Elizabeth Hunter - The Scribe

“They’re renovating it right now,” he whispered, “but it used to have as much water as the Basilica Cistern.”

“Looks more like mud to me.” She almost tripped over a shovel leaning against the wall. “Holy cow, it stinks.”

“People throw all sorts of things down here. Try not to think about it.”

Malachi carefully led them around the periphery of the cavern, but he couldn’t spot a tunnel or other exit. If there had been one, it was closed off or under mud or brick. The water grew deeper the farther they went, and thick mud sucked at their feet.

“Anything from Max or Damien?” she whispered behind him.

He glanced at the phone. “I can’t get any reception down here. I told them where we were hiding. I just hope they get the message.”

“If they don’t… then what?”

Then what? He had no idea.

Ava’s sense of dread grew with every step they took into the dark cavern. The water sloshed at their feet, and the flashlight seemed unbearably bright in the pitch-black underground. She was certain anyone looking in from outside would see it.

“You know,” she whispered, glad her voice didn’t waver, “of all the sights for us to see, this is one I probably could have skipped.”

“I did promise to show you an authentic side of the city.” He scooped up a dead fish and tossed it to the side.

“Malachi?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, even though you’re dragging me through really stinky water and mud right now.”

He turned and she could see his smile even in the darkness. “I love you, too. I say we deserve a vacation after this is over. Didn’t you mention you were rich?”

“Extremely.”

“Know any places with better water and less dead fish?”

“I just might.”

She saw his shoulders shake with laughter as they continued working their way around the walls of the cistern. Despite careful inspection, no tunnel appeared. No alternate exit presented itself.

Finally, Ava sighed and said, “It’s been a while. Maybe they’re gone. Or some have left and we could sneak away. We should go check to see if they’re—”

The sound of the door creaking stopped her. All ease fled as she heard the whispered voices from the platform above.

It wasn’t Damien or Max.

Heart racing, Malachi traced over his talesm prim , activating the magic that remained. He was still strong. Still able. He would be able to defend her. He felt the creep of magic and took her hand, slowly moving behind one pillar and out of the line of sight from the door. He listened.

“—gate open.”

“Is this cistern linked through the tunnels?”

“I don’t think so.”

They were speaking German, the rough syllables echoing over the water as he and Ava stood as statues in the dark. Even a ripple in the water would give them away. She was pressed against him, her heart racing against his chest, but her breathing was deliberately slow. She was concentrating on not panicking.

Good girl.

If they could just remain silent enough…

“There are lights.”

Malachi heard a fumbling on the platform, and then the cistern was flooded with work lights hanging from various pillars.

Damn.

Another, heavier step sounded on the metal platform. The other Grigori fell silent.

“I can smell your fear, Scribe.”

Brage’s deep voice didn’t boom. It curled and twisted in the darkness, seeking them where they hid. Malachi felt Ava tremble.

“The scribe and the woman are here,” Brage said. “Spread out. Find them.”

As soon as he heard the splashes, Malachi moved. Carefully stepping in the shadows, he went farther into the cistern, toward the deeper water where the mud lay thick on the bottom of the floor.

The Grigori were as slow as Malachi and Ava were, their normal speed negated by the pulling mud. He wrapped an arm around Ava to still her so he could listen.

One.

Two. Three.

Four in the water.

Splash!

Five.

A louder splash as one jumped from the railing and into the water.

Six.

“Matteus. Alfred. Stand watch with Mikael by the fountain. If any of the others scribes approach, alert me.”

Brage. Three by the fountain. By Malachi’s calculations, that meant eight in the cistern. Two more splashes confirmed his estimate, then the water fell silent, save for the isolated curses as the Grigori tripped over each other and the detritus of the work site.

Ava’s hand squeezed his own, and he had to force her to release it so he could grab the silver daggers he wore under his shirt. He frowned. Weaponless. His mate was weaponless.

That is, she was weaponless until he saw her pick up the crowbar from a niche in the wall.

He smiled proudly.

“I think I saw some ripples in the water over there!” one said.

“Where?”

“Are there fish in this water? It could be fish.”

“Yes. I feel them.”

They moved deeper, Ava had sunk to the waist, but was still moving slowly, deliberately, behind him. He’d spotted a corner earlier where he thought she’d be best protected. A round, half dome carved into the wall. He suspected it had once been a walled-off exit, but nothing remained except a few steps. He didn’t have time to investigate more.

Once they got there, he drew up her arm and started writing with his finger. The low luminescent writing was hidden in the shadows.

He hoped.

Stay here. I’m going to even the odds.

She shook her head violently, but he kept writing.

Use the crowbar.

He had to wait for the letters to fade before he wrote again.

Swing for the neck and the groin. Don’t hesitate. If you can sink the clawed end into a neck, PULL. Do as much damage as possible and stay as quiet as you can. I’ll be back.

She shook her head again, tears at the corners of her eyes. Malachi bent down, kissing them away before he whispered, “Don’t worry. I told you, I’ll be back.”

Then he slipped into the darkness.

Ava wanted to scream. She felt helpless. Choked by silence, mysterious words whispered in her mind, teasing her as she waited in the darkness. The Old Language called her, the magic begging at her lips.

Powerless.

She was stronger. Faster. Healed more quickly. But she knew nothing about how to protect herself or make her mate stronger. She gripped the cold, gritty handle of the crowbar and lifted it against the dark, tensing when she heard the first sounds of struggle.

Malachi slid through the shadows of the cistern, sneaking behind the first soldier and sliding a hand to cover his mouth as the dagger plunged into the monster’s spine. The Grigori stiffened, arched, then began to dissolve. The dust lifted in the darkness, pulled by an unseen wind. He spun and darted behind the next pillar, waiting for the other Grigori to react.

“I see dust!”

“He’s here.”

“Where?”

“In the cistern.”

“We already knew that, you idiot.”

They were speaking a mix of German, Turkish, and Danish, with muttered curses in at least two other languages. These Grigori were not from Istanbul. Who had sent them? Who was pulling Brage’s strings?

Malachi hid behind another pillar, darting out to grab another. He quickly dispatched him as the others scrambled in the water. Two down, six to go. His legs, long used to the strength of his immortal power, ached in the cold water, but pure adrenaline pushed him. He had to keep them away from his mate.

“Work along the walls,” Brage said. “You idiots! Forget him. We want the woman. Drive her to me.”

Eyes narrowing, Malachi stepped into the light, drawing their attention to him and away from Ava.