Sins of the Lost

of the powers Seth refuses to take back, not because of us. Second, the One has done everything she can. Your race has the capacity to save itself from the Nephilim or not. It’s your choice. She cannot—and will not—make that decision for you. For any of you.”

“Bullshit. She’s already asking me to sacrifice everything I love with no guarantee that it will make any difference. That feels pretty decisive to me.”

“You’re right. She is.”

Alex blinked her surprise. He agreed?

“But the decision is still yours, Naphil. You can refuse, and do what you were thinking of doing when I walked in on you now. Leave, turn your back on what might very well be a lost cause, take what happiness you can while it’s possible.”

Alex jutted out her chin. “But?”

“But you’ll have to live with your choice.”

An invisible fist buried itself in her gut. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. No sound emerged.

Michael looked down on her from across the few feet of tiled space between them. “We’ve arranged it so the words you spoke to your supervisor will be forgotten by those who overheard them. Try to be more circumspect in future.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get? Do the right thing and try not to screw up again? That’s the best you can give me?”

“What more is there?”

“Hope? Encouragement? A word of goddamn apology?”

“Apology.” His eyes turned to emerald chips of ice, and his black wings began to slowly unfurl, as wide as the limited space would allow. “Apology,” he repeated. “And just what would you have me apologize for, Naphil? My kin giving up their soulmates and their free will just to survive the war we fought on your behalf? Our Creator not sacrificing herself sooner for your benefit? Are you really that arrogant?”

The metal frame of the bathroom stall bit into her spine between her shoulder blades. Michael hadn’t moved an inch, but his presence still pressed in on her, driving her back. Her stomach flip-flopped. When the hell would she learn that pissing off an Archangel was not a bright thing to do?

“That’s not what I meant,” she began.

He fixed her with a dagger-like stare. “I don’t give a damn what you meant. I’ve told you what your choices are, now stop feeling sorry for yourself and make your decision.”

And with that parting gem of warm fuzziness, Heaven’s greatest warrior simply disappeared, leaving Alex staring yet again at the emptiness he left behind. Slowly her alarm gave way to renewed irritation, then to annoyance, and then to outright anger. She scowled. Stop feeling sorry for yourself? And he called her arrogant. The self-righteous, pompous—

The washroom door swung inward, and Joly stepped through the opening. “There you are.”

Alex threw her arms wide. “What is this, goddamn Grand Central Station?”

Joly paused, looked around the room that was obviously empty but for them, and raised a brow. “You okay, Jarvis?”

Apart from wanting to kick something? “I’m fine. Did you want something, or can I get a little privacy?”

“There’s a meeting,” he said. “In the conference room. Staff Roberts sent me to get you.”

Alex hesitated, her lips pressed together so tightly that numbness set in. Michael’s words rang in her ears, reached deeper to resonate in her soul. He was right. She could walk away now and be done with it all. With the murders, the angels, the Fallen Ones, the Nephilim. Walk away and take the only chance at happiness she might ever have. But could she live with that choice?

She looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Met the resignation in her own gaze. Closed her eyes against the weariness that seeped from her every pore.

“I’m coming,” she told Joly. “Just give me a minute.”

Not until the door swung shut again did it register that he’d behaved normally. As if he’d heard nothing, knew nothing, despite being planted directly outside Roberts’s door when she’d emerged after her meltdown. As if it had never happened. That must have been what Michael meant. Heaven had wiped the memory from them. She tipped her head back against the stall.

Damn, what she wouldn’t give to be in their shoes.

Chapter 34

“. . . on those files?”

In the silence that followed the question, Alex raised her head. She found all eyes in the room on her and looked over at her supervisor. Hell. That would teach her to tune out of a meeting.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?”

A flash of impatience crossed Roberts’s features. “I asked where you were on the files I asked you to review.”

You mean in my spare time? Alex bit back the retort. “I haven’t had a chance to finish them yet,” she said.

“I want them done by tomorrow.” Roberts nodded at her notepad. “What’s that?”

“A list. Additional terms I thought tech might want to watch for on the Internet.”

He held out his hand.

She hesitated, then tore the sheet of paper from the notepad and passed it to Joly beside her. It moved from hand to hand around the table, each holder taking a second to skim the contents—Nephilim, Satan, second coming, Lucifer, angels, demons, fallen angels. Some of the terms were probably on tech’s watch list already. Others, such as Nephilim, maybe not so much.

The paper reached their staff inspector. Apart from a few raised eyebrows among her colleagues—and Joly’s narrowed, sidelong speculation—no one seemed overly perturbed. Alex relaxed a little. Michael’s magic memory-wipe was holding.

Roberts scanned the list, and then, without so much as glancing her way, held it aloft.

“For those of you who didn’t have the opportunity to sneak a peek, Jarvis has just added to our list of Internet watch terms. The terms she is suggesting tie in with what’s going on out in Morinville and quite probably with yesterday’s stoning. They are also religious in nature. Now, we all know what happens the moment the press gets wind that the police are investigating any kind of religious angle. So let me be clear: your answer to any question put to you by a journalist is ‘no comment,’ because if anything on this list makes the news, I will have someone’s head. Now get to work. Jarvis, stay.”

Again?

Alex subsided into her chair and watched the others file out. Roberts closed the door behind them, keeping his hand on the knob.

“I’ll be brief. What happened in my office . . .”

She stiffened. He remembered?

“I’m sorry. I know I sprang Dr. Riley on you, but you would have objected if you’d known in advance.”

“That’s it?” she asked cautiously. Nothing about her information dump?

“I don’t know what else you want me to say. My hands are tied, Detective. I have my orders, and you have yours. You’re to see Riley.”

Alex looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. He didn’t remember.

“Like I said, Detective, this one’s out of my hands. Though if I ever catch a certain psychologist in a dark alley somewhere, I don’t guarantee his continued well-being.” He half smiled, not entirely in jest. “My question at the moment is, are you good to remain today, or do you need some time?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? You’ve been under one hell of a lot of pressure.”