The Singer
Page 80
“Is it far?” It was cold, and Malachi didn’t relish trudging through the dark streets, though it was possible they would pick up a few more Grigori kills along the way. The two they’d just hunted had been their sixth and seventh of the night. The city truly was flooded with the creatures.
Rhys watched the taillights of Lang’s car turn left at the light. “Does it matter? We’re walking, whether we like it or not.”
“Lead the way.”
They turned in the opposite direction and began walking. Silent, at first, then remarking on the streets they passed and the human traffic, which didn’t seem to slow, even so late at night. They passed many young people, but no other Grigori crossed their path. By the time they made it to the nondescript apartment building where Max kept a flat, Malachi was ready for a drink.
“Do you think he has beer?” he asked Rhys.
“You know, even without your memories, you’re still remarkably you.”
“And even though I don’t remember you, I know that statement should annoy me, and yet it doesn’t.”
The two scribes entered the building smiling, only to be met in the lobby by a muttered curse. Malachi lifted his eyes to see a stunning, dark-haired Irina, as tall as he was, though far better dressed. He didn’t know how he knew she was Irina. Some instinct drew him. Her aura radiated power.
“Ren, do you know where I put my—” Max stepped out of the stairwell, breaking off when he saw them. He halted in the act of wrapping a dark red scarf around his neck and practically shouted, “You’re here!” His smile made no mystery of their welcome. “We were just about to drive to Oslo house to find you.”
Max walked over and embraced Rhys, slapping him on the back, but Malachi’s eyes never left the woman that Max had called Ren.
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.”
Rhys watched the taillights of Lang’s car turn left at the light. “Does it matter? We’re walking, whether we like it or not.”
“Lead the way.”
They turned in the opposite direction and began walking. Silent, at first, then remarking on the streets they passed and the human traffic, which didn’t seem to slow, even so late at night. They passed many young people, but no other Grigori crossed their path. By the time they made it to the nondescript apartment building where Max kept a flat, Malachi was ready for a drink.
“Do you think he has beer?” he asked Rhys.
“You know, even without your memories, you’re still remarkably you.”
“And even though I don’t remember you, I know that statement should annoy me, and yet it doesn’t.”
The two scribes entered the building smiling, only to be met in the lobby by a muttered curse. Malachi lifted his eyes to see a stunning, dark-haired Irina, as tall as he was, though far better dressed. He didn’t know how he knew she was Irina. Some instinct drew him. Her aura radiated power.
“Ren, do you know where I put my—” Max stepped out of the stairwell, breaking off when he saw them. He halted in the act of wrapping a dark red scarf around his neck and practically shouted, “You’re here!” His smile made no mystery of their welcome. “We were just about to drive to Oslo house to find you.”
Max walked over and embraced Rhys, slapping him on the back, but Malachi’s eyes never left the woman that Max had called Ren.
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.”
