Taken (Ava Delaney #4)

by Claire Farrell

  I shook my head, leaning forward eagerly.

  “At one time, back home, the boginki were held in great esteem. Humans would perform rituals and sacrifices to honour them. Faith and devotion are power for these beings. The greater the faith, the greater the power, and the more harm their symbols can do to their enemies. It’s how gods are displaced, how some sleep while others rule. You look surprised, but surely you know this.”

  “About why gods sleep? Not for sure, but I’ve wondered. Someone once told me his gods slept and left him as a… a keeper. Does that make sense?”

  She nodded vehemently. “Tak! Keeper! Some ride the wave and wait for their time to come again. Others grow too weak, so they sleep and leave their power with a keeper, someone who will keep their memories alive and ensure the faith grows again. If the people lose faith, then the symbols have no power.”

  “What do you mean, symbols?”

  She thought for a second. “Like vampires. The religious symbols hurt them, but only those of the modern religions, not the true, ancient ones. At least, not anymore. The ones with the power work. It’s how it goes, but the battles for devotion are the longest, the most dangerous. The boginki weren’t gods, not really, but they also lived on the faith and offerings the people brought. As time passed, devotion lessened, so they took sacrifices themselves. They swapped the human children for odmieńce. Changelings.”

  She poured some tea, but her hands shook so much that she spilled a little. “They wanted to influence the human children, force their devotion, and have the odmieńce spread their word amongst humans. The human children usually became sacrifices, although some of them remained as servants in the end.”

  “And they got away with it? Replacing the children? Murdering them?” I asked, aghast.

  She smiled. “Of course they did. Why would anyone imagine their child is the spawn of a monster? Who would know? They might suspect, but speak on it, and what would happen in this day and age? There are so few now that it makes little difference. The boginki take what they need to survive.”

  She exhaled, her face relaxing in a cloud of smoke. “My mother haunted the lake by a small village in Poland. She saw my father almost every day and decided she was in love with him. She showed herself, but he was devoted to his wife and paid her no mind. She made herself look like his wife, became pregnant with me, and when I was born, left me at his home. I am, in effect, a changeling.”

  I stared at her, unable to decide what I thought of that. “So his child was taken?”

  She shook her head. “He had no child, but my mother revealed all to him, and he took me from her. She was so deluded with ideas of love that she let him. He raised me, loved me, but his wife was unhappy. She didn’t believe, and she thought me the result of an affair. They couldn’t fix their marriage, and she left. But he never went to my mother, and, eventually, she saw her mistake, found a new infatuation, and decided my father should have no happiness. These beings are fickle things.”

  She smiled wryly, and I found myself nodding in agreement.

  She stubbed out her cigarette. “She came for me. She made a dramatic entrance, but he had been expecting her. He knew of boginki, and he knew if she took me I would die or be sold as a half-breed. He couldn’t stop her then, though. I suffered for a year, but he found me. He saved me and made me flee to Ireland along with all of the other emigrants at the time. I’ve been hiding here ever since, but I haven’t heard from him. Knowing him, he went after my mother. I met Dita’s father, and I was happy to find a strong man to protect me, but we both know how that went. I took Dita and ended up in a women’s shelter, and it was there that Mrs. Yaga found me. She brought me here two years ago, and I’ve been safe, mostly.”

  Mrs. Yaga had told me she had known Anka’s mother. Interesting. But there were more interesting things about her story. “Your own mother would have sold you? To who?”

  She waved away a fly in irritation. “They hate the half-breeds, but they all want to own one. They can’t take just any changeling, though; it wouldn’t be worth upsetting a boginka. Boginkas thrive on spite and would never forget the slight.”

  “But they wanted you?”

  “I have no gifts. I was old enough to know for sure, so she couldn’t sell me, and she made me her plaything instead. I would have been safer with another, but then again, my father would never have found me that way. It worked out. In the end.”

  She gazed at me steadily. “I know you’re looking for those who sell the children. You won’t find them, but you might die trying. Are you sure that’s what you really want?”

  “How would you feel if someone came into your house in the night and took Dita because she has your blood in her veins?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Trust me, it’s something I’ve worried about since her birth. But I’ve stayed in the shadows, and there are no others like me here. The boginki are forgotten, and that works in my favour. Besides, if I have no gifts, what chance does she have?”

  “Would you ever go back? Find out what happened to your father?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk it. I hope he lives and that he’s still protecting me. It’s because of him that I allow Dita’s father to see her. He’s a bad husband, but he loves his daughter, and I believe children need their fathers. If mine had rejected me, I would have died suffering. I can’t take that away from her, no matter how badly he treats me.”

  My insides ached with her pain. She thought she was doing right by her child, and who was I to blame her? I hadn’t known my parents; I couldn’t see what she saw when she looked at her daughter. But still, I wasn’t sure how a bad parent was any better than no parent at all.

  Chapter Six

  I couldn’t get Dita and Anka off my mind, but I had work to do. I only had a couple of months off from vampire business while Daimhín was away, and it had to be enough time to, amongst other things, track down information on the beings who had taken Peter’s son, because it was beginning to look as though they were the same people I was already looking for.

  I spent hours online searching for information on any survivors of the attacks Illeana had collected data on. I wasn’t sure how she could even tell which attacks were the right ones, and I sometimes felt as though we were on a wild goose chase. Did she have information we couldn’t access? Was it guesswork? Had she been wasting her own time? I had no answers and began to feel disheartened until Carl called me.

  He whispered into the phone, and I figured he had to be at work still. “Get this. The book is clearly marked in the inventory, but it isn’t on the shop floor. It hasn’t been sold, but it’s gone.”

  “So, what? Did she steal it? Did Eddie give it to her?”

  “Hard to say. But if he did give it away, why wouldn’t he clear it from the inventory? I’m guessing it was stolen, but I can’t remember Illeana ever being in here.”

  “And it had to be pretty recent if you knew of the book.” I chewed the inside of my cheek, using the pain to help me focus. Carl hadn’t been working in the shop for long before Illeana’s death, so the theft had to be fairly recent. But Carl wasn’t in the shop twenty-four hours a day, so anyone could have taken it without him knowing.

  “Should I say something to Eddie?” he asked.

  “Maybe not. It might make him suspicious of you, too. Stay quiet for now, just in case.”

  “All right. I’ll go online after work and try to track down someone. I’ve been looking up similar incidents, and there are some that Illeana didn’t have with her stuff. What if she had another hiding place? A lot of the documentation we have doesn’t make sense, and I’m not even talking about the coded stuff. What if the codebreaker and other files are elsewhere?”

  “It’s possible. Maybe we could talk to her sister again.”

  Carl made a weirdly strangled laugh. “At the bar? Maybe while you’re there, you can persuade Peter to go home.”

  I realised I hadn’t heard from Peter in two days and groaned. “Has he b
een there since the other night?”

  “Pretty much. Need company?”

  We agreed to meet at the bar that evening. I was killing plenty of birds with one stone lately, but time was running out. The sun was high, but the vampires wouldn’t stay gone forever. Although, I could hope the traitorous scumbag Gideon would disappear and never come back.

  Living in a mostly vampire-free Ireland had been wonderful, particularly since I no longer lived next door to a greedy succubus who had revelled in feeding on my energy. Of course, not all of the vampires left. Not all of the covens could afford the summer move, but without Daimhín to “contain” me, they kept out of my way, and I stayed out of theirs.

  I was no longer living on edge, wondering what the Irish vampire queen’s next job for me would be. I wasn’t as well paid with her departure, but Gabe was still slipping some cash into my account every now and then to keep me going on his jobs. Council money, but I wasn’t too proud to use it for a while. I had been making inroads on repairing my online business that the Council had essentially destroyed, and some days, I felt as though my life might actually be in my own hands. Of course, that generally only lasted until Gabe called again.

  So going to his bar wasn’t exactly my favourite thing to do, but I would do it anyway. I needed more information about Illeana’s undercover work, and then there was Peter.

  I should have known better. He had probably already drunk himself into trouble, so our aim was to remind him of the job. Only the work, and sometimes the promise of violence against supernatural beings, brought him out of his self-pitying, drunken stupors. And I could give him both. What were friends for?

  I called Esther to give her an update, and she decided we needed a night off to regroup. If Callista was working, we would talk to her. If not, we would get twisted. Okay, I wouldn’t, but the others could do what they wanted. I still felt the hangover from the fae drink Finn and Peter had dared me to drink. Never again.

  Carl and I met up outside the club and waited for Esther.

  “Think he’s here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “He isn’t at home. I dropped in on my way. The place creeps me out in the dark. I don’t get why he still lives there.”

  “He has to have some memories. I mean, from before they died. Maybe he feels close to them there.”

  “Or maybe he needs to stop obsessing.” Carl ran his hand through his hair, regret deepening the lines on his face. “I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. But it can’t be good for him to live like this.”

  My laughter drew all eyes in our direction. “Remember when we said that about you, Carl? Remember when you listened to us and took all of our advice? Oh, no, wait. You didn’t. You didn’t listen, and you didn’t want to know. Kettle, meet pot.”

  “That was different. I was under the influence then.” But he grinned, and I was reminded of the old Carl. Then he nodded over my shoulder. “Here she comes.”

  Esther strode toward us, crowds of cigarette-smoking supernaturals dispersing to let her pass. Any human would have seen a dark-skinned goddess walking toward them; the supernatural world saw the younger sister of the alpha of all the shifters in Ireland. They saw the head of a Guardian Circle. They saw a close relative of a consultant to the Council. They saw a warrior in pretty clothing.

  I saw a girl. At twenty-one years of age, Esther was an infant in a world of ancients. She strove to prove herself, to prove she earned her position, but slowly, she had become disillusioned with the people she worked for. I had observed a change in her, and I saw her as an ally, despite how her older brother felt about me. I had pushed my luck around him, but he was still being hailed a hero because he got the credit for my kill, so I figured he should cut me some slack. The weird thing was that I couldn’t help respecting him. He was fierce and strong, things I liked in a person. He was also dedicated and loyal, even if I thought his loyalty misplaced.

  As she approached, Esther smiled, her entire face lighting up. She was beautiful, but any envy I might have once felt had all but disappeared. I wasn’t meant to be beautiful, but I could control other aspects of my destiny.

  “We ready?” she asked, appreciation in her eyes as she took in Carl’s appearance. That surprised me. She was into power, and Carl was weak by her standards. Shifters tended to crave someone more powerful than themselves. Peter had once told me that was why the alpha tended to remain single, and as Esther was the alpha’s younger sister, she probably had particularly high standards. Carl was still pretty, even though he had aged so quickly. On second thought, maybe the whole looking older thing was what got her going. Peter, on the other hand, scared her a little, although they had grown friendlier since first impressions were made. I had no problem with the healthy distance between them.

  The club wasn’t nearly at capacity, but a decent energy thrummed under the surface. I often wondered if the magic I felt there was from Gabe or someone else, but whatever it was, it was great for business. Enemies drank together in Gabe’s bar, and fights of any kind were rare.

  Although Esther had been stabbed by one of her own in the club, the first time we met properly, but that had been the fault of what I thought were demonic shadows. Since I threatened Coyle, the Guardian I suspected of being responsible, I hadn’t come across any other instances of the shadows taking over a person’s soul. I would always watch, though. And one day, Coyle would pay the blood price for sending a shadow-shrouded human to silence me, for sending a human to his death. Perhaps Peter had influenced me after all.

  In a table in the corner, under cover of natural shadow, Peter sat alone except for the evidence of his drinking binge.

  Carl nudged me. “You go first.”

  “Great, thanks. Distract him with me so you don’t get killed.”

  “You can handle it. Seriously, just have a word. He might listen to you. We’ll get some drinks in, see if Callista is around, and join you in a few minutes.” He squeezed my hand and led Esther to the bar. I knew they would sit there joking with Finn until it became clear I wasn’t about to be pulverised by a drunk Peter.

  But he wasn’t drunk. He stank of alcohol, but he was perfectly sober. I saw that as soon as I took a seat across from him.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” he mumbled, but when he looked at me, his hazel eyes were clear, except for the red rims under them.

  “Heard you moved in here. Gabe would like some rent.”

  A lazy smile raised the corner of his mouth. “Tell him to put it on my tab.” He leaned back and glanced at the bar. “Ah, the whole gang is here to ruin my buzz.”

  I lifted one of the empty bottles and sniffed it. “I heard these all-liquid diets are really bad for humans. Of course, you left your humanity behind a while back, so maybe you’ll be okay.”

  “Ruining my buzz was correct. Take your best shot, oh tainted one.”

  I ignored the jibe. There were two Peters: the focused one who couldn’t be stopped and would do anything to protect the people he cared about, and the one who sometimes crept into the light and swallowed up my Peter.

  “Buzz? Oh, you mean this is you being happy? My bad. I thought you were busy sitting here feeling sorry for yourself when you have work to do.”

  He wagged his chin. “I was just minding my own business, Ava. No need for the melodrama.”

  “We’re getting closer to finding answers when you bail out to drink yourself stupid, and I’m the one doling out the dramatics? Come on now. Don’t lie to yourself as well.”

  He took a sip of his drink and grimaced before slamming the glass down. I was proud of myself for holding in my flinch.

  “Something new come up?” he asked at last.

  I smiled sweetly. “You might know if you didn’t give up before we got started.”

  He glared at me.

  “All right, no need for the evil eyes. We reckon that book was stolen from Eddie’s shop, and we think Illeana had another hiding place because Carl found other stories that might be supernatural, and ther
e are bits and pieces that don’t make sense. Like they have a few pieces of the puzzle missing. We were going to talk to Callista again to see if there’s anything she might have missed.”

  “Something electronic maybe? I didn’t see a phone or a laptop in those boxes. Maybe she even had a couple of flash drives hidden around the place. We’ll never find them.” He frowned and leaned forward. “That book. It would be pretty hard to steal from Eddie. He keeps that place locked tight.”

  “He’s upped the ante recently. I can feel the change when I walk in there. Lots of extra padding. So maybe he knows someone stole something.”

  “Maybe he thinks it was you.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Why wouldn’t he say something?”

  He snorted and lifted his drink again. “You know what these old things are like; they live on secrets and lies. You track down any witnesses yet?”

  I shook my head. “That’s the biggest reason we think we’re missing some info. I mean, she got that image from somewhere. You can’t be the only survivor. But the worst thing is how far back some of these articles go. There are legends in certain villages about these things. That’s how many families were targeted.”

  “But why?” he muttered. “Maybe we need to go visiting these places then, Ava. The myth might tell us more than anything recent. People just don’t believe what they see anymore.”

  “Go where?” Carl asked as he sat heavily next to Peter.

  Esther took the seat next to me and placed a suspiciously blue drink in front of me. I cast a glance at Finn, who waved.

  “Does he think I’m stupid?” I asked, eyeing the glass warily.

  “Don’t worry, it’s blue food dye. He thought it would be funny,” Esther said. “Nothing fae about it.”

  I sniffed the drink to be sure. “Fine. But I wouldn’t put it past him to slip me another one. He enjoys tormenting me.”

  “Where are we going?” Carl repeated.

  “Anywhere there’s been a sighting of those monsters in the last century,” Peter said confidently. “You’d be surprised how many old wives’ tales are scarily accurate.”