The Scribe
Page 30

“Okay, which way?” She packed the snacks in her small knapsack and threw it over one shoulder.
Malachi pointed toward the carriages by the clock tower. “Are you sure you don’t want to hire someone?”
“Definitely. I could use the walk.”
“This way, then.”
It was early summer and the middle of the week. There were a number of tourists, but most seemed to head toward the beach or the restaurants. Only a few stopped to hire a phaeton to take them up the mountain, and even fewer looked ready for the steep climb through the town and up to the Monastery of St. George. As Ava and Malachi started out, they were alone. Leo stayed near the terminal, watching for any visitors, per Malachi’s request.
“Are you ready?” he asked as they headed up the hill. “It’s not a short hike.”
Ava took a deep breath as they stepped away from the crowds. “Trust me, this is just what I had in mind.”
Her expression began to clear the farther they got away from other people. They walked through a neighborhood filled with luxurious mansions on their way toward Luna Park.
“Your house in L.A.?” He nodded toward one mansion. “Is it grand like this?”
“My mom’s house?” She shrugged. “It’s bigger. Carl likes people to know how much money he has.”
“You don’t have your own home?”
“No.”
They kept walking. Malachi wondered what it would feel like to live in a grand home. The retreat where his parents raised him in Germany was simple, and scribe houses were more like monasteries. The most well-appointed rooms were reserved for the books, scrolls, and tablets, not the scribes who copied or preserved them. He knew some Irin lived with more wealth, those in cities who worked in human businesses. After all, the retreats and scribe houses had to be supported financially, but Malachi had never had the head for human business. His life had been protecting the accumulation of knowledge until it had been about avenging his parents’ deaths. He didn’t know anything else.
“Tell me more about this organization you’re after, Mal.”
He wasn’t prepared for the question. Luckily, he’d rehearsed an answer that morning while he was waiting for her to wake. “They’re an organized, international criminal enterprise that specializes in human trafficking. They’re very secretive; you won’t find much about them online. Officially, they don’t exist.”
“Really?” Her voice had that distant, skeptical tone again. “No international task forces? Interpol? United Nations?”
“Governments don’t want to acknowledge things they don’t know how to combat. It makes them feel helpless.”
She raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. “So why are you guys after them? I’m assuming your company is being paid.”
Curious woman. Curious, bothersome woman. The surge of reluctant admiration annoyed him. “Let’s put it this way—they’ve hurt some very powerful people in the past. Those people want to make sure it doesn’t happen again, and they’re willing to put their resources behind our company to take care of them.”
“You mean kill them?”
“Ava, I don’t—”
“‘My dagger hungers for your neck.’” She mimicked his voice from the night before. “Who talks like that? I’m assuming you were threatening his life.”
They were past the houses now, on the edge of the park. Pine trees lined the road along with fluttering scraps of ribbon and cloth, markers left by the pilgrims who’d traveled the road before them. Ava didn’t look at him, but he knew she was waiting for his response.
“Yes, I was threatening him. According to the law, he is not a criminal, but he kills and kidnaps with impunity. What should our response be if one of them threatens an innocent person?”
The color on her cheeks was high, and she was starting to breathe more heavily the longer they climbed.
“But you’re not police. You’re not military. Basically, you’re out for revenge on these guys.”
“We’re keeping them from hurting more women and children. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Her fingers trailed along the brush, twisting around one particularly long ribbon that was tied to a low branch of pine. “What are these? What are they for?”
“They’re prayers. Pilgrims tie them as they walk up to the monastery. Most of them are from women who want children. The monastery is associated with fertility.”
He saw her pause, her fingers twisting around a ribbon, clutching it for a moment before she released it and continued walking.
Malachi saw the quick crease between her eyebrows, and his fingers ached to smooth it.
“Do you want children, Ava?”
She glanced at him, surprised. “None of your business.”
“You’re right.” He swallowed back a frustrated curse and kept walking. “It is none of my business. I apologize.”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t have them.” Her voice was soft, but he caught the words muttered under her breath anyway.
He stopped, turned. “Is it because of your health? Your… headaches?”
“We’re not talking about my headaches,” she said with a glare before she marched off the path and into a stand of trees.
Malachi watched her, confused for a second before he followed. “Ava, where are you going?”