The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 4
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“I should have kept following the woman,” he muttered.
Damien’s ears caught it. “What woman? Why were you following her? You know you’re not allowed to—”
“Do I look like a foolish boy?” He glared at the man. “There was a woman at the spice market. She’d caught the attention of a Grigori soldier. I was watching him, and he was watching her.”
All amusement fled the group. Each man knew the danger of a Grigori attack.
Maxim asked, “Did you kill him before he got to her?”
Rhys offered a bloodthirsty smile, forgetting his misery in the contemplation of Grigori death. “Set his soul free to be judged, brother? I wish I could have helped.”
“I didn’t. I’m being cautious, remember?” He aimed a pointed look at Damien. “Besides, his behavior was… odd. I wanted to ask you about it.”
Damien narrowed his eyes. “Odd how?”
“He was hunting her, but he wasn’t. He never approached her. Never tried to charm her. He was actually trying to remain unnoticed.”
Leo shook his head. “No, that’s not how they work. They seduce. They—”
“We all know what the Grigori do, Leo.” Damien was staring at Malachi. “What happened?”
“He followed her back to a hotel, and…”
Maxim said, “And what?”
“Nothing. He just watched her, called someone on the phone, then left.”
Damien was silent. The others were silent. It was, just as Malachi had suspected, unusual behavior for the Grigori of Istanbul. He had hoped Damien would have some clue, but the man’s face registered nothing. Not shock, not recognition. Nothing.
The watcher finally said, “So you know where this woman is staying?”
He smiled. “I do, but the Grigori doesn’t.”
“I thought you said—”
“She spotted him at the market. Took his picture when he was looking away. She went into the lobby of one of the hotels near the palace, waited for forty minutes until he’d left, then went to her real hotel. The Grigori never saw where she’s actually staying.”
Damien nodded, seemingly impressed with the resourcefulness of the human. “Clever.”
Leo nodded and grinned. “I like the clever ones. Was she pretty, too?”
Maxim elbowed his cousin. “That’s not important.” Then he turned to Malachi and narrowed his eyes. “But was she?”
“She was… interesting.” She had been pretty, Malachi realized. He’d been concentrating so hard on the chase that he hadn’t really noticed until he remembered her fine features, the slope of her eyes. “Yes, she was pretty.” Not that it mattered to him, but the cousins were still young enough to find human women attractive. They had never known true beauty like the older men had.
“I want you to go back to her hotel tomorrow,” Damien said. “Find out more. And you’re sure she wasn’t…?” There was a slight, hopeful rise in his voice.
“I don’t think so,” Malachi said quietly. “She would have heard me if she was. And the Grigori wouldn’t have shown any restraint.”
“Of course.” Damien looked away. All the men found things to look at, other than each other. “Go back tomorrow,” Damien said. “Find out more. We need to know why she’s attracted their attention this way. This is different.”
Malachi took a deep breath, alternately concerned and excited about the chase. It might be his most interesting day in the Old City yet.
The woman took a lot of pictures. And from the look of her equipment, she was a professional. She took picture after picture of the Sultanahmet’s mosques and streets. The alleys and corner gardens. Odd angles a tourist wouldn’t think of. Glimpses of old women selling lace and children selling toys. She even lay down on the dirty sidewalk at times. She ate corn and chestnuts from the carts in front of Aya Sofia and watched the tourists feed the pigeons. She captured it all, from the grand to the gritty.
No one was with her, and the Grigori hadn’t found her again. Malachi watched her for hours the next morning as she made her way through the old city. Every now and then, she would duck into a quiet alley or deserted shop, hold her head in her hands, and rub her temples.
Was she dehydrated? She’d been sipping water all morning but looked to be suffering from a terrible headache. Still, she didn’t return to her hotel. Her face, now that he was looking at it, was a picture of well-concealed tension. Crowds seemed to make her particularly nervous, and she avoided the swarms of tourists that came off the cruise ships at regular intervals.
Was she afraid of them? Was that why she took shelter in the quieter corners when she could? Malachi didn’t think so. She looked, more than anything, exhausted, though every now and then a child or group of children would pass and her face would light up. She liked children. So did Malachi. The thought made him smile.
Despite her exhaustion, she continued taking pictures all morning, checking her phone every now and then. He would guess she was a regular traveler. The way she navigated the city, the way she talked to people, there was something about her manner that told him she was very comfortable with new places. If she was a professional photographer, it would make sense. What didn’t make sense was why the Grigori soldier had been following the human woman yesterday, but not hunting her.
She worked her way through the Sultanahmet and toward the Galata Bridge, closer to the neighborhood where he and his brothers made their home. She picked up the tail just before the tram stop.
There were two this time, still watching. Still hanging back far enough that Malachi could keep them in sight while watching the woman. She paused near the train station, then turned back and turned left to an emptier side street. What was she doing? Was she headed for the park? The police station? No, she turned right again. She was headed back up the hill. Malachi tried to get closer, only to see her turn to look over her shoulder at the two Grigori following her.
She’d spotted them.
He could tell she was trying to lose the tail, ducking into crowds when she could and darting across the street, coming far too close to cars for his liking. She walked quickly, but the soldiers were good. Just before the street opened up, she made a quick left into an alley and Malachi’s heart leapt.
Bad move, woman. Why were humans so stupid at times?
He sped up. They wouldn’t attack her in the open during the day, but Grigori would have no qualms about disappearing with her. If they caught up to her, she was history. No government in the world would find a trace. The soldiers turned left and followed her into the alley.
Malachi started running, no longer worried about attracting attention. He had to get to her. Had to keep them from—
“And that is why you don’t fuck with someone with pepper spray, asshole! What? Did you think because I’m a tourist I wouldn’t be able to protect myself?” She kicked one in the kidneys, standing over both men and holding a small can. Malachi turned his head away as the breeze drifted toward him. Both Grigori soldiers were on the ground, writhing and clutching their faces, holding preternaturally sensitive eyes and noses that were, no doubt, in agony from the pungent concoction she’d sprayed from the can.
Malachi was gaping. How had she caught them by surprise? Their race could move almost silently. No human should have been able to fend off—
“And you!” The woman was pointing at him now, aiming the can in his direction. He brought his right thumb to his left wrist and began tracing, silently rousing the spells that would protect his senses should she choose to attack. He felt it, the warm glow of magic spreading up his arm, suffusing his body with power, activating the tapestry of magic that protected him. In seconds, Malachi would be covered with an armor even the fiercest warrior could not penetrate. “Why the hell have you been following me?” she demanded.
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