The cat had come to sit on his chest.
“Ava!”
She ran down the stairs and flagged down the first taxi she could find.
“Zentralfriedhof,” she told the driver. “Gate two.”
AVA didn’t know why she was so attracted to cemeteries. Maybe it was the quiet. For as long as she’d been alive, she’d found them soothing. She could walk among others, never feeling alone, but not plagued by the voices of the living. No matter what city she visited, she sought them out, content to linger among the dead while the living only tormented her.
The Central Cemetery in Vienna was one of the largest in Europe, containing the graves of many of Austria’s most famous composers. Knowing what she did now about Irin history there and the Irina tie to music, the city’s musical history made even more sense.
She walked the barren pathways toward the church, surrounded by grey headstones and the rare passing tourist. Some spaces were overgrown, but most on the central walkway were trimmed and many had freshly cut flowers, even in the dead of winter. It was one of her favorite cemeteries, a veritable city of the dead. Carefully tended, trimmed with lush gardens and populated by the marble figures of angels, poets, and mourners.
And Ava was freezing.
She tucked her scarf closer around her neck and wondered just how mad Malachi was going to be. Probably pretty mad.
It was the “I forbid it” that had been the last straw.
No. Just no.
He might have been hundreds of years older than her, but she wasn’t a child to order around.
She turned left past the graves of famous composers, leaving Strauss, Beethoven, and Schubert behind as she searched for the gravestone that had become her first magazine cover.
It was a darkly sensual embrace emerging from stone. The male figure’s hands possessive. Commanding. An odd sculpture to find on the grave of an obscure nineteenth-century writer. But it had spoken to her, the woman’s face tilted up to her lover in surrender.
Ava remembered how she’d felt when she photographed it.
Longing. For possession. To belong to another utterly. To be precious. Needed.
She heard a hoarse chirp by her leg. She looked down to see the black cat from her apartment building sitting by her leg.
“What the—”
Before her eyes, the cat grew, stretching in the shadows of the evergreen trees that surrounded the old graves. He became a man with gold eyes, his dark hair streaked with amber. His lips were lush, the angles of his face and eyes speaking Eastern heat. Silk and spices. Hooded eyes lined with black stared down at her.
“Your lover holds you that way.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed out.
“No, Vasu.”
“Who are you?”
He cocked his head, as if it should have been obvious. “Vasu.”
Ava blinked. “Okay then, Vasu. What are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Awe turned to irritation. “First Jaron, then Death, now you—”
“Azril? Has he visited you?” Vasu cocked his head. “How interesting.”
“I’m really just wondering if I should run screaming at this point, or if you’re a friend of Jaron’s.”
“I would not call your sire a friend, but he is my brother. And screaming would do you no good. If I wanted to kill you, I would have already.”
Ava turned to look around. All the humans that had been in the vicinity—groundskeepers, carriage drivers, a few tourists—were gone. She was alone with the fallen angel in the long black overcoat who called Jaron his brother.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why were you pretending to be a cat?”
“Why not? Cats are very unobtrusive. I often pretend to be a cat.”
“That’s…”
“Ingenious?”
“Weird.”
A smile lifted the corner of his lips. “You are amusing. I can see why Jaron and Azril are interested in you.”
“Does Jaron know you’re here? How did you find me?”
“I followed your taxi after I left the scribe. He is very angry with you.”
“I bet.” Ava took a deep breath, reassured that the angel didn’t seem to be trying to kill her. “You must run really fast as a cat.”
“No, I took the shape of a bird when you entered the automobile.”
“Of course you did.”
Ava started walking toward the church. Vasu fell in step beside her.
“You’re not really going to leave Vienna, are you?” He sounded as irritated as Malachi had. “It will ruin everything. And I don’t like being here.”
“Vienna?”
“It’s very cold.”
“What am I ruining? Jaron’s plans to use me as bait to draw Volund here and use the Irin to help kill his enemy?”
“I believe Jaron has every intention of killing Volund himself. The Irin are only useful to take care of the Grigori and lesser angels. You would be no match for Volund.”
“There aren’t any Grigori in Vienna.”
Vasu’s mouth ticked up at the corner, and he looked past her. “Are you sure?”
She smelled it when the wind kicked up. A hint of sandalwood on the air.
“What have you done?” she hissed. “Did you lead them to me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Grimold’s sons have been trailing you for days.” Vasu opened his jacket and Ava saw a row of silver daggers. “Come, Singer. Choose your weapon. Or have you learned to fight with magic alone?”