Jaron waved a careless hand. “I owe your Irin mate no protection. He is not mine.”
“Do you know how—”
“I have no idea how you were able to call him back. It was unexpected. But your blood holds the power of two archangels, and through your bond with this scribe, you were given the power of Mikhael’s line as well.” Jaron stared at her. “You are utterly unique, Ava. There are thousands of him, and only one of you. I do not care about him, but as long as his purpose helps mine, we are in accord.”
Malachi said, “I would say the same of you, Fallen.”
“Then we understand each other.”
Ava rested against a flower-covered wall. “What is your purpose? What are you after?”
Jaron said nothing.
“I know,” Malachi said, leaning against the bed, his arms crossed over his knees. “He wants to kill Volund.”
“Yes,” Jaron said.
“And he needs our help.”
The angel’s face was blank.
Ava asked, “Why should we help you?”
“Volund masterminded the Rending,” Jaron said.
A vein pulsed in Malachi’s forehead. “And you had nothing to do with it?”
Jaron smoothed the hair back from his daughter’s face. “I didn’t stop it, but I refused to use my sons to participate. I knew the Irin would kill many of our children, even in a surprise attack. Volund and his allies didn’t agree. I suspect they had some deal with whatever Councilors had power at the time, though I hardly think the Irin knew the extent of his plans.”
“You lie.”
“Do I?” Jaron asked. “Are your elder scribes so incorruptible, son of Mikhael? Are they not hungry for power?”
“We are not Fallen,” Malachi said.
Jaron only smiled.
“You didn’t participate in the Rending,” Ava said. “But you found me. You were looking for Fallen daughters in the human world. Why?”
“After the Rending, I began to see a way I could use the loss of the Irina to usurp Volund’s power,” Jaron said. “He had grown very powerful.”
Malachi said, “It wasn’t revenge for your daughter?”
“I didn’t have a daughter then. I simply saw the females as an asset.”
“How?”
“The Irin had lost most of their women. The Fallen had women it didn’t want, some of whom still clung to their fathers out of loyalty. How better to gain power over our only adversaries in this world than by giving them the females they so desperately wanted? Females we could track. That we had influence over.”
Ava’s stomach turned. “You were going to use them like cattle. Pawns for your political games.”
“Yes.” Jaron’s expression was unapologetic. “I was well on the way to putting my plan in place—ferreting out the Grigora who had filtered into the human world—when my daughter was born.”
“Did you change your mind about using them?”
Jaron blinked. “No. I had no plans to use my daughter. She was to be protected.”
Ava shook her head. Typical.
“What about me?” she asked. “Did you plan to use me when I came to see you in Istanbul?”
“You were unexpected. I had connections all over the world searching for women with Grigori traits, but I didn’t expect my own granddaughter to be one of them.”
“Why not?”
“Your human guardians had always seemed quite protective. The fact that they let you travel surprised me.”
“I used Jasper’s money. They really couldn’t control me after I got that.”
“Ah.” A slight smile lifted the corner of the angel’s mouth. “And we come full circle. Volund’s son draws you into the game, no matter how much I try to avoid it.”
“He’s your grandson too.”
Jaron’s face grew cold. “He is an abomination. No one like him should exist. My daughter’s torment will not be repeated.”
“Of course not,” Malachi said. “Because if you convince the Irin to take in the daughters of the Fallen, you know we’ll protect them. We may not be perfect, but we value our women. And we won’t let even the daughters of our enemies become victims.”
Jaron cocked his head. “You’re very predictable. It’s useful.”
“And to protect them, we’ll even help you kill Volund.”
“He did mastermind the slaughter of your innocents.”
“Volund needs to die,” Ava said, her eyes glued to the sleeping form in Jaron’s arms. “He has to. Not only for killing you and masterminding the Rending. When Volund dies, your daughter might finally live.”
III.
“WHAT NOW?” VASU WORE the face of a petulant child. Thin and black-haired, he kicked at the post that stood innocently on the sidewalk.
Barak was walking along a curb, his arms held out for balance. That morning, he wore the face of a French schoolboy, waiting at the bus stop. “He’s told them everything.”
“What will they do?”
Barak shrugged his small shoulders. “They’re flying to Vienna now.”
Vasu scowled impatiently and a car traveling the road near them swerved on the icy road.
“Well, what can we make them do?”
“Nothing,” Barak said. “They are not our children. They have free will.”
“That was the Creator’s mistake, giving the Forgiven’s children free will. What was he thinking?”
Drifts of snow began to fall on the dirty sidewalk. Barak lifted his head to the sky and opened his mouth to catch one.
“Gifts given freely are more precious,” Barak said, staring into the cloudy winter sky. “And our children are capable of love.”
Vasu watched a girl walking along the sidewalk across the street. She hurried, perhaps late for school. Her breath fogged in the morning air.
“What are we capable of?” Vasu said.
“Watching,” Barak answered him as he stopped his movements to follow the girl with his eyes. “Waiting.”
The car took the corner too fast. Barak heard the driver’s panicked thoughts when he spotted the little girl in the bright green coat. She wasn’t looking at the road. Hadn’t noticed the ice. She was a child. She was thinking about her mathematics test.
The two boys watched impassively as the car spun in the road and jumped the sidewalk, crushing the little girl beneath its wheels in a sickeningly quiet thump. Shopkeepers rushed out of their buildings, crying and screaming. One wrenched the driver’s door open. The human was pale and shaking.
“We watch and wait,” Barak said.
Silently, Vasu crossed the street, stepping between the cars that had halted in the road. His hands were shoved in his pockets. Nobody noticed the solemn-faced boy in the grey coat as he crouched down next to the wheels of the car and reached out.
The little girl in the green coat smiled at him and took his hand. Standing next to Vasu, she watched the crowd with a small worried frown until the dark-haired boy tugged her hand. Then the two children walked up the sidewalk, Vasu holding her hand as old women cried over the dead child’s body and sirens started to wail.
“And some of us still serve,” Barak whispered as his eyes followed the archangel wearing the face of a child.
Chapter Thirteen
MALACHI CLOSED HIS EYES and dreamed of Constantinople.
Cobbled walkways under his feet as he strode the paths his ancestors had followed. Sun-warmed stone and the smell of the river in his nose. The familiar streets were a comforting respite from the tumult of his waking hours.