The Singer

by Elizabeth Hunter

  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.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As much as Ava enjoyed seeing Brooke at the scribe house in Oslo, she was anxious to get away. It only made her decision to go back to the human world that much harder. She didn’t want to witness the easy camaraderie of the Oslo scribes, which reminded her so much of Istanbul. She didn’t want to recognize the open adoration the men showered on Brooke and her mother—whom Ava had finally discovered was named Candace. They delighted in every childish story the girl told and answered any question Candace put to them. The older scribes were obviously more accustomed to Irina—one of the men was mated to Chelsea, who had been at Sarihöfn—but they doted on the women no less because of it.

  They were exhausted from patrolling but still had time to cook breakfast for all of them and make them welcome in the large old house in the middle of Oslo. They welcomed Orsala with wonder, clearly honored to have the elder Irina in their home. They greeted Damien and Sari with respect. One young-looking scribe clearly had to hold himself back from openly embracing Ava when she walked through the door.

  “They’ve come back,” she heard him whisper to his brother. He didn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. “Do you think… they’ve really come back?”

  Ava tried to ignore it all. She hid in the small room they’d given her, ignoring their kind eyes and welcoming voices. She tried to sleep but couldn’t, even though she was exhausted. When she finally dozed off midmorning, she woke to see a familiar figure sitting near the foot of the bed.

  “Rhys? What are you doing here?”

  “No one had seen you for hours,” Rhys said quietly. A bashful smile was on his lips. “I’m sorry to intrude. It’s just… very good to see you, Ava.”

  “What are you doing in Oslo?” Her voice was hoarse, and she reached for the bottle of water near the bed.

  “Max called us. He’s in the city.”

  “You left Turkey?”

  He nodded. “Things happened. We needed to go to Vienna. I went to the archives there. Tried to find out more about your family. I… uh, I did find out a bit more, but where you come from is still a mystery.”

  “It’s not important.” Not anymore.

  He just nodded. “I met Orsala. She says you’re doing very well with your lessons. Says you’re going to be very powerful. A daughter of Leoc? That’s wonderful, Ava. Such a gift.”

  “She’s a good teacher.” What would she do about living in the human world again? Would she continue to have visions? Would the spells Orsala had taught her continue to shield her? If so, she could live a far more normal life than she had before. Sure, she wouldn’t be in physical contact with the Irin again, and her anxiety would probably skyrocket, but she could deal. She’d dealt before. The drugs were improving all the time.

  Awkward silence descended. Part of her was ecstatic to see Rhys again. Even with the friends she’d made at Sarihöfn, she’d still felt different. Set apart. She wondered if part of her would always think of Istanbul as home, simply because he’d been there.

  But the other part of her—the pragmatic one—didn’t want to see any of Malachi’s brothers. Especially Rhys. She didn’t want to remember his grief or hers. Didn’t want to remember his friendship. After she left for London tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t see him again.

  A clean break from everyone was better. She just hoped she could get to the airport without Damien finding out.

  Rhys was still staring at her. “How have you been?”

  She nodded. “Fine. Good.”

  “You’re being very…”

  “What?” She rubbed her eyes.

  “I don’t know.” He smiled. “Sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

  “Only a few weeks, really.”

  Was it only a few weeks? Her days and nights had run together in one long ribbon of confusion, revelation, and grief.

  “I suppose it only seems longer. We missed you very much.”

  “Max and Leo are here, too?”

  He nodded. “Max keeps a flat here in the city. Which no one knew about. Get him out of Istanbul and he’s quite the man of mystery. I suppose we know part of where he goes when he leaves town. We just assumed it was Monte Carlo or Las Vegas.”

  She smiled. Somehow, it wasn’t all that surprising. “And Leo?”

  He hesitated. “Out patrolling right now. Helping the scribes here. There’s been an unexpected influx of Grigori and no one knows why.”

  Ava’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mind to listen to his inner voice. Rhys was lying. But why? What was Leo actually doing, if not patrolling?

  “Good of him to help out. I heard about the Grigori. I mean, we didn’t get all that much news in Sarihöfn, but once we got here, everyone was buzzing.”

  He didn’t say anything, just continued watching her with those solemn green eyes.

  “What’s going on, Ava?”

  How could he even tell?

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re different. Something is different.”

  “I’m tired, Rhys. It’s been a crowded few months. Everything in Turkey… and now I’ve had to run from the one place everyone told me I was totally safe. I’m… tired.”

  She was tired. No, more. She was weary. Weary of running. Weary of struggling through a world she didn’t know anymore. Weary of having tasted happiness only to have it violently yanked away.

  “Don’t give up on us yet, Ava.” His voice was so soft, his words so poignant, it was almost as if he could read her mind. “There are things you haven’t seen yet.”

  “Rhys, I…” She felt her throat closing up, and her eyes started to tear.

  Why was he still there? Why couldn’
t they all just leave her alone? Didn’t they understand she didn’t want to be protected anymore? The grief was too much. The pain was exhausting. Her whole life… “I’m just really, really tired, Rhys. Can you let me sleep?”

  “Sweet dreams, Ava?”

  She blinked away the tears and looked up in shock. “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “Have you been having good dreams? No nightmares, I hope.”

  “They’re fine.” Or they had been until she’d forced herself to remember she couldn’t live in a dream world anymore. “I don’t remember my dreams much, to be honest. Never have.”

  Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. About having good dreams or about remembering them, Ava? Hmm?”

  “Why are you still here?” Anger spiked through her sadness. “You can leave now.”

  “Fine.” He stood, his eyes never leaving hers. “Get dressed. Get washed up. I’ll meet you downstairs. We have someplace to go.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

  He rolled his eyes before he turned. When he got to the door, Rhys called over his shoulder. “Don’t create a scene, darling. Wouldn’t you rather keep a low profile before you try to sneak off?”

  Bastard scribe. He always saw too much.

  Ava decided to act like the interlude in her bedroom hadn’t even happened when she finally made her way downstairs. Rhys was at the counter, speaking with Orsala. It sounded like they were debating the interpretation of some story or myth.

  “But the St. Petersburg manuscript—”

  “Manuscripts?” Orsala said. “Manuscripts are always influenced by the scribe. There is no avoiding it. What you must look for is the common thread running through all the historical accounts. That is where the truth lies.”

  Rhys shook his head. “I… I can’t believe you’re discounting the oldest known account of Deandra’s vision. Carbon dating has placed that manuscript within a hundred years of her life. No other existing document comes close.”

  “But that is only one document. You must look at more than just the documents, Rhys. You must—”