Page 117 of Cry of the Firebird

The second house they had been to had turned out to be another building owned by the Darkness. Unlike the first fire, this one had been lit by magic.

The powerful residue of fresh magic had been intense, and Aramis had known just by the feel of it that it had been started by Yanka's descendant. It had taken a lot of self-control even to stay on the site, let alone the case.

"At least ten bodies so far, sir," a faceless man mumbled through his balaclava. "The magic is off the charts again, and it was used to kill. There are four different magical signatures, but one, in particular, was on a larger scale."

"Was it the same as the last building?" Aramis asked.

"Yes, General. But I think it was more controlled this time around. There, it was more of an explosion, but here, I believe it was directed at a single target."

"Do we know who this target was?"

"Yes, but you should come and take a look."

Aramis followed the man up the stairs to the remains. He had seen many strange things, but the man's perfect ashen figure was definitely a surprise. It reminded him of the bodies they had found under the ash of Pompeii.

"You can see why I wanted to show you. It creeped the hell out of the men when they found it."

"I can imagine." Aramis held out a hand to the victim's face without touching it and closed his eyes. Her magic was all over it, but it had been a mingling of her power and something older and stronger that had killed the man. Whispering under his breath and drawing on his own magic, the last seconds of the victim's life flashed through his mind.

A dark-haired man burning with a firebird glowing on his chest. The girl in the victim's arms igniting in a burst of flame. He dropped her, and she fell to the floor. Her face turned, and Aramis jolted out of the vision with a cry.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Aramis was breathing heavily but nodded. "I'm fine. It's time we made contact with these people. This situation is getting out of control."

"With all due respect, sir, you know the family's history. You think she'll listen to us or blow us all to pieces?"

Aramis smiled slowly. "We will find out soon enough."

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Anya first noticed the tall stranger watching her at the Slovakian border. It wasn't unusual to see fair people in this part of Europe, but the stranger was striking with silver ash hair, fairer even than hers. His blue eyes were made bluer by the dark navy leather trench coat he wore with the collar turned up.

Anya had glimpsed him for a split second in the dining car before someone stepped in front of him, and he was gone. He had looked directly at her, and in that second, her magic had flared like a fever.

In the Czech Republic, they had boarded a train and had their vehicles stored in the cargo carriages. Anya had always felt claustrophobic on trains, and the closer she came to Russia, the more agitated she became. After the first few days of driving, Anya's body clock was so entirely out of whack, she lost the concept of time.

Trajan understood her anxiety and was doing his best to distract and calm her. He told her stories of the relatives he had known and read books aloud to her as she lay in his arms. Anya suspected theirs was the strangest relationship in the world, but whatever it was, it was enough for her and was what she needed.

"Do you know that you are drinking too much again?" Yvan said behind her. Anya sat in a booth in what she called the 'vodka carriage,' the only place she could successfully hide and that conveniently had its own bar.

"And?" Anya made a point of taking a long swallow of her drink while keeping full eye contact.

Yvan's eyes narrowed at the challenge, and he purposely sat down opposite her. He had been playing cards and arguing playfully with Cerise hours before, and while Anya was happy they were getting along, something about it bothered her. She didn't know where the streak of jealousy came from; she was with Trajan, so she shouldn't care what Yvan did with anyone. She still couldn't stop the overprotective urge that rose up in her.

"Is there a reason for all the drinking?" Yvan asked, bringing her out of her internal arguing.

"Boredom. Nerves. Magic bugging me. You name it."

"Getting drunk every day won't help any of that, and you know it."

"How's Cerise?" Anya asked abruptly.

Yvan's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Cerise? She's fine. Why ask me?"

"You two seem to be getting awfully friendly."

"I'mawfullyfriendly with everybody. How is your human-thanatos relationship working?"

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