The Singer (16 page)

He slid into the room that had been carved with protection spells. Useless now that the Irin fire was gone. Foolish Irin put too much stock in magic. Brage’s fingers trailed over the cryptic script of the Old Language that had been carved into the walls. It was a mystery to him, just as the Fallen intended.
 

Bitterness twisted his heart.

Unlike the Irin fathers, Volund and the other angels did not share knowledge with their children. They didn’t trust them enough. Didn’t believe them worthy. After all, they were half-human. They were servants and soldiers, not true sons.
 

The young scribe before him was fair-skinned and dark-eyed. Handsome enough to human eyes, though not stunning as the Grigori were. The angelic blood had been tempered by time and distance. The Irin were mere shadows of their forefathers. But the mysterious script marked the young scribe’s arms and shoulders, though the glow of power was gone. Blood covered the young man’s chest and face. Pieces of his
talesm
were missing. Strips of skin had been gouged from his arms.

Brage’s brother handed him a flap of skin they had carved from the scribe’s left wrist.

“
Talesm prim
,” Brage said softly, kneeling beside the scribe who was tied to the chair.

The man looked at him with disgust, but Brage knew that he was growing weaker by the minute. These Irin could not last long without their magic. And by carving off the spells, the Grigori had neutralized the scribe’s only advantage.

“That’s what you call it, correct?” Brage held up the skin. “Your very first spell? The one that all the others draw from. Did they warn you about this? Or were they too arrogant?” He stood and shook his head, as if chastising a child. “They didn’t, did they? Your elders teach you that you are superior to us. Your
magic
,” he spat out. “It makes you so
blessed
. You are the favored of heaven. The weak Grigori with little magic have no power over you. But, of course, we do.”

Brage leaned down and brought his knife to the young man’s neck. He winced when the knife cut in and the blood welled around the wound. “Tell me where the Istanbul scribes are,” he murmured, “and I’ll kill you quickly.”

The scribe’s throat worked to respond. “No,” he choked out.

Brage slid the knife under the skin of the young man’s neck. It stretched and slowly stripped the flesh away as he screamed.

“Tell me,” Brage whispered.
 

“Never.”

It went on for hours, the slow interrogation. Brage was forced to revive the young man a number of times. By the fourth time he woke, the scribe’s eyes were swimming, and Brage knew he was delirious and close to breaking.

“This is not your battle, child.” He placed a cool cloth on the scribe’s bloody forehead, gave the man a sip of cool water. “You are one young Irin scribe. How old are you?”

“For…forty-three.”

“See?” Brage said. “You are practically a child. You are alone. Tell me where they are. Let them fight. They are armed and strong, with their brothers at their sides. They will not condemn you for telling me.”

Tears slipped down the young man’s cheeks, making paths in the crusted blood and sweat.

“Tell me,” Brage whispered.

“Vienna,” he finally choked out. “Th…they were driving to Vienna.”

Damn.
 

Brage let out a breath and sat back on his heels. Of all the cities they could go to, Vienna was the one that Volund had forbidden. The Irin were too strong in that city. And making an appearance in the heart of the Irin power structure would alert too many people that Volund wanted lulled into complacency.
 

He stood and walked behind the bleeding man. Half the skin of his upper body was gone, and he was barely recognizable. Brage could feel the eager bloodlust of his brothers, but he had made a promise. And he did not break his promises.

The young scribe was weeping when Brage put the blade to his spine and drove it in.

He walked away as the gold dust rose behind him.

Vienna.

They were going to Vienna—

He stopped and smiled at the realization. No, they were
driving
to Vienna.

Driving to Vienna would lead them through several cities where the Grigori presence was strong. Though that heretic, Kostas, ran Sofia, more friendly elements made their home in Budapest. Svarog was a powerful angel, and his children were numerous, but the angel had friendly relations with Brage’s father. A well-timed visit might be in order.

He made his way from the scribe room and to the bathroom on the second floor.

“New clothes,” he said to the soldier guarding the door.

Brage took a quick shower, careful to wash the blood from his pale hair. He needed to feed, and a human woman would most likely be put off by blood.

Or possibly not. Some humans were delightfully perverse.

Smiling, he dressed in the immaculate clothes his brother had laid out for him, then he left the house and found his way into the night crowds of Beyoğlu. It was nothing to the rowdy atmosphere of Amsterdam or Berlin, but it would do. All he needed to find was a human woman who wanted the company of a good-looking man for the night. A tourist, he decided. Someone with a clean, comfortable hotel room where he could rest after he fucked her into unconsciousness and fed his ancient soul hunger.
 

Brage was more than capable of giving a woman an unforgettable night. He was old enough that he didn’t need to draw much energy for his hunger to be fed.

Perhaps, if she survived, he would give her an unforgettable morning, too.

It was the least he could do.

Chapter Nine

Sofia, Bulgaria

The man gave up his knife after the second attempt at Malachi’s neck. It clattered to the stones in the alley as the Grigori lunged toward him. Catching him in midair, Malachi hugged the soldier to his chest and felt the magic coursing through his own body. He grabbed for his own silver dagger, ignoring the chokehold his opponent was attempting. The man twisted around, realizing too late that Malachi was armed. He loosened his hold and tried to flee, but by that time, Malachi had a firm grip on the man’s long hair. He twisted it around his wrist and pulled up, letting the Grigori dangle and scream as he kicked.

“They said you were dead!” The man tried to break Malachi’s hold, tried to pry open the fingers that held him, but the scribe’s grip didn’t falter. “They told us—”

“They were wrong,” he said, jerking the soldier closer and plunging the blade into his spine.

In the blink of an eye, the body shimmered and turned golden. Malachi stared into the man’s black eyes as they met his own. He was gold. Shimmering. Translucent in death. And for a moment, the soldier was gone and Malachi watched his own face dissolve as a piercing scream shattered his ears.

“No!”

He blinked away the echoing scream and came back to the alley. From the corner, a young woman held her arms out toward the dust that rose.

“What have you done, you monster?” she shouted at him, tears streaming down her face. “Ciril!” she sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Malachi went to her, bending down. “You’re safe now,” he said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

The woman kept rocking, clutching her arms around her body and sobbing into her knees. Malachi looked up, wondering what to do with the woman in the back streets of Sofia. They’d stopped in the capitol of Bulgaria to eat and stretch their legs before they continued driving to Budapest. Leo, Rhys, and Malachi had been taking turns, but they all needed sustenance. The fact that they’d happened to find a Grigori preying on a human woman at the restaurant was simply a coincidence. He’d run from them immediately but had grabbed the woman and taken her with him. They’d all given chase; Malachi was just the first to catch him.

Within seconds, he heard his brothers’ scuffling feet near the mouth of the alley. Malachi was trying to soothe the sobbing human without putting his hands on her skin. Rhys had said Grigori victims often mourned their attackers’ deaths, not knowing how dangerous the creatures truly were.

“Please,” Malachi said. Rhys had handed him a Bulgarian dictionary as soon as they’d crossed the border, so Malachi had already absorbed most of the language. “Please, miss, who can I call for you? Surely, there is someone—”

“There was Ciril,” she choked out. “There was only Ciril. And now there is no one.” She clutched her head, pressing her palms to her temples as she wailed.

“He would have hurt you,” Malachi said, speaking softly as Rhys and Leo approached. “You’re safe now.”
 

Finally, the woman’s eyes lifted to his. His stomach dropped when he saw them. Blank. Dead. There was nothing behind the young woman’s gaze.

“You know nothing,” she whispered.
 

Then she lunged forward, bashed her forehead into Malachi’s nose, and scrambled up, darting between Leo and Rhys and out of the alley before Malachi had time to recover. Blood streamed down his nose and into his mouth. She was gone by the time he reached his feet.

“What was that?” Leo asked with wide eyes.

“I have no idea.” He wiped the blood from his face with the corner of his sleeve. “I killed the Grigori, and she went crazy.”

Rhys shook his head sadly. “It’s horrible. They become obsessed. I only hope she has someone she can go to.”

Malachi narrowed his eyes. “She knew his name. Do they usually tell humans their name?”

Rhys shrugged. “He told her
a
name. I doubt it’s his. Let’s go. Who knows who that woman is calling right now? She could be running to the police. We need to get back on the road.”

Leo was staring at the spot where the woman had been crouched, his eyes lost in thought. After a second’s silence, he shook his head and said, “Rhys and I will grab some food from one of the corner shops. Malachi, you get back to the car. Your face would draw too much attention right now.”

“All right.”

As they walked, Rhys slapped Malachi’s shoulder. “How do you feel? No trouble with the new spells?”

“I feel fine,” he said, rolling his shoulders as he felt his nose start to knit together. “Actually, I feel amazing.”

It was true. Nothing about the fight had been a struggle. It was as if his muscles knew exactly what to do, from the way to immobilize his opponent to the exact angle at which to stab the knife. Like so many things, he only consciously thought about his actions after they were over, not unlike watching a movie on rewind, wondering how each point connected to the last.

Leo asked, “Did you remember anything more? Rhys and I have been debating whether or not tapping into your magic and scribing some of your old spells would help your memory.”

“I don’t remember anything more about Ava,” he said, “if that’s what you were wondering.”

No, he didn’t remember anything from the past, but his dreams—the intimate communion he reached for in sleep—those, he decided, they didn’t need to know about. Perhaps he was falling in love with his subconscious memories of the woman. He knew her without question in his dreams. He only wished he had something to hold on to when he woke.

“Tell me where you go,” she asked after they had sated their bodies on the forest floor. “When you leave me here, where do you go?”

The moss was a thick green carpet at his back, and the night birds sang overhead as he cradled her on his chest.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t remember, exactly. I only know you’re not there. But you’re here when I sleep.”

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes and traced her fingers along his collar. “I miss your markings.”

“I have some back.” He raised his left arm and she trailed her fingers along the black ink. “I will write more for you.”

“Okay.”

“Are yours still there?”

She smiled up at him. “Of course, silly. They’re always here.” She lifted his hand and put it over her heart. “And they always will be. Kiss me.”

He kissed her, and her lips were honey to his tongue. Far too soon, she pulled back, and in the low light of the misty forest, he could see them—his own marks—glowing in the darkness. Gold magic swirled on the skin over her heart. It shone on her shoulders. He sat up, twisting her until she sat in his lap with her back to his chest. Then he leaned back on his arms, staring at the intricate letters that trailed up her spine, over her neck and shoulders.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the magic that he’d used to claim her. “I love seeing these on you.”

“I know.” She was smiling as she looked over her shoulder. Her gold eyes, he realized, were almost the same color as her mating marks.

“Extraordinary.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer before he laid them down again on the moss.

“
Reshon
?” she whispered against his chest.

“Yes?”

“Come back to me.”

“Come back now, brother.” He felt the hand slapping his cheek and he bolted awake.

“Ah.” Leo was grinning. “There you are. You were dead to the world.”