Page 10 of The Storm
“What’s the situation in Dresden?” Max asked. “The nearest scribe house is Berlin, is it not?”
“We live well,” Vilem said. “It’s not as bad as you might think.”
“With no Irin guardians there in an official capacity?” Max asked. “No Grigori patrols? I would assume—”
“Don’tassume.” Vilem ran his hands through his hair, looking around the club nervously. “That’s the problem. Everyone assumes because of the past. And I understand why, but it’s not… It’s just not what you think.”
“Boy, what are you talking about?” Though Max wasn’t quite two hundred years old, he was far more worldly than this young scribe whosetalesmdidn’t even reach his collar.
“We don’t need Irin protection,” Vilem said.
“The whole world needs Irin protection,” Max said. “Whether they know it or not.”
Grigori seduced and fed from the souls of humanity, often leaving nothing in their wake but a shell of a person. Most often, they left a corpse. They had a particular liking for young female travelers. It was one of the reasons there were so many scribes in Prague.
And the Fallen? They reveled in the destruction their offspring wrought. Human were nothing to them. They staked out territory to play games and control riches; archangels were the worst of all.
Max finished his beer and caught the waitress’s eye to ask for another. Vilem was nervous, tapping his finger on the table and glancing over his shoulder.
From what Max knew, two archangels, Svarog and Volund, were influential in Dresden, but neither truly held it. Because of that, numerous minor angels struggled for control, often killing each other in the process.
The most recently deceased angel—and his offspring—were the subject of Max’s inquiries.
“You have to understand,” Vilem said, “Cassius wasn’t controlling. He let his children live their lives. He wasn’t ambitious, so his sons… They have no reason to be aggressive. Do you understand?”
“They are Grigori.”
“But they don’t have to be violent.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know this?”
The young man went pale, but he didn’t look away. “I have a friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
“A Grigori friend.”
Max’s arm shot across the booth as he grabbed Vilem by the throat. The waitress who was returning with his beer gasped and dropped the glass before she ran away.
“Please,” Vilem choked out. “Please listen.”
“We are notfriendswith Grigori,” Maxim hissed. “They are demons. Monsters who raped and murdered our women. Who turned our children to dust. We are not friends with them. We hunt them like the animals they are.”
Vilem tried to pry Maxim’s hand loose. “Not… all…”
“The Grigori who participated in the Rending are mostly gone,” said a smooth voice to Max’s left.
Max let Vilem go and immediately reached for the silver dagger in the sheath at his shoulder.
The Grigori who’d spoken raised both hands. “I come in peace.”
Which was a good thing. Max had been so angered by Vilem’s words he’d completely lost awareness of his surroundings. If he’d been paying better attention, he would have noticed the telltale scent of sandalwood growing stronger. Max’s eyes swept the room, looking for more, but the Grigori appeared to be alone. They were sitting in a corner, hidden by shadows as pulsing lights swirled around the dance floor.
Max didn’t want to startle the humans, but he kept his hand on the handle of his dagger. “What is this?”
“Hopefully a conversation and not an execution,” the Grigori said.
Max’s eyes darted between a pale and frightened Vilem and the Grigori.
