At seven o’clock that evening, Rhys knocked on Meera’s door, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a bag from Fete au Fete in his hand. Meera opened the door wearing an outfit similar to the one she’d worn the last time he’d seen her. Her shoulders were tan, and she was wearing a bright coral tank top. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a disordered tumble of thick waves.

She scattered his senses without saying a word.

Rhys thrust the bag into her hands. “They didn’t have crawfish étouffée,” he said crossly. “I bought shrimp and grits and crawfish poutine. I hope that’s acceptable.”

Meera took the bag. “Thank you.”

Neither of them moved.

“Étouffée. And an apology.”

He took a deep breath and reminded himself he had been an arse. He’d been high on adrenaline and magic, appalled that the Grigori had been drawn to Meera so precisely, and worried far more than he expected for someone who was, at best, an intriguing new colleague.

Liar. You want to play naked chess with her.

So he’d been an arse.

“I’m sorry I underestimated you,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”

She started to say something, then stopped and took a breath. “Fine. Apology accepted.”

“Good.”

Neither of them moved.

Rhys glanced over his shoulder. “Your garden is lovely. Did you plant it?”

“No. I just enjoy it. My landlord takes care of it since both properties share the backyard.” She pointed to the narrow shotgun-style house beside her own. “I do a little bit here and there.”

Rhys nodded, having exhausted his capacity for small talk. He didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to talk about gardens. He wanted to find out what Meera knew about the Wolf—

And play naked chess.

No. He had goals. Objectives for the evening. And the woman hadn’t moved from the front door.

She looked down at the bag, then back to Rhys. “As you might have been able to tell the other night, I’m not accustomed to having other people here.”

Her unexpected admission eased his nerves. “No one?”

“Sometimes my father visits. That’s all. I invited my mother once, but she couldn’t relax. She kept eyeing the house’s exit points and muttering under her breath.”

“I’ve met your father.” And your mother sounds equally terrifying. Rhys didn’t say that part.

Meera nodded. “Yes, he mentioned he’d met you.”

“It was an interesting experience.”

“He’s an interesting man.” She stood awkwardly in the doorway for another few seconds before she stepped aside. “Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you like beer?”

“I do.”

“Have a seat.” Meera put the food on the table, and Rhys sat down while she went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles.

The bubbly, confident woman he’d met on the streets of the French Quarter was gone. The comforting woman who’d read his mood and coddled him in the club on the night he’d killed the Grigori in the cemetery was also gone. Her silence annoyed him, and he couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t usually one for chatter.

You like her chatter.

“Meera, stop.” Rhys caught her hand as she walked past him in the small kitchen.

She turned and her eyes were hot. “I didn’t say you could touch me.”

He dropped her hand. “I am sorry I intruded the other night, but I’m not sorry I killed that Grigori.”

“I know you’re not sorry.”

“Why did you call me if you’re only going to glare at me?”

Meera sighed and set the two beers on the table. “We need to work together. More than one person has… admonished me for refusing your help.”

“I’m not going to admonish you. You’re clearly very bright, and you know whether you need help or not. If I’m not needed—”

“You are.”

The simple statement hit him like a punch to the chest.

She’s not talking about you, you idiot. She’s talking about your brain.

“If I’m needed, then I’m happy to help. I know what it is to be discreet. You don’t have to worry about my spreading rumors or revealing private information to the council.”

She busied herself taking boxes and cartons out of the bag. “I’m not worried about that.”

“Then why—?”

“You know who I am.” She opened the boxes of food and moved the empty bag to the counter. She still didn’t look at him.

“Are we finally doing away with the subterfuge? Thank you. Yes, I know who you are. And?”

She said nothing.

Rhys grew irritated. “I’m not a mind reader, Meera. And I don’t know why you find it so annoying that your secret identity has been revealed, but if you think I’m going to defer to you because you’re the heir of Anamitra, then you’ve grossly misunderstood what kind of person I am. I don’t bow, and I’ve been in the presence of elders and seers.”

She didn’t say anything, but she sat down at the table and crossed her arms, a smile touching the corner of her lips.

“You may have been raised like a princess—”

“Did you just call me a princess?”

“—but it’s not my job to worship you. It’s my job to find leverage for the Irina so they can force the old arseholes in Vienna to pay some bloody attention to them.”

The smile touching her lips grew until she was once again the bright and alluring woman who had tormented him his first day in New Orleans. Her brilliant smile, combined with the vibrant orange hue against her skin and her sparkling brown eyes, dazzled Rhys and knocked down the indignant head of steam he’d been building. “What?”

Meera leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm. “I think I like you.”

She wasn’t flirting to distract him. They were beyond that now. Rhys didn’t know quite how to react. He blinked and stammered. “Good. I mean… not that you have to like someone to work with them.”

“True.” She didn’t look away.

“What?” He sighed. “What is it?”

“You can be an ass. You’re cross. A bit surly. And very arrogant.”

“You’re the one who said you liked me.”

“I do.”

His body roused at the tone of her voice, but there was something else. A warmth in his chest he didn’t want to identify. “So you’re willing to—as you said on the phone—show me yours.”

Her eyebrows went up. “I did say that, didn’t I? How forward of me. You brought yours?”

Rhys tapped his messenger bag with the toe of his boot. “I brought everything.”

“And you want me to show you mine?”

Yes!

He let the smile come. “I believe you’re the one who made the proposition, darling.”

“Did I, darling?” She pursed her lips. “I suppose I did. Though I’m not sure you’re ready to see it all.”

Wariness and animosity had fled. In their place a new awareness was growing along with the playfulness she’d teased him with since their first meeting. They had stripped away their disguises in more ways than one, and the exposure wasn’t strained. It was freeing.

“I’m very difficult to shock.” Rhys couldn’t stop himself from provoking her. “Try me.”

“I’m not trying to shock you, but it’s rare that I reveal myself, especially to a stranger.”

“Are we still strangers? I thought we’d become rather familiar.”

We could become more familiar. I would not object to that.

Meera lifted a sweating beer bottle and reached across to the bottle opener mounted on the counter, revealing an enticing hint of cleavage. She cracked the bottle open and set it in front of Rhys before she opened the second and took a long drink. A bead of perspiration rolled from the bottle down her neck.

“Feed me,” she said. “Then I’ll show you what you want to see.”

* * *

“The Uwachi Toma weren’t the only Irin people on this continent, but they were the largest and most dominant group.” Meera’s hand hovered over a map of North America. “The Irin people in the East fled as soon as Norse humans arrived.”

Rhys and Meera were in her office, a large map spread out on a library table in the center of the room.

“It’s a big continent,” he said.

“It is. There were Irin groups in the Great Plains and on the West Coast like the Dene Ghal, but they weren’t as active or organized as those in this region. The only thing close were the Koconah Citlal in Central America.” Meera rolled open another map on the table and placed small weighted bags at the corners. “The Irin from the East moved to the South. They integrated into the existing Irin communities here, which concentrated the population.”

The new map was a closer detail of the Gulf Coast region. Rhys immediately spotted the precise writing in the margins where Meera had made notes. He leaned over to read a notation farther north on the Mississippi River. “The Uwachi Toma were a mound-building culture, correct?”

“Correct. First in the northern Mississippi Valley, then moving south and into the coastal regions. The Uwachi Toma—‘people of the sun’—mostly came from Uriel’s blood, though they looked outside their immediate area when they mated, so bloodlines became very mixed.”

Rhys pulled a stool from under the table. “Uriel was known for keeping the peace and had very few enemies, even among the Fallen. He was also incredibly powerful.”

Meera grabbed another stool and sat next to Rhys. “Which was why they had such an extended period of calm. There was one major battle that we have recorded songs for. The Pakup Kun—the red water—where the archangel Nalu and his sons attempted to eradicate the Uwachi Toma. They failed.”

“According to written accounts I could find, Nalu failed because the Wolf slew him with her song.” Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Her song alone. It’s the only account of an angel being killed without a heavenly blade in Irin history. Do you understand why Sari and Orsala went a little mad when your mother said she might be alive?”

Meera ignored the question. “That victory led to something of a golden age for the Irin in North America. There were roughly five hundred years of peace before new angels came with European colonists and there were further conflicts. But during that peace, Uwachi Toma culture thrived. We just don’t have much record of it because written tradition wasn’t as valued as oral.”

“But you have some of the songs.”

Meera smiled softly. “Pieces. I’m always looking for more.”

Rhys was fascinated. “Social structure?”

“Matrilineal but surprisingly patriarchal for Irin people.”

“Agricultural?”

“Their economic base mirrored the native people. They did farm, but they also hunted in the bayous. Fish, shellfish, and alligator mostly.”

“Mound building…,” Rhys muttered. “Did the native people in this region build mounds in the bayous? How is that possible? The bayous look like flooded forests.”

“They are.” Her face lit up. “But go deep enough and you’ll find many, many shell mounds where small villages flourished. The Uwachi Toma lived all along the rivers and bayous here, most escaping notice by humans for years.”

“Language?” Rhys asked.

“Various. Atawakabiche and her clan spoke an early dialect of the Natchez language. The pieces of songs and history I’ve been able to capture have been in the Old Language, of course, but I’ve also recorded stories from a few singers who spoke Tunican languages.”

Rhys was watching Meera, not the map. She was pushing every scholarly button he had—Max would have called this a “nerd party”—but she was also pressing other, more personal buttons. Her mind was relentlessly fascinating. Her curiosity was such a mirror of his own, he didn’t know quite how to react to her.

He said, “You studied this before you came to America.”

“Yes.” She rose and walked to the corner to open a drawer.

“That’s all?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going to tell me what drew your curiosity? You must have spent hundreds of years studying with your mentor. When did you have time to—”

“Three hundred ninety-five.” She withdrew a map and walked back, still not looking at Rhys.

He blinked. “What?”

“I spent three hundred ninety-five years under Anamitra’s tutelage.”

“Studying Irina history?” Rhys couldn’t even imagine. He’d thought a hundred years at the academy was grueling.

“Yes.” She moved the weights and rolled up the previous map. “It’s not as you imagine.”

“How so?”

“Learning with Anamitra…” Meera gazed out the dark window as a car’s headlights swung past. “It wasn’t study. Not like the scribes think of it, anyway.”

“But your life was not your own,” Rhys said, suddenly understanding her fierce need for privacy. “Not until you came here.”

“My life still isn’t my own. That’s not the way it works.” She rolled the new map out, stopping when Rhys put a hand over hers.

The jolt of her energy made his heart race. She let out a long breath and closed her eyes as Rhys eased her fingers open and pressed her palm to his. Meera’s shoulders relaxed. She rested her forehead in her other hand as Rhys let her magic flood his senses.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

“You need this. Too long in isolation—”

“Causes a dangerous buildup of soul energy that can lead to anxiety, loss of focus, and in extreme cases, hallucinations.”

“That’s right.” That wasn’t why he was doing it. He just wanted to touch her. Wanted to ease some of the burden he saw in her eyes. “What happened in Udaipur? Why did you leave?”

She pulled her hand from his, breaking off the connection so abruptly Rhys felt as if something inside him had torn.

“This is where the Wolf lives.” She spread the map and repositioned the weights. “Not that I have an exact location, of course.”

He forced himself back to the reason he’d come to New Orleans. “Why here?”

Meera pointed to a neat red dot that lay on a bend of the Mississippi River where the state of Mississippi butted into the state of Louisiana. “Because this is where the last major battle occurred, which was the battle that killed the Tattooed Serpent.” She moved her finger southwest to the bend of another river. “This is the last-known sighting of the Wolf after her brother was killed.”

“She could have traveled.”

“And this…” Meera spread her hand over a large area of the map marked in green. “This is the Atchafalaya Swamp. Somewhere in here is where our sister Sabine was lost. And somewhere in here was where the Wolf found her.”

* * *

They were sitting in the living room across from each other, drinking red wine that Meera had opened after dinner.

“So Sabine,” Rhys started. “She sounds… eccentric.”

“Eccentric is one way of putting it.” Meera tapped her finger on her wineglass. “She’s wounded. It’s nothing a healer can fix. Not by normal means. Alosia, the haven’s healer, has tried. I’ve tried. Most of the time she is calm but erratic. She’ll work in the fields for a few days but then she might try to cut someone with a cane knife. She’ll say it was a joke later, but we all have our stories.”

“She’s dangerous.”

“Yes.” Meera shrugged. “She’s not the only Irina with scars.”

Rhys knew how true that was. “But you’re certain she’s met the Wolf?”

“From the bits and pieces I could pick from her memory, I’m certain of it.”

He thought about everything Meera had told him, about the wounded singer running from the violence of the Rending. About the mysterious “fox woman” who found her and saved her in the swamps. About the disparate signs and clues Meera had already accumulated.

“So the Wolf saved Sabine and someone—we have to assume it was her—delivered Sabine to a haven after the danger had passed.”

“Yes, to the haven that used to exist around Lafayette. It’s gone now.”

He waved a hand. “Immaterial. Other than that, no one has seen the Wolf for hundreds of years. Why?”

“She’s powerful. A legend. If she’s remained hidden for all this time, it must be her own choice.”

Rhys wasn’t terribly sympathetic to singers with vast amounts of knowledge they didn’t want to share. In their world, knowledge wasn’t to be hoarded. It was how they managed to survive.

“We need to find the Wolf,” he said. “Tell me more about Sabine’s mate, Roch.”

“Not her mate. But he loves her completely.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s younger than Sabine—he was born in the Lafayette haven. Very smart. Very quiet. His parents were part of the Acadian-related Irin who came from the north a long time ago. Old Ones, some others call them. They lived in the bayous until the Rending.”

“So Roch knows this area well.” Rhys pointed to the map.

“He knows more than you,” she said with a laugh.

“I know plenty.” Rhys fought back a smile. “I just don’t know much about swamp navigation.”

“Clearly.”

“And I may not know much about the Wolf. Yet.” He reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. “But I do know about finding people.”

“This singer isn’t going to show up on a database.”

Rhys sighed. “Databases are only one of my tools. I was trained by my father, who was and remains the most tenacious librarian I know.”

“A tenacious librarian?”

“The most tenacious.” Rhys smiled. “And if there is anything a librarian prides himself on, it is finding information even if we have to hunt.”

Meera smiled at him. “You like the hunt.”

He licked a bead of wine from the edge of his glass. “The hunt is the fun part.”

Meera shook her head. “Well, now that you have an idea of what we’re looking for, I truly hope you can help. Sabine is impossible, but perhaps there is an avenue—”

“Would Roch help us?”

“Roch?” She looked up. “Why?”

“You said the Wolf helped Sabine once. She’s old. Very powerful. Maybe she can help her again.”

Meera looked skeptical.

“If we can convince Roch it will help Sabine, he’ll help us find the Wolf. If he’s Acadian, his people lived in the bayous for hundreds of years. He would know the stories. Know the storytellers.”

“Probably. And?”

“Stories could be the key. Folktales. Legends.” Rhys frowned. “Who lives in the swamp now?”

“Not many people. It’s huge. The basin is over three thousand square miles. A lot of that space is uninhabitable to modern people.”

He shrugged. “Good. That narrows down the pool of people who might have had contact with her. Not a bad thing.”

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I’ve interviewed many humans. Hunters. Guides. Residents. As many storytellers as I can find. As far as I can tell, no one has seen the Wolf or anything like the “fox woman” that Sabine describes. Did you see the drawings in my office? The Uwachi Toma had extensive tattooing, both scribes and singers. If a human or Irin saw the Wolf, she would be noticeable.”

“I’m not talking about the Wolf.” He shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t be seen unless she wanted to be seen. I’m talking about Sabine. Stories about a lost woman. Stories about Sabine.”

Meera frowned. “She was lost over two hundred years ago.”

“I know.”

“And humans don’t live that long.”

“But stories do,” Rhys said. “I need to see her and talk with her, and then I need to do some research of my own in this swamp. It’s very possible you were asking the wrong questions.” He curled his lip. “There are going to be mosquitos the size of house cats, aren’t there?”

“In the bayou? Probably.” Meera looked skeptical. “You think I was asking the wrong questions?”

Rhys cocked his head. “How many people say no to you?”

Her dimple almost winked at him. “Not many.”

“And no Irin, correct? Anyone who knows you gives you exactly what you want.”

Meera frowned. “You make it sound like I’m a spoiled brat, and that’s not—”

“No, you’re not spoiled. You’re too self-aware for that. But you’ve mostly dealt with Irin people in your life, people who were taught to deny you nothing.”

“And?”

“You asked questions and humans gave you answers, correct?”

“Yes.”

Rhys smiled. “Did you ever think they might have been lying to you?”

“Why would they lie? I was asking very mundane questions. I recorded notes. You’re welcome to listen to them. They would have no reason to lie.”

“Except that you’re an outsider,” Rhys said. “They don’t know you. You talk differently. You look different. Maybe they’re racist. Maybe they’re bored. Maybe they simply don’t want to give you what you want because they’re contrary.”

“So humans would lie to someone asking for information for… no reason at all?” She looked utterly confused. “That makes no sense.”

“People often don’t make sense. Human or Irin. They don’t fit into formulas. They can be equally wonderful and awful, sometimes in the same day. I’ll ask different questions, and I won’t believe their words. I’ll believe the look in their eyes and listen for what they’re not saying.”

She still looked uncertain.

“Think of it this way,” Rhys said. “You’ve spent your life studying the past, but a very specific past. I’ve spent my life learning myriad ways to tease the past into the present because I don’t have your magical ability or resources.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “You’ve done an extraordinary job with what you have. And I have no doubt you’ve been able to help Sabine more than any other singer, save perhaps the one who found her and saved her life.”

“But?”

“But I’m here and I’m happy to help. You’ve seen all my research, most of which is only a prelude to what you’ve done. But I do have skills and resources. I’ve found people even angels were trying to hide. Let me find Atawakabiche.”

A shadow passed behind Meera’s intense gaze. “And then?”

Rhys took a deep breath. From her reaction the night he killed the Grigori soldier at her gate, he could guess what Meera’s opinion was going to be, but he’d been up-front since the beginning. He didn’t want to hide anything now.

“I think you’re right. If she’s in hiding now, it’s because she doesn’t want to be found. But we need balance in our world. We need the knowledge she holds. If she knows martial magic other Irina can use, I will ask her to share it, and I will then share it with our allies.”

Meera set her wineglass down and walked into the kitchen.

Rhys rose and followed her. “I know you don’t like that.”

“I hate it.” Meera was rinsing dishes and putting them in a rack on the counter. “How will bringing more war into the world—more violence and potential for violence—solve anything? We should be talking to the Grigori, free and bound.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you think they’ll be content to meet us for tea and give up their hunting?”

“I can make them listen.” She turned to face him. “Do you understand? I can make them listen to me.”

The passion in her eyes softened his resolve. “I don’t doubt that. But Meera, there is only one of you. There are so many of them. The Fallen rape and deceive women every day, each birthing sons and daughters who drain the life from them.”

“I can stop them. We can stop them without killing.” She stepped closer. “Tell me the truth, Rhys. How much of this war is still based in revenge for the Rending?”

The arrow hit pointed and deep. “Didn’t Anamitra lose her own mate? I still have my parents. You still have yours. Do you know how rare that is?”

“I do know, and my heart aches with it. But we must be stronger than vengeance. When do we forgive? Most Grigori in the world today had nothing to do with the Rending.” She cut her hand to the side. “The guilty are dead, Rhys. The victims are at peace. We have to move beyond this. We have to rise together.”

Rhys spoke past the grief in his throat. “And how can we do that when our wounds are still bleeding? There is evil in the world; I have seen it with my own eyes. Should we battle the Fallen with an embrace?”

She frowned. “I know we cannot. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I want peace as much as you do. I fight, Meera. Every day I am on watch for enemies who would kill the people I love. But I dream of a day when the most conflict I face is academic. When I can argue about points of study instead of survival strategies.”

“You say you want peace.” She spread her hands to the side. “But you work for war.”

“I fight in a war that will lead to peace. Do you really think all the Fallen will just crawl away and give up their power without a fight?”

“No.” A voice spoke from behind him.

Rhys spun around, drawing his throwing daggers from their hidden sheaths. He spotted Vasu and sent his daggers hurling toward the Fallen, but the angel blinked out of sight and the daggers embedded themselves in Meera’s smooth green wall.

“Missed me again,” the angel said from a perch on the counter.

Rhys reached for Meera, shoving her behind him before he drew two more daggers.

“Stop!” Meera yelled. “Stop putting holes in my house. Vasu, what are you doing here?”

Rhys turned on her. “You know him?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“It’s complicated,” Vasu said. “Ava doesn’t like it when you try to kill me, Librarian. She told you the last time.”

Rhys pointed at Vasu. “You do not show up at the house and talk to the children without permission. She told you that, and you ignored her.”

Vasu leaned back on the cabinets and stuck his lower lip out like a petulant child. “The children are amusing and enjoy my games.”

“They don’t know what you are,” Rhys growled. “They don’t know about your sneaking around, trying to—”

“What about you?” Vasu asked. “Why are you here with my Meera? Did she ask for you to come? No, she did not. Her interfering parents asked for you. And they have ulterior motives. If she knew—”

“Everyone be quiet!” Meera stepped between Rhys and Vasu. “Are you…” Meera blinked. “How— I don’t… I don’t even want to know. Rhys, Vasu had a curious and respectful relationship with my great-aunt, and I’ve known him since I was a child. Vasu, I know my parents called for Rhys. I don’t want to know what you think their motives were because it doesn’t matter.”

Rhys thought it did matter, but he shut up. He was taking perverse pleasure in seeing the small, curvy woman lecturing the fallen angel like he was an errant child.

“He’s going to help us find the Wolf and help Sabine, and that is what matters. And I told you the other day that you were absolutely not allowed to interrupt me when I have company.”

“This one already knows who I am because I have helped his friends.”

“Help,” Rhys said, “is very subjective when it comes to Vasu.”

Vasu pouted. “I want to point out he knows who I am and he still threw daggers at me.”

“And I’ll throw them again the first chance I get.”

“No you won’t,” Meera said. “Everyone calm down. Seriously, Vasu, why are you here?”

“Because you need to go to the haven,” Vasu said. “Your father is going to call you in a minute.”

The phone rang a second after he blinked out of sight.