Rise of the Firebird (21 page)

“Quite the opposite actually. After you said it the first time, I went to Ruthann and I did some research. I didn’t want to tell you until…” he paused.

“Until I stopped being crazy?”

“You aren’t crazy, Anya. You’ve been through too much trauma in the past two years and that would change any person. I didn’t want to have you worry about it.”

“Is it something I need to worry about? Tell me.”

“You know how when we first met, our magic bound together?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, it concerned us both, but we grew used to it. Then when we combined our power properly for the first time, when we consciously joined it, I put the
elvianth
onto you.”

“Which Silvian couldn’t believe.”

“I struggled to believe it. Then when Søren attacked you with magic and I…ah…”

“Kissed me?” Anya delighted in how pink his fair skin turned.

“Yes, when I kissed you and your power went back into your body, our power ricocheted off each other. Then when we were with Álfr, you cleansed my soul. All these things, Anya. Too many coincidences, too much magic, too much connection. If we’d been related or a couple, then perhaps some of it could be explained.”

“I thought it was because we are special,” Anya teased. He was getting excited and she could feel the nervous energy bouncing from him.

“Anya, we
are
special. That term
hjarta bróđr
is very old. ‘Heart brother’ is the literal but it is actually more like a brother of the heart. It’s a bond. A very powerful one that happens so very rarely that I’ve never even considered it. It has never happened between a human and one of the Álfr before. That’s why our magic does what it does. How we don’t only know what each other is feeling, we
feel
what each other is feeling. That’s why your magic reacts to Søren as well, because we are twins. It isn’t as intense, but it still is affected. It’s why we were so drawn to each other the moment we met.”

“I thought it was because I reminded you of Yanka…you know…before she changed,” admitted Anya. Aramis turned and took her face. The silvery wood of his hand sent a magic pulse through her skin.

“It has
never
been about Yanka. In my mind and my heart, you’re separate. You’ve always been, and will always be, my Anya.” He kissed the top of her head and she moved to hold him, the fabric of his blue shirt soft on her cheek.

“I’m so happy to hear you say that.”

“I can’t believe you ever doubted it.”

“I struggle to believe a lot of things in my life. Despite what I feel for the others, I know of only two people that will never leave me and that’s Yvan and you.”

“I believe that the others will surprise you, but you are right. Yvan, you, and myself are fastened. Your touch woke the firebird and we have our connection. The coincidences do worry me at times.”

“They give me hope. We three were meant to stand together. There needs to be the three of us in order to stop her.” Aramis looked down at her, his blue eyes endless in their gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s that sometimes I struggle to see that girl on the train that I drank too much vodka with.”

“Don’t worry. She’s still there. She is not so naïve anymore.”

“Grief has changed you.”

“Among other things.” Aramis tucked her hair behind her ear.

“We’d best go. I can feel you are getting anxious again,” he said as he took her hand.

“I still don’t like that you know what I’m feeling all the time.”

“It isn’t all the time and usually you don’t have to say anything where Yvan is concerned. You are both always anxious without each other.”

“Trajan used to say something similar. Yvan and I have been through too much together,” Anya admitted and she felt a pang of loss from saying Trajan’s name.
God, I miss you.

“Trajan was a smart man, and a good one. He loved you very much.”

“And I loved him. I still love him, but I can’t crawl into a hole and cry for him as much as I’d like to. He would want me to fight.”

“Take some advice from an immortal. Trajan is not the last man you will ever love and loving someone else won’t mean that you will love him less. It will be different. That’s all.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever want to go there again.” Anya fought the urge to grind her hand into her chest as a ball of pressure and pain built there.

“One day, you might, but I wouldn’t worry about it now.”

“I’m not. I have too much to worry about as is. Two whole worlds of worry.”

Back at Legba’s Ladies, Yvan was sitting on a milk crate talking with Blue Jay as he promised. Anya felt relief fill her as he spotted her and smiled. Aramis sighed softly beside her.

“What?”

“You two,” was all he would say.

Mychal sat on a pew in the empty hush of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. He was tired of people and noise. For Aleksandra’s sake, he tolerated it far more than he ever had before. For the most part, he had begun to enjoy the company but on some days, he felt like he had ants crawling under his skin and wasps buzzing in his brain. He’d kissed Aleksandra’s cheek before ducking out of the workshop. They were having a heated debate about Skazki and Mir, and about who would stay and who would go.

He and Aleksandra already knew they would follow Anya. Mychal was a part of Ilya’s instructions and Aleksandra could summon gates that would assist them. He was curious to be going to the Otherworld where Aleksandra had been born and where he’d never thought he could venture. Not all the tribes were world walkers and Mychal had found them fascinating as a child. They had always traded in the strange and the exotic goods like mechanical birds of peerless craft and luminescent fruits that would make you drunk with a single bite.

Mychal stretched his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes, letting the silence of the church envelop his mind. It made him miss Vadim and Budapest, but he also felt nearer to them by being there. He wondered what advice the old man would give him. He wanted to talk to someone about Ásgeirr and his disappearance, if he existed at all. Mychal had always been able to see demons, but he couldn’t believe he would hallucinate the weeks of training and conversation. The silver spear was proof that he wasn’t crazy. If he sat and thought about every strange event in his life, he’d go mad. The fact that he had been written into a prophecy by Anya’s ancestor was something new. He didn’t want to know about his heavenly heritage.

“One thing at a time, Lord,” he said softly.

“If only he operated like that,” a voice said behind him. Mychal startled in surprise. He hadn’t heard anyone come into the church, much less sit behind him. Mychal glanced over his shoulder where the man sat, one arm casually resting on the back of the pew. He had vibrant red hair and a smile on his face. He looked like a businessman in a pressed white shirt rolled to his elbows and black trousers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” Mychal replied.

“You are Hungarian? I haven’t heard that accent for years. What part are you from?”

“Budapest.”

“I heard about the priests at Saint Matthias. What kind of man would do that?” he shook his head.

“Someone who is not a man,” Mychal muttered and got to his feet to leave. He had come to the church to get some quiet, not to engage in yet another conversation. He didn’t like that the stranger had brought up the massacre.

“It was demons then. I thought as much.” Mychal stopped dead in his tracks. The man’s tone of voice had changed. “Relax, I’m not a demon.”

“I don’t care what you are.”

“You are surly even for a demon hunter.”

“No such thing.”

“You and I know better than that. Takes one to know one. My name is Galen and you are?”

“Leaving.” As he reached the aisle, a knife thudded into the polish wood of the pew beside him.

“You don’t want to start this, Galen,” Mychal said as he looked at the silver blade.

“What if I do?”

“Despite appearances, I don’t think you’re that stupid.”

“I have a message for you,” Galen got to his feet and as he reached the end of the pew, he plucked the knife from the bruised wood.

“A message from whom?”

“Who do you think?” Galen pointed a finger towards the ceiling.

“Sure.” Mychal walked away from him and Galen didn’t follow.

“They’re watching you and the woman, Mychal,” he said.

“Demons?”

“Everyone.”

“Let them.” Mychal walked out into the dying sunshine. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Galen was watching him. He didn’t care. He needed to find Aleksandra.

Mychal arrived back at Legba’s Ladies agitated and nervous. He didn’t like that someone knew about him or Vadim and what was worse, was that they also knew about Aleksandra. Isabelle and Katya had been servicing their guns. Shiny pieces of metal had been pulled apart and arranged neatly on cloths.

“Where is she?” Mychal demanded making them both jump in surprise.

“Aleksandra?”

“Of course Aleksandra!”

“Settle down, Mychal, she is fine. She is at Abélard’s shop,” Isabelle said trying to calm him. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know! I need to find her.”

“Take my keys, big guy,” Harley said as she stepped out of her office, a pen tucked behind her ear. He caught the bundle of keys as she tossed them to him.

“Thanks…um… sorry. I will be quick,” he said backing out of the shop. He jumped into the truck and sped down the streets. He was good with directions and once he’d been somewhere, he could always find his way back. He had no doubt that he would find the old man’s shop, a place that set his teeth on edge.

Mychal felt a spark of genuine panic and slammed his foot on the accelerator. He pulled up in the alley behind the store minutes later. The symbols painted on the store danced and shimmered, making his eyes water. Mychal ignored them and barged his way through the back door. He heard a throaty laugh and he moved through the piles of books and other paraphernalia until he found them. Aleksandra was sitting at the small kitchen table, her hand over her mouth as she giggled at something Abélard had said.

“Mychal!” she squeaked in surprise. She got to her feet, “Is everything okay?” He grabbed her and held her so tightly she gasped in pain.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Has something been threatening you, boy?” Abélard rose to pour out another cup of coffee.

“Something like that. Someone recognised me at Saint Patricks. I don’t like being threatened.”

“Who does?” Abélard handed him the coffee before sitting down. Mychal leaned against the wall, too edgy to sit.

“And what about you? Have you been busy telling Aleksandra stories?”

“Ain’t no need for sarcasm because you’re stressed,” Abélard replied as he fit a cigarette in a filter and lit it. “Your lady here was after a bit of advice about seeing demons.”

“I don’t want to panic like I did last time, Mychal,” Aleksandra said softly. Mychal rested his hand against her neck reassuringly.

“They’re demons, Aleksandra. You are meant to panic.”

“I’m meant to know how to cope with it, Mychal. You can’t be with me every second of the day and I want to know.” Mychal hated this conversation, hated that they had to have it all, hated that he couldn’t take the sight from her, hated the way she twisted her fingers together nervously in their cotton gloves, hated the guilt he felt every time he looked at them and knew it was his fault. He couldn’t think of anything reassuring or productive to say, so he looked blankly at the spilt sugar granules on the linoleum and said nothing.

“You’ll be heading off with Anya tomorrow, so maybe you don’t have to worry so much about it, Miss Aleksandra,” Abélard said to fill the loaded silence.

“I wish that were the case, but they came after me in Skazki. The difference is that they don’t have to pretend to be humans over there.”

The invitation from the Conseil Neutres arrived the next morning. Anya had finished packing her bag when a polite knock on the door interrupted her. The night receptionist held a letter out to her on a silver dish.

“And this is from whom?” Anya asked as she took it.

“From the leaders of this city. They told me to wait for your reply.” Anya tried not to roll her eyes as she broke the black sealing wax. Something pulsed through the letter, a minor flash of power for show. The letter was an invitation to use their hall to open the gates to Skazki where “eyes would not see” and to make sure nothing unwelcome came through. What hadn’t been written, but what Anya interpreted very clearly, was the message: We want to make sure you have left and we don’t trust anything your friends say.

“You may tell the Conseil that I thank them for the offer and they can expect me within two hours.” The receptionist bowed before heading back down the hall. Anya closed the door and pocketed the invitation. She was trying not to feel embarrassed or insulted that she was no longer welcome in the city. She caught her reflection in the heavy mirror that stood on a side table. She had tied her hair back in a ponytail and applied a little makeup, a hopeless attempt to try to cover up another sleepless night.

“Today is not the day to make new enemies, Anyanka,” she told the reflection firmly. “Stay polite. Leave polite.”

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” said Yvan as he walked in mid-lecture.

“You’re still fairest, Vanya, never fear.” And he certainly was in the new blue Henley shirt Cerise had bought for him. She’d gone into the city the day before and had purchased everything she thought they would need for a journey, from clothes to camping supplies. Anya knew it was her way of alleviating her guilt for not going with them so she hadn’t complained.

“One of these days, Anyanka, you’ll grow tired of flirting with me and then what will we do?” he asked as he picked up her backpack.

“Argue?”

“You don’t think we do that enough already?” his eyes flashed before they went red.

“What did the firebird want?” Anya asked as she poked his chest.

“It doesn’t matter,” Yvan said, his eyes blue again. “It was trying to give me dating advice.”