Page 2 of The Seeker
Rhys hadn’t approached the Grigori by the toilets. He’d been drawn to the diner by the scent of sandalwood that followed the half-angelic creatures—sons of the Fallen always carried the distinctive scent—but so far the Grigori had done nothing but flirt, and that was built into its DNA. In the complicated times they lived in, that meant Rhys was forced to show restraint.
No longer could scribes hunt Grigori on sight. Though the Irin race was charged with protecting humanity from the offspring of fallen angels, recent revelations had turned black and white to countless shades of grey.
Some Grigori had wrested freedom from their Fallen fathers and conquered their predatory instincts. Many of those had turned those instincts to join the Irin in their quest to rid humanity of fallen angels. Some of their sisters, thekareshta,had mated with Irin scribes. Rhys’s own brother-in-arms was mated to the sister of a Grigori the Istanbul scribes had once hunted.
It was all so complicated now.
“Has he done anything to concern you?” Rhys asked the waitress quietly. “The man by the bathrooms?”
“No.” She lifted the empty pie plate. “Just sitting there reading his paper. He likes the blueberry and wears too much cologne. Not my type.”
Rhys forced his eyes away from the Grigori. “Another piece of chocolate for me.”
“Cook just put a black-bottomed pie in the case.”
His mouth watered. “That sounds perfect.”
“See?” She winked at him. “Knew you were my type.”
Rhys couldn’t help his smile.
“You be good,” she said, walking back to the counter.
Rhys sometimes longed for the days when the borders between enemy and friend were clear. Only a few years ago, he could have stalked the creature waiting in the restaurant with a clean conscience; run him to ground, pierced his neck with the silver blades he had hidden, and watched Grigori dust rise to the heavens to face judgment.
It is what they deserve,a vengeful voice whispered inside him.It was the Grigori who slew the Irina singers. It was the Grigori who tried to wipe out their race. It was the Grigori—
No.
That wasn’t their world anymore. Rhys dunked the teabag into the silver pot. That would never be their world again. Their world demanded forgiveness. It required reconciliation, both within their race between the Irin who hunted and the Irina who hid, and outside their race between the Irin and those Grigori who pursued a peaceful life.
So Rhys waited for his tea to steep.
And he watched.
At four in the morning,the air outside the diner was still muggy. Rhys toyed with the end of a cinnamon toothpick as he watched the entrance of the diner from the car he’d rented at the airport. His phone was on speaker, and his brother Maxim was speaking.
“The Houston scribe house and the New Orleans house are combined under one watcher. It’s a situation that’s persisted despite complaints from New Orleans, but the American Watchers’ Council is unconvinced that New Orleans needs a stronger presence.”
Rhys said, “It’s a large tourist destination.” Grigori liked to feed on tourists.
“True. But as far as anyone can tell, attacks are surprisingly low. Houston has more. Larger population, bigger house.”
Rhys pulled the toothpick from between his lips. “Fallen presence?”
“The closest known Fallen stronghold is in Saint Louis. There are always minor angels about, but Bozidar is the closest known archangel, and he resides in and around Saint Louis. Prior to his arrival around two hundred years ago, there hadn’t been a significant Fallen presence in North America for four hundred years because of the native Irin presence.”
And by Irin presence, Max meant what their people had once been. Not the fractured and suspicious people they were now. The Irin of North America were legend in Rhys’s world, vibrant and powerful societies of warrior scribes and singers descended from Uriel, the oldest and wisest of the Forgiven angels. Renowned for their long lives and prowess in battle, the largest group, the Uwachi Toma had routed the archangel Nalu and all his cadre eight hundred years before, leading to a golden age of Irin peace that lasted for roughly five hundred years.
But with European expansion into North America, new Fallen came, breaking the rule of the Uwachi Toma and their allies.
Rhys said, “North America didn’t escape the Rending.”
“Nowhere did,” Max said. “But they had already been weakened by the American Revolutionary War. By the time the Rending happened, many Irin communities were already scattered, more stories than actual presence.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s entirely possible this singer we’re looking for was already in hiding and lived.”
Maxim didn’t respond. Rhys frowned and tore his eyes away from the diner entrance to make sure they still had a connection.
