Sins of the Son: The Grigori Legacy

by Linda Poitevin

  “Bullshit. There’s a whole new race of Nephilim being born as we speak—” Alex broke off when he recoiled. “You didn’t know?”

  “That’s impossible.” A return of the Nephilim? Mika’el would have told him…wouldn’t he?

  “It’s all over the news. Dozens of babies all over the world. And your One is not only letting it happen, she’s sent you to stop the only angel—being, whatever the hell you want to call him—who might be able to end it. Who might be able to stand between Lucifer and the human race.”

  From the corner of his eye, Aramael saw the man who had joined them cross himself, forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, and then draw his weapon from its holster.

  “The One didn’t send me. I act alone.”

  “Then don’t do this. Give me a chance to fix Seth, because without him there will be war, and humans will be caught in the middle of it. You’ve seen how fragile we are, Aramael. We won’t last. We can’t last if that happens.”

  “The risk is too great. As long as Seth lives—”

  Shock flared in Alex’s eyes and, too late, Aramael realized his mistake. Fucking Hell. He should never have remained here, letting her draw him into discussion, putting him on the defensive. He should leave—now, before he made things any worse. Before the betrayal in summer-sky-blue eyes wrapped any further around a heart that could not be allowed to feel again.

  But Alex’s whisper held him immobile, fists clenched at his sides.

  “You told me you can’t take life,” she said, and Aramael flinched from the accusation in her voice. “You said you can’t destroy, that it would upset the balance.”

  “I’ve already upset it,” Aramael said, his voice harsh as he remembered Mika’el’s accusation. His truth. “Now I need to restore it.”

  “By killing again?”

  “With Seth as he is, the odds are too heavily in Lucifer’s favor.”

  “So you decided to kill him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you. I know you, Aramael. You’re not a killer.”

  “No,” he snarled, “you don’t know me.” He seized her shoulders, only just refraining from shaking her, ignoring the gun suddenly thrust into his face.

  “You don’t know any of us. Get it through your head, Alex. We’re not like you. When I said what happened between us was a mistake, I meant it. It was a colossal, monumental error made by an angel who believed he could manipulate the universe. He was wrong. We are wrong. I murdered my own brother because of you. Did what no angel can do. Ever. Now all of humanity will pay the price of my sin unless I can stop the Appointed.”

  “But Caim was an accident,” she whispered. “This is different. Deliberate. Like it or not, I do know you—and you wouldn’t do this on your own.”

  Aramael stood in silence for a moment, remembering Estiel on the boat dock. How easy it had been to crush the Fallen One’s skull beneath his boot, how easy it would have been to finish the job if he’d had the power to do so. What would Alex think if she knew what he had done? What he had been capable of doing?

  Staring at his hands on Alex’s shoulders, he let himself feel her warmth, her life…and wished with every particle of his being this could have ended differently. More, that it had never happened at all. Down the block, movement caught his attention as a figure emerged from beside a building, massive black wings unfurled behind it. Aramael went still.

  Mika’el.

  An undoubtedly pissed Mika’el in search of explanations.

  Aramael’s grip on Alex tightened for a moment. He wrestled one last time with the desire that called to him, the duty that owned him, and then, letting his hands fall from Alex, he reached out to pluck the gun from the man’s grip.

  “I’ve changed,” he said, looking down as he pulled the clip from the gun’s handgrip. He emptied the bullets into his palm. “I’m no longer of Heaven and no longer bound by the rules that once governed me. What I do, I do alone.” He handed the pistol and clip to Alex and met her gaze a final time. “And what I’m going to do is stop Seth.”

  Dropping the bullets at her feet, he strode down the sidewalk to where the winged figure had stepped out of sight again.

  “Aramael!”

  Alex’s voice, calling his name, wrapped around his heart and pulled, but Aramael didn’t break stride. She called a second time, and then a third, with anger and betrayal and an underlying note of agony that pierced to his core. The cords around his heart went taut and, for a breath of an instant, Aramael faltered. Wondered. Wished.

  Gritting his teeth, he continued walking. Another dozen steps along, the connection to Alex snapped with a suddenness and completeness that left him stunned. Bereft. Certain he had nothing more to lose, he rounded the corner into an alley and came up short against Mika’el’s soot-black wings.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Alex didn’t know how long Aramael had been out of sight before a hand on her arm jolted her back to reality. A reality where the angel she should never have known was hunting the one being who might save humanity…unless she pulled herself together enough to stop him.

  Sucking in a great, shuddering breath, she loosened her death grip on Henderson’s gun and handed it back to him. A semi lumbered by, making the sidewalk vibrate beneath her feet. Henderson took his weapon and silently began loading cartridges back into the clip. Alex glanced down. She hadn’t even noticed him stoop to retrieve the bullets; she’d been too busy watching Aramael walk out of her life for a second time.

  The sidewalk blurred and she lifted her hands to scrub angrily at tears she refused to shed. Blessedly, Henderson said nothing. She hunched her shoulders against a chill gust of wind.

  “Is he really trying to kill Seth?” Henderson asked.

  Swallowing hard, Alex settled for a nod when the lump in her throat wouldn’t move out of the way of her response. A city bus rolled by on the street, swirling dust in its wake. A siren wailed to life in the distance.

  “Come on,” said Henderson gruffly. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

  “No. I have to find Seth.”

  “Ten minutes won’t make a difference. It’ll give you a chance to pull yourself back together.”

  “Ten minutes might make all the difference. I’m fine,” she snapped, muttering a belated, “Thank you.”

  “Then let me put it this way. We’re in a city of almost two and a half million people. Trying to find an ordinary man is like looking for the proverbial needle, but one who can disappear at will? Trust me, Jarvis, without help, you don’t stand a chance.”

  She fixed him with a resigned eye. “And you’ll help, but only if I answer your questions first.”

  Slinging an arm across her shoulders, Henderson guided her down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop that had become their informal meeting place. “Your deductive reasoning is pretty good, Jarvis. You should think about becoming a detective or something.”

  MIKA’EL WHIRLED, WINGS taut and feathers razor-edged with anger, slicing Aramael’s cheek as they whispered past. “Well?” he demanded. “What happened?”

  Aramael stepped back warily, swiping at his bloodied face with his sleeve. “Seth wasn’t in the hospital. I had to allow a mortal to take me to him. He was with Alex.”

  “Alex?”

  “My—” Aramael bit back the word soulmate and said instead, “The Naphil woman.”

  The emerald gaze fastened on him with an intensity that seemed to see through to his very soul. Worse, to the weakness that had made him hesitate. Made him unable to push past Alex into the hotel room to take Seth when he might have done so.

  “Fucking Hell,” said Mika’el, drawing himself tall and flexing his wings so that alley litter swirled in eddies around their feet. “You still have feelings for her. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Aramael stared at a graffiti symbol spray-painted on the brick wall, listening to the wail of a siren drawing closer. “I didn’t know until I saw her.”

  Until I looked into her eyes a
nd remembered everything about her. About us. As if I had never forgotten any of it.

  Mika’el waited a moment and then raised an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say about your failure?”

  Aramael bristled. “I failed,” he snapped, “because Seth wasn’t where he was supposed to be and no one told me otherwise. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Alex was involved in this? And why didn’t you tell me about the Nephilim children being born?”

  “The Nephilim are Heaven’s concern,” Mika’el said coldly. “Not yours. As for the woman, we didn’t know she was involved. We never considered the possibility.”

  Wings rustling in irritation, the Archangel paced a few feet down the alley. Aramael waited, hands clenched and pride stinging from the unsubtle reminder that, regardless of the task he’d been set, Heaven wanted no connection to him. Heaven’s warrior paced back again. The siren grew nearer.

  “We need to find Seth. We don’t know where he is,” Mika’el said at last. “We think—hope—it means he’s somewhere that has no Guardians. The woman may be able to help us.”

  “I doubt it. She knows why I’m here and has sworn to stop me.”

  “She knows? How the hell—” the Archangel waved away the question. “Never mind. Did you at least tell her why?”

  “I did, but she thinks she can save him.” Aramael repeated Alex’s arguments to Mika’el but kept to himself the part about her caring for Seth. Because it doesn’t matter, he told himself. Not because it would hurt too much to admit. Out in the street, the deep blare of a horn joined the siren.

  A fire truck sped by the end of the alley, red from its dome lights splashing bright across the Archangel’s face, dull across the black of his wings. The siren’s clamor faded into the night. “What about the woman?” he asked. “Your feelings—”

  “My feelings have been dealt with.”

  Mika’el stared at him, weighing, judging. Aramael wondered if the Archangel could see the emptiness in him that he felt. If he could see the raw remains of the connection severed when Aramael had ignored his soulmate’s call.

  “I hope you’re right,” Mika’el said finally. “In the meantime, it will be best if we split up to look for the Appointed. You go on your own, and I’ll try to reason with the woman.” About to leave, the Archangel swung around again, his green eyes brilliant with a hard, determined light. “No hesitation this time, Power. If you find him, do what you must.”

  “And if you find him first?”

  “I’ll get word to you.”

  “What about Lucifer? If he realizes—”

  Mika’el paused at the mouth of the alley and looked back over his shoulder, mouth tight.

  “Let’s cross that particular bridge to Hell when we come to it, shall we?”

  “I’M NOT INSANE,” Alex said without preamble, as soon as the waitress departed. She wanted nothing more than to be out on the streets, looking for Seth before Aramael found him first, but Henderson was right. She needed help. And judging from the way he settled into the other side of the booth, he meant what he said about getting answers first.

  Henderson reached for the sugar and a little tub of cream. “I’m listening.”

  Alex glanced around the coffee shop. Apart from the waitress and a couple by the door, too involved with one another to notice anyone else, she and Henderson were alone. Before she could think better of it, she launched into her story. She kept her voice expressionless, staring into her coffee as she spoke, and tried not to think about the impossibility of her words.

  About whether or not Henderson would believe them.

  Angels. Demonic serial killers. Heavenly treason. Forbidden soulmates. Murder. Broken agreements. Failed contingency plans. Nephilim children. Assassination orders.

  The Apocalypse.

  When she finished, silence settled over the booth, so absolute she could hear the swish of water in the dishwasher behind the counter, the ticking of the clock above it. Long seconds dragged by. Elbow braced on the table beside her now-cold coffee, Alex rested her forehead in her hand and waited for her colleague to say something. Anything.

  At last Henderson cleared his throat. “I am so glad,” he said fervently, “that Liz didn’t stick around for this.”

  Alex choked back a laugh. It was hardly the response she’d expected, but she had to concur. She doubted she would have been able to say half of what she had in front of the disapproving Dr. Riley. Or that Riley would have believed any of it.

  “Does that mean you believe me?”

  “It means I don’t necessarily think you’re certifiable,” Henderson allowed. “But Christ, Jarvis. Angels? Demons? The Second Coming? Those are some pretty out-there stories.”

  “And the pregnancies?” she retorted. “Those are normal?”

  Henderson toyed with his spoon.

  “You’ve seen it with your own eyes.” Alex glared at him past her supporting hand, trying not to think about how desperately she needed someone besides herself to know what was going on in their world. Someone to believe her. “The news reports, Seth disappearing from his hospital room and the hotel. How else would you like to explain what’s going on?”

  “That’s the point. I’d rather not explain it at all. I’d rather it all just went away.”

  Alex closed her eyes. “Welcome to my world,” she muttered. “But like it or not, I think the Apocalypse is upon us unless we can stop it, my friend.”

  “Armageddon.”

  “What?” She peered past her fingers.

  Henderson slouched over his coffee mug. “The war. It’s called Armageddon, not the Apocalypse.”

  “What the hell’s the difference?”

  “The Apocalypse is the drawing back of the veil between us and Heaven. Armageddon is the final war that results. Not that it matters, because I think you’re right.”

  She gaped at him. “You do?”

  “The Church knows about the Nephilim.”

  “What church—wait, the Church? But how the hell—how did they—how did you—” Alex made herself stop. Gritting her teeth, she counted to three, about as high as she could remember the order of numbers at the moment, and then glared across the table. “Talk.”

  “An old friend called me today. There’s a set of scrolls dating back six thousand years that describes pregnancies like the ones happening now—and the children that resulted. No one knows about them. The scrolls, I mean.”

  “Obviously someone does. Jesus, Henderson, what kind of friends do you have?”

  “Impossibly loyal ones,” her companion replied.

  Alex decided to pursue the cryptic remark another time. “If they’re such a secret, why did he tell you about them?”

  “Information like this has a way of surfacing despite efforts to the contrary. He’s concerned that if it gets out…” Henderson compressed his lips.

  Following the unfinished sentence to its conclusion, Alex went still. Holy God. He was right. Chaos wouldn’t even begin to describe what would happen if word got out about the scrolls—about the Nephilim, the angels, Lucifer.

  If the world knew what she and Henderson knew, Armageddon wouldn’t be about Heaven and Hell going to war, it would be about humanity imploding. Destroying itself in complete and utter panic.

  Before she could fully absorb the realization, the sound of a cleared throat beside the table drew her attention. Glancing sideways, she saw a low-slung belt dividing blue jeans from a white shirt. In the same instant, she became aware of an energy radiating toward her. Her heart stumbled. Another angel. She knew the thought to be true even before she raised her gaze to the black wings spread wide behind the stranger who had joined them.

  Even before she met brilliant green eyes in a deeply tanned, exquisitely carved, and ferociously scowling face.

  THIRTY

  Another angel.

  Once again, Alex wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. Might have done so, if the newcomer hadn’t stood in the way of escape.

  Prying h
er tongue from the roof of her mouth and forcing a calm she didn’t feel past the stutter of her heart, she asked sourly, “Which one are you?”

  The angel looked to her companion and then back to her. Ignoring her question, he demanded, “How much have you told him?”

  “Everything I know.”

  A deep sadness flared in the angel’s eyes and, just for an instant, Alex regretted the exposé of secrets he and his kind had guarded for so long. Then she gave herself a mental shake. They had caused the current situation, not humans, and she was damned if she’d feel guilty about doing everything she could to save her world from their screwups.

  “Is there something you want?” she asked.

  Resignation replaced sadness.

  “Seth,” he said. “I need your help finding him.”

  Alex scowled. “No.”

  “Uh, Jarvis?” Henderson leaned across the table. “Do you know him?”

  “Only that he’s one of them. Apart from that, no. But it doesn’t matter”—she shot their visitor a cold look as Henderson slumped back in his seat, jaw slack—“because I’m not going to help him kill Seth.”

  The angel fixed her with a frosty stare of his own. Behind him, the amorous couple had left the coffee shop and the waitress stood at the far end of the counter, refilling sugar dispensers and shooting resentful glances between their group and the clock above the coffee machine.

  “I don’t think you appreciate the consequences of allowing him to live.”

  “I appreciate he’s our only chance of preventing a war humanity cannot survive.”

  “Some of you will survive Armageddon,” he disagreed. “If Seth lives and chooses the wrong path, however, I guarantee not a single mortal soul will survive Lucifer.”

  Alex ignored a wheeze from Henderson. “How the hell do you know he’d make the wrong choice? If you’d give him half a fucking chance—”

  The angel cut her off with a dismissive gesture. “Aramael told me your arguments.”

  “But you don’t care.”

  A painful kick connected with her ankle under the table even as a flash of anger lit the emerald eyes. Alex’s mouth went dry. She had seen firsthand the kind of damage Caim and Aramael had wrought. What part of it not being wise to mouth off to superior beings was she having trouble with? She reached for her cup and took a swig of cold coffee, blaming the tremble in her hand on a shudder of disgust, avoiding Henderson’s accusatory glare.