The Secret
Page 66
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Mala stepped forward, but Sari held up a hand and shook her head. “Good. I’ve been wanting to have a little chat.”
Constance and her two companions swept out of the gallery with Mala and Sari following them. Ava threw one more glance over her shoulder to see Malachi standing across from her, wearing a triumphant expression. Damien stood next to him, his face glowing with pride.
Ava gave them both a wide smile and followed her sisters out.
AT least if she was going to have coffee with the most passive-aggressive woman she’d ever met, she had her bra and shoes back on.
Ava sat in the airy sitting room of the town house near city hall. The neo-Gothic spire of the Rathaus was visible through the parlor window as Constance’s maid served coffee and delicate cakes to the seven women in the sitting room.
“I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk,” Constance said. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
“You’re from the South,” Ava said.
“Virginia.” Constance nodded. “And you’re American.”
“I am. Los Angeles.”
“How lovely.”
Ava was pretty sure Constance actually meant the complete opposite. The singer turned her attention away from Ava and looked at Sari. Renata had joined them, and she and Mala stood along the back wall while Sari and Ava took the couch.
“Well?” Constance asked.
“Well what? I have every right to demand an audience with my elders.” Sari sat, her strong arms spread across the back of the delicate settee decorated in blue silk, which complemented the butter-yellow walls and cream molding of the room. Her hair was wild from the baths, her face ruddy from the winter air. Like the Northern fjords she hailed from, Sari was primal and beautiful at the same time.
Ava thought she looked like a Valkyrie at a tea party.
Constance had her own kind of power, though. She was the kind of woman Americans would call a “steel magnolia.” She sat rigid in the chair across from Sari, unbowed by the other singer’s presence. Her pixie-cut hair was utterly feminine and showcased high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Beautiful and cold.
“You know perfectly well our elders abandoned us,” she said.
“Abandoned us?” Sari said. “Or were driven out of Vienna in fear for their lives?”
“I have been in Vienna for almost two hundred years,” Constance said. She held a hand out to the woman at her left. “Helen has been here for one hundred.” She nodded to the woman on her right. “Vania has been here for over seventy. There are many Irina living safely in our city.”
“Then where are they? Why have none organized? Why have none stepped forward to try to reform the council?”
Tension was evident around Constance’s eyes. “Because we believe our mates are correct. The Irina belong in retreats where we’re protected. Not out chasing after Grigori like animals.”
Renata said, “Did you hear that, Mala? We’re like animals.” She leaned over the couch and grinned. “Good. I like having teeth.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed. “Do not mistake bravado for strength. We have our own influence here. We’ve been working behind the scenes for years, trying to protect our sisters while you’ve been out throwing tantrums and killing angel spawn.”
“What’s wrong with killing Grigori?” Ava asked. “If they’re attacking human women—”
“War is a scribe’s job,” Helen said, her voice crisply accented.
Renata stepped forward. “You ignorant little—”
“Enough!” Sari said. “I don’t know what my grandmother was thinking. You know nothing. You pretty birds sit in your gilded cages and play at politics while a war happens on the other side of the door. I have nothing to say to you when you are blind to reality.”
Constance’s chin lifted. “We have a good life here. If singers would accept the protection of their scribes, they would have a good life too. A safe life.”
Childish chatter came from the hallway a moment before the door opened. A small girl, no more than five or six years old, bounced into the room, her honey-brown curls pulled into two pigtails on the sides of her head.
“Mama!” she cried and climbed into Constance’s lap.
Ava saw the transformation immediately. All coldness fled from the woman’s face.
“Lexi, what are you doing back from the park?”
“I was too cold. And we have visitors!” the little girl said, turning her sparkling eyes to Sari and Ava. “Hello.”
Sari’s yearning was an aching thing beside her.
“Hello,” she said.
“Did you bring any children?” Lexi said.
“I’m sorry,” Sari said softly. “I don’t have any children.”
“Oh.” The girl’s disappointment was clear. “Miss Helen’s son comes to play sometimes, but he’s so much older than me. Mama”—she turned in her mother’s arms—“I want to see a baby. Does anyone have a baby I can play with?”
Constance ran a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, Lexi. No babies are visiting today.”
Lexi turned and confided to Ava, “I have lots of dollies, but babies are better, aren’t they?”
Ava leaned forward, transfixed. “I suppose so.”
“Go with Anna,” Constance said. “We need to talk about grown-up things for a little longer.”
Constance and her two companions swept out of the gallery with Mala and Sari following them. Ava threw one more glance over her shoulder to see Malachi standing across from her, wearing a triumphant expression. Damien stood next to him, his face glowing with pride.
Ava gave them both a wide smile and followed her sisters out.
AT least if she was going to have coffee with the most passive-aggressive woman she’d ever met, she had her bra and shoes back on.
Ava sat in the airy sitting room of the town house near city hall. The neo-Gothic spire of the Rathaus was visible through the parlor window as Constance’s maid served coffee and delicate cakes to the seven women in the sitting room.
“I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk,” Constance said. “Perhaps we can come to an understanding.”
“You’re from the South,” Ava said.
“Virginia.” Constance nodded. “And you’re American.”
“I am. Los Angeles.”
“How lovely.”
Ava was pretty sure Constance actually meant the complete opposite. The singer turned her attention away from Ava and looked at Sari. Renata had joined them, and she and Mala stood along the back wall while Sari and Ava took the couch.
“Well?” Constance asked.
“Well what? I have every right to demand an audience with my elders.” Sari sat, her strong arms spread across the back of the delicate settee decorated in blue silk, which complemented the butter-yellow walls and cream molding of the room. Her hair was wild from the baths, her face ruddy from the winter air. Like the Northern fjords she hailed from, Sari was primal and beautiful at the same time.
Ava thought she looked like a Valkyrie at a tea party.
Constance had her own kind of power, though. She was the kind of woman Americans would call a “steel magnolia.” She sat rigid in the chair across from Sari, unbowed by the other singer’s presence. Her pixie-cut hair was utterly feminine and showcased high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Beautiful and cold.
“You know perfectly well our elders abandoned us,” she said.
“Abandoned us?” Sari said. “Or were driven out of Vienna in fear for their lives?”
“I have been in Vienna for almost two hundred years,” Constance said. She held a hand out to the woman at her left. “Helen has been here for one hundred.” She nodded to the woman on her right. “Vania has been here for over seventy. There are many Irina living safely in our city.”
“Then where are they? Why have none organized? Why have none stepped forward to try to reform the council?”
Tension was evident around Constance’s eyes. “Because we believe our mates are correct. The Irina belong in retreats where we’re protected. Not out chasing after Grigori like animals.”
Renata said, “Did you hear that, Mala? We’re like animals.” She leaned over the couch and grinned. “Good. I like having teeth.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed. “Do not mistake bravado for strength. We have our own influence here. We’ve been working behind the scenes for years, trying to protect our sisters while you’ve been out throwing tantrums and killing angel spawn.”
“What’s wrong with killing Grigori?” Ava asked. “If they’re attacking human women—”
“War is a scribe’s job,” Helen said, her voice crisply accented.
Renata stepped forward. “You ignorant little—”
“Enough!” Sari said. “I don’t know what my grandmother was thinking. You know nothing. You pretty birds sit in your gilded cages and play at politics while a war happens on the other side of the door. I have nothing to say to you when you are blind to reality.”
Constance’s chin lifted. “We have a good life here. If singers would accept the protection of their scribes, they would have a good life too. A safe life.”
Childish chatter came from the hallway a moment before the door opened. A small girl, no more than five or six years old, bounced into the room, her honey-brown curls pulled into two pigtails on the sides of her head.
“Mama!” she cried and climbed into Constance’s lap.
Ava saw the transformation immediately. All coldness fled from the woman’s face.
“Lexi, what are you doing back from the park?”
“I was too cold. And we have visitors!” the little girl said, turning her sparkling eyes to Sari and Ava. “Hello.”
Sari’s yearning was an aching thing beside her.
“Hello,” she said.
“Did you bring any children?” Lexi said.
“I’m sorry,” Sari said softly. “I don’t have any children.”
“Oh.” The girl’s disappointment was clear. “Miss Helen’s son comes to play sometimes, but he’s so much older than me. Mama”—she turned in her mother’s arms—“I want to see a baby. Does anyone have a baby I can play with?”
Constance ran a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, Lexi. No babies are visiting today.”
Lexi turned and confided to Ava, “I have lots of dollies, but babies are better, aren’t they?”
Ava leaned forward, transfixed. “I suppose so.”
“Go with Anna,” Constance said. “We need to talk about grown-up things for a little longer.”
