Run.
She started packing up, throwing her things into the small bag she’d brought, scanning the room for other belongings.
“What are you doing?” Renata asked.
“Packing.”
“Oh?” Ava could hear the humor in her voice. “And where are you going at three in the morning?”
“I don’t know. Away. I don’t want to be here.” The threat might have passed, but she could still feel it, like eyes on her back.
Someone, something was watching. She could sense it.
“You’re not going anywhere. Mala and I will take turns watching, then we’ll leave in the morning.”
“No.” She shook her head, hands trembling. “I can’t stay here. Not here.”
“Ava, there’s no—”
“I will not stay here!” she yelled. “It is not safe. Maybe you don’t feel it, but I do. We are not safe here. Someone can see us!”
Mala stepped closer. She put her hands on Ava’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. Mala’s eyes were deep brown, like the darkest coffee. Ava didn’t flinch when she held her gaze. Something shifted in the Irina’s expression, and she nodded. She stepped away and signed to Renata.
“What?”
More signing.
“So you’re just going to drive back to Sarihöfn in the middle of the night because—”
Mala interrupted her with two clicks of her tongue, then a long stream of signs passed between Renata and Mala. Ava was frustrated, catching only the occasional word or phrase, but they seemed to be arguing.
“Fine,” Renata finally said. “Ava, you and Mala are going back to Sarihöfn right now.”
Mala walked to the sofa where she’d been sleeping and pulled on a pair of pants.
“You’re not coming?”
“No,” Renata said, her mouth twisted in irritation. “There is someone I need to contact. I’ll go to Oslo and meet him there. He’s… very well connected and he knows more about Grigori politics than most. Mala thinks that one of the Fallen may have eyes on you. That may be what you’re feeling. How that could be is a mystery to me, but I haven’t studied them. This scribe has.”
“But we’ll be safe in Sarihöfn?” The creeping feeling still stalked her. She could sense it, like darkness outside a lit room.
“Did you feel this way in Sarihöfn before?”
“No.”
“Then it’s possible that Sari and Orsala’s shields work to protect you from… whatever it is you’re feeling. Either way, it’s the safest place for you.”
“Okay.” She let out a breath. “Okay. The ones today, on the ski slope—?”
“Dust,” she said. “Gone now. They were from the city. Just looking for easy prey. No one else with them that I could see.”
“So the ones that came here tonight—”
“Coincidence.”
Ava thought that was about as likely as Mala giving up her knives. Still, she had no other explanation to offer. She just wanted to go.
They packed quickly and Renata brought her car around. She’d catch the train to Oslo, then stay in a safe house she kept. She promised to call within a week to check in. Sooner if she had news.
Within an hour, Mala and Ava were back on the road, heading into the countryside. It was quiet in the car, but Ava didn’t sleep. And the feeling of being watched never went away.
IV.
Szentendre, Hungary
He hadn’t expected to be welcomed into Svarog’s home. The angel’s residence in the small town near Budapest was not nearly as grand as the most humble of Volund’s homes. The entryway was light and airy, with potted plants and many windows facing an interior garden that was a riot of colors, despite the cold air. Svarog must have put an enchantment over the garden to keep the springlike look of the place, even in the dead of winter. Still, it was doubtful the angel truly lived here any more than was necessary to breed with the human women Brage had seen passing. They greeted him with friendly and aloof smiles but did not speak to him.
Most appeared to be pregnant or nursing. The pregnant had the healthy glow he recognized in those carrying angelic offspring. The nursing mothers were in various stages of slow decline, no matter how they adored their beautiful sons. Eventually, their children would drain and kill them.
A small boy skidded into the entry and almost ran into Brage’s legs.
“Szia,” Brage said to the Grigori child.
“Jó napot,” the child replied politely.
“English?” He hoped an adult would appear. He did not speak more than the most cursory Hungarian.
The little one shook his head.
The boy was beautiful, as all Grigori children were. His skin had a faint glow and his eyes were clear blue, the color of a summer sky. He started babbling at Brage, who only watched him with pleasant indifference. It wasn’t unheard of for an angel to keep their offspring near, but it was unusual. Volund had sired Brage, but he’d never met his father until he was ready to serve. Children were not welcome in Volund’s house.
A harried-looking soldier appeared in the entryway and barked at the child. Despite the harsh tone, the child turned to his keeper with a mischievous gleam in his eye that told Brage he wasn’t afraid in the least. He waved at Brage and then trotted off after the grim man, grabbing his hand as he skipped toward French doors that led to a garden.
“He lost his mother only a month ago.”
Brage turned toward the sad voice of the woman who carried an infant. They were wrapped in blankets on a chaise near the windows.
The woman continued, “He seems to be doing well.”
Brage gave her a polite smile. “They always do.”
“Are you here to see the master?”
“I am.”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“I’m sure he will.” Brage didn’t want to speak to the woman anymore. He hoped she’d lose interest in him. They were broodmares to the Fallen, nothing more. It was useless to converse with something so ephemeral. The child she held and nursed was far more valuable than the mother.
The woman’s face broke into a glorious smile when Svarog appeared. “Aranyom!”
The Fallen put an absent hand on the woman’s cheek and smiled at the child in her arms. Then he turned to Brage. “Come.”
The angel led him down a hallway lined with books, then past another sitting room and a large dining room where more women ate and chattered. It was not unpleasant, but Brage wondered how the Fallen lived with so many around him. It was like living with livestock, to his mind. The Fallen led him to a small library where a fire burned. He’d taken the guise of a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and vivid blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and slacks, the picture of a successful human in his country retreat, but Brage knew better. Svarog, for all his affection toward his offspring, was a vicious killer who had no regard for any but his own. Humans he didn’t breed with were nothing to him. It was one of the reasons he and Volund had always been allies.
“So,” Svarog said, closing the door behind them, “what does Volund’s oldest son want in my territory?”
“I am looking for someone.” No subterfuge was necessary. Svarog, like all fallen angels, understood vendetta. “An Irin scribe my father wants me to kill.”
“And you know he is here?”
“He was driving from Istanbul to Vienna. I am hoping to catch him before he enters the city.”
Svarog nodded. “Fine. Hunt if you like. But I have a message for your father, and I expect you to deliver it. Your mouth to his ears, do you understand?”
“I do.”
Cautioned by Svarog’s tone, Brage waited.
“Tell him I know what he is doing, and I want no part of it. If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”
Brage blinked but showed no other outward sign of surprise. “Why do you ask me to deliver this message?”