The Secret (3 page)

A human job might seem like a vacation.

Ava shrugged. “There’s an offer from a magazine, but nothing tempting.”

“Where is it? Would it be possible for us to go? I can go with you.”

“No.” She curled her lip. “I mean, it’d be possible. I just don’t want to do it.”

Malachi frowned. It bothered him that her life had been so disrupted. He couldn’t remember what they had planned before they’d been separated, but he knew that she had a life outside of him, and he didn’t want her to lose it.

“What would you be doing now?” he asked. “If you’d never met me? If all this hadn’t happened.”

Ava shut off her phone and looked at him. “I don’t know. Traveling. Taking pictures. Going to more doctors? Hiding somewhere remote so I wouldn’t go crazy.”

His voice dropped, not that he thought the driver was eavesdropping over the pulsing pop music blasting on the speakers. “Is it better than last time?”

“The voices?” she asked softly, reaching for his hand. “Yes. Much better.”

“Good.”

At least she was using her magic to shield herself. It hadn’t been an issue in Germany, but they’d been in the country. He’d worried about her being back among humans, especially in a crowded city like Istanbul. Her refusal to use magic could be a liability to her safety, and no matter how much he could protect her body, there was only so much he could do to help her mind.

“Being with you has always helped. Any kind of contact…” She threaded their fingers together and picked up her phone again. “It makes life much more bearable.”

Malachi tugged her toward him, and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was a small thing for him to do. A small thing for her to give him. But she let herself lean on him, and he was content. She continued scrolling through her inbox, reading and deleting things as he turned back to watch the city inch by.

Istanbul was achingly familiar. In the puzzle of his mind, he still had more blanks than complete pictures.
 

A few things were clear. Summer holidays as a child. Portions of his schooling. Running with his father in the evenings. His remembered that his father had loved to run.

But so much was still empty. He occasionally caught pieces when Ava would say something or he recognized something familiar, but he hoped being back in Istanbul would jog more memories. Especially those of when he and Ava had first met.

“How does it feel?” she asked. “Being back.”

“Good.” He smiled. “And warmer.”

“No complaints about that.”

They’d spent the Christmas holidays in Germany. The Irin didn’t celebrate Christmas as the humans did, but he’d bought Ava a tree and hung some lights. The Irin
did
celebrate midwinter holidays, but Malachi had little memory of what to do. They were supposed to sing songs, but he didn’t remember them. They were supposed to hang lights too. There should have been candles and laughter. But all those memories peeked into his mind before running away.

So they’d celebrated Christmas, and he’d made her a dish that he thought his mother had made, though he’d had to look the recipe up online. It hadn’t tasted right, but it was better than nothing.

Heavy clouds hung over the city, and he was glad that Leo had told him the roof of the scribe house was already repaired.

“Jasper sent me an e-mail,” she said. “Or his manager did.”

“Oh?” Malachi honed in on any mention of her father. They still needed to talk about Jasper Reed. He had been reluctant to bring the subject up, but he knew Rhys wanted Ava to get in contact with Reed to ask about the grandmother she’d been named after.
 

Her bloodlines were still a mystery.

Irin tradition told that magical ability passed through the mother’s line. Only an Irina could give birth to someone with Ava’s power. And from what the Irina of Sarihöfn said, Ava had plenty of raw power.

But her mother wasn’t Irina. Not in any sense. Rhys had even asked a friend in Los Angeles to trail Lena Matheson in order to confirm what Ava had told them. Malachi hadn’t told her yet, but the scribe in California was certain Lena didn’t have even a hint of angelic blood.

Ava’s paternal line was the only option.

“What did your father say?”

“I talked to his manager. Luis said the usual. Jasper’s really busy. Blah blah blah. Crazy tour schedule. He’ll call when he can. You know.”

“No.” He frowned. “I don’t. I thought you said you hadn’t seen your father in a year and a half.”

“I haven’t,” she muttered, still scrolling through her phone. “We probably should have gone to that concert in Vienna, but…”

“Forget Vienna. Your father is still in Europe?”

“For the next few months. He’ll be in Italy, I think. Then France. There may be a concert or two in Spain. I’m not sure. Then he’ll go back to his recording studio in LA.”

“But right now, he is in Europe?”

“Yeah.”

“And you are here.”

“Obviously.”

Malachi still didn’t understand. “But Istanbul is not far. He is traveling anyway. Why doesn’t he simply fly to see you?”

She only shrugged.

It baffled Malachi. Irin children were rare and treasured because of it. Fathers and mothers both doted on them, especially when they were young. Scribes were expected to stay close to their families when a child was small, even if they were warriors, as Malachi’s father had been. The few memories he’d recovered of his parents were precious.

But though Ava had a close relationship with her mother, her father and stepfather were both distant.

It was something he would never understand. Should they have children, Malachi couldn’t envision being disinterested. The thought of Ava bearing his children brought only feelings of excitement.

“Did we speak of having children?”

She looked up from her phone. “Not… specifically. You told me Irin children were rare.”

“They are. But most couples are able to have one or sometimes even two.”

He saw her color rise. “Are you saying you want children with me?”

“Of course.” He had the privilege of a mate when few other Irin males did. Of course he wanted a family as well. “Do you not want children?”

“I…” She glanced at the driver. “Could we talk about it another time?”

“If we must.” His stomach felt like lead. He’d never considered that Ava might not want children, though he knew many human women chose not to have them.

“Hey.” Her voice softened. “It’s not something I thought about. Before, I mean. When I thought… you know.”

When she thought she’d been mentally ill. Malachi nodded. Ava probably would not have considered herself a suitable mother then.
 

He put an arm around her. “We have time.”

“I know.”

They had centuries if they wanted them. A thousand years to be together. Maybe longer. Many Irin mates broke up the centuries of life by spending significant time apart. It only made reunions sweeter, and they always had their time together in dream-walks.
 

Malachi didn’t want to be apart from Ava. He guessed he could have centuries and still hunger for her.

If they managed to survive.

As if thinking the same thing, she asked, “Still no sign of Grigori in the city?”

“None. Volund depleted his forces in Oslo, and there don’t seem to be any rushing to fill the void. Have you had any more visions?”

“Still the same.”

Jaron walked with her at night. He could sense the fallen angel’s presence but not see him. Not hear him as Ava did. Malachi had never said anything to Ava, but it infuriated him that he was powerless to stop the intrusion of the Fallen into her mind. He could protect her body—would protect it with his life—but he could do nothing to guard her mind.
 

In that, she was completely alone.

THEY pulled up to the house in Beyoğlu fifteen minutes later. Leo was standing at the front step, enjoying the morning sun with coffee in hand. He grinned when he spotted them turn the corner in the cab. The old house stood in the background, scarred from the fire Volund’s Grigori had started, but slowly coming back to life.

“Sister!” Leo held out his arms as Malachi helped Ava out of the taxi. She ran to him, and the big man enfolded her in his embrace. Malachi felt no twinge of jealousy at their contact. His brothers had been the ones to take care of his mate when he’d been gone.

But he did envy their familiarity.

“I can’t believe it!” Ava said. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“I have not. I promise.”

“No, you have. I know it.”

Leo smiled at Malachi. “You’ve just been spending too much time with this midget.”

Malachi chuckled. He was above average height for most Turks due to his mother’s German heritage, but Leo and his cousin Maxim were from Northern blood. They towered over all the other scribes in the house at well over six and a half feet.

Rhys appeared at the door, and Malachi walked over to him after paying the driver and grabbing their bags.

“We didn’t know you were coming,” Rhys said.

“She worries.” Malachi stopped and set down their bags before he spoke a question that popped into his mind, as familiar as please and thank you. “Does the fire still burn in this house?”

“It does.” Rhys’s mouth spread into a grin. His eyes darted between Malachi and Ava, who had come to stand at his side. “And you are welcome to its light. You and your own.”

“Rhys!” Ava held out her arms, and Malachi let her go and watched as the dark-haired scholar embraced her.

“Welcome home, sister.”

“I missed you guys.”

“We kept the fire burning.”

The fire that burned in the ritual room of each scribe house was sacred. The fire of Istanbul had burned continually since the house had been founded during the Byzantine era. The scribe house had been torn down. Moved. Rebuilt. But the fire remained the same. Combined with magic, Irin fire could heal, and it was necessary to the scribes who tended it. Rhys had risked his life to save coals from the hearth when the wooden house had burned the year before, knowing the human firefighters would extinguish it with their modern equipment.

The fire still burned. The history was intact. And Malachi felt another key turn in the vault of his mind.

Visions of shadows and light. Candles flickering against carved walls. The tight burning pain as the needle hit his skin. He hissed, looking down at the intricate
talesm
that rose on his right forearm.

“Malachi?” Ava turned to him and noticed it. “Your arm. What—?”

“I just remembered writing it,” he said quietly. “In the ritual room here. It was right after I’d met you. I’d been tempted, and I still thought you were human. I wanted to touch you, but…”

Rhys looked down, his scholar’s eyes keen on the mark. “It’s a spell of focus. To enhance self-control. Very well done, brother.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it painful?”

He nodded. “Like I’ve just tattooed it.”

“Hmm.” Rhys cocked his head and pulled Malachi and Ava into the foyer of the house. Leo followed them until they were away from prying eyes. “It’s very likely that your
talesm
will reappear with your memories. They may be tied to specific places. You had the memory here, and the spell reappeared. It seems to be complete, though I don’t know if you’ll be able to access this magic since it is not connected to your
talesm prim.”

Malachi’s newly scribed
talesm prim
was on his left wrist. The original it replaced had been the first spell he’d ever tattooed on himself, the one that tapped into his natural magic and let him control it better. As he’d grown older, more spells had been added. But when he’d died, they’d died with him. When he’d returned, it was as if he’d been reborn.
 

To date, he’d only recovered a portion of the magic on his left forearm; the recovered spell was on his right.

“There are these as well.” He pushed up his sleeve and showed Rhys the spells that had first reappeared during his dream-walks with Ava. Shadows of his former magic, lurking like smudges beneath his skin. They were sporadic. Patchy.

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t show us these? When did this happen?”

Malachi glanced at Ava. “When she sang to me,” he said. “In our dreams.”

She bit the corner of her lip. “But I’m not singing to you anymore.”

He pushed Rhys and Leo away from examining his arm and pulled Ava to the side. Speaking quietly, he said, “When you are ready, you will sing to me.”

“But—”

“There is no rush,
reshon
. We are protected here. My strength is returning on its own. Your magic is
yours
. You must make the decision to use it when you feel safe.”

She nodded, but her mouth was still downturned.

“Smile, Ava.” He touched her chin. “We are home.”

“Don’t tell me to smile when you’re still not whole.”

He swallowed the pain. He wasn’t whole. He wasn’t the man she’d once loved. He was different. Damaged.