Sins of the Lost Page 19

  His wings instantly unfurled part way, brushing against a parliamentary page who glanced around, saw nothing, and gave a puzzled shrug. Scowling, Aramael folded the wings close again.

  “What?” he asked. “I feel no Fallen—”

  “No.” Alex shot him a warning look. “That stroller down there.” She nodded her head toward the lawn. “I don’t see anyone with it. I want to have a look.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Striding across the driveway, she headed down the stairs, Aramael at her back. One of the plainclothes RCMP officers beside the podium looked toward her, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Alex turned the lapel of her coat over to expose her badge and gave a jerk of her head to the right. The woman frowned and leaned forward to murmur something to her burly colleague, who also looked toward Alex. With a nod, he returned to his crowd surveillance.

  The female officer stepped away from her position and crossed the grass, intercepting Alex halfway between the podium and the stroller. “You are—?”

  “Alexandra Jarvis, Toronto Homicide. This is my partner, Jacob Trent.”

  Barely glancing at Aramael, the woman responded, “Julia Greer, RCMP. What’s up?”

  “That stroller.” Alex nodded past her. “No one’s with it.”

  Greer swiveled and did a quick reconnaissance. “You’re right.”

  Alex fell into step beside her. Greer lifted her left hand to her face.

  “We have what appears to be an unattended stroller on the west side of the podium,” she murmured into the microphone clipped inside her sleeve. “I’m taking a look.”

  A half dozen pairs of sunglasses swiveled in their direction, tracking their progress. Fifteen feet, ten. At the center of a group clustered nearby, a man raised a cell phone as if to take a photo. Alex’s steps slowed. She frowned at the words on the sign he held aloft in his other hand. Luke 21:23.

  Luke, chapter twenty-one, verse twenty-three. A biblical reference.

  Son of a—

  The man moved his thumb.

  Alex looked back to the RCMP officer, too far away to reach.

  “Greer!” she yelled.

  From the depths of the stroller, a cell phone rang.

  The world exploded.

  Chapter 56

  “So that’s it, then. It’s all over.”

  Whirling, Samael pinned Mittron against the graffiti-scrawled brick wall of the long abandoned factory. Snow, blown in through the broken window, swirled around their ankles. Pripyat was bloody cold at this time of year. It was a damned good thing the Nephilim children were stronger than their pathetic human half-kin.

  “It’s not over,” he hissed. “I just need to accelerate things. If I can find a way to sway Seth …”

  Mittron’s shaggy brows ascended. “You’re kidding, right? Lucifer has informed you that you’re his personal target. You think you can—what, pretend he was kidding? You’re a marked Fallen One, Samael. There’s nothing to accelerate.”

  Rage snarled through Samael, sharpened by fear. He glared at Mittron for a second more, then released him and swung away. He paced the rotted wooden floor. “There has to be a way I can spin this,” he muttered. “If I can convince him that I was only trying to help—”

  “You really think he’s that gullible? You’ve been passing his journals on to the son he all but disowned. He’s not going to care one way or the other about Seth.”

  Samael stopped at a window. Mittron was right. He was as good as dead. Would be dead as soon as Lucifer tracked him down. The Light-bearer wouldn’t give a—

  “Unless …” Mittron murmured.

  “Unless what? The One herself intervenes with a miracle? Not going to happen.”

  “Unless you go to him first.”

  Samael sent a scowl in his direction. “It must be time for your next dose, because you just became delusional. Why in bloody Heaven would I go looking for someone who just threatened to kill me—and who’s capable of following through on that threat?”

  “Because it might convince him you’re telling the truth about trying to sway his son to his cause.”

  “I suggested something along those lines already. He wasn’t interested.”

  “Not even to ensure that the balance of power lies with Hell when the war begins?”

  “Let me think. I believe his exact words were I don’t care,” Samael said sourly. “I’m fairly sure that indicated a certain level of disinterest, yes.”

  “Then how about to ensure the survival of his army?”

  Samuel shot the Seraph a sharp look. He crossed his arms and leaned against the window ledge. “Keep talking.”

  “He’s not going to survive this time, Samael. He’s gone too far. The One can’t—and won’t—allow him to continue. And once he’s gone, who will look after his army? Who will make certain his legacy is carried out? One of the rabble that followed him or you, his trusted aide—with the help of his own son?” Mittron strolled across the warehouse floor to stop in front of him, just out of reach. “Don’t wait for him to come to you. Seek him out. Convince him everything you’ve done has been in his best interests.”

  “And how do you propose I do that?”

  “Look around you, Samael. Look at what you’ve accomplished here. You’ve done everything he asked you to do and more. You’ve given him the base he needed for his Nephilim army. You’ve rebuilt it, equipped it, protected it. Not even the Archangels know it’s here, and that’s no small success. You just need to make him aware of your hard work. Make him believe in your loyalty to the cause.”

  Samael stared through the broken glass at the derelict lot below. The Seraph might be on to something with the idea. Already his thoughts were aligning, mustering the words to frame his arguments, his defense. If he played this right, he just might pull it off.

  “You really think the One will destroy him?”

  “I don’t think he’s left her a choice.”

  “That still doesn’t solve my Seth problem. Without him on board, there’s no point to anything else.”

  The former Seraph’s yellow eyes gleamed. “As to that, I think I know how to tip the Appointed in our favor.”

  Chapter 57

  A fireball consumed Alex’s world.

  Heat—intense, scorching, blistering—swept over her.

  Burning shrapnel embedded itself in her skin.

  And then—

  Wings. Folding around her, cutting her off from the assault, the pain …

  For a heartbeat that seemed an eternity—a thousand eternities—she stood with her soulmate. Protected, safe, apart. And then she jolted back to the here and now. To the screams. The panic.

  Chaos.

  Mayhem.

  Shoving against Aramael’s powerful chest, she fought her way out of the feathers surrounding her. Stood, swaying, in the midst of a devastation unlike any she had ever witnessed. Scorched, smoldering bodies strewn across the lawn. Parts of bodies. Unrecognizable fragments of shattered lives. Julia Greer, who had stood between her and the stroller, gone. Obliterated.

  Hands gripped her shoulders. Shook her. She stared into Aramael’s face, into his stormy gray eyes clouded with worry. Made herself focus on his lips and the words they were forming.

  “Damn it, Alex, answer me! Are you all right?”

  She nodded. Inhaled. Gagged on the stench of burnt human flesh. Then she nodded again, this time with more certainty. She struggled to bring her brain back online. She was a cop. People were hurt. She needed to help.

  She scanned the scene. People milled everywhere. Some sat or lay on the ground, others tended the injured. Screams ripped through the air. Beside her, the wooden podium burned fiercely, its flames unimpeded by the few small fire extinguishers aimed in their direction. Sirens wailed their approach.

  She saw no trace of the pregnant minister of health—or her security entourage.

  She snagged the arm of a passing security guard. “Find some crime scene tape,” she ordered, her voice h
oarse, throat raw. Her eyes watered. Goddamn, that hurt. “I want this area, the blast zone, secured. That”—she pointed at the crater where the stroller had stood—“is ground zero.”

  The guard hesitated, full of questions. Alex reached for her lapel to show her badge, but found only ragged cloth, crisp with char at its edges. Her gaze locked with Aramael’s over the guard’s head. That close? His eyes hardened. She turned back to the security guard.

  “I’m a homicide detective,” she told him. “And I need your help to protect the scene. Can you do that for me?”

  His hesitation evaporated. “Crime scene tape,” he repeated, and with a nod, he headed off at a trot.

  “I’m going to help with triage,” Alex said to Aramael. “No one is to come through this area. When the guard gets back, help him with the tape.”

  “Alex.”

  His voice stopped her midturn.

  “You’re injured.”

  She looked down at herself in surprise. At the wool coat half burned away, the scattered bits of gore—not her own—plastered across its remains, and the fresh blood seeping from beneath her blouse and both pant legs. Hell.

  She met Aramael’s gaze again.

  Then she collapsed at his feet.

  ***

  Lucifer stopped in front of Qemuel.

  “She’s inside,” he said. “The Naphil will look for her, so leave the city. When she gives birth, take the baby to join the others.”

  Qemuel nodded. “Will anyone else look for her?”

  “Unlikely, but stay alert.”

  Another nod. Then, when he said nothing more, the bulky Fallen One strolled up the sidewalk and mounted the stairs. Lucifer watched him disappear into the house.

  So. He’d succeeded at last. Fathered the perfect child to lead his army against the mortals. He’d expected more from the victory—pleasure or excitement of some kind—but there was nothing. No sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. Not even contentment. It was as if none of what he’d done had mattered after all, leaving him …

  Empty.

  Used up.

  Tired.

  He seized on the last thought. Tired. That was it. He was just tired, and after six millennia of waiting and building up to this moment, was it any wonder? A little rest and reflection—and perhaps dealing with Samael once and for all—and his outlook was bound to improve.

  It had to, because otherwise—

  Otherwise wasn’t an option.

  Chapter 58

  “Detective Jarvis, it wasn’t a request. I need you to remain in Ottawa as part of our team,” Stephane Boileau said. “After what you told us today—”

  “Screw what I told you today.” Alex abandoned her attempts to button the coat someone had dug out of the lost and found for her. She pulled the garment tight around her instead and folded her arms over it to hold it in place. And to still the violent tremors that she couldn’t seem to stop.

  Shock, the doctor had told her as he’d stitched up a slice along her thigh. She’d held back a “duh” only with great effort. She had no intention of making any similar effort for Boileau.

  “That explosion had nothing to do with angels or Nephilim—” she broke off at his flinch and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Fine. With extraterrestrials. Better? The point is that it was triggered by nothing more than one thousand percent human stupidity. If we can’t contain that, Mr. Boileau, the entire world is screwed—with or without E.T.”

  A dull flush crept up Boileau’s neck from beneath his shirt. “May I remind you that it’s your duty—”

  “My duty is to keep the peace, not help you poke your nose into something bigger than you can begin to imagine.”

  “If that something is a matter of national security,” he spat back, “then it goddamned well is your duty to help me poke my nose into it.”

  Her fingers twisted into the coat’s fabric. The urge to fold inward and collapse onto the floor beckoned. How much easier it would be to let the doctors take over. Let them give her the sedative they’d offered, let herself slip away from Boileau and the stench of blood and burnt flesh that clung to her skin and hair. Easier …

  And with Michael’s words about choice sitting heavy on her conscience, equally impossible.

  She shook her head, as much at herself as Boileau, and then scooped up the mangled remains of her cell phone from the counter. “I’ve told you everything I can about the explosion and the Neph—the babies that are going to be born,” she said. “And now I’m going to my hotel room, and I’m going to try very hard to sleep. In the morning, I’m going home as planned. I will assist—long-distance—with any security plan you put together that focuses on humans. Beyond that, you’re on your own.”

  Especially where your testing of the Nephilim children is concerned.

  Boileau put a hand on the door to hold it closed. “I could have you seconded to the task force here.”

  “You could. And I could refuse to comply. And we could go back and forth through disciplinary committees and hearings and waste a whole lot of everyone’s time while the situation just keeps getting worse. The choice is yours.” Hell. Now she was starting to sound like Michael. “I get that you’re worried, but this, the part you’re most concerned about? Let it go. It’s bigger than you are. Bigger than all of us. Focus on keeping our own world glued together. That’s how we’ll survive.”

  Boileau stared at her through his glasses.

  “You know more than you’ve told us, don’t you?”

  “I know things no one should ever have to know. Trust me when I say you wouldn’t want to be me.”

  “Not even if it meant I could walk away, virtually unscathed, from an explosion no one else anywhere near me survived?”

  She froze, her hand on the doorknob.

  “One of the news crews caught you on tape,” Boileau said quietly. “You’re being replayed every fifteen minutes across the entire country. Right alongside footage from the two latest earthquakes and the volcanic eruption.”

  Alex rested her forehead against the door frame. From out in the corridor came the muffled squeak of wheels rolling by. The news? Christ Almighty, how much had they caught? Had they seen Aramael? Seen her collapse? Watched him lift her from the grass and heal the more serious wounds he hadn’t been able to protect her from?

  Boileau’s voice persisted. “That fireball rolled thirty feet past you, Detective. It incinerated everything in its path. They’re still picking bits out of the grass. People on the opposite side of the podium were injured, some critically. And yet here you are. Walking out of the hospital with—what—a couple of dozen stitches? How is that possible?”

  Alex waited for her stomach to stop churning at the reminder of the gore she’d witnessed, then she turned. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the door. “We both know it’s not possible,” she said. “So you might as well get to the point.”

  Boileau rubbed a hand over the bald spot on his head and glowered at her. “I have the best interests of this country at heart, Detective Jarvis. I’m not sure the same can be said of you. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you detained.”

  “I’ll give you two. One, because you’re wrong about what you’re thinking. You can test my DNA all you like; I’m as human as you or anyone else. And two, because this isn’t about the best interests of this country. It’s about the survival of humanity.”

  Before Boileau could respond or she could reach again for the door knob, the door swung inward and a nurse held out a cell phone to her.

  “A Staff Inspector Roberts for you,” the nurse said.

  Alex shoved the destroyed phone she clutched into the pocket of her borrowed coat. She took the one from the nurse.

  “You can return it to the triage desk when you’re done,” said the woman. She stepped out of the room again. Turning her back on Boileau, Alex put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Staff,” she said.

  “Is Trent with you?” Roberts’s voice demanded without preamble. />
  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I’m serious, Alex. Where is Trent?”

  “He’s in the waiting room outside emergency. I was on my way there now. What’s going on?”

  “Just get to him. Tell me when you’re there.”

  Something very small and cold took root in her center. “Staff—”

  “Now, Detective. That’s an order.”

  Without another word, she left the examining room, hurried down the corridor, and pushed through the doors into the waiting area. Was it just her, or was this getting to be a habit? She searched the room for Aramael, and in an extension of her déjà vu moment, located him beside the exit doors. He raised an eyebrow as she joined him. Roberts, she mouthed.

  “He’s right in front of me,” she told her supervisor. “Now what’s going on?”

  “Your sister’s been taken to the hospital, Alex. She’s unconscious. They’re doing a CT scan now.”

  In an instant, the world narrowed to the phone in her hand and the row of buttons on Aramael’s shirt. Jen.

  “Alex.” Roberts’s voice turned sharp. “Don’t you dare pass out on me.”

  “I’m okay,” she said. Breathe in. Breathe out. “What happened? An accident? Was Nina with her?”

  “Her house was broken into. The incident report says home invasion.”

  Even through the chaos in her brain, his phrasing caught her attention.

  “The incident report says,” she echoed. “What does that mean?”

  “Her door was broken in. Frame, hinges, and all. No explosion, no other signs of damage, nothing.”

  The cold in her center began a slow, sinuous uncoiling. “Nina. Where is Nina?”

  “They found her backpack. And her coat.”

  But not her. Not Nina. The world tipped out from beneath Alex’s feet. Iron hands clamped around her arms and steered her toward a chair, pushed her down. It took three tries for her to fill her lungs.

  “When?” she croaked. When did it happen? How long has she been missing?

  “We’re trying to determine that now. The 911 call came in at five thirty. If Nina was in school today, then it would have been between then and the time she got home.”