Sins of the Lost

“No. I told you—”

“Fine. I will speak to Seth. But not about this.” He jerked his chin toward Aramael. “And I don’t want you to mention it, either.”

“Excuse me?”

“If Seth knows Aramael has returned, it will skew his judgment. I need him to consider my request with a clear head, not one filled by unnecessary emotion.”

“First of all, you don’t get to tell me what to do. And second, I don’t keep secrets from the man I love.” Her emphasis on man was deliberate, a reminder to Michael of Seth’s mortality, the choice he had already made. It went unnoticed.

“Have you told him about me?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Then you do keep secrets.”

“I haven’t had the chance to tell him,” she growled.

“The chance or the courage?”

Alex bit back a go to hell. No matter how much she detested him and his high- handedness, he was still an Archangel. And he was right.

“Both,” she said with quiet dignity. “I’m not going to pretend it will be an easy conversation, Michael. Not after what he’s been through. But while I might not be looking forward to it, I will do it. And I will make it clear to him—just as I am to you right now—that I am and always will be on his side. That means no secrets. Not about you, and not about Aramael.”

She drew herself up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Michael’s hand caught her arm as she turned away.

“He’s will destroy your world, Naphil.”

His words made her hesitate, but only for a single heartbeat. Whatever he meant, it didn’t matter. Seth had saved her life, had chosen her over himself. She would not—could not—betray his trust. Not for a Heaven that had already betrayed hers. She pulled away from his hold.

“Before or after Lucifer does?” she asked.

Leaving Michael on the sidewalk, she crossed the street to join Aramael by the car. She opened the door and leaned in to rummage through the glove compartment for a spare notebook and pen. She slammed the door shut and rested the notebook on the sedan’s roof. Aramael glanced between her and Michael as she jotted down a series of questions.

“May I ask what that was about?”

“No.” She slapped the notebook against his chest, holding it there until he raised a hand to take it. “The questions you need to ask are on the first page. Make sure you note the address of everyone you speak to, and keep a list of the houses where no one is home.”

“I thought you didn’t want my help.”

“I changed my mind.” She looked across the street to Michael. Met, without flinching, the hard green eyes. Knew he monitored her words. She turned her back on him.

“I want to finish this canvass,” she told Aramael, her voice clear and steady, “and then I want to go home. I have things I need to tell Seth.”

Chapter 27

As much as Alex tried to tell herself otherwise, the conversation with Michael had rattled her. Deeply. By the time she finished with the last house backing onto the park, she was footsore, frustrated, and had never been more ready to pack in a canvass. She’d also been unable to stop the Archangel’s parting words from replaying in her head with every single step she’d taken.

“He will destroy your world,” he’d said—and still she’d walked away. She’d failed to demand an explanation because she’d let her own feelings get in the way. Across the street, Aramael descended from a porch and walked toward her. Her gut twisted into the special knot reserved for him. She scowled. She knew better—was better—than that. And if she was going to get the answers she needed to save even a portion of humanity, this knee-jerk reaction to all things angelic had to stop. Now.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, Aramael handed the notebook to her. She flipped it open. His notes filled the pages in an impatient scrawl. Legible, but only just. She scanned them. At least he appeared to have asked all the questions and kept a list of addresses they’d need to return to.

“What now?” he asked.

“We write up the file in the office, and then we—I—go home.”

“To tell Seth about me.”

“And Michael. Yes.”

“You really care enough about him to risk your own world.”

Again with the world thing. She closed the notebook Aramael had given her and slid it into her pocket along with her own. “Explain.”

“If he doesn’t take back his powers, the imbalance he caused could destroy the entire—” Aramael stopped. “You didn’t know.”

She shook her head, partly in answer, partly in denial. Tiny crystals of ice formed in her veins, invaded her heart. “There must be some mistake.”

Aramael’s gaze held hers, the same flat gray as Lake Ontario on a sullen day. “You’ve seen the news. The increase in earthquakes and storms—”

“That’s Seth?”

“The energy he released in giving up his powers.”

No. There had to be a mistake. They had to be wrong. Alex realized her head continued to move from side to side. Through sheer force of will, she held it still and made herself face Aramael’s words. Their truth.

“That’s what Michael wanted to tell me.”

“It’s why he came to you for help, yes.”

Dear God . . .

The cell phone at her waist vibrated. Fingers shaking, she fumbled it from its clip.

“Jarvis.”

Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strangled. It was no wonder Henderson picked up on it instantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her throat closed. Everything, she wanted to say. Everything in my whole goddamn world is wrong.

But she couldn’t. Couldn’t tell him. Not about this. Not before she’d talked to Seth and sorted out her own head. Not before she figured out what she was going to do. She cleared her throat.

“Just a case I caught this morning. Two pregnant women, stoned to death.”

“I saw something about that on the news. You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Of course.” His voice was dry. “How could I think otherwise?”

Alex bit back an invitation for him to piss off and sought instead for words to distract him. Normal words that didn’t reflect the agony that had taken up residence in her very soul. “Anything exciting at your end?”

“A whole lot of overtime. The demand for DNA testing is through the roof. Every pregnant woman in the city wants a test, regardless of how far along she is, and we’ve had multiple threats against labs that have refused. Some of them have hired armed guards to protect their staff, so we’ve had to step up patrols to keep tabs on things. Half our detectives are back in uniform to meet the demand. You can imagine how busy that makes the rest of us.”

“And Father Marcus?”