Sins of the Lost

“Not particularly.”

“I wouldn’t either, if I were you,” Riley said. “So. I guess that’s it, then. I’ll make sure the hospital has your contact information. They’ll notify you of any change in your sister’s condition, so unless you hear from them . . .”

Alex set her mug on the counter with an unsteady hand, finishing Riley’s sentence in her head. Unless she heard from the hospital, she didn’t need to go to the place that had housed her mother on so many occasions—the place that had now claimed her sister. She folded her arms across her belly.

“Thank you.”

“Will you return to work?”

She nodded. “That and look for Nina.”

Riley hesitated. “Part of me would like to ask what’s coming,” she said. “What we should expect. The rest of me thinks I’m better off not knowing.”

“I couldn’t tell you if you did want to know, because I have no idea.”

“None?”

“Apart from a feeling that the rest of you is right? None.”

Riley nodded. “In that case, I should go. I’ve left my card on the hall table for you in case you change your mind about talking. My cell phone number is on the back so you can call anytime. And if you don’t call me, at least stay in touch with Hugh and let him know how you’re doing. Please.”

Alex gave a soft laugh. “I don’t imagine he’ll give me much choice.”

“Good point.”

Then, before Alex realized her intent, the psychiatrist wrapped her in a quick, hard hug. “Look after yourself, Alex,” she whispered. “Stay strong.”

Stay sane.

She’d reached the door at the end of the hallway before Alex found her voice.

“Elizabeth.”

Riley looked over her shoulder.

“Tell Bell I said ditto.”

A smile. “I’ll do that.”

The door closed, the click of its latch near deafening in the silence left behind. Alex stood for long minutes without moving. The emptiness of the apartment closed in on her. Pressed down. Squeezed the air from her lungs, the life from her heart.

She looked around the kitchen, at the bananas on the counter that were Seth’s favorite fruit, at the dish of chocolate-covered almonds that he’d bought for her, at the dishwasher needing to be emptied of the dishes from the last meal he had made for them. The meal she hadn’t come home for because he’d been right. She had been torn between him and Aramael, and work had been an excuse—a way to keep her distance. And now . . .

Now this was it. This was all she had left. An apartment filled with memories and a life that would let her remember for eternity.

She dumped the coffee into the sink and reached for the Scotch.

Chapter 92

“The Fallen are gathering.”

Mika’el looked around at Gabriel, who stood in the doorway of his private quarters. He went back to adjusting the scabbard at his side. So. The time for war was come at last. He had never doubted it would, but oh, how he had wished he might have been wrong.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“I heard.” He picked up his sword and slid it into its sheath. “The others are at the border with our forces?”

“Waiting for the first strike.”

“And the Guardians?”

“Recalled as ordered, except for the patrols. Still no word on where the Nephilim have been hidden.”

“Then we’re ready.”

Gabriel said nothing. Mika’el watched her tight-lipped reflection in the mirror. He knew what she was thinking. It was the same thing they all thought, that in truth, they had no idea if they were ready. If they could be. Heaven’s forces had always been driven by the will of the One. Without her—

Without her, they had no idea what to expect. What they could do.

What they couldn’t do.

He picked up a second sword from the table beside him and slid it into a second, smaller scabbard. His fingers closed over it tightly. He turned, donning the familiar persona of military leader as he faced the other Archangel.

“You know what to do, then,” he said. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Gabriel’s sapphire gaze settled on the sword in his grasp, then rose to meet his again, clear, calm, determined. She nodded her understanding.

“I’ll tell the others,” she said.

* * *

Alex climbed the stairs from the parkade toward Homicide’s temporary new quarters on the ninth floor. A uniformed officer getting into his cruiser had assured her the elevator was working again after the terrorist attack—was that really what they were telling people?—but she’d taken the stairs anyway. It was quieter here. She could pace herself, steady her nerves, give herself time to plan how she would handle the questions, the concern . . .

The search for Nina.

Gripping the handrail, she paused and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her own breathing, the beat of her heart. Roberts had called the night before to check on her and give her the option of taking another day or two off. She’d turned him down. It was best to throw herself back into the fray where she wouldn’t have too much time to think. Or too much time alone with a bottle of Scotch.

She began her climb again, turned a corner on a landing. Only four flights left. Four flights to get her focus together and pretend she could do this. Pretend she could—

A sudden shadow loomed over her.

Instinct drove her sideways into the protection of the corner.

“It’s me,” said a familiar voice.

She remained where she was, her hands braced on her knees, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. Wondering if her nerves would ever do the same. She glared at the black-winged, black-armored Michael.

“You scared me half to death!” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, but I promised we would talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“We have to. There are things—”

“Can you stop the Nephilim?” she interrupted.

“No.”

“Help me find Nina?”

“No.

“Undo what Seth did to me?” she asked.

He sighed. “No.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.”

She moved to go around him, but Michael’s wings opened, blocking her route. She stared at the glossy feathers, near enough to see the barbs along each of them, and then stepped back. Crossing her arms, she waited