Page 52 of The Scribe (Irin Chronicles 1)

“But you think I’m like you.” She pointed to the woman in the book. “Like her?”

“I do.”

She paged through the book a bit more but kept coming back to the picture of the couple he’d left the book open to at first.

Malachi said, “You’re taking this all rather well. No running and screaming. Part of me expected you to be on a plane back to Los Angeles by now.”

“You have to remember”—she closed the book and let out a rueful laugh—“you’re talking to a woman who’s heard strange voices from people’s heads her whole life, remember? I don’t think you can classify me as a skeptic.”

“I suppose that’s true. So you believe us?”

“Sort of. Kind of. There’s a lot I don’t understand.”

She heard him shift in his seat, but he didn’t come closer. “Then we will help you find the answers.”

“Is that why you kissed me?” she asked quietly. “Because you wanted to know if I was like them?”

He paused. “Partly.”

“Of course.” Ava nodded. “That makes sense.”

Malachi said nothing, and Ava refused to look up. She just stared at the couple. A perfect balance of male and female. Perfect longing. Perfect love. She ached for something always out of reach. She’d thought she felt a hint of it with him, but maybe it was all an illusion. Malachi certainly wasn’t making any grand declarations about his feelings. His arms were crossed over his chest; his eyes avoided hers. Ava itched to reach out and trace the intricate letters that were marked on his skin, taste the edge of his jaw the way she had when they kissed, but everything about his body language screamed stop, even as his silent voice coaxed her closer.

“Ava, there is a scribe house east of here, in Cappadocia. One of the oldest in existence. There are scribes there who are far older than me or even Damien. Scribes who might know how all this is happening. Understand why you have the magic you do, even though you weren’t born Irina. I think there might be answers there.”

“You want me to go with you.”

“Yes.”

“To Cappadocia?”

“Yes.”

“To visit a bunch of old scribes.”

He finally cracked a smile. “We’re a bunch of old scribes, too. We just don’t look it.”

And suddenly, she was wondering just how old he was. “I’m almost afraid to ask. So, you really think there are answers there?”

“There’s a greater chance of answers there than here. The library of Cappadocia has been preserved for hundreds of years. And it would also be for your safety. To get you out of the city. Damien will continue to investigate why the others are looking for you. But in the meantime, you’d be somewhere much safer.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s also very unusual.” His tone was more coaxing. “You could visit the underground cities and churches. There is nowhere else like it on earth.”

She narrowed her eyes, knowing that he was tempting her curiosity, but unable to argue against his reasoning. “I suppose… there’d be lots of time for pictures?”

“As much time as you want.”

“So you and me—”

“It won’t be just me,” he said in a rush. “Rhys will go with us. He’s our resident researcher and scholar. He’s the one most familiar with our history.”

“That’s the black-haired guy by the computer, right?” The lanky one with the vivid green eyes.

“Rhys is also a very fierce warrior if he needs to be.”

“So Rhys and you and me?”

“I know I’m asking you to trust me. Trust others you don’t even know.” He cleared his throat. “But I promise you have nothing to fear. You are… a miracle, Ava. Any one of us would guard you with our lives.”

A memory of Malachi came to her. Rough and angry. Standing at the door of the bar with a bandage across his abdomen. Ava shivered, knowing there was far more to that story than she’d been told. “I don’t want anyone hurt because of me. I’m not worth that.”

“Of course you are,” he said roughly. “You are Irina. We know how precious you are.”

Ava took a deep breath. What were her options? Stay in Istanbul and continue seeing a psychologist for voices that never went away, or go to some place in the middle of Turkey with tattooed people she barely knew in order to research whether she was some obscure form of angel spawn.

Well, she couldn’t call it aboringvacation.

“Okay. Why not?”

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