Page 122 of The Seeker
“Daughters?” Damien asked.
“A few,” Rhys said. “But there is no organized protection forkareshtalike Kostas has developed or what’s happening in Thailand. It seems that most of Bozidar’s female offspring are simply abandoned. They wouldn’t have any idea who they are.”
Sari shook her head in disgust. “Those poor girls.”
Meera continued. “These rebels have been tracking Bozidar’s movements for the past decade. He’s increased his numbers, spread his influence. He’s been slowly working his way down the center of the country from Chicago.”
Roch said, “He’s counting on infighting between eastern and western Irin communities, and he won’t be disappointed. There’s no love lost there.” Roch stared across the room. “He’s moving down the river. Splitting the continent in two. I bet he’s got his eye on Houston.”
Sari asked, “If he wants Houston, why would he be in New Orleans?”
“A flank attack,” Roch murmured. “The Fallen would see New Orleans as the soft belly of Houston. Less guarded. More lazy.”
“The scribe house in New Orleans isn’t lazy,” Meera said.
Rhys said, “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t call them vigilant.”
“They haven’t had to be.” Meera spoke up in their defense. “They try to keep the peace. If a Grigori isn’t causing problems, live and let live.”
“Except,” Roch said, “this angel is using that peace-loving attitude to lull them into complacency.” The scribe rolled out a map on the library table. “I’ve identified as many new nests of Grigori with Zep and his Grigori associate as I possibly can.”
Meera had to admit she was shocked. There were far more red markers on the map than she’d expected. Like the New Orleans scribes, she’d been lulled into thinking lack of deaths meant lack of Grigori. It clearly wasn’t the case.
Nearly two dozen red areas were highlighted, most in the industrial zones of the city. Warehouses, abandoned apartment complexes, and condemned houses.
Sari asked, “Have you looked into unremarkable deaths?”
Meera asked, “Unremarkable deaths?”
Sari said, “Grigori trying to remain hidden often feed from the homeless and the poor, who usually don’t have good medical care. Particularly the homeless. Humans might die unexpectedly, but their deaths will be attributed to liver failure, heart attack, or some other consequence of poor health, not anything unnatural.”
“I’ve checked into it,” Rhys said. “Higher than normal, but not enough to raise any human alarm.”
“There could be an epidemic of Grigori,” Damien muttered, “and it wouldn’t raise human alarm.”
“Right now we can’t do anything about the human deaths except to recommend upping patrols,” Roch said. “Which the scribe house is already doing. I don’t know how much further we want to drag them into your plans, but if you want to keep the haven hidden—”
“We want to keep the haven hidden.” Meera didn’t even want to think about telling her mother she’d revealed the location of Havre Hélène to Zep and his brothers, who would immediately report it to their watcher in New Orleans. “We can do this on our own.”
Rhys nodded. “Fine. We have resources.”
Meera leaned over the map. “So what do we do? What is the plan?”
“He knows you’re here.” Vasu appeared in the corner of the room.
In unison, Damien and Rhys muttered curses and flung silver daggers in the direction of the voice. The Fallen disappeared and the daggers embedded in the toile-covered wall.
Roch shouted, “What was that?”
“Will you stop?” Meera asked. “My mother is going to murder you all if you ruin her library. Vasu, what are you doing here?”
Roch pointed at the angel. “Is that what I think it is?”
Vasu appeared behind the scribe. “Yes,” he whispered. Then he disappeared again and reformed standing behind Sari.
“Don’t”—she raised her staff when the daggers pointed her direction—“even think about it. Vasu, you pain in the ass, don’t make me hurt you.”
All weapons were lowered, though the temper of the room remained high.
