Sins of the Angels (34 page)

The hairs on the back of Alex's neck prickled to life. “What?” she asked.

“It may not be connected,” he hedged, “but I'm not taking any chances.”

She only just stopped herself from seizing her supervisor's shirtfront.
“What?”

“They found a cab a block from your sister's house. The driver's throat was slit.”

Before he'd finished his sentence, Alex was already running, shoving a startled nurse out of her path, sending a supply cart crashing into a wall. Aramael met her halfway, his fiery wings spread behind him, flexed and powerful; his arms going around her as they came together.

“He knows,” she gasped. “He knows where we are.”

 

SETH RESTED HIS
cheek against his loosely fisted hand, his elbow on the paper-strewn table. He stared at the dozens of records spread before him. He'd been at this so long it was a wonder he hadn't gone cross-eyed. What a complex, convoluted trail. For every path that brought him closer to the answers he sought, a dozen others led him so far astray it took hours to reorient. It didn't help that everything was written in the complex tongue of the Principalities, the Keepers of Divine Records.

He lifted his hands and smoothed them over his hair. Hours of research, and not a single shred of evidence to prove—what? He didn't even know what allegation he should be making. Bloody hell, he would get nowhere this way, and without something tangible, could enlist no other help. Mittron was the highest level of authority in the entire realm other than the One herself, and without good reason to question the Seraph's actions, the One would be content to leave him in exactly that position. Mittron, who had already declined to answer Verchiel's questions and forbidden her from looking for her own answers.

“Interesting research,” observed the object of his interest.

Seth stiffened and masked his expression before looking up. “It is, actually.”

The Highest of the Seraphim Choir reached out and lifted one of the papers from the table, scanned it, and dropped it back into the morass. His hands went behind his back. From the tension in Mittron's arms and shoulders, Seth guessed that they were clasped there. Tightly. His interest ratcheted upward.

He let the silence draw out for a few seconds, and then cocked an eyebrow. “You wanted something?”

“Verchiel gave me your message.”

“Ah.”

“Pulling rank? You have no rank.”

Had the Highest Seraph just sneered at him? Seth leaned back in his chair, lifted his booted feet onto a clear spot on the table, and interlaced his fingers behind his head, his attitude one of bored disrespect. Mittron's nostrils flared in response.

“Technically, no.” Seth shrugged. “But my understanding is that, technically, neither do you. Yours is a position of trust, is it not, rather that one of power?”

“My position is none of your business.” Dislike flashed across Mittron's face and ice crystals settled into the amber eyes. “None of this is your business.”

“I disagree. I think secrets in Heaven should be everyone's business.”

To his surprise, Mittron laughed with real amusement. “You've no idea how ironic those words are, coming from you,” the Highest told him.

Seth frowned, sensing a loss of advantage in a game he still didn't understand. “I have no secrets.”

“It's not the secrets you have, Appointed, it's the ones you
don't
have.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Seth scowled. “Spare me the dramatics, Seraph. If you have something to tell me, just say so.”

“It's not that easy, I'm afraid. You see, I would be in a great deal of trouble if I were to tell you.”

“More trouble than you'll be in if this pans out?” Seth indicated the paper-strewn table. “Which secret is more dangerous, Mittron?”

“Which is more valuable to you?” the Seraph countered.

“Truthfully? Whichever one lets me live with myself. Which I doubt I could do if I climbed into bed with you.” Seth dropped his feet to the floor and scooped a sheaf of papers together and tapped them into a tidy stack. “So thanks anyway, but I'll pass on knowing my secret and settle for finding out yours.”

Mittron's expression turned hard again. “You're making a mistake.”

“But retaining my integrity.”

A muscle flickered in the Seraph's tight jaw. “You won't find what you're looking for.”

“You wouldn't be trying to stop me if you believed that.” Seth manufactured an indifferent yawn. “Don't you have something else to do? Someone else to harass?”

“Even if you find the answers you seek—” Mittron's hands curled at his sides.

“What? You'll stop me from telling the One? Banish me from Heaven?” Seth mocked. “You forget who you're talking to, Seraph. You may hold sway over the host, but I'm not one of them, remember? You have no control over me.”

“I was going to say that you won't find them in time,” Mittron responded. “Events have been set in motion that cannot be stopped. Not now. Not even by you.”

The Highest Seraph's footsteps retreated. The slam of a door echoed through the cavernous hall and faded into silence. Seth inhaled the scent of dust and old ink permeating the rows of records that stretched in every direction, records he hadn't yet begun to examine. Records Mittron had just told him he didn't have time to examine.

Just what the hell had the Highest Seraph done?

 

MITTRON BRUSHED PAST
the queue of angels waiting outside his office without a word and slammed the door against questions for which he had neither patience nor time. Questions for which he had no stomach in the face of seeing his carefully constructed plan come apart.

He crossed to his desk and flung himself into the chair. Stood again and paced the room with quick, staccato strides. His lungs burned. Damn Verchiel to eternal Limbo. First her suspicions, then her decision—behind his back—to involve the Appointed. The one variable Mittron had failed to take into account. Failed to foresee. How could he have been so blind?

Now his former soulmate had disappeared, leaving behind a note that said she'd decided to remove herself from Aramael's case after all, and had gone on sabbatical. The sour scent of his own anxiety filled his nostrils.

If only she could have made that decision before she'd gone to Seth.

Mittron pressed fingertips to lips, cool against warm. The sound of laughter floated through the open window behind his desk, a harsh counterbalance to the thread of desperation intertwining with his thoughts. Until now, everything had moved forward as he'd hoped, come together as he'd envisioned, impelling Heaven and Hell toward what, really, had been inevitable all along. He'd been absolutely certain he had covered every eventuality, every possibility, and now it all came down to timing. Hinged on whether Seth could find the proof he sought before matters came to a head and the final piece of the plan fell into place—

And Mittron silenced him forever.

 

ARAMAEL STOOD TO
one side of the girl's bed, facing off against Alex on the other. Seth watched them both from the foot of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. Aramael alone could feel the Appointed's influence, exerted to help the Guardians keep the ICU nurses at bay, and he alone bore the full brunt of Alex's fury.

“What do you mean, you're leaving?” she hissed. “If he's after Jen and Nina, how in bloody hell will it help for you to go off chasing him somewhere else? You said yourself you don't even know where to start.”

Aramael felt weariness creep over him. “It's the only way to end this. Caim won't come after you as long as I'm here; he knows I'll capture him before he gets within twenty feet of you. He'll just keep killing until I go after him. You'll be safe with Seth. All of you will be.”

Alex rested her hands on her hips. Then raked them over her hair. Then fisted them and leaned on the bed, staring down at her niece. “You're sure there's nothing else we can do?”

“I wish there was.”

With every fiber of his being, he wished. But he'd been over it a thousand times in his head, from every possible perspective, only to conclude that Verchiel was right. He had to leave Alex, put distance between them so he could feel something other than her presence. So he could fulfill his purpose.

So he could remember it.

He watched Alex's struggle for control and felt the iron constraints she placed on her fear, her determined efforts to retain her humanity in the face of that fear. Ignored the twist in his gut as she looked to Seth for confirmation and sagged at the Appointed's nod.

A nurse approached, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Seth turned to her and shook his head. She hesitated, looked confused, and then changed direction. Seth turned back to Alex and offered her a half smile. “He's right. It's the only way. I will keep you safe. I promise.”

Aramael's spine tensed as Alex considered the Appointed's words. Then she relaxed a fraction and he sensed the beginnings of her trust.

In Seth.

Aramael reined in a surge of something he thought safer not to identify and made his shoulders drop. “I'll never be far,” he said. “If Caim should come after you in spite of Seth's presence, I will know about it.”

Doubt shadowed Alex's face. “But if you don't feel him . . .”

He reached across the narrow bed and covered one of her hands with his own. “Even if I fail to feel him, I will feel
you
. That
I
can promise.”

She stared at him for a long time before she nodded. “All right. But we can't stay here.”

A sharp inhale heralded her sister's return from the hospital cafeteria. “You're not leaving me here alone with Nina, are you? Alex—”

Alex pulled free from Aramael's grip and turned to her sister. “Of course not, Jen. I'm not leaving either one of you until this is over. I promise.” She gave the other woman a quick hug. “But we can't stay here. None of us can.” She looked over her shoulder at Aramael. “If he comes here, even if he doesn't get to us, there will be a bloodbath—and the kind of attention you can't afford. We'll take her to my house.”

“No,” said Aramael. “Your colleague—the one he killed—will have told him where you live.”

“He'll be watching her, Aramael. He'll know where she is no matter where she goes,” Seth pointed out.

Most unhelpfully, judging by the way Alex turned the same color as the bed in which her niece lay. But she lifted her chin and met Aramael's gaze steadily.

“He's right,” she told him. “It's as safe as we'll get until you nail him.”

Jen inserted herself between Alex and the girl in the hospital bed. “Are you insane? You can't move her, she'll die!”

“No, she won't.”

Aramael met Alex's determination. He knew she was right, but hated it. Too many already knew too much. He swore viciously and turned to Seth. “Do it.”

The Appointed's jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind?” He came around to where Aramael stood and, keeping his back to the women, said in a low, hard voice, “Think about what you're suggesting, Aramael. Three mortals already know of our existence—we've no idea what consequences will stem from that alone. But to add a healing? That goes beyond just breaking the cardinal rule, that's openly flouting it.”

“From what you've told me of your conversation with Mittron, we have no alternative. We're on our own here, Appointed. We do what we must.”

“Or what that damned Seraph is hoping we'll do,” Seth muttered darkly.

The possibility had crossed Aramael's mind as well, but at this point, he saw no choice. Not when Verchiel had disappeared from their situation and the One herself seemed to be paying no attention.

“Fine.” Seth heaved a sigh. “I'll do it, but only to the point where she's safe to move. And this one
you
get to claim responsibility for, Power.”

 

The word filled the One, weighing her down with its intent. Its truth.

The door clicked shut behind the Dominion Verchiel and the One let the stiffness slide from her spine. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the bookcase by which she stood. Enough, she thought again.

Enough struggling to maintain an impossible balance. Enough tiptoeing about in the world of her own creation as if everything might crumble if she so much as breathed the wrong way. Enough of this infernal dance between her and the one who had once sat at her side.

More than enough, if her own angels had begun to turn against her. Betrayal sat bitter on her tongue, alongside disgust at her own blindness. She could see it so clearly now, how Mittron had angled for this for four thousand years, how he had taken advantage of her distraction.

Or had she just let him do so?

She closed her eyes against the second, even less palatable truth. The truth that said she had been blind only to what she had not wanted to see. Known that Mittron attempted to catapult Heaven and Hell into the final war. Known, and failed to heed. Chose even now to ignore what was so obvious. But why? Why would she have not wanted to see one of her own trying to cause what she herself had worked so hard to prevent?

A third truth whispered through her, underpinning the first two and twisting her very core of being into a knot of denial. The One tried to push away the thought, to bury it again, but it pushed back, demanding acknowledgement, refusing to retreat.

Waiting patiently.