And more interest.
He peered down the path. Raziel’s message had said urgent, but if she didn’t show up in the next five—
A wad of rags sailed out of the trees and landed at his feet. Samael stepped back, wrinkling his nose at the stench of urine and feces rising from the pile. And was that blood he smelled? What the—
“I believe that’s yours,” a voice said, its very neutrality making it sound deadly.
Lucifer.
Ice shot through Samael’s bowels. How—?
“You really should choose your help with more care, my friend.” Polished black shoes came into view beside the bundle. “She didn’t even try to hold back.”
One of the shoes prodded at the pile. A pale, slender arm flopped out of the folds and onto the path. Samael closed his eyes. Bloody Heaven. Raziel. Samael was as good as dead. Footsteps circled him. He went rigid, waiting for the first blow. Lucifer chuckled.
“You think I’d make it that easy for you, Archangel?” His voice had gone soft. “Oh, no. I want to know things first. Such as what it is you’re up to, who else is in on it, whether you’ve managed to disrupt my plan—”
“Your precious plan,” Samael snarled, his eyes snapping open.
Lucifer went still. Marble still. He tipped his head to one side, purple eyes curious. “Have you always had such an inordinate desire for pain, or is this relatively new?”
A bead of sweat trickled down Samael’s temple, trailing cold in its wake. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Lucifer resumed his slow circling. “We haven’t seen eye to eye for quite some time now. In and of itself, that’s not such a bad thing, really. I think it’s quite healthy for two intelligent beings to disagree on occasion. My problem—” The footsteps stopped directly behind Samael, and warm breath stirred against his ear. “My problem lies with your continued inability to recall which one of us is in command here, Samael. Especially after I’ve already reminded you. Twice.”
Cruel hands clamped down on his shoulders. “Now, why don’t we—”
“Lucifer,” a new voice rumbled.
Lucifer’s hands squeezed, sending pain streaking through Samael and felling him to his knees. “This had better be—” The hands dropped away. “Qemuel. You found her already?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“You hear that, Sam?” Lucifer grabbed Samael’s chin and twisted it up and around until he looked him in the eye. “It wasn’t difficult. That makes me wonder what your problem was all this time, you know.” He released him again with a pat on the cheek that snapped Samael’s head sideways. “We’ll take this up again later, Archangel. And if you were thinking of running, please, be my guest. It will make this much more interesting—and we both know I’ll find you.”
Terror—utter, paralyzing terror—robbed Samael of the capacity to stand after Lucifer’s departure. Long minutes dragged by, more than he cared to acknowledge, before he felt the blood return to his veins, the tone to his muscles. He dragged himself upright. He’d expected Lucifer to find out eventually, but not this soon. He wasn’t ready—Seth wasn’t ready. Another few days …
He stared at what was left of Raziel. He didn’t have a few days. A few hours, maybe—or as long as he could stay ahead of Lucifer—but that was all. If he was going to pull this off, somehow he had to find the words to tip Seth over the edge now.
He stepped over the fouled clothing, past the pale arm. He’d speak with Mittron first. The Seraph’s plan to cause Armageddon in the first place had more than demonstrated his ability for scheming. Maybe he could be of more use than just unlocking the gates of Limbo.
Assuming the drugs hadn’t fried all his brain cells by now.
Chapter 53
Alex closed the meeting room door behind her and headed for the elevator. Aramael fell into step at her side as she passed the waiting area. She felt his gaze on her, but he remained quiet. Blessedly so, because she was in no way ready to share all that she had learned in that meeting. She still hadn’t processed it herself.
The elevator doors slid open at the touch of a button, and they stepped inside. She took her cell phone from its holster and dialed her voice mail. Four messages. One from Roberts, reminding her he expected a call; three from Jen the previous day. At each sound of her sister’s voice, Alex pressed the button to skip the message, swallowing her guilt at doing so. She just couldn’t deal with Jen on top of everything else right now.
Alex returned the cell phone to its case and closed her eyes, letting her head drop back against the wall.
Aramael’s voice broke into her attempt to stop thinking. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Ask your Guardians.”
“I could, but it would save time if you told me yourself.”
She remained stubbornly silent. Aramael’s clothing rustled as he shifted position. The elevator continued its descent, bumping past another floor.
Lifting her head, she regarded him. “Why are we bothering with this?”
“Bothering with what?”
“Any of it. Tracking down the Nephilim, convincing Seth to take back his powers.”
Sudden interest gleamed in Aramael’s eyes. “You’ve decided to help with that?”
Trust him to zero in on that rather than the question. She scowled. “I’m serious, Aramael. What’s the point of any of it? Humanity has never been so far advanced and so far behind all at the same time. We’re consuming more than the Earth can produce. We’ve created enough weaponry to destroy ourselves several times over. We’re pushing the limits of our very existence—hell, the whole goddamn planet’s existence—past the point of no return, and we know it, but we’re too goddamn arrogant to care. What, in all of that, is worth saving?”
“Not all of you are like that.”
She snorted. “There are more than seven billion of us, Aramael. Expecting a handful to be able to sway the masses is like asking us to empty the Atlantic with a teaspoon.”
The number three over the elevator doors glowed red, then the two, then the letters RC for rez-de-chausée. Ground floor. The elevator jolted to a stop.
“Maybe this entire war is too late,” she said wearily. “Maybe Lucifer has already won.”
“You wouldn’t be doing what you do if you believed that.”
“Being a cop, you mean?” She snorted. “Most days that only makes me wonder more.”
The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped out, Aramael close behind.
Alex turned up the collar on her coat against the frigid wind and pulled gloves from her pockets as they emerged onto the street. At least the rain had stopped. Turning right, she headed toward Parliament Hill.
“The Nephilim children that have already been born are missing,” she said. She stopped at the intersection and gazed across the street at a majestic stone building rising from an expanse of lawn, flanked on either side by similar buildings, together forming the seat of the Canadian government.
Her companion’s stride faltered. “You’re sure?”
“Only the governments that will admit to having held them for study in the first place are confirming, but yes, we’re pretty sure. I’m assuming it’s not Heaven rounding them up.”
“You know we won’t interfere like that. It’s most likely Lucifer. He’ll want to control their upbringing.”
“Hard to say which would be the lesser of two evils,” she muttered. At Aramael’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “Between Lucifer controlling them or humans. The end result would be pretty much the same, I expect.”
“Then the children … ?”
“Were exhibiting unusual traits. Superhuman, violent ones. My fellow mortals wanted to control their abilities, with an eye to weaponizing them. Only because other governments were doing so as well, of course.” Sarcasm laced her words. “Self-defense, you know.”
The crossing signal changed, and she stepped off the sidewalk. “The entire globe is coming apart at the seams
, and we’re still worried about one-upping one another. Right now, however, the question is where the hell is Lucifer taking them? There’s another eighty thousand on the way. Where’s he going to put them all?” She threaded through the oncoming pedestrians. Maybe Seth would come through with some information for her before he—well. Before.
Leading the way past the barriers, she entered the grounds of Parliament and skirted the crowd gathered on the wet grass. Atop the Peace Tower, the Westminster chimes tolled from the clock, marking the hour as 1:45. Fifteen minutes until speech time.
“Did you tell them about the other babies?” Aramael asked. “The eighty thousand?”
“Yes, though I’m not sure they believed me. They wanted to know where I got my information. I declined to tell them it was from Lucifer. They want me back for another meeting this afternoon, after they’ve tried to figure out whether I’m right. They also want to discuss what to do about you.”
“Me?”
“You as in the angels and the Fallen.”
Aramael caught her arm and drew her up short. “You told them about us?”
“They already knew. Did you really think they wouldn’t? They have DNA tying the babies to Caim’s claw, children being born who have powers no human has ever had, and six-thousand-year-old scrolls documenting precedence. The Nephilim have happened before, remember?” She jerked free and continued toward the sweep of driveway between Parliament and the lawn, the elevation of which would give her the best vantage point. “If it’s any consolation, however, they’re calling you extraterrestrial beings—angels not being real and all. I didn’t correct them.”
“Thank the One for small miracles,” Aramael muttered. “And what are we doing now?”
“The federal minister of health is giving a speech. They’ve decided the best public explanation for the pregnancies is still an unknown virus and that putting visible measures in place will reassure people. They’re announcing a Canada-wide prevention program today, including quarantine for pregnant women in their first trimester. I want to gauge public response.”
She held out her badge to the uniformed RCMP officer standing at a wooden barricade. He nodded and allowed her to pass, but held a hand out in front of Aramael. For a moment, temptation beckoned, then Alex sighed.
“He’s with me,” she told the other cop tersely, and without waiting to see whether or not he believed her and let Aramael through, she stomped up the driveway’s incline.
Chapter 54
“This is it.” Standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, Qemuel nodded at the house on the other side of a manicured lawn. “The car’s in the driveway, so she’s home.”
Lucifer inhaled deeply and shook the remaining tension of dealing with Samael from his shoulders. He pushed his irritation with the Archangel to the back of his mind. He wanted to savor this moment: the final nail in humanity’s collective coffin, six thousand years in the making. His lips curved. How ironic that one of their own would be so instrumental to their demise.
“Well done, Qemuel. Thank you.”
“I’m done, then?”
Lucifer hesitated. He hadn’t thought about what he would do with the Naphil afterward. He couldn’t risk sending her to Pripyat with the Nephilim babies. She was too human, her bloodline too weak. There was no telling what exposure to the radiation there might do to her health.
“No,” he said. “Wait here. When I’m done, I want you to take her somewhere. Watch her, provide for her, and bring me the child when it is born.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw the Virtue raise an eyebrow. Seeming to understand his curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, however, Qemuel shrugged and wandered across the lawn to lean against a tree. Lucifer grimaced. If only certain others among the Fallen could be so inclined to cooperate.
He strolled up the drive and climbed the stairs. A single effortless shove shattered the frame and sent the door, hinges and all, crashing to the floor. At the foot of the staircase inside, a woman whirled to face him. Her wide eyes went from the door to him. From startled to terrified. Then, showing what he considered remarkable presence of mind for a mortal, she threw the filled laundry basket at him and scrambled up the stairs.
He met her at the top.
Shoving her against a wall, he blocked the blow she aimed at his head and deflected her knee. “Don’t waste your energy, Naphil. You haven’t a chance.”
She’d opened her mouth to scream, but at the word Naphil, the attempt became a strangled gasp in her throat. The terror in her eyes became horror, and her entire body flailed in his grasp.
Holding her fast with one hand, he reached for her forehead with the other. He had no need of her awareness, and no desire for a struggle. Best that she—he paused, hand hovering near enough to feel the heat of her skin. The fear radiating from her in undulating waves. Something was wrong. He frowned. Lowering his hand, he jammed it hard against her belly.
Bloody fucking Heaven. She was sterile.
In a split second, his entire plan crumbled around his feet. He stood amid its ruins, staring in disbelief at his hand resting against white cotton. He’d been so focused, so determined—the possibility of failure had never occurred to him. Cold anger rippled through him. He curled his fingers against the woman’s stomach. Heard her inhale, felt pain join her fear. Defeat sat bitter on his tongue. She had cheated him, just as her sister had done. For that alone, she would—
“Mom? Mom, where are you?” Another female voice, younger, filled with uncertainty and a note of panic, drawing closer with every shout. “Mom!”
The woman surged against his hold. “Run! Nina, ru—”
Lucifer threw her against the opposite wall, cutting her scream short. She slumped to the floor, unconscious or dead—it didn’t matter which. The female at the bottom of the stairs stared up at him, then turned and bolted for the space where the front door had been. He blocked her escape with the same ease he had her mother’s. She skidded to a stop and swayed on her feet, her hands dropping to her sides. Her eyes glazed over, becoming unfocused. Sanity itself seemed to drain from her. He scowled. She was his last chance to sire a Nephilim leader, but what if she was too fragile?
Ignoring her whimper, he grasped her chin and turned her face up to his, staring into her damaged soul. No, not fragile. Incredibly strong. She had seen—and survived—things that would have demolished most mortals. If her mind didn’t survive this newest assault, well, it wasn’t her mind he needed.
He pushed her to the side, then lifted the door from the floor and stood it against its shattered frame. No interruptions. Nothing more to stand in his way. He turned back to the female. Humanity’s final days began here. Now.
“Amen,” he whispered.
Chapter 55
Alex shoved gloved hands into her pockets and huddled deeper into her coat at the foot of the stairs to Parliament’s main building. Beside her, a silent Aramael blocked the wind. She shifted away from the warmth radiating from him and scanned the crowd below. Despite the cold, at least a thousand had gathered, maybe more. The rain had started again, and the number was hard to judge with all the umbrellas. Many held up signs inscribed with demands in English to Save Our Babies and Women; Sauvez nos enfants et nos femmes in French. A thousand citizens, representing billions more across the planet who shared in the growing alarm at the number of women dying in childbirth.
Television crews gathered at the crowd’s edge, cameras and microphones pointed at reporters who would be talking about the growing unrest, the unanswered questions, the imminent speech from the minister of health. The fruitless, useless efforts of government to explain the inexplicable and solve the unsolvable.
Just wait until the eighty thousand were born.
A flurry of interest in the crowd below made Alex look over her shoulder. The massive oak doors had swung open behind her, and Canada’s health minister emerged, surrounded by an entourage of aides and dark-suited RCMP officers. Alex grimaced at the show of security, normal
ly reserved for the prime minister or top-ranking dignitaries. One more indication of how tightly wound nerves had become.
The very pregnant Lilliane Benoit waddled down the stairs, across the driveway, down the next set of stairs, and across the lawn to the podium that had been set up for her. The government couldn’t have had a better spokesperson for the situation. A mother-to-be reassuring other women in her condition, counseling the public to remain calm, to trust their leaders. On the lawn below, the crowd drew closer to the podium, faces pinched with cold and anxiety but still patient. So far, so good.
Glancing up at the rooftop of the east block, Alex picked out the police sniper and two watchers posted there. To the west, more figures stood on top of the building that flanked the opposite side of the lawn. Still others would stand guard on the center block’s roof, she knew. Right above where she stood. Their presence was a standard precaution, but one that had an ominous feel to it under the circumstances. She stamped her feet, attempting to restore circulation to her freezing toes.
On the podium now, Benoit switched on the microphone and leaned forward. “Good morning.” Her voice rang out across the wet lawn. “Bonjour.”
Alex tuned out the speech. Her gaze strayed restlessly across the crowd again. Equal numbers of men and women, some with children in tow. Benoit’s voice droned on, switching from English to French and back again. From behind Alex came the impatient rustle of feathers, audible only to her.
She looked past Benoit and the security detail, to a stroller parked near the podium. She wondered idly how old the baby it contained would be. How relieved its parents must be to know their child was fully human. Then she frowned. Speaking of parents …
Straightening, she surveyed the people standing nearby—none of them near enough. Disquiet coiled like a serpent in her belly. She turned to Aramael. “Something’s not right.”
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