The Scribe
Page 17

“Why?”
Ava turned away. “Find a new question, Mal.”
Silence fell between them, filled with the echoes of voices in the dark. Ava could feel him—actually feel him—approach from behind. She tried not to tense.
“You have been more at ease than when we first met.” He kept the question light. “Is your doctor helping?”
“Yes, he is.”
“That’s good.”
She forced herself to turn and smiled. “I’m optimistic. Istanbul might just become my favorite city.”
“Because of the doctor?”
They kept walking, strolling farther through the cisterns. Ava paused at the edge of a tour group, but the guide was speaking German.
“Partly. But I think the attraction was here even before I met him. There’s just something about this place, you know?”
“I don’t know, I—”
She interrupted him with a laugh. “You’re from here, so you probably don’t really get that. I mean, I know people love L.A. Love Hollywood, but it never seemed all that special to me because I grew up there. Istanbul is probably that way for you.”
“No.”
He had stopped behind her. Ava turned to him. “No?”
“I understand. It’s part of the reason I came back. This city… It feeds the soul.”
A strange fluttering started in her chest. “I didn’t know my soul was hungry.”
“Didn’t you?” He smiled. “Hmm.”
“Oh, Malachi…” Ava turned and pretended to read a sign. “The things you say in a single ‘hmm.’”
She felt him step closer. Could feel her body react. His lips were sealed, but his voice whispered to her. Taunting, teasing whispers that begged her to come closer. She turned her head, and her heart raced as his eyes dropped to her mouth. He leaned down, parting his lips as if to speak, but before he could say anything, a child bumped into Ava from behind, giggling as she sent Ava stumbling into Malachi’s chest.
He caught her elbows, and she heard him suck in a breath.
There was a flash of awareness. A sense and a silence. In that second, his pure voice was the only thing she heard, and the sense of harmony threatened to overwhelm her. Ava gasped.
She needed.
Wanted.
Needed.
Utter and complete peace enveloped her for a brief moment, then it was gone when Malachi dropped his hands. Eyes blinking, he backed away, and she let out the breath she held. Once again, the voices wrapped around her, muffled—like a distant chorus they circled and taunted her.
For a second, they had been gone. Completely gone.
And his voice was the only thing she’d heard.
“Malachi?”
“Hmm?” His face was an impenetrable mask, half-cloaked in darkness.
“I…” What was she going to say?
Touch me.
Hold my hand.
Can you make them go away?
“I… don’t feel very well,” she breathed out. “I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”
“Of course,” he said quickly, immediately ushering her toward the exit.
Did he know? Could he feel it, too? Ava shook her head to try to shake some sense into it. Of course he hadn’t felt it. He wasn’t nuts. The odd feeling was probably a result of the strange mood in the underground cistern combined with dehydration and an unexpected—and entirely impractical—attraction to the man.
It had snuck up on her, but she was honest enough to acknowledge it, even as she recognized the futility of the attraction.
What man would want a relationship with her? Her lovers were fleeting. They had to be. Prolonged contact only made her condition worse. Her longest relationship had been during college. It was only three months before he’d been overwhelmed by her, and she by him. She’d flooded him with her energy, her moods, her manic bursts of activity.
“I can’t keep up with you.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“Too much, Ava. You’re just… too much.”
Too much.
It was all too much. She and Malachi walked through a tour group coming down the stairs. Dozens of people brushed past her, almost causing her to stumble. For a second, tears welled in her eyes. She saw Malachi reach for her hand instinctively, then he stopped, drawing his fingers back like a child not allowed to touch. She stayed close behind him, letting his broad shoulders clear a path through the crowd. When they finally reached the outdoors, the sound of traffic overwhelmed the wash of voices. The honks and shouts of the drivers were an unexpected relief.
Ava slipped on her sunglasses and, without waiting for her shadow, started back to the hotel.
Her appointment with Dr. Sadik couldn’t come early enough the next day. She left Malachi drinking tea at a café across the street and walked up to the office, opening the door on the third floor landing before she made her way down the hall and into the office. The pleasant receptionist greeted her with a smile.
“May I get you some tea, Ms. Matheson? You are a few minutes early. Dr. Sadik should be ready for you shortly.” She rose before Ava even answered, moving to the corner where a pot of the tea sat in a clear carafe. Taking one of the modern armchairs, Ava held out her hand when the young woman brought her the drink.
“Thank you. And please, call me Ava.”
“Such a beautiful name,” the receptionist said with a smile. “Please let me know if there is anything else I can get you, Ava.”