“I’m not going to harm you or your family,” she said.
Zana says that we must leave after the storm passes. We have nowhere else to go.
Renata sighed. “If you think that’s actually going to happen, you clearly don’t understand Max at all.”
Evin bounced over and sat by Renata. “I like Max.”
“I do too.” She tucked Evin’s hair behind her ear. “You remind me very much of myself when I was your age. Do you know I lived here when I was a girl?”
“You did?” Evin grinned. “Did you sleep in the caves like me?”
Renata felt the pang of guilt, but since the child clearly felt like sleeping in the library was an adventure, she tried not to feel too guilty.
“No, I slept in the house. I had a room there with my parents. There were many families here, and my parents worked here in the library with many people. Clever people like you, who knew lots of languages and stories. I went to school here.”
Evin’s face fell a little. “I can’t go to school.”
Renata looked at Thawra. “What if I told you there was magic you could use to help her block out the voices?”
What kind of magic?
“Irina magic.”
Thawra’s eyes went wide. The singers?
“Have you met any of our kind before?”
She shook her head. Only stories.
“You have angel blood. That means you have the same magic we do. Irina mothers use magic to protect their children when they’re young. You could use the same magic to protect Evin from the soul voices—your other child too, if it’s a girl—but you’d have to speak.”
Thawra eyes were blank.
“Mama doesn’t talk.” Evin leaned closer to Renata and whispered, “The bad people hurt her heart. That’s what Baba says. That’s why she doesn’t talk except for bad dreams. Baba and me sleep by her at night and hug her lots if she cries.”
Thawra clapped sharply. Evin, that’s enough.
The bad people hurt her heart. Renata wondered if Thawra’s natural magic had something to do with empathy. If she were Irina, Renata would say she carried the angel Chamuel’s blood. Those of Chamuel’s blood were unusually empathetic. Some could even heal emotional injuries to others. Conversely, they were some of the most traumatized Irina during the Rending. They lived not only through their own trauma, but also through the trauma of those around them.
They had to leave Syria, Max had said. Zana said they were shutting down.
“You’re an empath,” Renata said, trying to catch Thawra’s eye. “You feel what others feel.”
So does Evin, Thawra signed.
“I can teach you magic to protect yourself. To protect her. You’d be able to be around humans. You’d be able to live a more normal life.”
Thawra shook her head. We have no papers. We are nobody. Nothing.
“Don’t say that, Mama.” Evin hopped off the sofa and went to her mother, wrapping her arms around Thawra’s hips. “Baba says you are his moon. Ya amar, Mama. Ya habib alby. And I am his ladybug.”
Thawra took a deep breath and stroked Evin’s hair back. Go see the Christmas tree, she signed. Let me talk to the lady.
“Go ahead,” Renata said. “When Max comes in, ask him for a biscuit. There are some in the kitchen. I made them with dried apricots.”
“I like biscuits!” Evin bounced away through the stone hallway and past the iron door that hung open, leading to the house.
Renata turned back to Thawra. “You don’t want her to hear you speak, do you?”
Thawra opened her mouth and breathed deeply for a very long time. Then she put a hand on her belly and pushed out the words. “My voice. Sounds like a child.”
It did sound childlike. It was high and scratched. Something about it reminded Renata of a cat mewling.
“How old were you when you stopped speaking?”
“Younger,” she rasped. Younger than Evin, she signed.
“Why?”
“Mad,” she said.
“You were mad? Angry?”
Thawra shook her head. “The family… sold—” The family I was sold to, she signed. They told me my voice was driving them mad. Anytime I opened my mouth, they beat me. So I stopped speaking. It was safer that way.
Renata’s fury was ripe and fresh. “Your voice is a gift. We are daughters of the Creator. Our voices sing the songs of heaven. Those people were ignorant fools who knew nothing of your power. Nothing. Do you hear me? Your voice is power, and I will teach you how to use it. To protect yourself. To protect your children.” Renata took a deep breath. “And to calm and strengthen the mate who protects you.”
Thawra’s golden eyes met Renata’s. “I have… magic?”
Renata’s mind drifted back to a cold stone church, lying on the hard marble—empty and grieving—as a woman far more powerful than she’d been held out a hand to her.
“Can you teach me to be a warrior?”
“Can you heal my wound?”
“You have more magic than you know,” Renata said. “And I can teach you to use it. I can teach you how to fight.”
Thawra’s chin lifted, and Renata no longer saw a frightened victim. She saw a woman who hoped.
Hope was powerful.
“I will learn,” Thawra rasped out. “I want to.”
Renata held her hand out to Thawra. “Then you are exactly where you need to be.”
Renata watched the family that night at dinner. Max had made a stew he’d learned from his uncle, a typical warrior’s meal with boiled meat and potatoes and root vegetables. It was perfect for dinner, and the little family wolfed it down. Renata had peeked at their stores. They’d been existing on canned meats and beans and flour they’d probably scavenged from the house. Though all of them were thinner than they ought to have been, Zana was nearly gaunt. It was obvious he’d been going without food so Thawra and Evin could eat.
“What did you do?” Renata asked quietly as they were finishing their food. It was the first time she’d spoken to Zana since she’d called him a monster and tried to kill him. “Before the war. Back in Damascus. What was your profession?”
He smiled a little. “I was a carpenter. I worked for myself, which let me avoid most people.”
Grigori, like Irin scribes, could not sustain contact with humans without draining them of their life force. But while Irin scribes had magic to help their control, Grigori were given no such knowledge by their angelic fathers.
“Did you do some work on the porch?” Max asked casually. “Over on the east side? I noticed some of the wood was different.”
“I did,” Zana said. “I found some lumber in the barn last summer and decided to replace a few of the railings.” He glanced at Renata warily. “I didn’t think anyone would mind. They were loose. I didn’t want anyone to fall. And we’d taken some food from storage in the house.”
“It’s fine,” Renata said absently. “Thank you for fixing it.”
“You’re most welcome.” Zana reached over and used his napkin to wipe Evin’s cheek. “Drink all your milk, bug.”
“It tastes funny,” Evin whispered.
“It’s different because it’s fresh,” Zana said. “But fresh is better. It will make you strong.”