The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Sari!”

  Her tortured eyes met his. “We can’t hold them back. I have no spells that work on them.”

  “Then defend yourself,” Damien said. “Míla, you know you have no choice.”

  She nodded, even though tears filled her eyes.

  There was no time to mourn. The Grigori children were unrelenting.

  Damien glanced at the sky. “I do not see any sign of Volund.”

  “I think Jaron might be taking care of that problem. Grimold is directing his sons. We just need to hold them off until Kostas and his men find him.”

  Malachi was hoping it would be soon. And he really hoped they hadn’t overestimated the skills of their free Grigori allies.

  He hazarded a glance at the building where Ava hid before he fell back to his grim task.

  “DON’T look at me,” Ava whispered as she watched him as he retreated to defend the circle of Irina. “Pay attention.”

  Ava was sick to her stomach as she watched the vicious children with beautiful faces assault the Irin below.

  “Why doesn’t the magic hold them off?” Kyra asked, coming to stand next to Ava, her face pale and her eyes sunken.

  “Maybe the magic is designed that way,” Ava said. “Irina wouldn’t want to hurt children.”

  “I want to hurt those children,” she said. “Grigori children are more vicious than the adults.”

  Ava gave her a look.

  Kyra said, “Harbor no illusions, sister. The female children can be just as frightening. There is a reason I was glad your friend Mala stayed with the group in Prague.”

  “He will hate himself. If only there was a way…” Ava blinked before she grabbed the Kyra’s arms.

  Kyra looked at her like Ava had lost it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Their sires can control them, can’t they?”

  “The angels? Of course. But I don’t know how.”

  “I know,” Ava said with a smile. “I just have to get close enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ava was trying to pry open a window. There was a balcony out there, and if she could get near enough…

  “Vasu gave me spells. Words that knocked the Grigori on their ass when they came after me in the cemetery. I know the Irina probably created spells with safeguards to protect children, but I’m betting Vasu didn’t.”

  Kyra nodded. “Try.”

  Ava finally stopped trying to pry open the window and just grabbed a chair.

  “Stand back.”

  She threw the wooden chair at the window and it bounced off.

  “Well… shit.”

  She heard Leo approaching and turned to—

  “Not Leo!” Kyra shouted.

  Three Grigori smiled, hungry eyes on Ava and Kyra.

  “What do we have here?” one said. “Humans?”

  “Humans with angel blood,” said another. “Even better.”

  BARAK was relieved to admit he had underestimated his sons. What he had seen as cowardice had clearly been something else. They had retreated, yes, but then they had regrouped. Grown stronger. More stable. A better-trained group of Grigori he had never seen. Kostas wielded authority like a true child of the Fallen. Violence was his currency. Praise rare. Discipline expected.

  “It helps them,” Kostas said quietly as they walked the rail yards in Simmering.

  Snow blanketed the grey tracks. The bustle of humans was eerily silent. Though trains smoked in the station, no one boarded them. Nothing moved but the drifts of dirty snow that fell from the clouds above.

  “Oh?” Barak said, mind on the strange swirling movement of the sky overhead.

  “The discipline,” Kostas said. “It helps the hunger.”

  Yes, that made sense. It had never occurred to Barak to teach his sons discipline. They were… incidental. Though he had ruled much of Northern Europe for thousands of years, he didn’t have the patience for strategy. He’d held his enemies at bay with strength, and that had been reflected in his Grigori. Most were brutally handsome children with more power than brains in his opinion.

  When Volund had outmaneuvered him, he hadn’t been surprised. He’d been… resigned.

  “They control everything better if they’re disciplined,” his son said. “Bodies and minds. Your death gave them hope. Their sisters gave them purpose.”

  “I do not wish to steal that.”

  “Oh?” Kostas asked. “So if we walk away now, you’ll do nothing to call us back?”

  “No. I’ll just kill Grimold myself.”

  “Why are we here then?”

  “Because he’ll have his sons with him. The strongest—though none of his children are particularly that strong—he’ll keep close by. I imagine with your newly grown goodwill, you don’t want to set them loose upon the humans.”

  As if by signal, a clutch of Grimold’s children leapt down on some of his men. They were quickly surrounded and killed. Their dust rose to the sky within seconds, and Kostas’s men barely slowed down.

  “No,” Kostas said. “We do not want them loose.”

  Barak watched him from the corner of his eye. “I did not teach you conscience.”

  “No, I acquired it when I saw what killing humans did to my sister.”

  “Oh?”

  His son was quiet for a long while. “She heard their terror. Even worse, their love.”

  “Ah.” Barak shrugged, beginning to like the human gestures Vasu imitated. “And your brothers?”

  “I have bent them to my way of thinking whether they like it or not.”

  Barak smiled as his son walked forward, surveying his men as they searched the train yard, exterminating any of the stray Grigori that were starting to creep out to meet them.

  “We’re getting closer.”

  “Yes.”

  “There are many,” Kostas said.

  “He finds them useful,” Barak said. “Grimold has never been powerful. Only… prolific.”

  “Most of the Fallen have adopted that strategy. You did not.”

  “You and your sister are some of the last children I sired. I grew tired of human attention after that.”

  “Why?”

  “The earth has little appeal for me anymore.” The image of two small children drifted across his tired mind. He had thought they were brothers. Twins. They wouldn’t remember him any longer. It had been too long. But the image of their small, blood-covered bodies held in his arms would remain with him through eternity. “This realm is so very brutal.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Humans,” Barak said. “It has always been so. Be careful. Free will is a dangerous thing.”

  He was only looking a little. Sight had never been his strength. The Creator had given him the gift of hearing, so he used it now. Throughout the rail yard and the industrial neighborhoods of the district, he could hear the humans dreaming. Soft and soothing, their voices melded together in a murmur he’d become accustomed to over his thousands of years on the earth.

  There were so many more now.

  Perhaps that was another part of it. And another reason he wanted the daughters of the Fallen to find relief.

  “Do you hear anything?” Kostas asked.

  “Not yet, but I know Grimold is here.”

  “How?”

  “His children are growing bolder.” He nodded toward another small group of Kostas’s men who surrounded two men twitching on the ground. “And because of what I do not hear.”

  “What is that?”

  “Birds.” Barak lifted an eyebrow and returned his son’s incredulous expression. “They don’t like Grimold. I have no idea why.”

  AVA didn’t hesitate when she saw the three Grigori soldiers.

  “Zi yada,” she hissed the spell Vasu had whispered in her mind.

  The first froze just as Leo burst into the room. He halted for only a second, then drove the point of his silver blade into the spine of the frozen Grigori.

  “Zi yada!�
� Ava said again, louder. Another stopped. The third lunged at her, but Ava grabbed Kyra and threw herself out of his path. Within seconds, Leo had killed the two remaining attackers. One still twitched while the others stood frozen. Ava watched as they dissolved like statues melting into the sky.

  “What did you do?” Leo asked.

  “Fallen magic,” Ava said. “Can you get a window open for me?”

  Leo kicked the chair out of the way. “Will it work at this distance?”

  “Hopefully?”

  “It’s worth a try.” Then he stopped and turned. “But will it affect the Irin?”

  Ava paused. “I don’t know.”

  Kyra said, “It only worked one at a time on the Grigori. Maybe you have to direct it at each person.”

  Ava looked at Leo. “Should I try it?”

  “If it freezes the Irin down there, they’re dead.”

  “Especially since I have no idea how to undo it.”

  Kyra stepped forward. “Try with us.”

  “What?”

  Leo nodded. “I’m Irin. She’s Grigori.”

  “But—”

  “If you knock me out and Leo’s still moving,” Kyra said, “you’ll know it’s safe. And if you knock both me and Leo out… just do your best. It can’t last forever.”

  Ava eyed the open door.

  “We’ll barricade the door,” Leo said, tossing her the short staff that looked more like a sawed-off broom handle. “You can protect us, Ava. But we need to try.”

  “Okay.”

  They pushed as much furniture in front of the door as they could. It was an older office, dusty from disuse and isolated about halfway up the building.

  “What if I can’t reach them?” she said, eyes darting to the fighting below.

  “We try. That’s all we can do,” Leo said. “Now, Ava.”

  “Aim the spell at me,” Kyra said. “Leo, stay close. They’re fighting close to each other.”

  Leo stood behind Kyra, one arm around her waist. “Now.”

  Ava took a deep breath and focused on Kyra. She stared at her, felt the power grow in her belly.

  “Zi yada.”

  Leo caught Kyra when she fell.

  “Did you feel it?”

  “I felt it, but it didn’t hit me. I just… felt it.” Leo carefully placed Kyra on the floor, then ran to the window.

  He yanked the drapes down, and Ava saw his thumb circle his left wrist. The power coursed over his skin as his talesm glowed for a moment. He held the drape up to the window, then with one powerful punch, the glass blew outward.

  “Try now, Ava. The children are getting closer. You have to try.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  MALACHI HEARD SARI SHOUT as he cut through another small body. He’d already vomited everything in his stomach as he defended the Irina from the children’s attacks. The Grigori boys darted around and under the blades of the scribes, and none of the Irina spells seemed to work.

  He had slain hundreds in his long life. Felt his enemies’ blood stain his face. Felt their death rattles under his hands and watched the life drain from their eyes before their bodies turned to dust.

  But Malachi had never faced a fight like this.

  His enemy carried the face of the innocent. He had to battle every instinct to protect as he beat them back. One singer lay unconscious in the arms of a scribe, her leg hacked off by one of the children. Other singers had wrapped their robes around their throats, trying to guard their voices from the relentless assault. He felt the blood drip where they’d jabbed their knives at his face and chest. Malachi was certain he’d lost part of an ear, trying to disable them without killing.

  He’d knocked as many unconscious as he could, but there had been some who’d left him no option. The beautiful children knew their advantage and took it as their elder brothers attacked the Irin front line.

  Struggling through the attack on the Irina, the scribes had been pushed to the gates of the cathedral, their focus now on keeping the Grigori back as long as possible, hoping that more Irin would come. Hoping that Kostas’s men would be able to kill Grimold. Without the angel’s direction, the Grigori soldiers would lose their focus.

  “Sari?” he called over his right shoulder. “What do you see?”

  He threw two unconscious Grigori children away from the circle of Irina and turned. Sari was standing, her hands held up and her mouth hanging open. Two Grigori children lay at her feet, eyes open and bodies frozen.

  “What is this?” she asked, pushing them with her foot. “They’re not dead, but…”

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked up. Ava was hanging out a window, Leo holding her as she stared at the gates of Stephansdom. Her eyes were narrowed and he could see her lips moving. He felt their magic rise.

  Another child dropped at his feet.

  “Ava,” he said. “She’s using Fallen magic.”

  “It works on the children?” Sari said. “Do you know how—”

  “I know the word, but not how to write it!” he said, flinging a child from his waist. “I can’t write it, Sari, not even with my blood.”

  “Tell me!”

  Tears were running down Malachi’s face as he struck the arm of a Grigori boy who’d latched on to the singer at his left.

  Mercy.

  He was so small.

  The boy’s warm blood spurted on Malachi’s face, but he would not let go of the Irina’s throat. Another scribe’s blade reached the child’s neck as he bared his teeth. The Grigori froze; his eyes went wide. His mouth, soft with youth, hung open as Malachi fell to his knees, catching the child’s body before it hit the ground. It shouldn’t hit the dirty cobblestones. It wasn’t right. None of this was right.

  The child’s unearthly gaze met Malachi’s as he caught him. They stared for a moment, Irin and Grigori. Then the bright life drained out of his eyes just before the small body dissolved to dust.

  “I can’t,” he groaned. “Ava, forgive me. I can’t.”

  Mercy.

  “Malachi!” Sari was at his shoulder. “Tell me the spell!”

  The spell?

  “Zi yada,” he whispered. “Make it stop.”

  Make them stop.

  Sari rose and flung her staff to the side. “Zi yada!”

  A child froze mid-jump, then fell to the cobblestones at their feet. He did not move.

  Other Irina heard and took up the spell, and the air rang with the shouts of Fallen magic as the Grigori children froze in their attacks.

  Malachi looked up, searching for her, his cheeks wet with blood and tears. She hung over the window, her attention directed at the Grigori fighting the Irin scribes.

  One by one, they began to fall, writhing in pain as their dust filled the air.

  The scribes in the square rallied as their enemy began to fall back. Some of the children looked confused. A few followed their elders, though most continued trying for the Irina, even as their small bodies fell.

  Malachi began to pick up the bodies of the fallen children, carrying them to the side of the cathedral so they wouldn’t be trampled. He heard a shout and looked up. Walking down the Rotenturmstraße from the direction of the river and running behind the cathedral came a large group of the Irin. Led by a scribe in Rafaene robes, they walked with grim purpose and more than a few frightened expressions. Some of the men wore business suits that covered their talesm. Some wore scholar’s robes. All carried weapons.

  He heard the Grigori hiss and fall back from the edges of the plaza.

  The Irin had awoken.

  BARAK and Kostas followed the rail tracks north from the Zentralfriedhof, fanning out as the tracks spread west of the freeway.

  “He’s here,” Barak said.

  Kostas motioned to Sirius, then the commander and six of his men spread their Grigori out in teams of three to five men, searching the rail yard which was empty of humans but teeming with Grigori assassins.

  “Where?” Kostas asked.

/>   “Quiet.”

  He let the profound noise fill him. Thousands of souls, tormented and peaceful, full of joy or sorrow. They surrounded him. Spread over him. Filled his mind and body until he could not separate himself from the voices of heaven. Then he reached out, looking for a single thread among many.

  Gravel scraped along his senses.

  There.

  His eyes still closed, he drifted toward it, calling his children with him.

  “Father, no.”

  A plea tugged at the edges of his mind. He opened his eyes to see Kostas before him, holding a black, heaven-forged blade to his throat. “Where did you get that?”

  “Do not command us,” he said through gritted teeth. “We will follow you, but do not take our will.”

  The fine blood vessels in Kostas’s eyes had burst, and the Grigori’s gaze was red and angry.

  “Put it down, child—”

  “Father—”

  “—and follow me.”

  Barak strode over the rail yard, his form growing with each step. He reached into his body, pulling out the flaming sword of the guardians.

  He had once been a protector of heaven, his purest joy in guarding the Creator and those who dwelt at his side. Then he fell into darkness, and the darkness had overcome him.

  Do not fear the darkness.

  He felt the sword draw from his flesh and gasped with the agony and ecstasy of it, for no angel carried a guardian’s sword without pain. It fed on the blood of heaven’s sons. Mortal hands could not touch it. And no angel would survive its strike.

  “Grimold,” he whispered. “It is time.”

  The angel met Barak with a hail of bullets shot from the hands of his children. Kostas’s men sprang forward, attacking them as the angel fell on the archangel, his face flaming with rage.

  “You will not do this!” Grimold screamed. “He has seen our victory!”

  “He lied.”

  JARON landed on the roof of the opera house, the building rattling under his feet as chips of stone went flying. Volund crashed into him, his blade arching through the air and glancing off Jaron’s shoulder before he spun away.

  “Where is she?”