Sins of the Son: The Grigori Legacy Page 23

  Verchiel stared at him. How had Heaven ever come to this? How could she not have seen what was happening? All those moments when she had witnessed something more than sadness in the One, something more than she understood, and she had never said anything. Never asked.

  “About all we have working in our favor at the moment is Seth having fallen under the influence of the Naphil,” Mika’el continued. “She may yet be able to persuade him to choose in our favor. That would at least buy us some time.”

  “To do what?”

  He raised bleak eyes to her. “I don’t know.”

  She nodded, an odd calm stealing over her. “If you’re wrong, if Seth should choose against us…”

  The Archangel’s jaw went tight and his gaze slid from hers. “I won’t let that happen. But I need your help, which means you need to make a decision.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  “Send for Aramael.” He dropped a parchment, taken from the folds of his shirt, onto the desk. “This will restore some of his powers. He is to watch over the Appointed.”

  She stared at the roll. At the seal of the Office of the Archangels holding it closed.

  “It’s not as refined as hers, but it will do what it needs to do,” Mika’el said quietly.

  “They—all of you—?” She looked up. Only working together, with all six in agreement, could the Archangels have raised the kind of power needed to restore another’s abilities.

  “They’ve decided, too. We’re going to save her, Verchiel. We must.”

  She swallowed. “And when she realizes that Seth lives? What we’ve done? Acting on our own like this, Mika’el, it amounts to—” She broke off, unable to make herself say the word.

  Mika’el’s face took on the hard planes of stone. Standing tall, he crossed to the fractured door and pulled it open. “It’s treason,” he said heavily. “We know.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Aramael eyed the stoic Archangels by the door. Talk about déjà-vu. They may have requested he accompany them this time, rather than ripping him out of the mortal realm without warning, but his soul still cringed from the memory.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing from one side of the office to the other. Stopping in front of a bookcase, he stared at the row of books at eye level and listened to the clock mark the passage of time. Tried to focus on his surroundings rather than think about why he’d been brought here.

  About what might be coming.

  Or what had passed before in this same place.

  Could they not have taken him somewhere else? Did it have to be here, where everything that had defined him, everything that was him had been so violently stripped away? A shudder ran through him and the scars on his shoulder blades burned with the remembered fire of their loss.

  Then, just as he couldn’t endure it any longer, the door opened behind the Archangels. Aramael braced himself and faced the newcomer.

  Air gusted from his lungs.

  “Verchiel?”

  A hint of a smile curved the Dominion’s lips. Aramael took in the scarlet robe that had replaced her usual purple. No. Not the Dominion. Not any longer.

  Digging deep for a semblance of protocol, he inclined his head. “Highest,” he murmured. “My congratulations. I had no idea.”

  “Under the circumstances, there was no way you could know.” Verchiel looked to the Archangels. “My thanks, Raphael. Uriel. I won’t need you anymore.”

  The Archangels nodded and withdrew, with the ebony-skinned Raphael casting a last look over his shoulder that assured Aramael he had neither forgotten nor forgiven how Aramael had called him bastard at their last meeting. An apology down the road might be in order…assuming Aramael was still around to issue one.

  The door closed, leaving him alone with Verchiel, who crossed to the desk and laid down the cloth-wrapped bundle she carried, then came forward to take his face in her hands and stare into his eyes.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I am so sorry for everything you have had to endure, Aramael, and all because I was too weak to stand up to Mittron. To think for myself, as you accused.”

  Aramael blinked, unsure if he was more taken aback by her touch or her words. He didn’t know whether angels of the other choirs reached out to one another in this fashion, but they sure as hell didn’t do so with Powers. Not that he carried that rank any longer.

  As for the apology…Mouth twisting, he pulled away from Verchiel’s touch. “Is that why I’m here?” he asked. “Because of your conscience?”

  The Dominion—no, the Highest Seraph—winced, her blue eyes clouding over as she withdrew a few steps. Without answering, she walked around the desk and settled into the chair. “Now that Lucifer has found Seth—” She broke off at his start of surprise. “You didn’t know?”

  “Last I heard, Seth was missing and Mika’el blamed me. They”—he tipped his head toward the door through which the Archangels had disappeared—“weren’t exactly forthcoming when they came to fetch me.”

  “Mika’el and the woman found Seth in the company of Lucifer.”

  Her name is Alex. Aramael bit back the automatic correction. It was time he went back to thinking of Alex that way himself—as the woman. The Naphil.

  Instead of the soulmate he would never have.

  “Then we are at war.”

  Verchiel shook her head. “More like an impasse. Lucifer knows about the plan to remove Seth.”

  “And he didn’t demand forfeiture?”

  “Given he was found in the Appointed’s company, he couldn’t.”

  “But if both sides have reneged on the agreement…”

  “That’s his reason for insisting it still stands.”

  Cold trickled down Aramael’s spine. “The Nephilim.”

  “You know—?” Verchiel caught herself. “Yes, well, that’s why we have no choice but to play along for the moment. We need time to decide what to do.”

  “But his time with the Appointed—we have no idea what Lucifer told him or how Seth will react. You take an enormous risk.”

  “A calculated one,” Verchiel corrected. “Whatever Lucifer told Seth appears to have been adequately mitigated by the woman. At least for now. Lucifer has agreed to let her remain with Seth, to replace the mortal influence he would have had if things had gone the way they were supposed to.”

  The muscles in Aramael’s throat tensed. “She has that much influence?” he asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.

  Verchiel looked away, her forehead creased. “There’s really no easy way to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Aramael, Seth caused his own flawed transition.” Verchiel’s gaze didn’t quite meet his. “He tried to give up his place, his destiny, in order to become mortal. So he could be with the woman.”

  Aramael walked to the window and braced himself against the frame, one hand on each side, staring into the gardens below, the woods stretching beyond them. He’d suspected Seth’s feelings for Alex when the Appointed had been brought in to help him protect her from Caim. Suspected, but had no idea of their intensity. Even if he had known, he’d been in no position to do anything about it.

  Just as he wasn’t now.

  He aimed a narrow glare over his shoulder at Verchiel and growled, “You do know that whatever punishment was meted out to Mittron, it can never be enough to pay for what he set in motion.”

  To his surprise, the Highest blanched.

  He frowned. “Something I said?”

  “Mittron pays dearly for his sins,” Verchiel said softly. “He will do so for eternity.”

  In a few clipped words, she told him of Mittron’s Judgment, of how he had been exiled to the mortal realm and sentenced to feel the agony of every soul lost to the Fallen Ones for as long as Heaven and Hell battled for dominion. Aramael didn’t hear anything past mortal realm.

  Mittron wandered Earth? The same Earth to which he himself had been sent? The mortal world wasn’t a small one, but given an etern
ity, it was possible—reasonable, even—that their paths might cross. A dark anticipation curled through Aramael. Perhaps he and the one responsible for his suffering weren’t done yet after all.

  “—know it will be difficult, but you’re the only one Lucifer would agree to.”

  Verchiel’s voice penetrated his thoughts and he made himself look over his shoulder at her. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I said—” Verchiel broke off and then, her voice becoming terse, gave him what he was pretty sure was the abbreviated version. “We need someone to watch the Appointed, Aramael. To make sure Lucifer and the others keep their distance. He agreed to have you do so.”

  “Me?” All thought of Mittron and possible revenge evaporated. “First you want me to kill him and now I’m supposed to protect him?”

  “Not protect. Simply watch. The Light-Bearer deemed you most likely to keep your own distance from the Appointed and so not bring any Heavenly influence to bear on him.”

  Aramael absorbed this new revelation. If nothing else, Lucifer had an excellent understanding of the mechanics behind soulmates. The Light-Bearer was right. Knowing what Aramael did about the Appointed’s feelings for Alex, he would just as soon slug Seth as speak to him. Which pretty much guaranteed he’d keep his distance.

  He closed his eyes and rolled his head against the tension in his neck. Another Guardianship role. He sure as hell hoped this one turned out better than the last.

  He glared at the new Highest Seraph. “So I’m to keep my distance and what, throw rocks if I see Lucifer or a Fallen One? I’m somewhat incapacitated, remember?”

  “Lucifer has agreed to let us restore limited powers to you.”

  “Lucifer agreed?” Dropping his hands, Aramael rounded on Verchiel. “Are you kidding me? Since when does the Light-Bearer run Heaven?”

  Verchiel bristled. “He does no such thing.”

  “Doesn’t he? You’ve just told me it was his idea to let the agreement stand, and now you’re letting him decide how much power you return to me. What the hell is that, if not letting him call the shots?”

  Rising, Verchiel leaned toward him, resting her hands on the desktop alongside the wrapped bundle. “It is none of your business,” she informed him coldly. “I have set you a task, Aramael. Do you accept it or not?”

  Well, well. The Dominion—no, the Highest Seraph—had grown a backbone. And she was hiding something. Aramael eyed her narrowly. “You’re not telling me something.”

  Verchiel waved him silent and dropped into her chair again, one hand massaging her temple. “I’m telling you everything you need to know,” she said, her voice reverting to its usual even tones. “Everything I can. We know this is a temporary solution at best. We know Lucifer plans to grow the Nephilim as long as the agreement remains in place. We know. But every moment of peace we can buy gives us another moment to figure out what we’re going to do about it. Another moment in which humanity can continue breathing and the universe hasn’t been ripped apart at its very seams.”

  Lowering her hand from her forehead, Verchiel reached for a scroll on the edge of her desk and held it out to him. “The ability to communicate with Heaven and your kin,” she said, “and the ability to move freely in the mortal realm. Follow Seth, watch him. Call for help if you need it.”

  Aramael stared at the offered document with its unfamiliar seal. His mouth became a desert. After the last such paper he’d been handed, it took all the will he possessed not to step back.

  “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s all Lucifer will allow me?”

  “It’s what Mika’el forced him to agree to. You’ll have that”—Verchiel set down the roll and nudged it toward him—“and the safeguard Lucifer knows nothing about, the one chance you have to take Seth’s life if you need to.”

  Aramael’s mouth twisted. Wonderful. Limited powers and the ability to remain a murderer. Flexing his fingers, he walked forward to take the parchment. Its intent flooded him the moment he touched it, its power rushing in to fill the emptiness he had carried with him since the One’s decree had left him bereft of all he had ever known. Ever been. Harsh and jagged—perhaps because it sought to restore something the One had never intended for him to have again—it settled into his soul.

  And left him aching for that which remained missing.

  He crushed the used paper in his fist, staring at it. Hating its limitations. Then, dropping it onto the desk, he lifted his gaze to Verchiel’s once more.

  “Thank Heaven for small miracles,” he said, and didn’t even try to hide his bitterness.”If we’re done here, I believe I have a job to do.”

  Verchiel’s voice stopped him near the door. “There’s one more thing.”

  More? What more could there be? Turning back to the new Highest Seraph, he went still, his gaze riveted to her desk. To what lay on her desk. An eternity passed in the space of a breath.

  At last he looked up, into Verchiel’s suspiciously shiny eyes. Without a word, he unbuttoned his shirt, slid it from his shoulders, and presented his back to her. Eyes closed and head bowed, he waited to be rejoined with the wings Mittron had ripped from him.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Seth stared down at the lights of the city twenty stories below, stretching as far as he could see in all directions. Behind him, the door slid open and Alex stepped from Detective Henderson’s living room onto the concrete balcony. She joined him at the railing.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Apart from not remembering any of what I learned about myself today?” He rested his forearms on the rail and linked his fingers. “Or learning it in the first place? I’m just great. You?”

  Alex either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the heavy sarcasm in his words. “You must have questions.”

  “More than I can begin to ask.”

  “Why don’t we start with what Lucifer told you?”

  Seth snorted. “Would you like to begin with his fall from Heaven or how no mortal is worth the air he or she breathes?”

  “You probably know more than I do about the former. As for the latter, I think you’ve already seen enough to know otherwise. There are good people in the world, Seth, and if I can say that, doing what I do for a living, you know it’s true.”

  Seth went silent for a moment. Glancing sideways at Alex, he asked, “What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “Michael?”

  He nodded.

  Seconds ticked by. So many of them, he began to think she wouldn’t answer. Then her hands curved over the rail beside his, close enough that her warmth radiated to him.

  “He wanted to talk about us.”

  “You and me?”

  “Yes.”

  Seth listened to the even cadence of her breathing. “Are you going to tell me what he said?”

  “He said you have certain…feelings for me. He wanted to know if I returned those feelings.”

  “How does he know what I feel?”

  “I think it’s part of the whole Heavenly angel thing.” Alex met his gaze with a little grimace. “It’s actually quite annoying.”

  Seth’s mouth curved and he looked away, back out over the city lights. Weighing his words, he wondered how much he might be able to ask this time, how far Alex might let him go before she closed herself off to him again. He wished he knew the social parameters in this situation.

  He cleared a gruffness forming in his throat. “And do you? Return my feelings?”

  Alex’s fingers tightened on the railing and the tiny instant of levity that had existed between them disappeared. Her gaze became distant. “A month ago, a Fallen Angel named Caim started killing people in Toronto, where I live. He was looking to murder a Nephilim, hoping to ride the soul back to Heaven. Don’t ask me how it was supposed to work, it’s just what I was told. Anyway, I apparently have Nephilim blood in me and, because I was investigating the murders and likely to come in contact with Caim, Heaven got nervous and decided I should be protected. They sent an
angel—a Power—who was to guard me and at the same time hunt the Fallen One. Things didn’t work out the way they were supposed to. The Power couldn’t do both tasks at the same time, so they sent you to take over the protection part.”

  “Aramael was the Power?” Seth asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “But he was more than that.”

  Alex’s voice went hard. “Aramael turned out to be my soulmate. The connection between us interfered with his ability to hunt. When they sent you, he was finally able to go after the Fallen One, but Caim got to me and you couldn’t protect me after all. Caim made me—” She swallowed. “Caim was Aramael’s brother. He claimed Aramael had betrayed him and he wanted revenge. He wanted him to see me die. He made me call for Aramael, and Aramael ended up killing him—an unpardonable sin in the One’s eyes. He was stripped of his powers and cast from Heaven.”

  You couldn’t protect me.

  Seth had gone cold at the words, shock threading through him. He had failed her? But if he was the son of Lucifer and the universe’s creator, then how…?

  Alex’s hand closed over his forearm, silencing his questions beneath a wave of sensation. Seth’s heartbeat turned heavy.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “There were other things going on, complications. There was nothing you could do to stop him. Besides, you came back. After Aramael was taken by the Archangels, you came back. You saved my life.”

  Small comfort, given what she must have endured at the Fallen One’s hands. Seth stared at the slender fingers against his skin. What she perhaps still endured, if the despair he’d seen in her eyes was anything to go by. Lifting his free hand, he took her fingers in his and traced them with a thumb.

  “Was that the sum of our connection?” he asked. “The fact I failed to prevent your pain but redeemed myself by saving your life?”

  Alex inhaled sharply. Somewhere in the apartment behind them, the soft chime of a clock marked a quarter hour.

  “No,” she said at last. “There was more. An attraction.”

  “But you had a soulmate.”

  “Yes.”