“Not in Pripyat itself, no. We caused the radiation levels to spike, so they’ve shut the area down tight. The only way in is through checkpoints, and we control those. Making arrangements for supplies without alerting the Guardians has been interesting, but so far we’ve managed. The pregnant humans, however, are another matter. We’ve had to assign a watcher to each of them to prevent them from ridding themselves of the babies.”
“Can we not just move them to the site right now?”
“And end up fighting the war with Heaven in the midst of your unborn army? That might not be the wisest course of action. We’re better off waiting until after the births. We’ll only need a few Fallen to tend the children then, and the rest of us can draw the host away from them. Keep them occupied. Besides, we’re not sure what the radiation levels in the city might do to the mothers. If they became ill, they might not be able to carry the babies to term.”
“But the infants themselves won’t be harmed.” A statement, not a question, and one that dared contradiction.
Samael shook his head. “Not as far as we can tell. We’ve harvested a few over the last week as test subjects. So far they seem to be thriving.”
“And how long before the rest are born?”
“Only a week.”
Lucifer gritted his teeth at the placating tone of his aide’s voice and resisted the urge to throw something at him. Such as his desk. “Fine. Then that’s how long you have to find the Naphil’s sister.”
Fleeting exasperation crossed Samael’s face, and then he nodded. “I’ll see that the trackers step up their effort.”
“No. Not the trackers. You.”
“Me? But I—”
“The others don’t know how important this is. You do. The Nephilim need a leader. They need this child I will father. If their place is as ready as you claim, then you’re free to pursue this for me. Find the Naphil’s sister, Samael. And don’t come back until you do.”
Chapter 10
Verchiel found the One seated beneath an arbor in the rose garden, eyes closed, so still that she might have been one with the wood. Loath to disturb her, Verchiel paused, studying the lines in the beloved face. Lines she was certain hadn’t been there before. Her heart squeezed in on itself.
Her hesitation deepened. Perhaps she should leave, come back later.
“Come,” her Creator said. “Sit with me.”
“If I’m disturbing you . . .”
A moment’s silence, then the One’s eyes opened, and some of the lines smoothed away from her forehead. She patted the bench beside her. “Not at all. I was just containing my son’s folly. Again.”
Verchiel crossed the sweep of lawn and settled on the seat. “How is that coming?”
“It isn’t. Every time I think I have it under control, it finds another escape. I’m not sure how much more the planet can take without self-destructing.”
“And you? How much more can you take?”
“A good question.” The One pulled a spray of roses toward her, inhaling deeply. “I suppose as much as I must. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
Guilt ensnared Verchiel’s voice and held it captive. It was true. She had come in search of the Creator for other reasons. More selfish ones.
The Creator’s hand covered her own in her lap and squeezed. “Tell me.”
“It’s just—” She blinked away the sheen of moisture blurring the garden. “You have always . . . been. The very idea you can cease to do so terrifies me.”
The One’s hand pressed hers. “Not cease, Verchiel. Alter. I’ll still be here, just not like this.”
“But this—this is how we know you, One, and I don’t know how to go on without that.” Verchiel turned her hand over in the One’s until their fingers linked. “Your counsel, your guidance, your very presence . . .”
“All of that will still be yours. You’ll just have to pay closer attention. I’ll still be a part of you, as all mothers remain a part of their children. My voice will be in yours if you choose to hear it. My counsel and guidance in your heart if you choose to heed them.”
A tear spilled over onto Verchiel’s cheek. With a rueful sigh, the One reached out her free hand to wipe it away.
“Close your eyes,” she commanded.
Verchiel did.
“Now breathe.”
She inhaled.
“Do you smell the roses? The grass and trees and a thousand other scents that mingle with them?”
A nod.
“Those are
The One lifted her hand, pressing it against a soft, lined cheek. “This, the physical part of me to which you cling, this is but a tiny fraction of what I am, my angel. I am so, so much more than what you can touch or see or feel. I am everything. All you have to do is want to understand that.”
Verchiel sat. Listened. Strained to feel what the One described to her. She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “for not being strong enough.”
“Hush, child. After all you have been, all you have done, you have nothing for which to apologize. You are as strong as you need to be. The rest will come in time.”
Verchiel pressed a hand against the ache in her chest. This struggle was her own. The One did not need the extra burden of her doubt; she needed her help. Even if helping meant losing her.
“Tell me what you need me to do.”
“Watch over the Archangel Mika’el for me. He takes on too much—more than he needs to—and he’s terrible at asking for help.”
“He doubts Seth.”
The Creator of All looked out over the garden. Her gaze became distant again, her face shadowed with a sorrow that made Verchiel’s own pale in comparison.
“As do I, Verchiel,” she murmured. “As do I.”
Chapter 11
Alex steered down the ramps and around the pillars of the underground parking complex. Fatigue sat heavy behind her eyes, the result of another mostly sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling. Returning to work had seemed like a good idea, but now she wondered how long she could keep it up. Playing at being a cop, pretending everything was normal and not teetering on the edge of total destruction.
Just another day at the office.
Yawning, she rounded the final corner to her parking level. The sedan straightened out again . . .
And bore down on a man directly in its path.
Adrenaline shot through her and she jammed her foot onto the brake, but it was too late. She had no room to get around him, nowhere to go, no time. She braced for the impact. The car jerked to a halt, and she stared in horror out the windshield at—
