“Welcome,” Niran said, walking to the back of the truck to grab her suitcase. “I’m sure you’ll want time to wash and rest. A house has been prepared for you. It’s not modern—”
“I’m not modern,” Kyra said. She couldn’t stop turning to take in the forest around her. It was so quiet, yet so full of life. “Are there animals here?”
“Birds. A few deer. Pigs sometimes. Nothing dangerous.”
“Snakes?”
Niran smiled. “There are always snakes. And bugs. I hope you’re not afraid of them.”
“No more than is sensible.” She walked toward a fountain in the center of the courtyard and trailed her finger in the water, watching the shy goldfish dart away. “Plumbing?”
“We have a very nice bathhouse—men on one side, women on the other. We share that, but your room will have a pitcher and sink. You can refill at any of the fountains. The water is from a spring here, and it’s very good. We eat together in the evenings unless…”
Kyra said, “Unless there is conflict. Then some of your sisters will want to be alone.”
“Yes.” Niran appeared relieved. “You do understand.”
“I’m no different than they are.”
Niran stepped closer. “But you are. When I first saw you at the airport, I didn’t really believe that you were one of us even though Sirius had sent your picture. You didn’t appear to be in pain or cringing from people. When the cab drivers shouted at you, you simply walked away.”
“I couldn’t always do that. I used to hide from the world just like they do.”
Niran’s eyes shone. “My youngest sister, she reads books on mathematics that are beyond my comprehension. Her mind is beautiful and brilliant. She could do so much, but even going into the nearest village gives her seizures. Another sister is an artist so gifted she should study with masters. She has a gentle spirit and weaves the most intricate tapestries, but she cannot be around people without wanting to hurt them. We have a sister as fierce as any warrior in battle. She has tried to fight but cannot concentrate on her opponent. Anytime she is touched by a human—”
“The voices only get worse,” Kyra said. “I know all this. And you have to realize, this life I have”—she motioned to her suitcase—“this ability to travel, to be part of the world around me, it is very recent. Two years ago I was as sheltered as they are. My hearing is so acute that my own twin would have to leave me at times because when we’re together, my hearing amplifies.”
“Some would find a use for that.” Niran frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not offended.” She wasn’t. Exactly. But there was some uncomfortable emotion that pushed at the back of her throat and caused her heart to race.
“But this new magic the Irin taught you—”
“It’s not new. It is ancient.” Kyra’s voice rose. “It is what we should have been taught for generations. What we should have learned from our fathers if they had any care for us.”
Niran stepped closer. “Did your father harm you?”
Had he harmed her?
Kyra’s throat tightened. She wanted to scream. Wanted to rage. She didn’t allow herself.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m over two hundred years old,” she said carefully. “Far older than most of our kind. Now that my brother has severed his ties to the Fallen, he and I will die. They have no reason to give us the magic that could keep us alive. I live on borrowed time, Niran. I lived two hundred years as a prisoner, and just as I am tasting freedom, my life begins to wane.”
Niran’s eyes flashed, but he did not speak.
“I want to do something important before I die.” Kyra looked into the trees and saw the shadow of simple houses hidden in the brush. Windows, like dark eyes, looked back through the forest. She could feel their eyes. Sense their curiosity. She was being watched. “I don’t need to rest. Give me a moment to wash, and then I want to meet your sisters. I can help them.” She’d never felt so sure of herself. “I know I can.”
The girl was no more than thirteen. Her hair was straight, black, and chopped short to frame a round, pale face. She didn’t spend much time in the sun. Her full, round lips pursed for a moment before she let out a long sigh and relaxed into Kyra’s arms. Her eyes were closed and her cheek rested on Kyra’s leg as she sang along quietly with the song the kareshta was teaching her.
“Emetsam tarrea me. Kul-me shayen ya-ohme.” Kyra sang the spell to a playful tune, exactly the way Ava had taught her.
Shut the door in my mind. Give me peace this day.
It was the simplest of tunes, and the spell only lasted for a few hours, but it was enough to get some rest. Enough to silence the worst of the voices. Plus it worked quickly. It was the first spell Ava had taught her, and the one Kyra started all kareshta with. More complex shield spells could come later.
To begin? Peace.
The girl named Intira breathed out in one long exhale and fell into a deep sleep. Kyra sang over her for a few more minutes, then she eased the girl’s head onto the pillow near her leg and moved away. This was the youngest of Niran’s sisters. The one whose birth, Niran told her, had given them the final push to break free from their angelic sire no matter what the cost.
As Kyra rose and looked around the room, she felt profound wonder. Complex equations, the likes of which Kyra had never understood, covered the walls of the room. White plaster covered by black charcoal pencil marks, as complex and beautiful as the intricate tattoos that covered Niran’s arms. She looked at the neat stacks of books sitting by the girl’s pallet and the rolls of paper she used to write even more equations. A star map covered one wall, and a telescope perched delicately in the corner. Constellations were drawn around the windows.
Niran watched the girl as she slept, disbelief battling with wonder in his expression.
“How long will it last?” he asked, staring at his sister.
Kyra nodded toward the door and walked out, slipping on her shoes before she walked down the wooden stairs to the gravel path linking the forest houses.
“That spell lasts only few hours,” she said softly when Niran joined her.
“A few hours?”
“I can teach her more complex spells once she clears her mind, and I can guide her meditation. Those spells will last longer. It’s obvious she’s extremely bright, so—” Kyra nearly fell over when Niran grabbed her hands in both of his and bent over, pressing his forehead to her fingers in a deep bow.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I cannot…” His voice was hoarse. Thick with emotion. “Forgive my rudeness, but you have given her hours. She has never had hours before. You are a miracle. This is a miracle from the gods.”
“It’s not a miracle.” She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t accustomed to physical contact from men. Not unless they were related to her. Niran’s previous reservation was comfortable and safe.
“Anytime you need me, Kyra. All you have to do is ask.”
The memory of Leo’s voice threatened to break her. Leo was the opposite of comfortable and safe.
She was worn out. Exhausted. And Niran’s gratitude overwhelmed her. It was the only reason, she told herself, that her thoughts turned to “that damn scribe” again.
“I wrote you letters. Do you want to know what I wrote? I can tell you. I remember every word.”
“Everything isn’t possible… Not for me.”
“Forgive me,” Niran said again, releasing her hands and pulling back. Two spots of red colored his dark bronze cheeks. “I apologize. I don’t usually…”
“You are grateful for your sister,” Kyra said diplomatically. “I understand. I was also grateful when my Irina friends taught me. Shielding your mind is like finding a medicine that you never imagined existed.”
Niran nodded.
“I know you have more sisters,” Kyra said. “But for tonight, I think I need to rest.”
“Of course.” Niran motioned toward a
house farther along the path that led to the temple. It was already glowing with warm lamplight, and the smell of woodsmoke and spices scented the air. “Please rest, Kyra. We are so grateful you are here.”
Chapter Two
Bangkok, Thailand
Leo wasn’t even out the door when he felt the oppressive wall of humidity bearing down on him. He groaned inwardly. Though he’d been born in the far north, his chosen home for decades was Istanbul. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the warm Mediterranean city with his height, blue eyes, and sandy-blond hair, but Leo didn’t care. He loved the sunshine and the warmth. Loved the vibrancy and the energy of the city.
He didn’t love humidity.
“A desert,” he muttered, slipping on black sunglasses to protect his eyes from the glare. “One assignment in a desert would be welcome.”
As the youngest scribe in the house, Leo was frequently loaned out for missions. His cousin, Maxim, gathered intelligence for their watcher, but Leo was a foot soldier and an experienced one. In the previous year, he’d been called on to consult with various scribe houses around the world on how to develop relationships with the growing groups of free Grigori, sons of the Fallen who were trying to live more peaceful lives.
He walked out of the airport and paused on the covered sidewalk. He needed a haircut. His thick mane was hanging over his neck, and the weight of it had already gathered perspiration. His senses tuned to the crowd around him. Lots of Westerners mixed with local Thai and a crowd of Chinese tourists. Two hundred years of instinct could not be denied. He scanned the crowd for Grigori, who often gathered in areas where tourists dwelled, though they more often hunted at night.
Yes, there were free Grigori who tried to live peacefully, but there were still far more Grigori in thrall to their Fallen fathers. And even free Grigori had a tenuous relationship with the Irin.
Many had no other skills than hunting humans, so when they tried to reform, they turned their attention to hunting angels instead. It was a goal that aligned well with the Irin mandate of protecting humanity, but the process of turning former enemies into wary allies was far from smooth. The Istanbul house had taken the lead in their relationships with the free Grigori of the Eastern Mediterranean and had formed successful alliances. Other scribe houses around the world wanted to know how to do the same thing. Tel Aviv, Shanghai, New Orleans.
Now Bangkok.
Humid. Every single one of them.
A cacophony of languages swirled around him, slowly settling into streams of understandable conversations he could sort through.
The gentle cadence of Thai. The sharper tones of Mandarin. Threads of English and a little French.
“Leontios! Brother Leontios?”
Leo turned toward the unfamiliar female voice. “Leo.” He smiled and put his hands together in greeting toward the Irina who approached him. “Only Leo, please.”
She met his polite greeting with pressed hands and a polite nod. “It is very nice to have you in Bangkok, brother. May I help you with your luggage?”
“Not necessary. I only have this.” He kicked the duffel bag at his feet. “What may I call you, sister?”
She was small, but most women were compared to Leo, even Irina who tended to be taller than average. Her body moved with quick, efficient energy, and her black hair was cut in short layers around her face. Both things made Leo suspect the woman was a warrior. Her skin was a smooth, sun-kissed gold, but her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses like Leo’s, and he could see her scanning the crowd for threats.
“My name is Alyah. Were you waiting long?”
“What a beautiful name,” Leo said. “Alyah. I’ve never heard it before.”
She was impatient, but too polite to show it. “It’s not Thai. My mother was Malay. She named me after her mother.”
“It’s very beautiful.” Leo couldn’t stop his smile. He liked meeting people, particularly new Irina, who—he was forced to admit—still left him a bit tongue-tied. He’d spent the majority of his life believing most of the Irina were gone. Women of his own kind were still a novelty. “It’s nice to meet you, Alyah.”
Impatience gave way to amusement, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “It’s very nice to meet you too. Leo…?”
“Just Leo.” He lifted his duffel bag to his shoulder. “Should we go? Please tell me you’re driving. I’ve never grown comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“You mean the correct side?”
“You remind me of my sister Ava,” Leo said. “I suspect that the Bangkok house will feel very much like home.”
“I hope it will,” Alyah said. She maneuvered through the crowd, walking toward the packed parking lot in the distance. “We’re very grateful you were able to come so quickly. Thailand has not had a focused Grigori threat in years. There were still random predators preying on tourists, but Anurak’s reputation—along with Dara’s leadership—kept the population from growing.”
“I know that Anurak is on the Elder Council,” Leo said. “Is he also the watcher here?” It would be unusual for an elder to head a scribe house as well as serve on the council in Vienna. They reached a small silver Honda that Leo prayed he wouldn’t have to bend himself in half to enter.
“Officially? Yes.” Alyah clicked the remote on her keys, and the car chirped in response. “Unofficially, his mate, Dara, has led the scribes and singers in Bangkok for decades. She and her brother share duties, but she’s a brilliant strategist even though she no longer fights. The warriors follow her gladly.”
“An Irina watcher in a scribe house?” Leo’s smile grew. “Perhaps I can learn as much from the Bangkok scribe house as you can learn from me.”
“I hope you can.” Alyah got behind the wheel, and Leo opened the passenger door.
He didn’t have to fold in half, but it was close.
“As I said,” Alyah continued, “we have not had a focused Grigori threat in years, much less a Fallen flexing his power. And yet in the span of a year, it appears we have both.”
“Grigori presence and one of the Fallen?” Leo asked. “It’s likely the two are related. If there’s some shift in Fallen territory, the angel could be increasing his offspring in order to fight off a challenger.”
“That would be the most logical conclusion. The problem is these Grigori are the sons of an angel we know to be dead. The Fallen is pressing east from Myanmar. We’re not sure if these Grigori are acting in collusion with him or not. They could be looking for protection and power since their own father is gone—”
“Or free Grigori just trying to live their lives,” Leo said.
“The lack of attacks in their city lead us to hope,” Alyah said. “But until we know more, Dara and Rith need to know more about free Grigori and how to approach them. Some in the house are willing to give them a chance, but there is no agreement.”
Alyah maneuvered the car through the traffic of the parking lot, pausing to let pedestrians and scooters shoot across the lanes.
“One thing you’ll need to consider,” Leo said, “is whether or not they are protecting kareshta.”
“Kareshta?”
“Female Grigori,” Leo said. “In my experience, free Grigori are as protective of their sisters as the Irin. How long has the Fallen who sired them been dead? Do they have children in their group?”
Alyah had stopped to let a group of tourists cross the road, but she didn’t move forward again until a waiting driver honked behind her.
“Alyah?”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” she said. “We received the mandate after the Battle of Vienna like everyone else. ‘Scribe houses are charged to find and protect any female offspring of the Fallen who seek shelter or succor from their sires.’ I read it, but…”
“You don’t really believe it?”
Her chin went up. “I’ve never seen one. I’ve been a warrior for over one hundred years, and I’ve never seen a female Grigori.”
Leo said quietly, “Probably beca
use most of them are killed.”
Alyah’s jaw tightened as she left the parking lot and maneuvered through traffic. “Why?”
“They call themselves kareshta,” Leo said. “The silent ones. Only the ones who learn to be silent survive to adulthood.” It was a sad litany he’d repeated many times in the previous two years. “And they are killed for three primary reasons. First, they serve no purpose for the Fallen because the Fallen will not use them as fighters. Second, they are considered a threat because their magic is uncontrolled. And third, they don’t instinctively hunt humans as Grigori do. So they are killed.”
Alyah steered the car onto the highway, joining the late-afternoon rush of commuters filling the roads. “I have more questions.”
“We all do.”
Rěkaves, Czech Republic
One year earlier
Leo watched her glide across the courtyard of the castle, nodding at the solemn guard before she climbed the staircase to the walkway along the eastern wall. She spoke to no one, and no one seemed to bother her. There was an air of aloofness that surrounded her. It wasn’t anything she intentionally projected, but it was as clear to others as her dark hair, luminous skin, and crystalline gold eyes.
Kyra was other.
Leo’s heart ached for her.
His body ached too, but he was ignoring that for the moment. She was so alone. He’d hoped, after the Battle of Vienna, that she would find her freedom. Hoped that she’d break free of the shell she’d been forced into for survival as his watcher’s mate, Ava, had done. He wanted her to explore the heart of who she was and who she wanted to be, but all evidence pointed to her still residing in a self-imposed prison.
His feet followed her steps, up the stairs and along the top of the wall.
It was none of his business.
He’d told himself that for months.
She was none of his concern.
He’d written letters to her, in the care of her brother, which was the only address he had. They’d all been returned unopened. After the third one, Kostas had called Leo’s watcher and told him to desist.