Ava said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was easy to be caught in her own grief until she remembered that all of the Irin had lost someone. Mates. Children. Siblings. Parents. Her own grief, as heavy as it felt to her, was only a drop in an ocean of sorrow.
“Well done.” She broke out of her reverie when Orsala patted her on the shoulder and led her toward the chairs by the fire. “That was very well done. That spell is your most basic disarming spell. I imagine it’s a more controlled version of what happened in the cistern when you were being attacked. So obviously it’s very instinctual for us. If a Grigori is trying to attack you, use it. It won’t kill them, but it should give you enough time to escape.”
“Okay.” Ava paused before she asked her question. “Are there spells that can kill them?”
Orsala stared at her with measuring eyes. “Be careful, Ava.”
“What?”
The old woman leaned forward. “There is a dark thread to your power. One I’ve not encountered before.”
Ava said nothing, because she knew Orsala was right. She could feel it. She didn’t know what it meant, but she remembered the dark whisper in her mind as she held the magic over Bruno.
Not yet…
It had wanted to hurt him. Or maybe it had just not wanted to let go of the power.
“A part of you liked it, no?”
Ava said nothing.
“Your magic is very strong,” Orsala said. “Untrained, yes. But also untapped. It will be greedy. I don’t know what you’ll be capable of. It’s clear to me that you are not like other Irina—”
“You knew that already.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Orsala met Ava’s growing anger with calm. “I am only saying you must be careful.”
“Fine,” Ava said. “I’ll be careful. Are we done?”
“I want you to try to sing again.”
She let her head fall back. “Again? I told you, it only happened the one time. There’s no way—”
“Just try.” The tension drifted away like smoke up the chimney. If Orsala had wanted to remind Ava she still had a lot to learn, trying to tap into her supposedly supernatural vision was the surest way to accomplish it. Ever since the sing, she had tried to recreate the experience, but nothing had come of it.
“I’ll try. But no guarantees.”
Orsala nodded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed, daughter.”
Ava closed her eyes and focused on the blurry memory of the ceremony. She tried to remember the words that had slipped out of her mouth, the song that had risen from her chest until it burst over the gathering. A song that, apparently, everyone could understand with perfect clarity. Everyone except herself. She’d sung in the Old Language, but she couldn’t remember a single detail.
She held the memory of that night in her mind, turning it from every angle until she could almost see herself standing in the old barn, her arms raised, her mating marks gleaming. Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Ava could feel a soft cradle of power around her, as if Orsala was feeding her magic, but no words would come.
She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t. There’s nothing.”
Orsala sat back in her chair, looking frustrated beyond what Ava had ever seen her. “This makes no sense. I heard you with my own ears. You sang perfectly, as if you’d spoken the Old Language as a child.”
“All I get are images. I can remember the images I saw perfectly, I just have no idea what the words were.”
“You sang a vision. It was…” She struggled to formulate her thoughts. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced. It was as if, with your words, you made real the vision in your mind. I’ve never met a seer with that power before. I’ve never even heard of it. But when you sang, we all saw it. And we all saw the same thing. Irin and Irina alike. I’ve asked everyone. The only ones who didn’t see it were the humans. And even they said they could feel something going on.”
Ava frowned. “But isn’t that what you do, too?”
Orsala cocked her head. “Explain.”
“You have empathy. Profound empathy. And with that, you’ve developed your magic to the point where you can create emotional reactions in other people. Like the spell to guard this place. It’s not like your spell makes people physically unable to speak, they just have such a strong emotional reaction to even speaking the name of Sarihöfn that they would never consider revealing its location, even under torture.”
Orsala’s mouth turned down as she leaned forward. “So, what you’re saying is you think that—not only do you have these visions—but you can make others see them as well? Project them, not just with words, but actual images?”
“Why not?”
“Because—” Orsala’s mouth dropped open. “I have no idea. Because I’ve never heard of it before. According to legends, this is something Leoc could do, but I’ve never heard of even the strongest Irina seers having the ability to manifest their visions to others the way you did that night.”
Jaron had done it to her, but then, he was an angel like Leoc.
“Is it really that far a stretch?”
“No.” She finally smiled. “It isn’t. It does make me curious about your mother, though.”
“I told Evren, my mom—”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Orsala waved her hand. “It’s habit. We all automatically assume our magic comes from our mothers. I really meant that I was curious about your family. Sari tells me that she and Damien are trying to investigate your father now.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Foster kid,” she said. “He doesn’t know much about his birth family. I mean, it’s not something we’ve really talked about. We talk about… nice stuff. Stuff that won’t stress him out.”
Orsala frowned. “But he is your father.”
“He’s a mess.” Ava shrugged. “He loves me, but he’s a mess. Jasper has had drug problems for as long as I’ve known him. He never stays in one place long. His house in LA is nothing more than a place to keep the stuff he collects while traveling. He’s… like me, kinda.”
Orsala’s eyes widened. “He hears voices?”
“No voices. Music.” Ava smiled. “He may be a mess, but he’s a brilliant one. I remember once finding him in my mom’s study at home when I was a child. He was sleeping and humming a song at the same time. Like, he was hearing it in a dream. A year later, I heard it on the radio. My mom was listening to it, smiling.”
“I thought he wasn’t in your life when you were a child.”
“He was. A little. I just thought he was my mom’s friend who would crash at our house occasionally. My stepfather didn’t mind, and my mom… Well, they’ve always had a complicated relationship.”
“It sounds like it. He must be a fascinating person.” Orsala’s eyes were unfocused. Thoughtful. “And he never talks about his family?”
“Not really. I know he knew his mother, but she died when he was young. No idea who his dad is. That side of my family tree is a total mystery to me.”
Orsala murmured, “So that’s where it must be.”
“What?”
“The Irin blood. I’ve never heard of it before—and how you’re as powerful as you are is a mystery, but it must have come from somewhere.”
Ava decided she liked the idea of not knowing where her Irin blood came from. The mystery was frustrating, but a knot in her gut told her that some secrets were better left hidden.
“Does really it matter?” she asked. “Does it matter where I come from?”
“I don’t know.”
Brooke let out a joyful whoop as they ran.
“Try again!” the girl said.
Ava had had far more success in her training with Mala and Renata. She was jogging along the path by the lake, and the frosted hillside sloped up to her right. Mala ran ahead of her and Brooke at her side. Renata was with them, but hiding on the hillside and in the woods, testing Ava’s range.
Ava opened
her senses and stretched. Now that she could turn off all the voices, it took more effort to listen in a controlled way. She pictured the door Orsala had taught her to focus on in her mind. Slamming that door shut had been her salvation. Now, she was learning to crack it open in a way that would leave her in control of how much she heard. Isolated places like this were easier, and the mental exercise stirred her blood.
“She’s on the hill again, ahead of us.” Ava looked up, opening the door a bit more. “There.” She nodded toward an outcropping of rocks shielded by a stand of cedar trees. “Behind those rocks.”
Mala looked over her shoulder and shook her head, a grin on her face.
“Renata, come out!” Brooke called, and the woman stood up from her hiding place.
Exactly where Ava had pointed.
Mala whistled approvingly and Renata ran nimbly down the hill. “Did she hear me?”
“Yep!” Brooke was grinning. “She’s awesome.”
Renata fell in step behind them. “I’ve never seen range like yours. It’s so strong. I wonder if it’s because you didn’t know how to shield for so long.”
“Maybe,” Ava panted. “I never really had any control over it until I met Malachi. And most of the time, he made the voices go away completely.”
They all fell silent at his name, and the knot around her heart twisted again.
“It’s okay,” Ava said after the silence had dragged on too long. “Part of me wants to talk about him. Part of me worries about forgetting.”
Mala threw a look over her shoulder and signed something.
“You won’t forget,” Brook translated. “Don’t worry that you’ll forget.”
“Thanks, Mala.”
Renata changed the subject. “I want to take you into the field.”
Mala wheeled around and immediately went to run beside Renata as Brooke and Ava took the lead on the trail. Neither she nor Brooke could see the other women; they could only listen to the one-sided conversation.
“I know that.”
A pause.
“Can you imagine, though? With her range and accuracy, she’d be a huge asset. Plus, she’s a seer. Once she’s had more training, she’ll—”
A much longer pause.
“I haven’t forgotten, but it’s been two hundred years. Sari is going to have to get past her—”
Another pause and a few disapproving clicks of the tongue.
“I know, I know.” There was silence, and Ava chanced a glance over her shoulder, but Mala and Renata were both jogging and not looking at her.
“I still think it’s worth suggesting,” Renata said. “She wouldn’t even have to be close to help. She’d be… advance intelligence. And once she can understand more of the Old Language, she’d be invaluable. We could protect her. Partner her with someone with more field experience. And as she gets stronger—”
Mala made more disapproving clicks and Ava could hear her grunting slightly as she signed.
“Fine. I’ll wait.”
Ava looked over her shoulder again but didn’t see anything. Brooke caught her eye and grinned. Ava seized on Renata’s words. With her range and accuracy, she’d be a huge asset. Could the voices that had driven her near to insanity be the key to avenging Malachi’s death?
It sounded like Sari wouldn’t approve of her joining, for some reason, but then it wasn’t only up to Sari, was it? Ava let the idea churn in her brain while the four women ran back to the compound.
“Wait, wait,” the laughing Italian woman said, throwing a perfectly manicured hand over Astrid’s mouth before she could speak. “You have to let me tell it.”
“No!” Astrid was indignant. “You always make it sound so much worse than what it was.”
Karen and Bruno both burst out laughing, obviously having heard the story that Renata wanted to share. Ava and Damien only exchanged confused looks over the kitchen table where the six friends had gathered to share coffee, wine, and a chocolate cake Karen had baked.
Bruno was right, the woman was a supernatural baker. It was the only explanation for how good that cake was.
“I am the only one who knows the truth!” Renata shouted, her grin huge. “You always try to hide how bad—”
“It wasn’t that bad!”
“Oh…” Renata’s eyes turned to Ava’s. “It was bad. I will never take her into the field again. She was flapping her arms like a bird that had been trapped in the rafters. ‘Renata!’” The woman’s voice took on a high-pitched tone. “‘Dust! Grigori dust all over me! I have to shower.’ Blood. Bones. She can put the most wounded body back together from pieces, but she couldn’t handle the dust.”
Damien even cracked a smile as Karen and Bruno laughed again. Ava was trying to control herself, but Renata’s imitation of Astrid’s voice was too good.
“It was my first time in the field,” Astrid protested.
“And the last time,” Renata said. “How can you be so squeamish?”
“I can handle blood and guts, not evil fallen angel remains.” The healer gave a dramatic shudder. “They’re… gritty. They get everywhere. You can inhale them. Disgusting.”
Even Damien was chuckling at that point. They’d been telling stories for hours. It had started with Damien and Renata catching up and then devolved into battle stories. Renata was more than willing to share her exploits. The others had to pry them out of Damien. But eventually, all of them were adding their tales, except for Ava.
Everyone knew her battle story, and no one wanted to dwell on it.
Ava finished her wine and pushed back from the table. “I should get to sleep.”
Astrid and Damien exchanged a look. Damien reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass again. “Stay up and visit.”
“I’m tired.” Ava was lying. She just wanted to sleep and hopefully dream about Malachi. Still, she smiled and nodded at Renata. “Someone likes jogging way more than me.”
“I’m trying to toughen you up, California girl.”
“Come,” Astrid said. “Stay up. It’s dark, but not too late. Only nine o’clock. We want to hear your stories, too.” She blinked a little and smiled. “From LA! I bet you’ve met celebrities, haven’t you?”
What was going on? If Astrid actually wanted to know about celebrity gossip, Ava would eat her favorite lens. She narrowed her eyes at Astrid, then she opened the door in her mind. As she’d suspected, from the tone of her inner voice, the other woman was hiding something.
“I’m just tired,” Ava said carefully. “There something going on?”
Damien shrugged. “We all have a rare night free of obligations. Catching up. Getting to know people. It’s better than watching television.”
Bruno looked around, more than a little bleary-eyed himself. “Wasn’t there a game on tonight?”
“Want me to look?” Damien stood up, as if to turn on the television in the corner of the room. Damien never watched television. Ever. Not even football.
“That’s it.” Ava stood too. She pointed to Astrid and Damien. “What’s up with you guys? Why are you being weird and why are you trying to keep me awake?”
Damien’s eyes never wavered. He crossed his ink-covered arms over his chest, reminding her too much of Malachi’s disapproving stance. The pain was quick, like a knife jab. “You sleep too much.”
“What?”
“You do,” Astrid said. “I’ve noticed it, too. Other than the night of the sing, you’re in bed almost right after dinner. You don’t come to the house to play games or read in the library. We hardly see you at all before you go to your room.”
Ava shrank back. “I like privacy.”
Renata was watching with quick, assessing eyes. “I think, Ava, that your friends are worried about you.”
“Well, I’m fine.”
Silence fell over the previously boisterous table.
Astrid finally said, “Yes, we are worried about you. The sleep. The lack of appetite. You barely eat anything except for a few of Karen’s c
akes.”
“You think I’m depressed.”
Once again, no one said anything, but Ava recognized the signs of awkward concern. She’d lived with them her whole life. From her mother to her stepfather to every friend or boyfriend she’d ever attempted to retain.
Her throat tightened. “I’m not depressed.”
Of course she was depressed.
“You’re not?” Renata asked. “I thought you just lost your mate.”
Karen winced visibly, and Bruno put a hand on Renata’s arm.
“Rennie,” he said, “we’re trying—”
“What?” Renata said. “It’s not like she’s forgotten. Of course she’s depressed.”
Damien said, “We just want Ava to know we’re worried about her.”
“We want her to know she’s not alone,” Karen said. “That we’re here to listen if—”
“Let her be depressed for a while if she wants, damn it. It happened just months ago. And they’d barely met.” Unexpected tears shone in Renata’s eyes. “She had a glimpse of happiness, then it was taken away.” Her voice was hoarse, matching the lump that had risen in Ava’s throat. “If she wants to sleep, let her sleep.”
“I’m fine,” Ava managed to choke out. “I appreciate you’re all worried about me, but really, I’m fine.”
Renata’s eyes cut to her. “Of course you’re not fine. What a ridiculous thing to say.”
This time it was Astrid who put her hand on Ava’s arm before she opened her mouth in anger. “The important thing is everyone grieves in different ways. I think Ava knows we’re worried about her. She knows we care. And she can take as much time as she wants to come to terms with the loss of her mate.”
“Malachi,” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“His name was Malachi.” She blinked back tears. “You don’t have to avoid his name or pretend he was just some faceless guy.” Her eyes met Damien’s. “He was your friend. Your brother. And you never say his name. I know you miss him, too.”
Damien’s eyes burned into hers. “I’m sorry, Ava.”
“And I sleep…” Ava cleared her throat and decided to just tell them. “I sleep because, in my dreams, he’s there. And for a little while, I’m happy.”
The Singer Page 16