damien.”

An exclamation of praise in the Old Language, and then Damien walked to him, grabbing his shoulders in a tight embrace. All taciturn soldier forgotten, he hugged Malachi as a brother.

“Praise heaven! I don’t know how this is possible,” Damien choked out. “It’s you. Your voice— It’s truly you. How?”

Max said, “We don’t know. Evren thinks it’s Ava’s power. That she somehow brought him back.”

“I heard her,” Malachi said quietly. “In the Old Language. She called me to come back to her. And… I did.”

He heard Sari say, “She can project her visions. Can she actually will them to be?” Her voice bordered between awe and fear.

Damien slapped Malachi on the back and stepped back, wiping his eyes. “No miracle like this would occur without the will of the Creator himself. Who are we to question this, milá?”

Sari was still eyeing him with some suspicion. “This will be a shock to her.”

Damien nodded. “We will be cautious. But this could not have come at a better time. She has been drawing away. She bought plane tickets to London on her phone.”

“What?” Max said. “London?”

“Her father is there. I think she was planning to go to him. Not that I’d have allowed it, of course.”

Malachi bristled at Damien’s tone, even though he knew the watcher was guarding his mate. “Where is Ava?” he asked. “Is she with you?”

“Heaven, no,” Sari said. “We needed to make sure Renata hadn’t lost her mind first. She’s at Lang’s house. She was happy to see Brooke there.”

“And Rhys,” Damien added. “Though we warned him not to say anything about you yet.”

Sari said, “I think she and Orsala were going to get some sleep. Neither was able to rest in the car.”

“So you know she was planning to escape to London, yet you left her in an overwhelmed scribe house with only a few guards?” Max asked. “That seems… prudent.”

Malachi walked to the door, grabbing for his jacket. “Take me there.”

“Brother, hold.” Max put a hand on Malachi’s shoulder.

“Take me to my mate!”

“Give her time to rest,” Sari said. “This is going to be a massive shock. I know you need to see her—you must be going out of your mind with it—but give her time. Otherwise your reunion could go very badly.”

Malachi vibrated with need. His heart was racing just knowing she was within reach. He ached for her, but he tried to think of Ava’s needs before his own. She thought him dead. It was going to be a shock no matter how much they prepared her. He slowly released the grip on the doorknob and stepped back.

“When?”

“It’s not even dawn,” Damien said. “Stay here. We’ll bring her to you later today. But let us give her time to prepare. Don’t forget, Malachi, she felt you die. You don’t remember that pain, because you were gone, but she lost half her soul that day. She barely ate. She has grieved, brother. This may be far more difficult for her to accept than any of us can know.”

“And you are not yourself,” Max added, squeezing Malachi’s shoulder. “You barely remember her. You barely remember any of your past. You love her, but you don’t know her anymore. You will have to learn each other again.”

“Give us time, Malachi.” Sari, the Irina whom so many regarded with frightened awe, came to him and embraced him. “Give your Ava time, and we will bring her to you.”