The Scribe by Elizabeth Hunter

watching her, but Malachi wasn’t convinced. After all, the woman had spotted a Grigori stalking her through a crowded market; he doubted a six-foot behemoth with a mane of blond hair would be hard to pluck out of the crowd. “I… uh… I do have someone, as a matter of fact. His name is Leo. He’s very reliable. Maybe I’ll call him.”
    She reached out to pat his hand, but Malachi tensed before she paused and drew back. “That’s a good idea. I’m wearing you out.”
    “You’re fine, Ava. I don’t mind.”
    “No, I do it to everyone.” Her face had fallen back into its polite mask. He could practically feel her withdrawing. “It’s… fine. You should call your friend. Take a break from me.”
    He didn’t want to take a break from her. Leaving her with Leo seemed like an even worse idea than it had only a minute before. Her mask was an open wound to him. The confident, energetic woman was gone, replaced by a cool, carefully contained stranger.
    “Ava.” He waited until she finally looked at him again. “I enjoy spending time with you. It’s no chore. You’re intelligent. Funny. I like that you’re so curious about everything. And it’s my privilege to show you around Istanbul.” He allowed himself to smile. “Besides, it makes my job easier when I can keep you within grabbing distance.”
    Not that I could actually grab you without hurting you.
    The sadness behind her eyes still didn’t flee, but her mouth turned up at the corner. “You, too. Well, not the grabbing-distance thing. You probably don’t want that.”
    You have no idea.
    He cleared his throat. “Better keep it professional, Ms. Matheson.”
    She took another bite of bread. “Absolutely… Mal.”

    The narrow street stunk of urine and rotten meat. Malachi and Rhys stalked the edges of the city where the Grigori preyed. Here, a missing girl would go unnoticed. Her family might worry, or they might not. But either way, these were the people the authorities ignored. Missing girls from this neighborhood were quickly forgotten. Girls who appeared mysteriously pregnant were hidden or sent away, even killed by family members convinced the girl had brought dishonor on herself. Foolish humans.
    The Grigori didn’t care.
    Damien had heard police reports of girls going missing in this neighborhood. It was possible the monsters had found a new hunting ground.
    Malachi saw Rhys’s shoulders angle toward a dark alley.
    “Hmm?” They spoke as little as possible on patrol.
    A nod was his only answer. Malachi saw Rhys trace the characters along his wrist, calling on his magic. Malachi copied the action. Within seconds, he felt the power creep up his arm, crawl over his shoulders, then down his back. In the time it took him to draw a silver dagger, his vision sharpened; the black became grey. His arms flexed with new strength. His skin pulsed with a web of incantations that made him impervious to human weapons.
    Malachi followed Rhys into the alley, alert to his surroundings as his brother focused on a point in the darkness. He heard the scribe utter a soft oath in the Old Language, then he ran and fell to his knees, pulling on gloves before he lifted the broken figure on the ground, making sure his skin didn’t brush hers for fear of further harm.
    “Too late,” Rhys muttered as he stood and started walking. “It’s Grigori, and from her condition, he hasn’t been gone long. Do you sense anything?”
    “No smell. Not even a hint.” A seductive smell of sandalwood usually followed Grigori attacks. Malachi followed the other scribe as he rushed back toward the street. “Is she alive?”
    “Barely.”
    As they approached the street lights, Malachi got a better look at the victim. She appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen. Her skin was pale and her breathing shallow. The young woman’s torn clothing was traditional but new. He saw Rhys’s gloved thumb brush her cheek.
    “A child.” The raw fury bubbled under the surface of