The Secret: Irin Chronicles Book Three (19 page)

“Good. That will make this easier.”

Ava was watching Malachi. He was very careful not to move the knife. As long as Luis didn’t move, the edge wouldn’t touch his skin. But the wily little man had always had a hard time sitting still for anything.

She started to warn him how jittery Luis could get. “Malachi—”

“Ava has questions for you,” her mate said. “You’re going to answer them. If you don’t, I’m going to hurt you.”

Ava could smell the scent of urine in the room.

“I see that you believe me,” Malachi said. “That’s good. I’m going to sit here while Ava asks her questions. Are you going answer her?”

“Yes,” Luis whispered, his terrified eyes flying to hers.

“Louder. So she can hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to take her calls from now on?”

“Holy fuck,” Luis whispered.
 

The knife moved. “Answer the question, Luis.”

“Yes. I won’t avoid her calls.” His voice was higher than Ava had ever heard.

“One missed call is fine. Two is not acceptable. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to block her access to her father?”

“Who are you?”

Malachi didn’t move the knife—he moved. He leaned down closer. “You don’t need to think about me,” he said. “Are you going to interfere with Ava?”

“No.”

“Good.” He finally looked up and met her wide-eyed stare. “Ask now.”

Ava stepped closer. “Luis, I’m so—”

She stopped when she heard a low growl. Malachi was glaring at her and shaking his head slowly.
 

Okay, no apologies.

She took a deep breath. “Is my grandmother alive?”

“Y…yes.”

“Did you help my father erase her records?”

“No.” He sucked in a breath when Malachi brought the knife higher. “I put him in contact with someone who did. But I didn’t do it myself.”

Ava took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Malachi was totally calm, but Ava was battling a nervous breakdown. It was one thing to fight through an army of Grigori soldiers who were trying to kill you. It was entirely different threatening the life of someone you’d had over for holiday dinners.

“Ava?”

“Okay, okay. Um… Luis, why did my dad hide her? My grandmother, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” The knife moved a little bit up and Luis attempted to raise his hands. “I’m serious. I didn’t ask. Jasper was always secretive about her. There’s something wrong with her.”

Malachi grunted and Luis backtracked, clearly free from the earlier compliant fog Malachi had put him under. “I mean, she’s mentally ill! Or… something. I don’t know. I think she’s been violent in the past because I had to find a place that had housing for high-risk patients.”

“Where?” Malachi asked.
 

Luis swallowed and looked at Ava, his eyes begging. “Ava.”

“I need to know, Luis.”

“He wanted to protect you. He didn’t want you to think… I know there’s some stuff about you he hides. Even from me. From everyone.”

Malachi pressed the knife closer and the man whimpered. “I want a location. Where is she being kept?”

“It’s in France. There’s a hospital outside Albi. Catholic. Saint… Saint Cecelia’s.”

Malachi leaned down to the man, whispered in his ear, then stood. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Luis’s face was pale, the line of red blood dripping into the silk sheets that were rumpled around him. “Ava, I’m sorry.”

How exactly did you say good-bye to the man whose life you just threatened, knowing you’d probably see him again?

“Um… It’s fine, Luis. Take care of my dad.”

“Jasper loves you, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. I never did. Not from him.” She walked over and took Malachi’s hand. “Good-bye. And… sorry about the sheets.”

Chapter Eleven

VOLUND PACED THE RITUAL room where Malachi dreamed.
 

Angry, Malachi thought. The angel was very angry.
 

Frustrated.

The Fallen muttered words in the Old Language that Malachi couldn’t catch. Bit out curses under his breath.

He didn’t know what had happened to make the angel so enraged, but he couldn’t help feeling satisfied.

Just as the feeling threatened to bring a smile to his face, Volund spun and forced Malachi’s eyes to his.

Volund roared, and the rage rolled over him, searing his skin, stealing his breath.

“You cannot,” Malachi choked out, “hurt me.”

He gasped for breath. His mind knew this was illusion, though the dream state felt real. Ava was still nowhere in sight. He stood naked and stripped of every shield while the angel continued to rage.

Ash and cinders whirled around the ritual room, burning and scraping his skin until he could smell his own blood in the wind.

“You cannot hurt me,” he said again.

Malachi opened his eyes and Volund was there, gold eyes wide with madness.
 

“She is mine!” the angel screamed.

In the next breath, Volund plunged the black dagger into his heart, and Malachi woke, gasping for breath, a hand pressed to his chest.

HE didn’t speak of his nightmare. She had too much on her mind. Too many worries creased her forehead. He longed for a time when it could just be the two of them again.

Malachi wanted answers, but he also wondered whether Martin had sent them on another leg of an endless wild-goose chase. A mental hospital in France? Even if they found Ava’s grandmother, what would they discover? Kostas hadn’t painted a pleasant picture of female Grigori in the human world.

But Jasper Reed’s money had provided an escape for his daughter. Perhaps it had sheltered his mother in a similar manner.

In the end, it was easier to drive to Saint Cecelia’s than fly. They stayed one more night in Portofino before heading to France in the same rented car they’d picked up in Genoa. Nine hours of driving to reach an uncertain reception. Nine hours farther away from Vienna.
 

The converted chateau fifteen minutes out of Albi in the Tarn region of France could have been a luxurious country home or even an exclusive hotel. Rhys’s search confirmed that it was neither of the two, but rather a very exclusive, very secure mental health facility run privately with a live-in staff and only fifteen to twenty permanent residents.

As far as caring for the mentally or emotionally troubled, it didn’t get more comfortable than Saint Cecilia’s.

Malachi turned into the drive, approaching the house through an allée of stately trimmed linden trees, their branches winter bare. They’d stayed the night in Albi before coming to the hospital that morning. Malachi called Max after they left Italy and told him their plans. They would leave the rented car in Marseilles and from there catch a flight to Vienna.
 

He was edgy. Mala had already taken Orsala to the city. Rhys and Leo had closed up the scribe house in Istanbul and joined them. Renata and Max were flying to Prague to check on an Irina safe house there before they joined Damien and Sari. All the former scribes of Istanbul were crisscrossing the continent with one destination in mind.

Vienna.
 

Kostas might have wanted his existence to remain a secret, but the Irin Council needed to know of the existence of Grigori females. The whole Irin world—especially the Irina—needed to know.

Because along with the inevitable dread of facing the council, Malachi also carried a mad hope.

The Irin race was dying.

Yet Ava had Grigori blood, and they had mated. More than that, he and Ava were
reshon
. Bound. Destined for each other by the Creator. And if he and Ava had a future together, anything was possible.

The Grigori had decimated the Irina, while the Fallen had thrown their own daughters to the chaos and darkness of the human world. If those women, the silent ones, could be found, it was possible they could be saved. Grigori and Irin alike. The very women the Fallen had shunned could be the salvation of the Irin race.

But what condition would they be in? Kyra had been fiercely protected by a devoted brother. Ava had never known she was anything but human. Malachi hoped that finding Ava’s grandmother would give them a larger picture, especially regarding why she’d been targeted by two fallen archangels.
 

“You ready?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

Luis Martin had called ahead and given the hospital permission to allow Ava and Malachi to visit. He’d also warned them that, from all reports, Ava Rezai was uncommunicative.

“Rezai,” Ava mused as they parked in the gravel-lined oval in front of the house. “Persian?”

“I believe so.”

“Jasper’s Persian?”

Malachi shrugged. “His coloring is ambiguous. And we don’t know. He could have taken after his father.”

“Who is a complete mystery.” She took a deep breath and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Shall we go visit Grandma?”

He took her hand, seeing through the bravado immediately. “You realize she might not speak. We might get nothing from her. And if we don’t, we will continue on.”

“We’ll confirm she’s
kareshta
, though. We’ll be able to tell, don’t you think?”

“I do.” Her hand was so small in his. Such energy, such life in so small a person. “I love you. I’m very proud of you.”

She squeezed his palm with her fingers. “Say that after I’ve made it out of here without embarrassing myself with tears.”

And without another word, she opened the door.

Cold wind whipped around them as they walked up the path. Gravel crunched under their feet and Malachi could smell snow in the air. Before they reached the large wooden doors, one swung open and a woman dressed in a sage-green uniform waved them in.

“Ms. Matheson, yes?”

“Thank you,” Ava said, stepping through the doorway and brushing her hair back where it had tangled around her face. “Yes, I’m here to see Ava Rezai.”

“Of course. We were expecting you. This is good! Ms. Rezai doesn’t receive many visitors.”

Malachi followed them, touching Ava’s arm as the woman—who looked like a nurse of some kind—led them farther into the entryway. There was a fire burning in a massive stone hearth, and two women sat near it, one in a soft white robe, the other in another of the green uniforms. Both were knitting and speaking softly. Past the large living area, a sunroom looked out over a clear blue pool and manicured grounds. Two men were sitting at a small table playing chess, one a patient, another an orderly or nurse of some kind.

Ava’s eyes swept the room, searching for a sign of her grandmother.

“Ms. Matheson?”

“Please, call me Ava.”

The nurse motioned down a wood-paneled hallway. “Ms. Rezai is not in the common area. Can I show you to the doctor’s office? He wanted to speak to you before you see her.”

Ava nodded. “Of course.” She held out her hand and Malachi took it. Her skin was ice-cold.

They walked down the hall following the nurse, but Malachi didn’t let his guard drop. There was something foreign in this place. Some energy teased his senses. Perhaps it was the echo of Ava’s grandmother, but he didn’t think so.

The nurse left them alone in a large office.

“It’s nice,” Ava said. “The house, I mean. It’s beautiful here.”

“It is.”

“I guess if he was going to lock her up, it’s good he put her someplace nice.”

Malachi tucked a curl of hair behind her ear as they took seats in front of a large oak desk. “Don’t think of it that way. It’s possible she’s been too damaged by the world. This place is quiet. Do you hear much?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I listened when we first walked in, and I was worried the people here would be so sick their voices would freak me out, but it’s not bad. Pretty quiet, really.”

“See? This might be a restful place for her. Think of it as another kind of haven like Sarihöfn.”

“Do you think—” She turned when the door opened and froze.

Malachi followed her eyes.

The unobtrusive form of Dr. Sadik stood in the doorway.

“Hello, Ava.”

Malachi was on his feet in an instant, only to be pinned to the wall by the power of the Fallen.

Ava said, “Put him down, Jaron.”

“Tell your mate not to try to attack me. It is annoying.”

“You could have given us a bit of a warning. What did you do to the human doctor?”

“He is resting in another office,” Jaron said, still wearing the appearance of the psychologist Ava had been seeing in Istanbul. He waved a hand toward Malachi.
 

He slumped down the wall at once, the pressure at his throat gone in an instant.
 

Jaron sat behind the human doctor’s desk and spread his hands. “So you know.”

Ava sat in the chair in front of the desk, glaring at the Fallen who’d been shadowing her for months.