Sins of the Lost

He scowled. “Excuse me?”

“What’s done is done, Aramael. It is beyond our control.”

“Verchiel, she just told half her colleagues about Armageddon. We cannot sit by and do nothing.”

“We can.” She held up a hand to forestall his words. “And we must. The mortals are going to have to handle a great deal if Lucifer’s plan for the Nephilim comes to fruition. Perhaps it is for the best that they know.”

“Then you’ll lose her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Clenching his hands, he shoved aside the ache in his chest. “Her relationship with Seth is in crisis,” he said. “She’s—”

“You haven’t—”

“No,” he snarled. “I haven’t. May I finish?”

Lips pursed, Verchiel waved at him to continue.

“Alex is already dealing with more than any mortal has ever had to. Her outburst today won’t necessarily be believed by her colleagues, but it will almost certainly ostracize her from them. If that happens, she’s going to break.”

A tiny frown appeared between the Highest’s brows. “This is speculation on your part.”

Aramael thought of the ravage he’d seen in Alex’s eyes as she emerged from Roberts’s office and realized her words had been overheard. The spark of something in her that he’d watched flicker, gutter, and then die.

“It’s fact, Verchiel. If you don’t fix this, you’ll lose her.” The wings at his back fought to unfurl against his next words. He held them—and his voice—rigidly in check. “And if you lose her, I guarantee you’ll lose any chance at Seth.”

Verchiel stared down at her desk. Then, with a sigh, she rose to her feet. “Go back. Watch her. I’ll take care of the mortals who overheard. Mika’el will speak with the woman.”

Chapter 33

Alex slammed into the bathroom stall, sat on the closed lid of the toilet, and stared at the beige metal door. She tangled her fingers into her hair and held tight as a great shudder rolled through her. Then another. Damn, she’d handled that badly. The memory of her supervisor’s shock surfaced. Hysteria bubbled inside her chest. Handled it? Who the hell was she trying to kid? She hadn’t handled anything. She’d lost it. Totally and completely. Lost it, made an ass of herself, and let her supervisor and Riley in further than she’d ever intended. Further than she’d ever let anyone.

Further than she could afford.

She closed her eyes, recalling the collective shock that had greeted her as she’d stormed out of Roberts’s office. She’d raised her voice as she’d struck out at Riley and Roberts—but how loud? How much had her colleagues overheard? She cringed from the memory of her words. Words filled with truths none of them should know, truths that would give Bell all the ammunition he needed to deep-six her career if he heard about them. When he heard. Because given the number of open mouths when she’d stormed out of Roberts’s office just now, it wouldn’t take long for the grapevine to do its damage.

Hell.

The exterior bathroom door opened. Closed. Footsteps crossed the tile floor.

“Alex, it’s Elizabeth.”

Her eyes flew open, and she glared at the beige stall door.

“I owe you an apology,” Riley continued. “I should have anticipated that things would deteriorate after you left Vancouver. Springing my presence on you in that fashion was badly thought out. I’m sorry.”

Badly thought out? It was a goddamn ambush.

“Poor judgment aside, however, circumstances remain unchanged. On Dr. Bell’s recommendation, you’re required to attend daily sessions with a therapist. Staff Roberts felt—and I agreed—that you might be more comfortable with me than with Dr. Bell. The decision, of course, is yours.”

Only with the greatest effort did Alex remain seated and not barge out of the stall. She gaped at the door. After her outburst in Roberts’s office, to hear Riley speaking with such calm, such reasonableness, as if Alex was just the run-of-the-mill, overstressed cop—

It was no bloody wonder the psychiatrist irritated her so much.

Riley sighed and her voice softened. “Damn it, Alex, I’m not the ogre you think I am. Talk to me. Give me a chance to help you.”

Alex blinked away an unexpected haze.

Another sigh from outside the stall. Then Riley returned to her usual brisk, professional self. “Have it your way, then, but I’m not giving up and you’re not getting out of this. Bell isn’t the only one who thinks you need to talk, and your performance just now only makes me more certain. Staff Roberts has arranged the use of an office for me while I’m here. I’ll leave the information on your desk. As there’s never any time like the present, we’ll start this afternoon. I’ll expect you at two o’clock.”

Hollow footsteps retreated, pausing at the door. “And, Alex, if you’re considering skipping, don’t. Not if you want to remain on the job.”

Door open.

Door closed.

Alex sagged, body, mind, and soul. So that was it. She’d run out of time and escape routes. If she wanted to have any impact at all on this whole mess, then she truly had no choice. She was going to have to finally succumb to having someone poke around in her head and, worse, her heart. And she’d have to do so while facing the stares and murmurs behind her back from everyone in the office who’d heard her outburst.

Her brain snagged on one thought that stood out from the rest, and the more she circled it, the more ludicrous it became. She thought she could have an impact? By doing what, running around after a handful of human murderers in the midst of everything the world faced? Who the hell was she trying to kid? What difference would her efforts make in a war between supernatural beings that could—and would—wipe out the entire mortal race? What—the outer washroom door opened again.

“Naphil?”

She stared at the beige metal between her and Michael. Now what?

“Are you all right?”

Whatever had begun to give way inside her in Roberts’s office snapped. She stood, slammed open the stall door, and glowered at the Archangel in the main doorway. “You have got to be joking.”

Michael’s dark brows meshed.

“No,” she said. “No, Michael, I am not all right. I will never be all right. None of us will be. Your precious One has made certain of that.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Michael stepped inside the washroom. He closed the door behind him, keeping one hand braced against it. “Humanity has played a role in this, too, Naphil. You’ve had free will since your creation. You’ve been responsible for your own decisions, your own choices, for millennia. Yet look where you are, at what you’ve accomplished.”

“Some of us. Not all.”

“Enough to jeopardize your race right now. And not for the first time.”

“Oh, don’t hand me that bullshit. We may not be perfect, but we’re a long, long way from being responsible for our total demise. Lucifer and the Nephilim will take care of that when you and the others have finished battling it out on our turf, and the One won’t raise a hand to stop them. Will she?”

“She has done everything—”

“Will she?” she demanded harshly.

“Let. Me. Finish.” Michael said, his voice so hard that she had to fight an urge to step back. “First of all, we’re not battling it out anywhere at present, least of all in your realm. What’s happening to the planet is because