The Scribe

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Of course he does!” Malachi finally burst. “She’s the first new Irina in centuries! However she came to be, she could be the key to restoring our race. And if the Irin are made whole again, the Fallen could be conquered.”

  “Is that what we’re truly fighting for? Don’t be like Damien and follow the Council blindly.”

  Malachi narrowed his eyes. “You speak rashly, Scribe. And you make assumptions that betray your years.”

  “Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I don’t see things. Damien is wise, but he never questions orders from Vienna.”

  “And you question them too often.”

  “I only seek to see our people whole again,” Maxim said. “We are constantly at war, but where are the Irina? Why are there none on the council any longer? When did the future of our race become the will of eight old men? There are too many secrets.”

  “The Irina retreated of their own will,” Malachi said. “Were we to force them to stay?”

  Maxim sat back, no argument rising to his lips as he turned his eyes back to Ava. “She is the key. And Jaron showed her no aggression. She should meet with him and find out why. He is not an unreasonable creature.”

  “He’s a Fallen.”

  “Now who’s making assumptions?” Maxim said. “You admitted that the angel was helping her cope with her abilities before we knew what she was. Perhaps there is more to him than you think.”

  Malachi sat back, staring toward the screen. Ava wrapped her arms around herself as the evening breeze picked up. A slight shiver shook her frame. He immediately rose to go to her. She’d left her sweater in their room.

  “I must go,” he said. “We’ll talk more later.”

  “It’s really rather simple,” Maxim said as Malachi reached the door. “Why don’t you ask Ava what she wants to do?”

  He turned. “She’s mine to protect.”

  The young scribe shook his head. “She’s all of ours to protect, brother, but she has a will of her own. Ask her.”

  Malachi went to their room first, grabbing a blanket from the closet before he climbed the twisting staircase to the tiled garden on the roof. The sun was setting over the city, and the sky was painted a lush golden red. Ava turned when she heard him, then silently held out her hand.

  He went to her, sliding behind her on the chaise where she sat and pulling her back into his body as he wrapped the blanket around them both. Ava leaned against him, their earlier argument seemingly forgotten as she took a deep breath and tucked her face against his neck.

  “What were we fighting about before?” she asked quietly.

  “You going to Jaron’s office? All of us speaking for you, instead of with you?” He tucked a curl behind her ear as the breeze tossed her hair into his face. “Or me stupidly not telling you the implications of coming back here together?”

  “To be fair, I probably would have run screaming at the thought of a lifetime commitment, so I understand why you didn’t.”

  “I think the phrase ‘stupidly in love’ applies. I’m very out of practice handling women.”

  He felt her laugh against his skin, and she turned until she’d wrapped her arms around his waist as he laid back.

  “I don’t need to be handled. Just informed.”

  “I’ll remember from now on. I promise.”

  Night descended, cool wind sweeping up from the water and over the city as lights lit up the evening sky. The cries of the muezzin came and went, echoing from all corners before the call to prayer drifted into the night, leaving them in a cocoon of darkness and warmth as they huddled together.

  “There’s no going back,” she finally whispered. “I know that. I…I don’t even want to. You were right about what you said before, even if the truth hurt. I was alone. Plus, I’m stupidly in love with you, too, so I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.”

  He thought his heart would beat out of his chest with joy. “I love you, Ava.” He squeezed her tighter. Reshon.

  She tensed for a moment, then relaxed, and Malachi suspected she’d heard his soul speak the word. She’d probably been hearing it for days. Weeks? And despite that, she’d stayed with him. He’d been a fool to doubt her.

  “But if these are my people,” she started, “then this is my struggle, too. My responsibility.”

  “Don’t—”

  “I want to meet with Dr. Sadik. With Jaron. Maybe he knows where I came from. Maybe he knows what this all means. Why those Grigori were after me. I know you always suspected him, but looking back, I never felt unsafe. I could hear his voice, Malachi.” She turned her face up to his. “And I know he didn’t mean to harm me. So, why? If he was only a predator, why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to find out. And I also want to know if he was telling the truth about there being others like me.”

  Malachi sat up. “What do you mean, others?”

  “He’d said he’d helped others with my same symptoms. Maybe he was lying, but maybe he was telling the truth. I didn’t hear any dishonesty in him. And if there are others out there, other women like me…”

  “There could be more Irina,” he said softly.

  “It’s possible. We still don’t know why I am the way I am. Where my powers came from. But maybe Jaron knows.”

  “But would he tell us?”

  “He might not.” Ava shrugged, and a glint of excitement lit her eyes. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

  The waiting room looked like any other waiting room of any other office in the city. Bright. Modern. Framed art on the walls and an efficient secretary quietly making calls.

  Malachi thought nothing had seemed as menacing. He abhorred masks. And that, no matter what Ava thought, was what this office was. A few minutes later, a cheerful nurse poked her head in.

  “Ava?”

  “Hello,” she said, rising with Malachi’s hand grasped in her own. “Good to see you again.”

  “So happy to see you back. How did you like Cappadocia?”

  The two women chatted as they walked down the hall and were ushered into a comfortable office. Malachi’s daggers burned against his skin. He would be able to reach them in seconds, even though they would do nothing against a fallen angel. His brothers surrounded the office building, watching from all angles while Malachi and Ava were inside.

  A few minutes later, a seemingly harmless middle-aged man entered the office. His green eyes flicked to Malachi for a moment before he greeted Ava.

  “My dear,” he said warmly. “So good to see you back. And this is your friend you were telling me about?”

  “Yes, my… fiancé.” Ava glanced at him, but Malachi didn’t take his eyes off the doctor. The disguise was seamless. He could sense no extraordinary power from the creature. No flicker of otherworldly strength. No wonder they’d all been fooled.

  The angel, pretending to be harmless, held out a hand. “So good to meet you, Mister…”

  “My name is Malachi,” he said, ignoring the offered hand. “And you know what I am.”

  A slight waver in the mask. “You’ll have to pardon me, but—”

  “We also know who you are,” Ava said quietly. “So no more lies. No more disguises. Let’s speak plainly… Jaron.”

  Green eyes widened for a heartbeat before the doctor stepped back. And Malachi watched, never letting Ava’s hand leave his own as Dr. Sadik stood behind his desk with a small smile flickering over his lips.

  His eyes darkened to near black, then lightened to a glowing gold color as the mask dissolved. Jaron’s shoulders grew wide and thick. His frame lengthened before them until the being was at least a foot taller than he’d been before, almost seven feet. There was a faint gold shimmer that covered his skin as the mask of the harmless doctor fell away and the heavenly being emerged.

  His hair grew longer until thick ebony strands brushed past his shoulders. His human clothes disappeared, and the angel stood before them in nothing but a pair of loose pants. The bronze
skin of his torso glowed in the afternoon light and raised talesm rose like shimmering brands on his skin.

  He was radiant.

  Glorious.

  Terrible.

  The only other time Malachi had beheld an angel, the creature had been cloaked. Jaron was probably still cloaked, but he was letting Ava see him far closer to his true form, if Malachi had to guess. It was little wonder that early humans had thought the creatures were gods. No classical sculpture could compare with the utter perfection of the angel’s form.

  And throughout the transformation, Jaron’s eyes never left Ava’s. He stared at her as if Malachi didn’t exist, his eyes glowing with a gold light as he watched Malachi’s mate. When he glanced over, he could sense Ava’s awe. She stood, her heart racing, clutching his hand, but her eyes never left Jaron’s.

  “I am Jaron,” he said. The Fallen’s voice was low and resonant. Malachi could feel it pressing against his mind. It wrapped around his body, and he had to fight the urge to flee. “Now you see my true face. Hear my voice. Ava.”

  “I…I didn’t know.” She stammered as tears came to her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  “Child, you should not have come back.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava couldn’t speak. Her eyes locked with Jaron’s as image after image flooded her mind. Bright, glaring, as if seen through eyes that took in every shadow and color in preternatural detail. The pictures flickering like an old film reel, she saw herself as a child, stumbling through her first steps. Splashing in a wading pool in front of a tiny house in Santa Monica. Riding a horse at Carl’s ranch.

  Darkness.

  Then images from her first days in Istanbul. Wandering through the spice market. Buying chestnuts from a vendor near Galata Bridge. Drinking tea with Malachi. Their kiss on the island.

  Malachi.

  Utter black. Pain. Despair.

  She clutched Malachi’s hand tighter, gasping when the next images flew past.

  Two dark-haired children. A girl with a golden gaze, laughing as butterflies swirled around her. A boy, staring back at her with his father’s eyes. An ink-black jaguar curled around the children protectively as a wolf and a tiger paced behind. The tiger bent to the girl, opening his mouth. Ava felt her heart race, but the great beast closed his jaw around the girl’s nape gently as she continued to smile and pet its cheek. The image flickered away as a great circle rose in the sky, like a sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, until the sun faded away to stars, a million scattered points of light dotting the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

  Darkness.

  Ava felt Malachi’s arms around her. Heard Jaron’s whisper in her mind. Not in the Old Language, but in her own.

  I show you what has been. What will be. And what could be. Do not fear the darkness.

  Her eyes came back into focus, staring into Malachi’s as he looked down on her. She must have stumbled, because he was holding her in his lap, sitting in a chair in the doctor’s office.

  “Ava?”

  She couldn’t speak for a moment, still lost in the eyes of the boy as her mate’s eyes stared back at her. She reached up, brushing away the dark hair that had fallen across his face.

  “I will not fear the darkness,” she whispered. Turning her head, she looked at Jaron again, but the radiance had grown dim and the Fallen appeared more human, though no less frightening. “Who are you?”

  “You ask the wrong question, child.”

  “Who am I, then?” She blinked and sat up, trying to fight the wave of nausea that swept over her. The instinctive fear that hummed in her blood.

  “A better question, but one I have already answered.”

  “No, you haven’t.” She frowned when she saw the angel’s lip curl slightly at the corner.

  “You’re right. It’s better to say that I’ve answered it as much as I want to right now.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.”

  “You will.” He shrugged. “Or you won’t. Try to understand, as more fates than yours rest in your song.”

  Ava stood, vibrating with anger. “Why don’t you tell me more, then? What am I?”

  She felt Malachi rise behind her, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. “Ava—”

  “I’m not scared of you, Dr. Sadik. Or Jaron. Or whatever your name is.”

  The angel looked amused. “You should be scared. Wiser ones usually are.”

  Malachi growled behind her, trying to push forward to stand between Ava and Jaron. Ava wouldn’t let him; she pushed forward.

  “Ava, stop—”

  “If I’d wanted her dead, Scribe, she would be,” Jaron said, his voice growing more resonant and his face starting to glow again. “If I’d wanted to harm her, she would be gone. Wiped from the Earth and your memory as if she had never existed.”

  “Impossible,” her mate murmured, drawing Ava back to the safety of his arms.

  “Very possible,” Jaron whispered. “Never underestimate my kind, Scribe. She has chosen you, yes. But I am not convinced you are equal to the task. What darkness have you truly battled?”

  She felt him draw one of the daggers from under his arm. It glinted in the light from the window as he held it between Jaron and herself.

  “I have battled evil like you before.”

  In the space of a heartbeat, the angel towered over them. Ava trembled, but Malachi stood firm, his arm across her chest never wavering. His hand on the dagger didn’t tremble.

  Jaron spoke, and his voice moved over them like a wave. “You have never battled one like me. You will meet the darkness, and it will overwhelm you.” His gaze flickered down to Ava. “She knows what could be now. Protect your woman, Scribe. Get her out of this city. It is no longer under my domain. Others seek to take her from you. They will show you no mercy. Even now, your brothers battle children who are not of my blood, and one carries a heavenly blade.”

  Then Jaron spoke something in the Old Language, and the writing that covered his body, even more intricate and beautiful than Malachi’s talesm, glowed with a burnished-gold light. Ava had to shield her eyes, and when she opened them, the angel had disappeared.

  “We have to get out of here,” Malachi said, tugging her away from the gold glow where Jaron had been.

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. We have to move, Ava. Now.”

  Bursting through the door, Ava could hear them. Silent physically, but their dark minds scratched at her own. Vicious whispers of violence and blood. She ran after Malachi, halting briefly when she saw the blood.

  The receptionist and the nurse were dead, their necks split open, blood pooling on the tiled floor and staining the intricate carpet in the waiting room. Malachi cursed under his breath and pulled her from her shocked stupor.

  “Th…they killed them. Why didn’t Jaron—”

  “Tools,” he hissed. “I told you. They were nothing to him. He’s left here. Possibly left the city. Whatever protection he was granting you is gone. I have to get you away.”

  Malachi and Ava ran down the stairs, leaving the vicious whispers behind, only to be slapped by shouting voices when they left the building.

  “This way!” She pointed toward an alley where she sensed them, running toward it and pulling Malachi with her.

  “Ava, no!”

  “But Rhys and Leo are there! I can hear them.”

  With another muttered curse, he followed her, shoving her behind him as they ran. “Stay back, but stay close.” He dropped her hand and pulled out his other dagger when they’d left the foot traffic behind. Ava could hear the humans around them, chattering about the man with the weapons. A few wondered if a movie was being filmed. Their inner voices buzzed with excitement and curiosity, but no fear.

  As they reached the back of the building, Rhys and Leo emerged. Leo was bent over, holding his side as Rhys held him up.

  “Angelic blade,” Rhys panted. “Damien distracted him. Th
ey’re still fighting. There were… so many. Heavens, Mal. Too many. There are too many. Even Max looked shocked. I have to get Leo out of here. He won’t heal unless I can get him back to the fire.”

  “The fire?” Ava’s eyes flew to the wound at Leo’s side. It was deep and weeping. The blood was clotted and black around the wound.

  Malachi grabbed Leo’s other arm, and the young scribe groaned as the two men lifted him. “Any Grigori left?”

  “We killed the six that were here. That blond bastard, Brage, was leading them, but Damien drew him off after he’d wounded Leo. Maxim has seven or so more on the other side, but none of them carried any serious weapons. He’ll be fine.”

  They stumbled to the car, easing Leo in the back. Rhys pulled out the keys and opened the front door for Ava. “You keep him steady in the back. Ava, in the front seat.”

  “Why does he need a fire?” Ava asked as she slid in the car. They were only a few blocks from the scribe house, but Leo had fallen silent, and Malachi looked grim as he held him.

  “Not just any fire,” Rhys said as he drove through the twisting streets. “We need a flame from the ritual fire at the scribe house to cauterize the wound. I can stitch it up, but without that flame, it will never heal. What happened with Jaron? I’m going to assume this is some angelic shite we didn’t know about.”

  “Apparently…” Malachi started speaking the Old Language and Ava tried not to scream. They were doing it again, withholding information she knew was important. She wanted to yell at them, but Leo’s low groan interrupted her.

  “Malachi…”

  “Almost home.” He brushed the blond hair from Leo’s face, holding the man as he would a child. “You’ll feel better soon.”

  “Hurts.” Leo’s voice was brittle with pain. “Won’t… Tried all my spells. Won’t heal.”

  Malachi held his hand over Leo’s forehead, tracing letters Ava couldn’t read, then the young man fell silent, soothed into a restless sleep.

  “Rhys, how much longer?”

  “There’s a protest near the square again.” More muttered curses as Rhys turned right, then left, trying to maneuver around the crowds gathered near Taksim Square.