Sins of the Lost

Ob-gyns are canceling appointments and refusing to handle anything but straight-up deliveries. Every emergency ward, medical lab, and private clinic in the city has hired security guards, and we are fielding dozens of calls a day to those locations. This means we are stretched seriously thin.”

Roberts pushed back his suit jacket to rest hands on hips. “As of today, all leave is canceled until further notice. You’ll have your regular time off but nothing more. If you’re looking for overtime, see me after the meeting. You can have as much as you want. If you’re not looking for overtime, you’re about to get more than you bargained for. From this moment forward, you will do the bulk of your paperwork in your cars. You will have your radios on at all times, and if you hear a call for backup in your vicinity, you will respond forthwith. I do not want to see you in this office unless you’re picking something up or dropping it off. Are we clear?”

Heads around the room nodded.

“Good. Now these”—Roberts slapped his hand on the files—“are the sixty-seven files we currently have open. I want them updated before you go home tonight. All of them. If there is nothing new to add and the case has nothing to do with the current state of affairs in our city, put a note on it to that effect and pass it to Detective Jarvis—”

Alex abandoned her study of the wall behind her supervisor. “Me? But—”

“—who will be on desk duty until we find her a partner,” Roberts finished. “Class dismissed. Jarvis, stay.”

The others cleared the room, Joly taking the stack of files with him for distribution except for one their supervisor had set aside. The door closed. Roberts settled into a chair. With a nod, he indicated another, but Alex paced the edge of the room instead, coming to a halt in the far corner.

“Seriously, Staff? Desk duty?”

“My hands are tied where policy is concerned, Detective, especially when my decision to allow you to return at all is under scrutiny.”

“I thought you’d taken care of that.”

“So did I. Bell went to the chief, the little—” Roberts broke off and scrubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair. He sighed. “It’s not ideal, and it’s certainly not my preference, but it’s how it has to be for now. And frankly, it might not be a bad thing to have your eyes on all the files right now.”

He slid the file he’d held back from the pile toward her. “That came in from Alberta’s RCMP this morning.”

Alex stared at it, then stepped out of the corner and walked back to join him. She flipped open the folder and scanned the single page inside. “Militia? In Canada? Seriously?”

“End of the world nutcases,” he corrected. “They’re claiming the pregnancies and the recent rash of natural disasters are a sign of God’s wrath. They’ve barricaded themselves into a compound outside Morinville, north of Edmonton. The news crews are going insane.”

She could just imagine.

“We’ve had three similar reports out of the States,” Roberts added. “Tech crime units across the continent are monitoring dozens of other groups that look to be moving in the same direction. I want you reviewing every file that comes through this office for the same reason.”

Threading her fingers through her hair, Alex stared at the file. She understood the need for consistency, but to be cooped up in the office with all hell breaking loose in the world? She couldn’t do it.

Roberts stood. “I’ll light a fire under staffing and have you back on the street by the end of the week. You have my word.”

One week.

Alex handed the file to her supervisor and watched him leave the conference room. She did a mental calculation. Today was Saturday, so that would make the end of the week the following Friday, six days away.

Just in time for the birth of Lucifer’s army.

Chapter 7

Aramael stared out at the barrens, mile after mile of dry, lifeless soil stretching as far as he could see in every direction. Scowling, he shot a look over his shoulder at Mika’el. “You’re serious. You really want me to stand here and do nothing.”

“No, I want you to keep watch. There’s a difference.”

Aramael snorted. “Forgive me if I fail to see one.”

He surveyed the desolate landscape, featureless but for the stony outcrop on which he and Mika’el stood, the occasional bit of dead scrub brush . . . and the distant band of Hellfire that marked the edge of Heaven itself.

Raised against the Fallen when the One had created Hell, its flames had burned steadily, powerfully, and without cessation for millennia. Until Aramael, one of Heaven’s own, had murdered his brother and broken the One’s pact with Lucifer. Until the downward spiral into Armageddon itself had been triggered.

The wall of flames flickered, danced, steadied again.

Aramael’s mouth twisted. “How long am I here for?”

“As long as it takes,” Heaven’s greatest warrior returned, his voice and expression implacable.

“Can I have a best guess?”

“A day. A year. A century.”

“A century?” Of sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, far from Alex, waiting for something that might or might not happen? The possibility chafed.

“Perhaps a millennium.” Mika’el flicked him an unreadable look. “We don’t know how fast the Hellfire will break down enough to be breached, or how many of the Fallen will cross when it happens. We can’t afford to leave it unprotected.”

“With all the patrols you have going, I’d hardly call it unprotected,” Aramael muttered, scanning the unwelcoming landscape again.

“I still prefer to have an Archangel keeping watch.”

And as the newest member of the choir, the task fell to him. Great. Aramael shifted under the weight of his armor. “Shouldn’t we be more concerned with the mortal realm? With no barrier to protect it, it seems more likely the Fallen will strike there first.”

“The others can look after Earth.”

“But—”

“And they’re more likely to look after all of it, rather than just one Naphil.”

Aramael shot a startled look at the other warrior. Hell. “How did you—?”

“You really expected otherwise?” Hard green eyes pinned him. “You assured me the connection between you was severed.”

“It was. It is.” His heart cringed at the lie. “I can manage it.”

“By watching her?”

I just want to make certain she’s happy. To see that Seth treats her well, that he cares for her. To reassure myself that I did the right thing in not fighting for her, in letting her go, even though I know I could never have had her.

“Habit,” he said wearily. “It’s just a habit. I’ll break it.”

“And being here will help you do so,” Mika’el retorted, his voice brooking no argument. “Now, any questions before I leave?”

“Many. What are we waiting for? Why not just go after the Fallen and make sure the fight is on our terms rather than theirs?”

A muscle in the other Archangel’s jaw contracted. “The agreement might have fallen, but Heaven’s own rules remain unchanged. The One will not strike the first blow, Aramael. Good may defend, but not offend.”