Sins of the Lost

Roberts’s door stood open. She tapped on the door frame. “You wanted to see me?”

His back to her as he stared out the window, her supervisor waved her in. She took a seat and frowned. Hadn’t Roberts been wearing that same suit yesterday? Had something else come up after they’d sent her and Seth home from the hospital?

She opened her mouth to ask. He spoke first.

“There’s a press conference in Ottawa tomorrow afternoon.” Roberts let the blinds fall back into place with a metallic clatter. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned and leaned back against the window ledge. “The federal health minister is announcing a country-wide implementation of the same measures we used here for the SARS scare in 2003.”

“SARS! But we quarantined—” Alex broke off. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They want to quarantine pregnant women? That’s their answer to this?”

“No. That’s their attempt to contain things, at least for a while. It will apply only to women in their first trimester. Beyond that, there doesn’t seem to be much danger. World Health is recommending the measures be taken globally as a precaution while they work to isolate the virus.” Roberts held up a hand to ward off her pending outburst. “Our hospital incident night before last wasn’t an isolated one, Alex. Demonstrations are springing up at clinics across the globe and ten more women—that we know of—have died giving birth to those babies. People need to believe we have a handle on this thing, or we’re going to lose any chance at control.”

“Quarantining pregnant women and handing out surgical masks does not constitute a handle on things.”

“I know that, Detective. WHO knows it. We all know it, but what would you suggest we do? China has already imposed martial law because of the demonstrations there, and damned if I’m not half in agreement with them. People are scared. If these measures give people any peace at all, every member of this force will help to enforce them, including you. Do I make myself clear?”

She held his glare for a second and then subsided. “Of course. You’re right. We need to keep people calm.”

“Good, because we don’t have time for disciplinary crap. You’ve been called to Ottawa.”

“I—what? But why?”

“They didn’t say. I got a call from CSIS half an hour after I sent your list to the techs. They want to see you tomorrow morning at ten. My guess is that someone started connecting the dots and discovered you’re part of the picture.” Roberts grimaced. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your name in that memo to tech. I didn’t stop to think.”

CSIS—the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. With the number of connections she had to events—from Caim’s killing spree in Toronto to the mess in Vancouver—it was inevitable that someone would flag her as a person of interest. She should have expected as much.

Alex shook her head. “It’s okay, Staff. Really. I haven’t exactly kept a low profile. Someone was bound to put it together eventually. Do you know how long I’m there for?”

“Just one night. Trent will go with you.”

“Trent?” The name escaped before she could stop it.

“After yesterday?” His brows rose. “Not up for debate.”

Shit. Overnight in Ottawa with Aramael after that row she’d had with Seth this morning?. She massaged at the ache forming behind her temple. Hell, maybe she’d skip coffee and just find a bar somewhere instead.

“Is that everything?”

“Just one more thing. I’ve been looking into the DNA reports you mentioned. The ones for the babies. They’ve been sealed. So has the one for the claw we found. All I could get out of anyone is what they’ve already released to the media and a promise to keep us apprised of the situation.”

“They?”

“Government Operations Centre. They’ll be at the meeting tomorrow, too.”

Chapter 44

Mika’el hesitated midstride as he passed the gaping hole in the greenhouse’s side. A window, not yet repaired, shattered by pruning shears thrown by the One when their struggles with Seth had begun. He made a mental note to have it looked after by one of the Thrones, then looked beyond the broken glass to the riotous, unkempt growth within the building. The air of desertion was unmistakable, sending a whisper of cold down his spine. How long had it been since the One had tended her beloved plants?

He’d best have the Thrones tend to that task as well.

He continued walking. He had already been through the gardens without success. The only place left to look was the One’s office. Pushing open the great oak door of a small stone building tucked behind the greenhouse, he stepped inside. The coolness of the interior reached out to wrap around him, dim, silent, empty. No Principality standing guard over the outer office, no light other than what filtered through the deep-set windows. Mika’el paused. Was the One not—?

“I’m here, my Archangel,” came a quiet voice through the open door behind the Principality’s desk.

He found her seated in one of the wing chairs by the window overlooking her rose garden. A shadow among the room’s shadows but for the pale glint of light off silver hair. He moved closer, his footsteps absorbed by the carpet. Looking up at his approach, the One held out a hand to him. He took it in his own and crouched at her side. He studied her face, his heart recoiling.

“You look tired,” he said. The understatement of his existence. The Creator’s pale skin had become almost translucent, giving her a fragile, ethereal air, as if she had lost a portion of her very substance.

“I’m not surprised.” She turned her face to the window again. Sadness clouded her silver eyes. “My son’s powers have proved greater than I anticipated, Mika’el.”

His breath snared in his chest. This was why she’d refused to see Verchiel. How long had she been like this, without anyone telling him? Without him paying attention? How in Hell had he not known?

“How bad is it?” His voice was gruff.

Ignoring his question, the One closed her eyes. “Have you made any progress with the woman? Will she help us?”

“I don’t know. She’s very loyal to your son.”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of his Creator’s mouth. “She loves him. She thinks I have failed him, and she is right. What kind of mother uses her son’s life as currency for bartering with her helpmeet?”

“You did what you—”

“I did wrong, Mika’el. I should have ended this matter with Lucifer when it began. When you wanted me to.” Her voice dropped. “When I could.”

The chill returned to crawl along his skin. “But you still can.”

Had her hand always been this tiny? This fragile?

“One—”

“Oh, never mind me,” she said brusquely. “I’m just feeling maudlin today. I’ll be fine, and you have enough to look after without worrying about me. You wanted to know about Seth’s healing.” She raised a brow at the surprise he failed to hide. “You didn’t think I knew why you were here? I am still the Creator, you know.”

“Of course. I just—”

“It wasn’t one of Heaven who healed him.” The One’s gaze drifted away to the window and became distant. “Nor was it Seth himself.”

Mika’el let his head hang. Damn. He’d really hoped he’d been wrong about this. “And the Naphil’s attacker —”

“Mittron. I know.” She shook her head slightly. “I hadn’t anticipated that, either. The woman is unharmed?”

“Her injuries were minor. She’s fine.”

“Is she?”