Sins of the Lost gl-3

by Linda Poitevin

  He looked back.

  “Not Joly,” she said. “Make it a uniform.”

  Someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t have to talk to.

  He regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll let you know where our new quarters are,” he said. “Take a few days off, then—”

  “Monday,” she said. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  * * *

  Alex let herself into the apartment and dropped the keys on the table. She didn’t lock the door—partly because she knew Riley was coming, and partly because she didn’t care. Because it didn’t matter.

  She turned to stare at the home she had shared with Seth. The hallway stretched before her, empty and accusatory, still resonant with the anger from the last time they’d stood in it together. She flinched, reliving again the slam of the door as he’d left. Her breath stabbed beneath her ribs. So much accusation and betrayal—so many dead because of it.

  How in hell could she have been so wrong?

  She leaned against the wall. A thousand little details crowded in on her. A thousand misgivings that she’d ignored, dismissed, convinced herself weren’t real or important. She’d been so determined to love him, so set on saving him as he had twice saved her, and now . . .

  Now she’d lost it all, everything that ever mattered to her, and because of Seth’s gift to her, she would live forever with those losses. Jen, Nina, Aramael.

  Her legs slowly buckled beneath her. Beneath a past, a present, and a future that had become too heavy to bear. She slid down the wall until the floor prevented her from sinking any farther. Wrapped arms around knees. Held on tight as the first tear fell. A second followed, then a third—and then the dam inside her gave way to an anguish that enveloped her, sucked her under, closed over her soul.

  From a long way off came the sound of knocking and Elizabeth Riley’s voice calling her name. A part of her tried to respond, but the rest of her wouldn’t cooperate. Couldn’t through the spasms racking her body. Then a door opened, footsteps approached, and gentle hands lifted her chin. Soothing murmurs washed over her, then something sharp jabbed into her arm.

  Too late, Alex tried to pull back, to reassure Riley that she was okay. Still sane. Wasn’t she?

  She slid beneath the surface.

  Chapter 90

  Alex stared at the pale light creeping around the edges of the window blind. Outside, a truck rumbled by, a distant siren wailed, a plane droned overhead, a car alarm shrieked a summons to which no one paid attention. The sounds of a city stirring to life on a Sunday morning.

  Inside, the rhythmic inhale and exhale of her own breathing, the faint tick of the clock in the living room. The sounds of an empty apartment bereft of all life but hers. No Seth. No Jen. No Nina. Everyone important to her, everyone she had ever cared about . . . taken. And the one soul who might have heeded her call for help?

  Also gone.

  She turned her mind inward, found her center, whispered his name. Aramael. But her soulmate didn’t hear her. Didn’t come to her. Never would again.

  Curling into a ball, she bunched the covers beneath her chin and waited for tears. They didn’t come either. She closed her eyes. Without hysterics to distract herself, it was time to focus on the realities. Realities such as the three weeks Nina had before she would die giving birth to Lucifer’s Naphil bastard. The same length of time Alex would have to find her so she didn’t die alone. Fuck.

  Alex bit down on a scream of pure fury. Tempting as it was to give voice to the frustration building inside her, it would not help to have the neighbors calling 911 on her behalf. She tossed back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. On the bedside table, her cell phone rang. She reached for it, thumbed the answer button, and put it to her ear.

  “Jarvis,” she croaked. Lord, was that her?

  “You sound like you’ve had a rough couple of days or something,” Henderson said.

  At the sound of his voice, the tears she hadn’t been able to find a moment before flooded her eyes. She blinked them back furiously, shrugging a shrug he couldn’t see, and cleared her throat. “Nah. Same old, same old. Nothing exciting ever happens around here, I swear.”

  Her Vancouver colleague gave a soft snort. “You are so full of shit, my friend. How are you?”

  Remembering his aversion to her usual fine, she hazarded, “Alive?”

  “I’d rather you said that with a little more conviction.”

  “And I’d rather I felt it with a little more conviction.”

  The reply earned her a chuckle. She smiled a little in return and blinked away the rest of the tears. It was good to hear a friendly voice. “Seriously, Hugh, I’m okay.”

  “Want to fill me in?”

  “How much do you know?” She lay back against the pillow and tucked her feet under the duvet.

  “I’ve seen the news footage from Parliament Hill, Riley filled me in on your sister and your niece, and I know that Seth came after you. You can go from there.”

  “Seth took back his powers. Turned out it wasn’t such a good thing for us after all. Or for me. He wanted company in his new abode. Ara—” She choked on the name and tried again, her voice husky, “Aramael tried to stop him.”

  Henderson was quiet. “Tried?” he asked at last.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. Put her forearm across them. Curled her hand into a fist so tight that her fingernails bit into the palm. “He’s gone.”

  “Ah, hell. Alex, I’m so sorry.”

  She had to work to find her voice. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “So how—?”

  “Michael. He and the other Archangels—” She broke off. Opening her eyes, she peered at the sleeve of her pajamas—wait, how did she get into her pajamas? She mentally shoved aside the distraction and scowled. How had Michael known that Aramael needed help? That she . . .

  “Call,” Aramael’s voice whispered in her memory. “Call Mika’el.”

  She scrambled into a sitting position. Stared at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Holy hell. She’d called Heaven’s greatest warrior. And he’d heard her. Was that even possible?

  “Jarvis? You there?” Henderson asked.

  The bedroom door opened to her left. Instinctively, she cowered, the events of the day before still alive and well in her memory. Elizabeth Riley held up both hands in a gesture meant to calm and reassure. Because it was Riley, it didn’t have the desired effect.

  “I’m here,” she told Henderson. Her heart hammering, she swung her legs out of bed for a second time. “And apparently so is Riley. Can I call you back in a while?”

  “Ten minutes. You can call me back in ten minutes, or I’m getting on a plane and coming out there myself.”

  She didn’t bother pointing out that the flight would take him the better part of the day. “Ten minutes,” she agreed.

  Dropping the phone onto the covers beside her, she met Riley’s bright blue, too observant gaze. At least the psychiatrist’s presence explained the pajamas. Alex shoved aside the usual prickle of antagonism and mustered a smile.

  “You didn’t have to stay the night.”

  Riley shrugged. “I promised your supervisor I would. Did you sleep all right? I only gave you a mild sedative. I wasn’t sure it would be enough.”

  “It was,” Alex assured her.

  “Good. I’ve made coffee if you’re interested.”

  “Very.”

  The psychiatrist disappeared from the doorway, presumably headed for the kitchen. Alex frowned. That was it? No other questions? No probing her psyche to ascertain her level of sanity after yesterday? She scooped up the cell phone and padded after Riley. If the promise of coffee hadn’t been enough of a draw to get her out of bed, curiosity would have been.

  Chapter 91

  Riley turned from the counter as Alex entered, handed her a mug, and watched in silence as she added cream and sugar. Alex lifted an eyebrow.

  “None for you?”

  “I prefer tea
. I couldn’t find any, so I’ll get some at the hospital.”

  The sip of coffee Alex had taken turned tasteless. She forced it down just to get rid of it. The hospital. Jen. She stared into her cup at the brown-paper-bag colored liquid.

  “Is there any change?”

  “They’ve removed the restraints, but other than that, no. I’m sorry. She’s moving up to the psych ward this morning. I’m going to stop in and check on her, then I have a meeting with your chief and Dr. Bell before I catch my flight back to Vancouver.”

  Alex set her mug on the counter, wondering what Riley would think if she poured herself a Scotch instead. She studied the petite woman. Which of those topics did she want to take on first: hospital, meeting, or flight out? Riley forestalled her.

  “You don’t need me here, Alex. After what’s happened in the last few days, the very fact that you’re upright and not curled into a ball in the corner proves it. I plan to tell your chief exactly that—and I’ll probably tell your department shrink to go screw himself.”

  Alex’s jaw dropped. “You—I—that’s it? No questions, no trying to get me to talk?”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I wouldn’t either, if I were you,” Riley said. “So. I guess that’s it, then. I’ll make sure the hospital has your contact information. They’ll notify you of any change in your sister’s condition, so unless you hear from them . . .”

  Alex set her mug on the counter with an unsteady hand, finishing Riley’s sentence in her head. Unless she heard from the hospital, she didn’t need to go to the place that had housed her mother on so many occasions—the place that had now claimed her sister. She folded her arms across her belly.

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you return to work?”

  She nodded. “That and look for Nina.”

  Riley hesitated. “Part of me would like to ask what’s coming,” she said. “What we should expect. The rest of me thinks I’m better off not knowing.”

  “I couldn’t tell you if you did want to know, because I have no idea.”

  “None?”

  “Apart from a feeling that the rest of you is right? None.”

  Riley nodded. “In that case, I should go. I’ve left my card on the hall table for you in case you change your mind about talking. My cell phone number is on the back so you can call anytime. And if you don’t call me, at least stay in touch with Hugh and let him know how you’re doing. Please.”

  Alex gave a soft laugh. “I don’t imagine he’ll give me much choice.”

  “Good point.”

  Then, before Alex realized her intent, the psychiatrist wrapped her in a quick, hard hug. “Look after yourself, Alex,” she whispered. “Stay strong.”

  Stay sane.

  She’d reached the door at the end of the hallway before Alex found her voice.

  “Elizabeth.”

  Riley looked over her shoulder.

  “Tell Bell I said ditto.”

  A smile. “I’ll do that.”

  The door closed, the click of its latch near deafening in the silence left behind. Alex stood for long minutes without moving. The emptiness of the apartment closed in on her. Pressed down. Squeezed the air from her lungs, the life from her heart.

  She looked around the kitchen, at the bananas on the counter that were Seth’s favorite fruit, at the dish of chocolate-covered almonds that he’d bought for her, at the dishwasher needing to be emptied of the dishes from the last meal he had made for them. The meal she hadn’t come home for because he’d been right. She had been torn between him and Aramael, and work had been an excuse—a way to keep her distance. And now . . .

  Now this was it. This was all she had left. An apartment filled with memories and a life that would let her remember for eternity.

  She dumped the coffee into the sink and reached for the Scotch.

  Chapter 92

  “The Fallen are gathering.”

  Mika’el looked around at Gabriel, who stood in the doorway of his private quarters. He went back to adjusting the scabbard at his side. So. The time for war was come at last. He had never doubted it would, but oh, how he had wished he might have been wrong.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  “I heard.” He picked up his sword and slid it into its sheath. “The others are at the border with our forces?”

  “Waiting for the first strike.”

  “And the Guardians?”

  “Recalled as ordered, except for the patrols. Still no word on where the Nephilim have been hidden.”

  “Then we’re ready.”

  Gabriel said nothing. Mika’el watched her tight-lipped reflection in the mirror. He knew what she was thinking. It was the same thing they all thought, that in truth, they had no idea if they were ready. If they could be. Heaven’s forces had always been driven by the will of the One. Without her—

  Without her, they had no idea what to expect. What they could do.

  What they couldn’t do.

  He picked up a second sword from the table beside him and slid it into a second, smaller scabbard. His fingers closed over it tightly. He turned, donning the familiar persona of military leader as he faced the other Archangel.

  “You know what to do, then,” he said. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  Gabriel’s sapphire gaze settled on the sword in his grasp, then rose to meet his again, clear, calm, determined. She nodded her understanding.

  “I’ll tell the others,” she said.

  * * *

  Alex climbed the stairs from the parkade toward Homicide’s temporary new quarters on the ninth floor. A uniformed officer getting into his cruiser had assured her the elevator was working again after the terrorist attack—was that really what they were telling people?—but she’d taken the stairs anyway. It was quieter here. She could pace herself, steady her nerves, give herself time to plan how she would handle the questions, the concern . . .

  The search for Nina.

  Gripping the handrail, she paused and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her own breathing, the beat of her heart. Roberts had called the night before to check on her and give her the option of taking another day or two off. She’d turned him down. It was best to throw herself back into the fray where she wouldn’t have too much time to think. Or too much time alone with a bottle of Scotch.

  She began her climb again, turned a corner on a landing. Only four flights left. Four flights to get her focus together and pretend she could do this. Pretend she could—

  A sudden shadow loomed over her.

  Instinct drove her sideways into the protection of the corner.

  “It’s me,” said a familiar voice.

  She remained where she was, her hands braced on her knees, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. Wondering if her nerves would ever do the same. She glared at the black-winged, black-armored Michael.

  “You scared me half to death!” she snapped.

  “I’m sorry, but I promised we would talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk.”

  “We have to. There are things—”

  “Can you stop the Nephilim?” she interrupted.

  “No.”

  “Help me find Nina?”

  “No.

  “Undo what Seth did to me?” she asked.

  He sighed. “No.”

  “Then we have nothing to talk about.”

  She moved to go around him, but Michael’s wings opened, blocking her route. She stared at the glossy feathers, near enough to see the barbs along each of them, and then stepped back. Crossing her arms, she waited in tight-lipped silence.

  “Lucifer is gone,” he said.

  “So what? In case you hadn’t noticed, the damage is already done. Eighty thousand women are dead, the babies they carried have disappeared, and he impregnated my niece.” Her voice wobbled on the last bit. She lifted her chin to continue. “Whether he’s here or not doesn’t matter anymore because
he already accomplished everything he set out to do.”

  “The One is gone, too.”

  “Again,” she said harshly, “so what?”

  Pure fury flared in the emerald gaze holding hers. For a moment, she quailed. Then she stood taller. Grew angrier.

  “Damn it, look around you, Michael. Look at the mess we’re in—at the mess she left us in. Seth has stepped into his father’s shoes, you’re at war with Hell, Aramael is dead, and I’m going to live for goddamn forever. Where, in all of that, is my reason to care about the being who’s responsible?”

  “The fault wasn’t only hers. We all made mistakes.”

  “Yes, and now the world gets to live with those mistakes. I get to live with them.”

  For a long moment, Michael said nothing. Then he held something out to her that she hadn’t noticed him holding. “It was Aramael’s,” he said. “I had the armory make it over for you so it would be easier for you to handle.”

  Alex stared at the sword in its hardened leather scabbard. Remembered the feel of it slicing through Seth’s flesh, biting into his bone. Crimson washed across her vision. She blinked it away.

  “I don’t want it.”

  “He would have wanted—”

  “I said I don’t want it.” She raised weary eyes to his. “I don’t want anything of his, or yours, or any other part of Heaven, Michael. I’m done. I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want to know what is happening in your world or with the fight between you and Hell. I don’t want anything to do with any of you.”

  He continued to hold out the weapon. “If the Fallen come after you, it could save your life.”

  “You assume I want it saved,” she said quietly. Pushing past the sword, past him, past his wings, she resumed her climb up the stairs.

  Michael’s voice followed as she reached the top of the flight and turned another corner. “Free will is a messy thing, Alex. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Not until she stood on the ninth floor landing did it register that, for only the second time ever, he had called her Alex and not Naphil. She hesitated then, and despite her better judgment, looked down over the railing to where she had left him four floors below.