He saw the curious gleam in her eye.
“But I can learn? Even though I’m older?”
Rhys and Malachi exchanged a look.
“Irina magic is always taught by other Irina,” Rhys said. “What we don’t know outweighs what we do. Still, there has to be a way. There are Irina in the world, though they are mostly in hiding. We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.”
“As do I.” Their eyes met in the flickering candlelight, and Malachi had a vision of Ava, her arms spread, her voice raised in song. Magic poured from her. He imagined her voice whispering secrets in his ear, the ancient words a mate would share. The most beautiful power imaginable that bound two into one. The thought brought a rush of emotion he hoped she heard. From the flush of her cheeks, he was guessing she did.
Chapter Twelve
Four days later, Ava was still thinking about Rhys’s words.
We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.
Power. They told her the manic energy that had stalked her wasn’t illness or mania, it was power. For someone who had spent her life skirting around the edges of insanity, it was hard to fathom.
Excitable.
Emotional.
High-strung.
Hyperactive.
Troubled…
The descriptions from friends and doctors had slowly devolved as she’d gotten older. They’d gone from amusement to awkwardness. And though her mother had always cushioned the blow, Ava had known from the time she was a child that there was something different about her. Something that wasn’t good. Something that made her “too much” to deal with. Carl had only confirmed it when she’d reached her teens. His constant stream of classes and camps and internships may have given her a résumé most twenty-somethings would kill for, but Ava knew it had little to do with concern. She was a problem, one he preferred to farm out.
“Evren?” She turned to the old scribe sitting across the table from her.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Would you say that I’m… normal? For an Irina?”
Evren gave her a slow smile. “But what is normal? For any man or woman?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” He put down the pencil he’d been taking notes with and folded his hand. “You are who you were meant to be, Ava. I see nothing damaged or wrong with you. How you came to be who you are?” Evren lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Who can say? In Irin history, there is no incidence of any Irina being born in a human family. But you are here now. You are among your people. You are a wonder to us, not an oddity.”
“My whole life, I’ve never fit in.”
“Of course you haven’t,” he said. “I’m sure in the human world, you would stand out. Here? You are normal. You remind me very much of a girl I grew up with. She was so curious.” A dimple touched Evren’s cheek. “She was the favorite of our teachers in the village.”
Ava was quiet for a long time, staring at the high, glowing windows of the library. When she finally spoke, she spoke softly.
“I thought I was crazy for a long time. My whole life, really. It’s hard to leave that behind, even with all of you telling me that I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Don’t get me wrong.” She shook her head. “I know it should be a relief. But there’s a part of me that still doesn’t believe it. A part that thinks I’m locked in a room somewhere because my delusions have finally taken over. The voices have finally won, and this is all a kind of dream that my mind is using to cope.”
Evren opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he said, “I think…”
Pain bloomed in her knee when he kicked it under the table. Ava’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Ow! What the heck, Evren?”
He shrugged again. “That wouldn’t hurt in a dream, so you’re not dreaming.”
She was speechless.
“What?” he asked. “You want me to come up with some deep, philosophical answer? You’re not crazy. You’re part of a race that is descended from the offspring of angels and human women. Is this so hard to believe? Look at your legends and myths. There are bits of truth all over. Pieces of the story that have been told for thousands of years. Wise women. Oracles. Heroes of ancient times. We’ve always been here. You just thought the stories were nothing more than stories. So your doctors hear you tell them about whispers, and they call you crazy. A thousand years ago, they might have called you a witch or an oracle.” Evren curled his lip in disgust and turned back to his books. “Modern humans learn much, but they forget even more.”
“Okay,” she said. “Got it. Not crazy.”
“It’s insulting for you to say it.”
“Cut me a little slack, will you?”
“You cripple yourself and your own power when you say this, Ava.”
“I get it.” She tried to turn back to her books, but then she looked up again. “So, these powers…”
“Yes?”
“How… I mean, what do I…” She frowned, unsure of what the right question was.
“What powers do you have?”
“I guess so.”
Evren said, “It varies. All Irina have the capacity to speak and perform magic. Other gifts are rarer. A very few have the gift of foresight, which is directly from our angelic forefathers. Our magic expresses itself in similar ways. Some Irina spells are exactly like our own. For health and strength. Longevity. Physical or emotional strength for our mates. Others are uniquely Irina. We have no capacity for their magic.”
“Like what?”
“Healing of humans. Creative spells. Much to do with the natural world that helps the plants grow or brings health to a baby in the womb. Bearing children—”
“My mom says there’s nothing magical about that experience, Evren.”
He chuckled. “But of course there is! Though it is not without pain. Irina have a unique talent for anything creative. Wonderful architects and artists. But their greatest magic is listening.”
“Like the voices.”
“It is not only the voices in their minds.” Evren pinned her down with his stare. “There are seers, yes, but also those who hear what is unsaid. They listen and they understand. As we Irin are able to discern the tiniest marking on parchment, a gifted Irina hears what is said and also what is unsaid. They discern where others do not.”
“Well… that makes sense.”
Ava wondered if that was one of her gifts. After all, she’d always had a pretty good bullshit detector, because the inner voice, that no one else heard, couldn’t lie. Sure, someone could say one thing, but the tone of their silent voice gave their true motive away. It was probably why she’d always had so few friends. It was also why she was still so confused about Malachi.
He had been quietly present ever since the night at the restaurant. She got the distinct feeling he was biding his time. For what? She had no idea. But the tone of his thoughts had taken on a decidedly heated air, even though she couldn’t understand what he was saying.
And she could always hear him. Even when others were around, his voice shone through. With a little guidance from Evren, she’d begun to master control over the voices. Even casual contact with the scribes around her helped. Evren made it a point to pat her hand as they worked, and even the shyest scribe in the house, when he met her, greeted her with a warm handshake that enveloped her palm. They were quietly affectionate, all of them treating her like a treasured sister or daughter. Everyone except Rhys and Malachi.
With Rhys, it was a teasing grin, or a tug on her hair. A casual arm thrown around her shoulders as they walked to the village. A flirtatious nudge as they sat next to each other on the couch.
With Malachi, a pass in the hallway meant a shiver-inducing brush along her arm. He continued to taunt her fingers, letting his own linger when he handed her a book or sat next to her at the table. He didn’t flirt with her. Didn’t even speak to her much when others were around. But Malachi was always there. She could feel his eyes. She could sense his heat. Could feel his irritation every time Rhys came close.