The Singer (3 page)

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, reaching for the door handle, suddenly eager to explore. He halted when Ibrahim’s arm shot out.

“Wait.” The old man reached for his wallet. “I like you. Take a little money, just so I’m not so worried, eh?”

“I don’t—”

“Please, take it.” He held out some notes. “I’ll give you my card. If you want, you’ll pay me back when you find your people. But Allah would not be pleased if I sent you away with nothing. Take enough to be safe for a day or two, okay? And you’ll have my phone number, too.”

Touched by the man’s generosity, Malachi smiled. “You are a good man, Ibrahim. And you tell very good jokes, even though I didn’t understand all of them.”

Ibrahim roared with laughter. “Well, you have brain damage! What can I expect?”

A few minutes later, Malachi waved as Ibrahim drove down the road, then he turned and searched for the restaurant. He walked slowly, hoping that, somehow, things would start to make sense. As he passed the restaurant, he caught the edge of a sign for a rug shop and knew he’d walked by it before.

She swung her arms as she walked, and Malachi let his brush against her. Just the brush of contact. Just so she knew…

He turned right, then right again at a cafe with a cracked window.

She stopped, her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she caught the tenor of his thoughts. Embarrassment, but desire, too. He knew she wanted him…

Up the hill he climbed, until he’d left the shops behind and the streets were filled with stone houses. A striped cat walked along the top of a wall, following him as he searched for clues. At each intersection, he’d see something.

An orange tree that tilted to one side.

A wall with colorful graffiti no one cared to paint over.

An abandoned cupboard with grass growing through the bottom.

Each turn led him up the hill and
 
farther away from the town center, but with each step, his sense of familiarity grew.

She was chatting about something with a dark-haired man. Laughing at some joke he wasn’t a part of. He was irritated by their ease together.

At the end of the road, a house rose into the cliffs. Or, he should say, a group of houses. There were buildings stacked at the base and rooms carved into the cliffs with stairs leading up. A wall surrounded the old compound, but no graffiti covered it. Trees grew over the walls and he could hear voices whispering within. He didn’t recognize the language.

Here
.

She was here. She had to be.

Malachi stepped up to the large wooden door in the wall and lifted the knocker, banging it down as the voices beyond the wall stopped. There were shuffling steps, then an old man opened the gate.

“Yes? How can I—sweet heaven!”

Malachi stood speechless as the old man’s face paled. His eyes were like saucers.

“Hello?”

“It can’t be…,” the man breathed out.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I… I think I—”

“You’re dead.” The man stepped back, and fear rose in his eyes. “You’re
dead
.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“What are you?”

“What?” Fear twisted Malachi’s heart. Perhaps he’d been wrong to come here.

The old man’s hands shook. “You wear the face of a dead man.”

“I don’t understand—”

“What
are
you?”

Anger rose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m
not
dead, obviously. I just don’t remember—”

“Malachi?” The awestruck voice came from behind the old man.
 

Malachi raised his eyes to see the dark-haired man he’d seen in his memories. “I remember you.”

The other man’s eyes were also filled with fear. But it was a fear mixed with hope. “They said you were dead.”

“Who did? I don’t know what’s going on. Who—”
 

“It can’t be.” The dark-haired man stepped forward, his arm raised. He reached for Malachi, confusion written wide on his face. “They saw you die. Your dust rose. She felt your loss…” The man’s fingers touched Malachi’s shoulder and gripped. “You’re real. How are you real?”

A thick emotion filled his throat, and his eyes burned. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I need to find her.”

Another voice rose in a shout. “No!” The sound of running steps, then a tall blond man stood in front of him, mouth gaping. “No, I saw you die.”

“Maxim,” the dark-haired one said. “Are you sure?”

“How can you even ask me that?” he cried. “We all saw him die, Rhys. You saw her grieve. This is something… This is not our brother!”

She grieved… For him?
Fear and shock and anger wrestled within him. Malachi said, “I don’t know who your brother is, I just need to find her. Where is she?”

“You will not hurt her!” the blond man yelled. “Whatever
thing
you are, you’ll keep away from—”

“But Max”—the dark-haired man named Rhys stepped between his friend and Malachi—“if it
is
him—”

“It can’t be!”

“What if it is?” He held the blond man back by the shoulders. “What if some miracle—”

“
Miracle?
Is this the time of the ancients? This is evil. Evil wearing the face of our—”

“I need to find my wife!” Malachi roared. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who I am. But I know I heard her. Heard her calling me to come back to her. I just need to—”

“What?” Rhys had frozen, turning to look at Malachi, even as he continued to hold Maxim back. “What did she say?”

“I said, I need to find—”

“No,” he hissed. “What did
she
say?”

“I don’t—”

“When you heard her”—Rhys stepped closer, looking Malachi in the eye—“what did she
say
?”

Malachi tried to calm his racing heart. “
Vashama canem.
She said, ‘Come back to me.’”

All the color drained from Rhys’s face. “Heaven above.”

Chapter Two

Nordfjord, Norway

Ava was still sleeping when the car came to a stop. She clenched her eyes shut, holding on to the safety of silence for as long as she could.

“Ava.”

Damien knew she was awake. The man had preternatural senses that never switched off. Ava had decided he was like a weird combination of the most overprotective dad and big brother in history. Which, being the only child of a mother who saw her more as a peer than a child, was a new and interesting experience.

She snuggled into the down-filled jacket under her cheek and ignored him.

“Open your eyes. I know you’re awake. It’s going to rain in about fifteen minutes, and I’d like to start up the trail before it pours.”

She lifted her head and turned to him, speaking in a scratchy voice. “I never would have let you talk me into this in Turkey if I hadn’t been such a mess.”

“But you did, and now we’re here. Get your jacket on.”

She caught him looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Looks like someone’s nervous to see the wifey,” she muttered.

“Ah, look. Acid-tongued Ava is back. I missed her so much while she slept.” Damien gave her a droll look. “Wait, no I didn’t.”

“You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

“Would you like to go back to Oslo?” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to her. “Go ahead. Hope you can outrun Volund’s Grigori. Maybe you can scream again if they get close. Or maybe not. You’d pass out and hurt yourself if you did that.”

“Shut up.”

“Or maybe you can follow me and stop acting like a child.”

“Stop trying to manage me,” she croaked, her voice dry from sleep.

“For now you need to be managed.”

She licked her lips and Damien held up a bottle of water. Ava took it, drank, then handed it back, noticing the extra-grim expression on his face. Slightly mollified by the water, she softened her tone.

“Hey, Captain Sunshine, shouldn’t you be happier than this? You’re going to see your wife at the end of that trail.”

Damien only stared into the thick trees that surrounded them. “A piece of advice—Sari doesn’t like the word wife.”

“Why not?” Ava knew the Irin used the word “mate” more than wife, but she’d heard the scribes in Turkey use both on occasion.

“She was born in a time when the human term ‘wife’ implied property.” Then a rare smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “And Sari is no male’s property. Now get your shoes on and lace them up tight. I don’t know everything that will meet us on that trail, but I do know this: there will be mud.”

They were somewhere in rural Norway, surrounded by blue and green. Steep green mountains laced with waterfalls cut against the clear blue sky. Blue-green water from the glacier melt. Ava knew they were somewhere in the fjords, but she wasn’t sure where.
 

The plane had taken them to Paris, then Berlin, then Damien had found a car and started driving. He didn’t tell her where, but she could read the signs. They’d headed west, then north. Through Hamburg and into Denmark. They’d taken a ferry that landed them in Bergen, then after a brief sleep in a small hotel, they’d started driving again.

Through mountain highways and on smaller ferries, they’d driven farther and farther into the Scandinavian countryside. Towns were quickly overcome by wilderness and an utter sense of isolation that Ava found comforting and frightening in equal measure. As she stepped out of the car, she felt as if she and Damien were the last two people on earth.

There was nothing but trees, sky, and a biting wind that carried the promise of rain.

She shivered, not only from the cold but also the memories of her dreams. Every night she dreamed of a dark forest. She thought she heard him, calling for her, running through the trees, trying to get back to her. In her dreams, she’d call for him, but no one would come. And then she’d weep the tears she no longer allowed herself in her waking hours. When she woke, they were cold on her face.

Ava locked away her grief and focused on the task ahead. Damien was pulling a backpack from the trunk of the small car they’d pulled over to the side of the road. She looked around into the forest.

“Is the car going to be safe here?”

“It will be fine. She’ll send someone down for it if she decides to let us stay. I know they keep some cars there, so they must have a place to park them out of the weather.”

“What do you mean, ‘if she decides to let us stay’?”

He shrugged. “She’ll allow you to stay, I’m sure, but she won’t want me.” He couldn’t hide the pain that crossed his face as he said, “She’ll be angry I showed up without an invitation.”

“But you said that you wouldn’t leave me here.” A wild flutter of panic filled her chest. Damien
 
might have been the grumpiest travel companion she’d ever had, but she knew him. And she knew he’d saw off his right arm to keep her safe. “You promised—”

“Yes, I did.” He narrowed his eyes. “You let me worry about Sari. I’m not going anywhere.”

He buttoned up his jacket and threw on the pack. Then he walked over and tightened up the drawstring around her neck. “It’s colder here than you’re used to.”

“I’ve been in cold weather before.”

He shook his head. “Not like here.”

Ava batted his hand away and sneered. “Actually, exactly like here. A magazine sent me to the fjords a couple of years ago to cover a new luxury hotel that was built to be completely self-sustaining. And that was in November. I get it. It’s cold and wet and the weather changes in five minutes. Now stop fussing and let’s walk.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” Ava couldn’t let his concern weaken her. She’d allowed herself to be soft and trusting with one man. She’d given him everything and he’d died. It wouldn’t happen again.

The path was steep, climbing up one of the narrow valleys cut by glaciers at the dawn of time. Thick forest surrounded them, and the well-worn path quickly turned muddy when the rain began to fall. Ava saw no signs of life. No tire tracks or footprints. The only indication they weren’t completely alone was the occasional rustle in the forest that could have been an animal… or something more.

Damien walked with grim purpose, never ceasing, turning only to check that she was still with him. Luckily, Ava had always been a good hiker. Her years of work in remote places left her as comfortable outdoors as she was in the city. The boots she wore were almost a carbon copy of the ones she kept in her room at her mother’s house, only less worn. She marched with Damien, never slowing as they climbed.

They’d almost reached the crest of a hill when she saw him stumble. Damien halted for a second, then took a step back, his foot sliding in the mud.

“Damien?”

“Keep walking.” His voice sounded strained. “Just keep walking, Ava.”

She walked closer, noticing that the strain in his voice was evident on his face, too. “What’s going on?”

“You can’t hear it?”