Page 28 of The Scribe (Irin Chronicles 1)

“Just curious.”

“None of your business.”

Silence. Malachi should have known better, but the urge to rankle his superior and the flush of magic made him brave.

Finally, Damien muttered, “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

The watcher shrugged. “I know she’s safe. That’s the most important thing. I can see her in our dream-walks; she just chooses to ignore me.”

The light-headed feeling of new magic finally passed, so Malachi rose to his feet and dropped the tattoo needle in a basin to clean it. Then he gathered the linen cloths marked with ink and blood and tossed them in the fire. He stood, watching the pieces burn as Damien swept up the remains of the ash.

“I am drawn to her,” Malachi confessed in a low voice.

“Since I’m going to assume you haven’t lost your mind and aren’t referring to my mate, I must assume you mean the human woman.”

“Ava.”

“Ava,” Damien said thoughtfully. “It is a good name.”

It was an Irina name. Malachi had wondered, but he knew humans used it too. It meant nothing.

“I touched her.”

The brush clattered to the table and Damien grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. The watcher’s eyes were frigid pools of blue.

Malachi was quick to continue. “It was only a second. An accident caused by an unruly child in the crowd.”

“She was not harmed?”

“No. It was only a few moments. No.”

The grip on his shoulder relaxed slightly. “You’re sure?”

Malachi lifted his hands. “She was tired afterward and asked to go back to her hotel, but I sensed it was the crowd bothering her more than anything. It had become busy at the cistern, and her head was aching again.” And he’d reached out to relieve her as if she’d been Irina, Malachi realized later. Luckily, he’d drawn his hand back before their skin could connect. “She had a doctor’s appointment the next day. She seemed completely healthy.”

“Good.” Damien took a deep breath and turned back to his tasks. “Has Rhys made any progress finding information about this doctor?”

“He’s found her doctor in Tel Aviv, but there’s no record of that man referring any patients to a Dr. Sadik in Turkey. Or any doctor in Turkey, for that matter.”

Damien grunted again. “You two trust your computers too much. You think just because it isn’t written in some electronic cloud, it cannot exist? Not everything is written, you know. Especially if this does have something to do with the Grigori. They would know better than to leave a record.”

“Her doctor is not Grigori. I’ve seen him. And all his staff are women.”

Damien nodded. Both men finished their tasks and walked out of the ritual room, which remained unlocked and open unless a scribe sealed it to marktalesm.

“I want you to patrol tonight,” the watcher said. “I’ll put Leo to watch the girl.”

“Leo?” Malachi instantly felt mutinous. “Leo is too young.”

“He’s over two hundred years old, brother.” Damien smirked. “How old do you think he needs to be to watch a tourist sleep in a hotel and go out to dinner? She won’t even see him; make sure you’re ready to fight tonight. I don’t like any of us to go too long without battle.”

Malachi wanted to object but knew it was useless. Damien ran the scribe house; his word was final when it came to matters of safety or strategy. Though he deferred to Malachi or Rhys on occasion because of their age, he didn’t have to.

“Fine.” He walked to his room, wishing he’d gotten better rest the night before.

Damien called out, “She’s human. How much trouble could she attract in one night?”

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