Damien returned to his side after delivering his petition to Rafael’s secretary.
“Brother,” Malachi said, “I have an idea.”
“Oh?” Damien leaned against the railing and stared at the fresco on the ceiling. “Does it involve anything that will help pass the time? Because I’ve been staring at Leoc and Ariel’s naked asses for more hours than I’d care to count in the past two weeks.”
“Is there any way to make a call from here?”
“Of course. There are telephones in the hall outside.”
“You want attention directed to the Irina problem, do you not?”
“Yes.”
Malachi’s eyes scanned the abandoned Irina desks along the edges of the room before they came back to Damien.
“Exactly how much attention would you like to attract?”
Chapter Sixteen
IT HAD BEEN YEARS since Ava had visited Vienna. At the time, she’d been on an assignment covering the numerous historic cemeteries in the city. She hadn’t spent much time at the Hofburg other than when she passed through on the way to her hotel.
“What are we doing again?”
Sari flashed a grin at her. “Causing trouble.”
“Oh, that sounds like a great idea.”
Mala caught Ava’s eyes and rolled her own, clearly along for the ride but not as enthusiastic as Sari was.
“Where’s Orsala?”
“I believe she is the designated person taking the high road in this scheme. Therefore she’s at the archives today.”
“You know,” Ava said, “this just sounds worse the more you explain it.”
“It was your mate’s idea.”
“I love him like crazy, but you should know that Malachi”—Ava was out of breath trying to keep up with the two taller women—“can be a reckless troublemaker. Assuming Damien hasn’t told you that already.”
Sari said, “I knew I liked him.”
“He got killed once. Just in case you’ve forgotten that part. Not too interested in repeating that experience, you know?”
“Nothing dangerous today,” Sari said as they turned the corner into an empty courtyard. “Just tweaking the noses of some old men with superiority complexes and making a statement.”
“Oh.” They stopped at a door flanked by two potted hydrangea blooming a brilliant blue despite the winter chill. “Well, that sounds like fun.”
Sari paused and turned to Ava. “You’re not too American about nudity, are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Communal baths. Do they bother you?”
“No.” She shrugged. “I love the hamam, so—”
“This is actually quite similar. You’ll be fine.”
Mala and Sari rang a discreet bell, waited for the door to buzz, and pushed it open. Ava walked through to see a wide-eyed attendant and a suspicious guard who gave Mala a run for her money in the fierce department. She was tall and blond, carrying a staff that looked well used. She saw the guard eying Mala in particular, and Ava was grateful Sari had convinced her sister to leave her weapon at home.
The attendant stammered, “We were not expecting—”
“We have come for the ritual bath before we enter the gallery,” Sari said smoothly. “It is my sister’s first time in Vienna.”
Ava didn’t correct her. The guard eyed them warily before she searched their bags. Back at Sari and Damien’s town house, Mala had given Ava a linen shift, strips of cloth to bind her breasts if she wanted them, and a high-necked robe. Ava had tucked all this in her old messenger bag and tried to sneak her camera in, but Mala had caught her and forced her to hand it over.
They left their shoes near the door and entered a marble bathing room that reminded Ava very much of the hamams in Istanbul. Grey marble benches lined the circular room. A seven-sided pool was in the center, and steam wafted into the air. It was humid and damp, lit only by oil lamps embedded in the wall. No electric light touched her skin as she undressed and stowed her bag in an intricately woven basket the attendant provided.
Mala and Sari disrobed beside her, obviously at ease with the ceremony of the bath. Ava simply followed their example.
“We bathe here before we pray,” Sari said quietly. “The ritual bath is to cleanse your spirit and calm your mind.”
Ava heard Mala take a deep breath before she immersed herself in the water. Sari hummed a quiet song as she closed her eyes and floated. Ava let the magic flow through her as she listened. She still didn’t understand all the words of the Old Language, but she could sense the power behind them. Almost as one, the three women’s mating marks lit on their skin as Sari’s chanting grew stronger.
Mala’s shone incandescent against her dark skin, no less beautiful for the mourning collar painted thick around her scarred neck. Sari’s were a luminous glow against her pale skin. And Ava’s shone clearly, the edges seared black against the olive tones of her skin. She looked down.
Her skin tone had always been a bit of a mystery, considering her parents were both fair. But with her father’s family history being unknown, she’d never thought about it much.
“My grandmother is Persian,” she said quietly.
“Ah.” Sari tucked a wet lock of hair behind Ava’s ear. “Yes, I can see that.”
Mala signed something.
Sari said, “Mala asked if you look like her.”
“Maybe a little. But she’s much more beautiful.”
Mala poured an almond-scented oil over Ava’s hair, helping her to work it through the heavy mass while Sari rubbed her shoulders with a soap scented with amber.
“These are beautiful,” Sari said, running a finger over Ava’s shoulder where her mating marks gleamed. She could feel Mala turning her back to examine the marks there. “Malachi has a steady hand.” She grinned as she ran the amber soap over her own skin. “Damien was so nervous on our mating night—I think a few of mine are barely readable.”
Mala pointed to a faint mark on her hip as Sari and Ava turned to help her wash.
“Zander completely smudged that one,” Mala signed as Sari translated. “He was so impatient. I’m amazed any of them dried properly before he attacked me.” Mala smiled. “I was his first woman. His only woman. He was very eager.”
Ava had never heard Mala talk about her lost mate, but in the darkness of the bathhouse, no topic seemed off-limits.
“My grandmother is in a mental institution,” Ava whispered. “She’s pretty much insane.”
Mala signed with fierce movements. “She is not insane. She’s only lived in the human world too long. We will find a way to help her.”
“She is, though,” Ava said. “More than me. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you. I promise. Just not today.”
Sari took her hand and led her out of the bath after they’d all dipped in the water to wash the excess oil and soap from their bodies.
“We’ll help them all,” Sari said. “But to do that, we need standing again. That’s partly why we’re here. Come to the prayer room. Sing with me.”
Ava did. She sat cross legged before a low fire, linking her hands with the two women at her side while Sari chanted a song that made Ava’s heart fly. In that moment, she had no question where she belonged. No matter whose blood ran in her veins, these were her sisters. She belonged with them. She was made to sing these songs. Made to wear Malachi’s marks on her skin.
She’d wandered for years, and now she was home.
“ARE you ready?” Sari whispered at the door that led to what she called the singers’ gallery.
“My hair’s wet, I have no bra, and I’m dressed in what feels like a toga. This is not exactly the wardrobe I would have chosen to rock the world in, but I guess it’ll have to do.”
She felt Mala shaking with laughter behind her. Ava thought Sari and Mala looked like warrior goddesses from some cool sci-fi movie, while she looked like a kid playing dress-up. She needed platform boots, not felt-lined sandals.
“Just follow my le
ad. Don’t feel like you need to say anything.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Sari pushed open the door, and Ava immediately felt every eye in the gallery swing toward them.
“Holy shit,” she murmured.
It was a palace. No, it was a temple. Of books. Three stories of bookcases lined the walls, ladders and balconies built in to access what must have been thousands of shelves. She’d seen the Austrian National Library in this same palace complex, but it was nothing to the Irin Library.
The gallery across from them was crowded with scribes. She searched for Malachi but couldn’t make him out among the crowd of men all wearing linen wraps and ceremonial robes similar to theirs but open at the neck.
“I guess everyone’s in on the toga party,” she whispered.
“Shh,” Sari said.
The scribes’ chests were bare, black talesm on display down the center of their robes, and Ava was relieved that Malachi’s had mostly returned where they’d be visible. She had a feeling that more talesm equaled greater badass, and she didn’t want her mate at a disadvantage.
Every eye was on them as they climbed the stairs to the gallery. Ava had never felt more conspicuous in her life. Just then, she caught her mate’s smile. He was standing with Damien at the end of the railing, looking like the cat that had stolen the cream.
“Oh, yeah,” she muttered, “this was totally your idea.”
Sari ignored the shocked stares and whispers from the floor, heading toward the end of the gallery with Mala and Ava trailing after her.
“Constance,” she said to the woman who waited there.
“Sari.”
“I see we’re once again missing our Irina elders from the floor today.”
A slight smile crossed the woman’s coldly beautiful features. “We are fortunate, then, that in the face of abandonment by our leadership, we have such excellent care from our mates.”
Ava felt Mala tense beside her.
“That’s an… interesting perspective,” Sari said.
“Why are you here? You’ve been open in your contempt for the elder scribes before.”
“I have no contempt for the office of elder, only for some who sit at their desks and try to ‘unburden’ me of my own self-determination.”
“Don’t put words in my mate’s mouth,” Constance said.
“The words in my own mouth have more than enough power,” Sari whispered. “We’ve waited long enough.”
With that parting shot, Sari strode down the steps and onto the floor of the Library.
Constance put out her hand and hissed, “You are no elder!”
Sari shoved it off and continued walking. “I never claimed to be.”
Ava could barely breathe as Sari strode to the center of the room and spoke to the galleries on either side. “I am a singer of Ariel’s line, and I request an audience with the Irina council.”
Silence blanketed the Library.
The whispers from the scribes’ gallery ceased. The muttering of the elder scribes stopped. Ava felt as if the entire room was holding its collective breath.
“I am an Irina singer,” Sari said again, a little louder. “A daughter of Ariel’s line. I request an audience with my representative on the Irina council.”
Ava’s heart was in her throat as she watched the fierce woman look around the silent room.
“Where is my council?” Sari asked. “Where are the elder singers who speak for me?”
Finally, a lone elder stood.
Mala shoved a small writing pad into her hands.
Konrad. European elder. Pro-Irina.
“Daughter,” Konrad said with pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but your council has fled.”
“No,” Sari said. “My council was attacked.”
Another elder stood. “Your council is in hiding.”
Mala wrote again. Jerome. North American elder. Pro-compulsion. Constance’s mate.
Sari stepped to Jerome’s desk. “My council was protecting itself. Protecting its daughters when the scribes did not.”
Furious whispers from the scribes’ gallery.
Jerome spread his hands, a tense smile on his face. “And they do not trust us to protect our sisters even now?” Jerome raised his eyes to the scribes’ gallery above him. “Does the Irina council not trust us to protect our own mates? Our daughters?” He looked back at Sari. “We want to protect them, and yet they hide.”
She walked back to the center of the room. “And I want to speak to my council.”
Jerome said, “I’m sorry, but your council is no more.”
Sari raised her hands, standing in the center of the library, and began to whisper. Ava felt magic rise in the air. Dust motes hung frozen in the light that poured through the high windows.
No one breathed.
There was a low rumble, then with a mighty crash the seven desks of the elder singers slid to the center of the room, pulled by Sari’s elemental power.
Papers and dust went flying. Furniture shifted as people ran to escape their path.
Sari stood motionless in the center of the floor, eyes traveling to meet the gaze of each elder as the massive wooden desks settled into place in a star-shaped pattern around her.
Ava released the breath she’d been holding.
“It’s time.” It was all Sari said before she left the floor of the Library and walked up the steps.
At the top of the stairs, Constance grabbed her arm.
“I see you like theater,” the woman said. “You will come with me if you ever want to be welcome here again.”
Mala stepped forward, but Sari held up a hand and shook her head. “Good. I’ve been wanting to have a little chat.”
Constance and her two companions swept out of the gallery with Mala and Sari following them. Ava threw one more glance over her shoulder to see Malachi standing across from her, wearing a triumphant expression. Damien stood next to him, his face glowing with pride.
Ava gave them both a wide smile and followed her sisters out.
AT least if she was going to have coffee with the most passive-aggressive woman she’d ever met, she had her bra and shoes back on.
Ava sat in the airy sitting room of the town house near city hall. The neo-Gothic spire of the Rathaus was visible through the parlor window as Constance’s maid served coffee and delicate cakes to the seven women in the sitting room.
“I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk,” Constance said. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
“You’re from the South,” Ava said.
“Virginia.” Constance nodded. “And you’re American.”
“I am. Los Angeles.”
“How lovely.”
Ava was pretty sure Constance actually meant the complete opposite. The singer turned her attention away from Ava and looked at Sari. Renata had joined them, and she and Mala stood along the back wall while Sari and Ava took the couch.
“Well?” Constance asked.
“Well what? I have every right to demand an audience with my elders.” Sari sat, her strong arms spread across the back of the delicate settee decorated in blue silk, which complemented the butter-yellow walls and cream molding of the room. Her hair was wild from the baths, her face ruddy from the winter air. Like the Northern fjords she hailed from, Sari was primal and beautiful at the same time.
Ava thought she looked like a Valkyrie at a tea party.
Constance had her own kind of power, though. She was the kind of woman Americans would call a “steel magnolia.” She sat rigid in the chair across from Sari, unbowed by the other singer’s presence. Her pixie-cut hair was utterly feminine and showcased high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Beautiful and cold.
“You know perfectly well our elders abandoned us,” she said.
“Abandoned us?” Sari said. “Or were driven out of Vienna in fear for their lives?”
“I have been in Vienna for almost two hundred years,” Constance said. She held a hand out to the
woman at her left. “Helen has been here for one hundred.” She nodded to the woman on her right. “Vania has been here for over seventy. There are many Irina living safely in our city.”
“Then where are they? Why have none organized? Why have none stepped forward to try to reform the council?”
Tension was evident around Constance’s eyes. “Because we believe our mates are correct. The Irina belong in retreats where we’re protected. Not out chasing after Grigori like animals.”
Renata said, “Did you hear that, Mala? We’re like animals.” She leaned over the couch and grinned. “Good. I like having teeth.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed. “Do not mistake bravado for strength. We have our own influence here. We’ve been working behind the scenes for years, trying to protect our sisters while you’ve been out throwing tantrums and killing angel spawn.”
“What’s wrong with killing Grigori?” Ava asked. “If they’re attacking human women—”
“War is a scribe’s job,” Helen said, her voice crisply accented.
Renata stepped forward. “You ignorant little—”
“Enough!” Sari said. “I don’t know what my grandmother was thinking. You know nothing. You pretty birds sit in your gilded cages and play at politics while a war happens on the other side of the door. I have nothing to say to you when you are blind to reality.”
Constance’s chin lifted. “We have a good life here. If singers would accept the protection of their scribes, they would have a good life too. A safe life.”
Childish chatter came from the hallway a moment before the door opened. A small girl, no more than five or six years old, bounced into the room, her honey-brown curls pulled into two pigtails on the sides of her head.
“Mama!” she cried and climbed into Constance’s lap.
Ava saw the transformation immediately. All coldness fled from the woman’s face.
“Lexi, what are you doing back from the park?”
“I was too cold. And we have visitors!” the little girl said, turning her sparkling eyes to Sari and Ava. “Hello.”