The Singer, стр. 63
“Yes?”
“There is someone here to see you.”
Brage frowned. “Who?”
The young soldier blinked in confusion. “I… I don’t know.”
“What?” Brage stood, walking toward him, but stopped when he saw the unassuming man coming up the stairs. The middle-aged man in glasses put a hand on the Grigori’s shoulder and the young man turned, leaving Brage alone on the roof with his visitor.
He sat, recognizing the angel’s disguise from Istanbul. If Jaron wanted to harm him, he would already be dead.
“I know who you are,” Brage said.
“It’s good that Volund has some intelligent offspring,” Jaron said as he tossed back the cover on one of the patio chairs. A flurry of ice fell to the ground.
“What do you want?”
“Why are you still hunting her?”
Brage frowned. “Why do I do anything?”
His father asked it of him. It was not within his power to refuse.
“Fine.” Jaron sat back, still wearing his human facade. He walked in the guise of a fatherly middle-aged man in spectacles. Not too old. Not too young. A confessor. Trustworthy. Despite knowing it was false, the facade still put Brage at ease.
“Tell me why Volund hunts her,” the angel said.
“I do not know.”
“Don’t you?”
Brage shrugged. “He says she belongs to him. Other than that, it is none of my concern.”
Jaron smiled. “In a way, he is not wrong.”
“Then why do you protect her?”
“Why does your father only tell you half-truths?” Jaron countered. “For though the woman is his, she is also mine.”
He closed his eyes and forced himself not to sigh. It would be taken as a sign of disrespect toward the angel. Talking in circles. Why did the damn ancients have to talk in circles so much? Was it too much to ask that one of them give him any kind of answer?
“Half-truths?” Brage said. “I am sure Volund tells me as much as you tell your sons.”
“I tell my children only what they must know.”
“Then we understand each other.”
Jaron laughed. “No. You do not understand me at all. But then, you cannot. Is it true that he gave you Grimold’s blade? A heavenly weapon to kill an Irin scribe? It seems excessive. But of course, you failed last time, did you not?”
The spike of anger was quick and hot. And Brage knew that Jaron had caught it, for the human facade wavered in that moment, and the glowing gold eyes of the angel flashed.
“Why are you here, Jaron?”
“I want you to leave the woman alone.”
“You know I cannot.”
“She is something you would not wish to harm.”
Brage narrowed his eyes. He had his own suspicions about what the woman was, but they were based on whispers and rumors, like so much in his world. And if both Volund and Jaron claimed her…
“What is she?” he asked.
There was silence. Brage wondered if Jaron would respond at all.
“She is under my protection,” the angel said. “You will not harm her.”
“I don’t intend to. Volund wants her alive. Though I will kill her mate. Again.”
“Her mate interests me only so far as he benefits her.”
“Then you will not interfere?”
“No.”
“Do you vow it?”
Jaron leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Does your father appreciate your audacity?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then he is a fool.”
Brage said nothing.
“Fine,” Jaron said. “I will not interfere with your mission, as long as you do not harm the woman.”
It was the best that Brage would do under the circumstances. Jaron did not rise, so he dared another question.
“Is she what I think?” he asked. “What the heretics claim?”
“Yes.”
His cold heart quickened. “Truly?”
“And no.”
Fucking angels.
Brage curled his lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Jaron was gone.
Chapter Twenty-three
She was still cautious around him. Still hesitant as he held her hand and walked into the scribe house.
Was the caution a result of his reappearance or because of the encounter with the frightening creature who had given her a vision? He couldn’t read her well enough to know yet. Some things were achingly familiar, but others still confounded him.
Wary smiles and respectful nods greeted Malachi as they walked past the dark entryway and back toward the kitchen. It might have been the middle of the night, but the house was clearly on alert. Malachi spotted Damien, Rhys, and Lang strategizing over a map of the city, which had been spread out over the kitchen table. Sari and an Irina elder he didn’t know were with them.
Rhys and one of Lang’s scribes were putting red and yellow dots all over the paper. The rest of the gathered company nodded at them but did not interrupt the conversation.
“Ava,” the old woman said softly, walking over to greet his mate. “I heard. I am… astonished.”
And pleased, from what Malachi could gather. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled and grabbed Ava into an embrace.
“Thank you, Orsala.”
“Have you told Brooke yet? Does everyone know? I only heard from Sari a few hours ago.”
“It just happened yesterday. And we…” He saw her cheeks flush a little. “We needed some time alone.”
“Of course, daughter.” Orsala turned to Malachi and took his hand in hers, though he kept one hand firmly anchored in his mate’s. “A blessing,” she said. “A miracle sent from heaven.” There were tears in the old woman’s eyes. “How can we know the purpose of the Creator? And yet we rejoice in it. I am so happy for you both, Malachi.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The others were still quietly arguing over the map.
“—follow what I’m trying to say, Leo. The red is a confirmed attack and kill,” Rhys said. “The yellow are for attacks that were stopped, but the Grigori wasn’t eliminated.”
“So many,” Sari said. “Lang, this is far more than average, correct?”
“Yes. Activity has picked up over the past year, but the majority of these attacks have been in only the past couple of weeks.”
Damien asked, “Do we think there is any chance this increase in activity and the exposure of Sarihofn are not related?”
Everyone was silent.
Malachi stepped forward. “There are few coincidences in the world. It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely.” He glanced at the map and moved closer, still holding Ava’s hand. “Tell me more about Volund.” It was Volund’s child, Brage, who had killed him, but there was little Malachi remembered about the powerful Fallen angel.
Lang said, “As far as we know, Volund still has one of his primary bases near Goteborg, which gives his soldiers easy access to the continent and a steady stream of tourists, whom his men usually target. He’s been building in power for centuries. We believe he took out the major power in Russia in the 1920s, and he appears to have connections with the lesser Fallen in Spain and France.”
Leo leaned forward and frowned, staring at the map. “Have you talked to Maxim about what he’s heard?”
Lang nodded. “Your brother has been an unexpected font of information over the past few years. I don’t know who he knows—”
“It’s better you don’t ask,” Damien said. “I never did when he was in my house.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Lang continued. “The sudden absence of Grigori last summer fits what you and Max have said about him making a move in Istanbul.”
“The Istanbul offensive makes no strategic sense to me,” Sari said, still staring at the map. “Why Istanbul? It’s far away from his power center. It would make more sense to approach from the north, in Russia. Or from the west.”
“Remember, mila, in some ways the Fallen are as unpredictable as the humans. They’re often creatures of impulse.”
“Particularly Volund,” Lang said. “And from what we know of him, he is a grudge holder. Istanbul could have been a personal vendetta.”
Damien shrugged. “From what I know of Jaron, I can imagine the two did not get along. Jaron was vicious, but deliberate. A planner.”