Page 46 of The Seeker
Rhys thought it did matter, but he shut up. He was taking perverse pleasure in seeing the small, curvy woman lecturing the fallen angel like he was an errant child.
“He’s going to help us find the Wolf and help Sabine, and that is what matters. And I told you the other day that you were absolutely not allowed to interrupt me when I have company.”
“This one already knows who I am because I have helped his friends.”
“Help,” Rhys said, “is very subjective when it comes to Vasu.”
Vasu pouted. “I want to point out he knows who I am and he still threw daggers at me.”
“And I’ll throw them again the first chance I get.”
“No you won’t,” Meera said. “Everyone calm down. Seriously, Vasu, why are you here?”
“Because you need to go to the haven,” Vasu said. “Your father is going to call you in a minute.”
The phone rang a second after he blinked out of sight.
Chapter Eight
Meera clutched the steering wheel tighter the closer they got to the haven. It was against every instinct she owned to bring a stranger to that place, even if her parents had given Rhys permission to visit. In fact, they had insisted he come. Rhys had packed his things quickly, checked out of his guest house, and returned the car he’d rented that morning. They were on the way to the haven by nine o’clock.
Rhys was a calm, steady presence in the seat beside her. “You can explain your relationship with Vasu later. Tell me what to expect when we get there.”
“Vasu is… complicated,” Meera said, her nerves on edge. “Don’t mention him to my parents. Anamitra and I are the only ones who interact with him. As for Sabine, Alosia sang her to sleep. I don’t know what time she would have woken this morning, but she is usually up with the sun, like most of the haven. It’s a working farm, so it runs on a very old-fashioned schedule.”
“I understand.”
“Sabine cycles in her episodes. When she descends like this, it’s usually very predictable. She’ll have a series of days with sullen behavior before she begins to be destructive in her cottage. We can’t have any fire near her, because her magic is elemental. She can amplify fire.”
“So she’s an earth singer.”
“Yes, which is why she is usually happiest working on the farm. The earth magic in the place is old and keeps her more stable.”
“How often do these episodes come? How long do they last?”
“They come a few times a year. It seems to be related to seasonal change. Even though the seasons here are very subtle, they do exist. She spirals. She’s destructive. She’s remorseful. Then she has these startling hours of clarity on the upswing. Those moments are when I’ve been able to get the most information from her. For a day—sometimes only a few hours—you get a glimpse of who she must have been before the Rending. So if you want to question her, now is the right time to visit.”
Meera could feel his compassion reaching for her. Rhys’s blood might have come primarily from Gabriel, but there was a strong vein of Chamuel’s power in his magic. Meera found herself wanting to curl up in his warmth and take a deep breath.
“Who was she before the Rending?” he asked.
“She’s black Creole and still speaks mostly French. She understands English but turns her nose up at it. She’s related to the Irin who originally owned the land where the haven is now. That family abandoned the farm after the Rending.” Meera smiled. “Her family was very wealthy and was in charge of the trading house in New Orleans where Irin families sold their sugar before the Rending. They interacted freely with humans.”
“Did they own slaves?” Rhys asked.
Her eyes went wide. “The Irin? Of course not.”
“But the humans did.”
Meera nodded. “There was a lot of debate among Irin elders about how to deal with humans who owned slaves. Older Irin and younger didn’t agree. Human slavery was so common in the ancient world that many older Irin viewed it as a human sickness we had no hope of curing, so we should ignore it. Younger Irin saw things very differently. Of course, after the Rending happened, that topic became moot. The Irin who didn’t flee became even more insular. They completely withdrew from the human world.”
“But they came back. When?”
“The scribes trickled back from over the border in Texas. The Irina have never officially come back, but some Irina bought and restored the farm and the house in the nineteen sixties. It’s been a haven ever since.”
“Right under the noses of the scribes in Houston and New Orleans.”
“There are wards,” Meera said. “You’ll feel them even with me singing us through. You won’t remember exactly how we got to the farm. I can’t do anything about that. It’s my mother’s magic.”
