The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 50

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“Help me,” Malachi grunted. “You’ll need to get the door.” He tossed her a set of keys and Ava rushed to pick them up.

A few minutes later, the three were climbing a narrow staircase next to the rug shop. Ava opened the door to a deserted apartment with a small sitting room and a kitchenette.

“There’s a bedroom in back.” Malachi was carrying Leo, the tall man cradled like a child in his arms. Considering Leo was the tallest in the house, Ava wasn’t quite sure how Malachi was even standing, but she didn’t question it. She opened the door to the back to see a bed, narrow but clean. She knocked off the pillows and stripped off the covers, clearing the bed for the wounded man. Malachi laid him down gently, and Leo immediately curled to the side. Ava saw him bite his lip so hard that it bled.

“Rhys?” she asked.

“I lost my mobile. Do you have yours?”

“In my purse in the car.”

“I’ll get it. Stay with him and stay away from the windows.”

“Can I turn on some lights?” The house wasn’t pitch-black, but close. The windows let in light from the street lamp on the corner, but other than that, the low light in the front room was all that shone in the small apartment.

“Wait for now. There are more in the rooms upstairs and the windows are blacked out on that floor.”

He ducked out of the room, and Ava heard him on the stairs as she sat next to Leo and stroked his forehead. His skin was starting to burn with fever, so she got up and looked for a washcloth or rag to cool him. She found a towel in the kitchen and returned to him, placing it on his forehead as he relaxed under her touch.

For the first time all day, Ava tried to gather her thoughts.

Jaron had been protecting her; she was almost sure of it. He might be evil—and nothing about their conversation had convinced her otherwise—but he had been protecting her for some reason.

Something very bad was happening among the fallen angels and the Grigori, and something in the city had shifted. Was it a coup like Maxim had predicted? If so, any protection Jaron had offered her was gone. There seemed to be countless Grigori in Istanbul, and they were bold enough to have burned the scribe house.

Ava had no idea where they would go. Did they have other safe houses? Should she go back to Los Angeles and take shelter in Carl’s fortress of a house? Somehow, she doubted even her stepfather’s hired guns could get her out of this mess. Besides, the thought of leaving Malachi was unthinkable at this point.

Reshon. She was the one saying it this time. The vision Jaron had given her only confirmed it.

I show you what has been. What will be. And what could be.

“What could be…,” she whispered, still holding the cool rag to Leo’s forehead.

They were her children. Hers and his. With her dark curls and Malachi’s grey eyes.

“Do not fear the darkness.”

Jaron’s words caused her to shiver, even in the over-warm room. What had he shown her? Was it his vision or hers? And why had she seen her childhood? Had he been watching her since then?

Questions still swirled in her head as she heard Malachi climbing the stairs, talking quietly on the phone. He was just hanging up as he entered the room.

“Well?”

“Rhys is on his way. No car, so he’s going to have to walk. They won’t let him on a tram carrying coals in a clay cooking pot he stole from a restaurant, but they should last until he gets here and can stoke the fire again.”

She heard Leo mutter something that sounded like relief.

“And that will heal him?”

Malachi winced, but his eyes did seem less strained. “How good are you at sewing?”

“Horrible.”

Malachi opened the small closet and pulled out a black bag that he tossed on the end of the bed. “You can hold him down or sew him up. Sounds like our stitching’s about the same. Leo, you have a preference?”

“I’ll hold still,” he muttered. “You do it, Mal. I’d rather curse at you than Ava.”

Ava’s stomach began to churn as Malachi stripped off Leo’s shirt, peeling the cloth away from the clotted wound. “Can’t we wait for Rhys?”

“He’s bringing the fire to cauterize it,” Malachi said. “We’ll stitch it up, and Rhys will seal it. Has to be done, Ava.”

“Just get it over with,” Leo said. “If I’m lucky, I’ll pass out again.”

Malachi and Ava were as pale as Leo by the time Rhys showed up. The wound was over eight inches in length, and it seemed like it took Malachi forever to stitch it after Ava had helped clear the blood as much as she could. According to Malachi, infection wouldn’t be a problem. Once the fire cleansed the wound, Leo’s own magic would heal him, and having Ava’s hands on Leo during the stitches would boost his energy, since she was Irina.

“Irina are the best healers,” Leo said, gritting his teeth as Rhys placed glowing coals on the mottled skin at his side. “My father said my m…mother could heal any wound. She studied medicine at university, even.” A tight smile. “She dressed like a man so she could go. My father said he laughed and laughed, but really, he liked her wearing pants.”

Malachi smiled, brushing back the young man’s hair. “That’s a good story, Leo. When did your father find you?”

“When Max and I were seven, he just showed up.” He closed his eyes as a growl of pain rumbled from his chest. After another gasping breath, he said, “He didn’t know we’d survived the Rending. He’d been in Russia killing Grigori. He was… a bit mad, to tell the truth. But he got better eventually.”

“Ava, put your palm on his neck,” Rhys said, grabbing her hand and placing it over Leo’s rapid pulse. “Hold it there.”

“What else can I do?” she asked, tears threatening. She felt helpless in the face of the young scribe’s pain.

Rhys shook his head, singed hair falling in his eyes. “I don’t know how it works. Think about making him well, maybe? I don’t know Irina magic.”

“There’s a song,” Leo said, his voice sounding dazed. “My father sang it when we were young. A song to make you feel better…” He started mumbling under his breath as his eyes drifted closed.

“She can’t sing it yet,” Malachi murmured. “Not yet, Leo. Soon she’ll know the words. It’s too dangerous for her now.”

Too dangerous because she couldn’t control her magic. For the first time, Ava felt the sting of resentment. Maybe if the Irina hadn’t run away, she would know. If they hadn’t run away, Leo wouldn’t be suffering as much. Maybe she wouldn’t have spent years thinking she was a freak for hearing voices. A bitter seed took root in her heart as she thought about all the Irin had lost.

“Ava,” Malachi whispered, pulling her hand away. “He’s sleeping now. Enough. You need to save your strength, too.”

She was feeling it. For the first time since her night in Cappadocia with Malachi, the voices around her were completely silent. She must have expended far more energy than she realized, helping Leo to heal.

“Take her upstairs to rest,” Rhys said. “I’ll stay with Leo and keep the fire burning.”

“Have we heard from Damien and Max yet?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep Ava’s phone, if that’s all right. Hers is the only one working.”

She nodded and let Malachi lead her up the stairs to a tiny bedroom with a small lamp. He turned it on and began to peel off her clothes as she sank into the mattress. She felt Malachi lay behind her as she curled on her side.

“Sleep, my love. Leo will be fine, and you need rest.”

“Sleep with me,” she said, half asleep before her head hit the pillow. “Reshon.”

Reshon.

She called him reshon, and his heart soared. Despite the fear. Despite the loss. She called him “reshon,” and he was content. Malachi slept a few hours by her side, hand planted firmly on her soft skin, drawing and offering strength as she rested. But by the time he woke, he couldn’t ignore the words Jaron had whispered in the Old Language before he shimmered out of sight.

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