The Singer

Jeremiah and Lang exchanged looks, and Malachi felt some of the tension lessen between them.

Lang said, “We have had no word from Istanbul. Your house burned in a Grigori attack?”

“We have had little news of any kind from Vienna,” Jeremiah said. “When did this happen?”

“Months ago,” Rhys said. “We know it was reported to the council, but someone is keeping it quiet.”

Leo stepped forward and said, “Please, brother, does the fire still burn in this house?”

The ancient plea for hospitality must have moved the watcher and his scribes. Or perhaps they were as cold as Malachi. Lang exchanged a look with both the men at his side, but especially Jeremiah, who gave a small nod.

“Yes,” he finally said. “The fire still burns for our brothers. You may shelter here.”

Malachi and Rhys responded at once. “We offer our strength to defend this house.”

“Your offer is accepted.”

Lang opened the door and let them in.

“I don’t know what to think,” Lang said, his shoulders slumping a little as the four scribes warmed themselves by a large fire in the front room. Jeremiah and the other scribe, who introduced himself as Ari, had retreated to the back of the house.

“Why did you call for help from London?”

“The Grigori have been swarming the city. In the last week, we’ve had a rush of attacks. I have six scribes here at the house, and they’ve all been patrolling every night, yet we’re still losing human women to the attacks. Then a few nights ago, Jeremiah’s mate, Chelsea, arrived with the other Irina, so I’ve kept Jeremiah and Ari here at the house guarding them while the others are out trying to cover even more territory. We’re overwhelmed.”

“So you called to London?” Rhys asked. “Stockholm would be the closest house, wouldn’t it?”

“We normally have a good relationship with Stockholm house, but for some reason, they haven’t returned my e-mails or calls as they normally would. Something is going on, but I don’t have anyone to send to them.”

“So you called London. They said they were sending help?”

Lang nodded. “Then, when Chelsea showed up, I almost considered calling them back and canceling, but I know the Watcher in London. We’ve… discussed some of the council debates in Vienna, and we’re of the same mind. I thought I could trust him. I hope I can, especially with Irina here now. Forgive me, Rhys. I didn’t want to be suspicious, but you have to understand how—”

“Please.” Rhys raised a hand. “Your brother’s mate brought others here for safety, including a child. Extra caution is understandable.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Leo added.

Malachi asked, “Did Chelsea say what was happening with the other Irina who’d been at Sarihöfn? Did she know where any were going?”

“She didn’t. I’m sure the less each knew about the others’ actions, the safer they all were. She did say Sari was staying back with her mate and a few others to secure the compound before they moved.”

Leo turned to Malachi. “I’m sure Ava would stay with them. Damien wouldn’t let her leave without him.”

“Ava? Is that your mate’s name?” Lang asked. There was a frown on his face.

“Yes, that is my mate’s name. Why?”

Lang was still frowning. “That name seems familiar.”

Rhys, Leo, and Malachi exchanged looks.

“Jeremiah?” Lang called.

They heard footsteps, then Jeremiah’s head popped around the corner. “Yes?”

“The American Irina. The one Brooke and Candice were talking about. What was her name?”

“Um… Ana? No, Ava. It was Ava.” Jeremiah’s eyes swung to Malachi. “Is she your mate? No, she can’t be.”

Lang asked, “Why not? How many Irina named Ava would be at Sarihöfn? It has to be her.”

“No…” Jeremiah stepped into the room, suspicion clear on his face. “Brooke said that Ava was widowed. That she was grieving her mate.”

Lang sprang to his feet and Rhys stood to meet him, holding up his hands.

“There was a mistake. He’s not lying. Malachi is her mate, but he’s not dead. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try,” Jeremiah said. “Because if he is truly her mate then she would know beyond a shadow of a doubt if he was living or dead. That is not something any Irin could confuse.”

Rhys looked at Malachi, then at Leo. Both of them nodded. “You have trusted us. Taken us into your home, even as you shelter your own Irina here. We give you our trust, in kind.”

Malachi rose, pulling up his sleeves to reveal his arms. He’d added to his talesm in Vienna, but they still only reached to the bicep on his left arm. A shadow of his old talesm could be seen on his right arm if he looked closely, but they were barely visible. Lang and Jeremiah halted, their aggression fading at the unexpected sight.

“I… I don’t understand,” Lang said. “How old are you?”

“That,” Rhys said, “is a somewhat complicated question.”

Malachi spoke, keeping his voice low. “I am over four hundred years old. This body, however, is… somewhat newer.”

Silence. Neither Lang nor Jeremiah were able to say a word.

Leo said, “We don’t know how it happened. He was killed. Max and Damien saw it with their own eyes. Ava did, as well. We saw her grief, and it was horrible. He was dead. But then… he came back. We don’t know how.”