Sins of the Warrior

by Linda Poitevin

  She thumbed the answer icon. “Jarvis,” she said.

  Riley’s voice reached across two thousand miles, cool, brisk, professional. “We heard what happened last night. Hugh said you haven’t returned any of his calls. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m on my way home and just stopped by to see Jen first.”

  A second of silence slipped by. Alex pictured Riley’s piercing blue eyes behind her wire-framed glasses, the furrow between the graying brows, the compression of the psychiatrist’s lips against the urge to probe further.

  Riley cleared her throat. “How is she? Any change?”

  Alex’s gaze flicked back up to the rows of blank windows. Did she confess she hadn’t made it inside? That she’d been standing on the sidewalk long enough for her toes to go numb?

  “I just got here,” she lied. “I haven’t made it inside yet. But there’s been nothing so far.”

  “And Nina?”

  An image of her unconscious niece flared to life in Alex’s brain: matted dark hair hanging over the Fallen One’s arm; too-thin arms dangling limply from within the folds of a blanket; face pale and pinched. She tightened her grip on the cell phone and realized her fingers had gone as numb as her toes.

  “He had her,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. “The Fallen One we found. He had her.”

  She listened to the hiss of Riley’s breath. Felt the sound slip between her ribs like the blade of a knife. Clamped her lips together.

  “And is she…?”

  The knife blade in Alex’s ribs twisted. “Yes.”

  Riley’s voice lost its professional edge. “I’m so sorry. I’d hoped…”

  The psychiatrist trailed off a second time, and Alex locked her knees, remaining upright through sheer force of will. She knew what Riley had hoped. She’d hoped it herself, though she never allowed the thought to fully form until now. Until this moment.

  She’d hoped they’d been wrong, that Lucifer hadn’t gotten to her niece after all, that Nina wouldn’t die in less than a week. She’d hoped that recovering Nina would bring Jen back from wherever she had gone, so Alex could once more have a family. She’d hoped…

  A snowflake landed on her cheek, ice against ice.

  God, how she’d hoped.

  “What now?” Riley asked.

  Alex stamped frozen feet. “I don’t know. They’ve called off the search. They had no choice. Not after what happened.”

  The silence stretched so long this time that she glanced at the display to make sure she hadn’t lost the connection. An ambulance pulled into the emergency bay, lights splashing red through the falling snow. At last Riley cleared her throat.

  “And you? Are you calling it off, too?”

  Alex tried to curl her fingers into a fist, but they were too stiff to comply. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The one that had kept her standing in the cold for more than ten minutes, unable to make her feet carry her into the hospital. She still didn’t have an answer.

  Choices.

  “Alex? Are you going to keep looking?”

  “I don’t know,” she croaked. She shoved her free hand into her pocket. “I don’t know, Liz. Christ, even if I find her, she’s with a Fallen One. He’s not going to just hand her over to me, and I have no way to take her from him. But I don’t know how I can give up, either.”

  “Oh, honey…”

  Alex blinked furiously at the tears that threatened. Shit. Now Riley was going to turn all caring and sweet? Maybe taking one of Henderson’s calls would have been better after all. Holding back a telltale sniffle, she swiped a hand under her nose.

  “I should go. I haven’t slept since night before last and I’m beat.”

  “All right. But you’ll call if you need to talk? And you know I can come—”

  “God, no.” Alex winced at the speed and harshness of her response. “I mean, thank you, but I’m fine. Really.”

  She heard a muffled snort from the other end of the line. “I know what you meant, Alex. I’m not offended, and the offer stands. I’m here if you need me. Hugh and I both are.”

  “Of course. Thank you. Speaking of Hugh—”

  “He’s been up to his ass, according to him. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, but things aren’t good out here. They aren’t good anywhere right now. He said to tell you that’s why he’s been so lenient about you not returning his calls, but I’m supposed to report back to him after I speak with you. I’ll tell him you’re coping, shall I? That should buy you a little time until you hear from him.”

  “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks, Liz, and—” Alex’s voice caught. “Just thanks.”

  Ending the call, she looked up again at the hospital where her beautiful, broken sister sat. Grief, ever present beneath her surface, tightened the talons embedded in her throat. She trudged toward the main entrance.

  CHAPTER 9

  PALMS SLICK WITH SWEAT, Alex stepped into her sister’s room. She’d visited Jennifer every day for two weeks, and she’d swear the walk down that corridor got longer each time. Knowing Jen had descended into the same blackness that had claimed so many other minds trapped in the ward, the same blackness that had claimed their mother…

  Goddamn it, this was just so wrong.

  Pausing inside the door, Alex let her gaze travel the familiar utilitarian space: the wheeled bed, neatly made and unoccupied; the functional washroom to the left; the gleaming linoleum floors and pale green walls. And Jen, sitting in the same chair she always did, staring out the same window, her gaze as empty and unfocused as it had been since the night Lucifer took Nina.

  Alex closed her eyes and braced herself for their one-sided visit. Two weeks and no change. Not a single word, not a flicker of recognition, nothing. If Jen stayed like this, if her mind didn’t come back from wherever it had retreated…

  If I have to continue alone…

  Guilt churned through Alex’s gut, mixing with self-loathing. Christ almighty. Her sister’s mind had broken, and all she could think about was herself? Would it really be any better if Jen did come back? Did Alex want her sister to return to a reality where Lucifer himself had raped and impregnated her daughter, sentencing the seventeen-year-old girl to death through childbirth? Just so she—Alex—didn’t have to face it alone?

  She pushed away from the doorframe.

  Face it, Jarvis, you are alone. And you’d better get used to that, too.

  Her booted heels thudded hollowly against the gleaming linoleum as she crossed the room. She rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze, and brushed a kiss across the pale, cold cheek.

  Jen didn’t react.

  Thrusting her fists into her coat pockets, Alex perched on the empty chair facing Jen. She swallowed on a throat made of sandpaper.

  “Hey, sis. I’m sorry I’m late today. The streets are awful with all this snow. And we had some trouble at work last night.”

  Nothing.

  “Some of our guys—” Alex’s voice cracked. She swallowed again. “Some of our guys were killed last night. Four of them.”

  Not so much as the flicker of an eyelash.

  Alex’s fists tightened. Her jaw ached. Goddamn it, Jen, respond. Do something—anything—to let me know you’re still in there. I can’t do this alone, damn it. I can’t keep looking for Nina by myself, not when I know how it’s going to end.

  Blinking back the blur of tears, she stared out the window.

  “I saw her,” she said, and cringed from her own words. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t mention Nina. The doctors had warned her that doing so might drive her sister even further away.

  But what if they’re wrong? What if Nina’s name is what Jen needs to hear? What she needs to bring her back?

  Alex wavered. Exhaustion and the events of the night piled in on her, fogging her thoughts. She didn’t know what was right anymore. Didn’t know who to trust or what to do. She just knew she needed her sister. Needed to
try. She steeled herself.

  “Did you hear me, Jen? I said I saw Nina. She’s alive.”

  For long seconds, she held her every fiber still, studying her sister’s face, the lines of her body, waiting…and then she slumped back in the chair. Raw agony shot through her every fiber, cramping her muscles, filling her lungs with shards of glass, turning her tears to fire. God damn.

  Hysteria bubbled in her throat at the whisper of thought. God damn? Who the hell was she kidding? God couldn’t damn. Hell, God couldn’t do anything anymore, because she no longer even existed. She’d left. Abandoned Heaven, the angels, her so-called beloved mortal children, the entire fucking universe. Up and left it all. And now Nina was out there somewhere, held by a Fallen One, sentenced to a death no one could stop; and Jen was here, like this; and humanity was on its own, facing potential decimation, if not at the hands of the Nephilim army created by Lucifer, then through its own shortcomings. Its own sad, crippling arrogance.

  And she—Alex herself—would get to stand by and watch it all. Every disaster. Every war. Every death. Every loss of every person she had ever known or cared for, because thanks to the being she had tried to love, tried to save, she herself could no longer die.

  Fuck.

  She took her hands from her pockets and viciously scrubbed away the tears that had spilled over. Then she shoved herself upright, out of the chair. She couldn’t deal with this. Not tonight. She had to get out of here. Now, while she was still capable of driving herself home. Leaning down, she put her arms around Jen, wincing at the frailty of her sister’s too-thin shoulders. Just how much weight had Jen lost since—

  She stiffened as fragile arms crept beneath her jacket and around her waist. Her breath jammed in her throat. Holy hell.

  “Jen?” she croaked. She closed her eyes against fresh tears and buried her face in her sister’s hair. Astonishment unfurled in her belly, became a swelling of hope. “You heard me? You heard what I said about Nina?”

  “Let her go,” Jen whispered, the first words out of her mouth since she’d been found unconscious in her house, the front door demolished, Nina gone.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She’s dead, Alex. Let her go.”

  “But she’s not dead.” Alex drew back far enough to stare into the familiar doe-skin brown eyes and the clarity in their depths, the first she’d seen there in more than two weeks. Clarity and—Alex’s heart jolted at the defeat there as well.

  She shook her head with a ferocity that made her brain hurt. “No. No! She’s alive, Jen. Didn’t you hear me? I saw her. And I’ll find her for you again, I swear.”

  “Let her go,” Jen repeated. “Let us both go.”

  Alex hugged her again. Tightly. Fiercely. “I can’t do that, Jennifer Abbott. I won’t do that. We can get through this. You and me, together. You just need to stay with me. Promise me, Jen. Promise you’ll stay. Please.”

  Jen’s arms tightened for the space of a frantic breath—long enough for Alex’s fledgling hope to surge—and then they began a slow withdrawal. Alex’s hug turned desperate, clinging. Her sister’s hand snagged on the sidearm at Alex’s waist and, from a long, long way off, Alex felt a snap give. Felt the tug of her pistol leaving its holster.

  She reared back. Too late, training kicked in, and her hand instinctively went to cover her weapon, to protect it. Her own shout filled her ears. Jen’s gaze met hers.

  The world exploded in a crimson wash of blood.

  CHAPTER 10

  MIKA’EL STRAIGHTENED UP FROM the map spread across the round war table. Three breaks in their front line in the last twenty-four hours. Their defense was weakening faster than any of them had predicted. His gaze traveled along the lines of grim-faced Archangels flanking him. Azrael, Uriel, and Zachariel to his left; Raphael and Gabriel to his right. Five Archangels—six including him—to patrol the infinitely long border between Heaven and Hell. To inspire the others to hold fast.

  “We can’t keep this up, Mika’el.” Azrael, voicing what every one of them thought. “There just aren’t enough of us.”

  “Are you suggesting we give up?” Gabriel snapped.

  Azrael’s expression darkened. “I’m suggesting the truth. If the other choirs don’t get their act together, we’re going to lose. There are only six of us, Gabriel. We can’t win this war on our own.”

  “Enough.” Mika’el shot a fierce look around the table. “We can’t win at all if we start fighting amongst ourselves. No one denies the challenges we face, Azrael; the question is, what do we do about them?”

  Azrael shifted his feet and said nothing. Uriel, Zachariel, and Raphael stared down at the map. Gabriel cleared her throat.

  “We fight smarter.”

  Mika’el raised an eyebrow at her. “You have an idea?”

  The female Archangel tossed her flaming red hair over one shoulder and leaned across the table. “The breaches have been here, here, and here”—she jabbed a finger at three spots on the map—“all positions that are the most easily defended from a geographical perspective.”

  “And?”

  She straightened. “And yet we’ve had difficulty defending them because the majority of our forces are elsewhere. Guarding the least defensible positions.”

  They all studied the map for a moment, then Zachariel grunted. “You’re saying we’ve inadvertently created new weaknesses for ourselves.”

  “We put angels at the weaker geographical points for a reason,” Azrael pointed out. “Any breaches there would be more difficult to contain if they occurred.”

  Mika’el held up a hand to ward off further debate. “Let Gabriel finish.”

  “Azrael is right. It makes sense to protect our more vulnerable positions, and yes, if we redistribute the angels more evenly, we put those positions at a higher risk. But there are only five of those places, and there are six of us.”

  “You’re suggesting we tie five of us to fixed locations?” Uriel shook his head. “What if none of the Fallen ever attack those places? We’d be no more than glorified sentries.”

  Four heads nodded assent. Mika’el scowled at the map. They were right. But so was Gabriel.

  “What would you have us do?” he asked.

  “The sheer length of the border is what’s killing us,” she said. “Six of us cannot police it effectively. Not when the others are—”

  “Fucking useless?” Azrael muttered.

  “That will do,” Mika’el growled. “I’ll not blame Heaven’s forces for something that is beyond their control, and neither will you. Understood?” Taking the other Archangel’s agreement for granted, he gave Gabriel a curt nod. “Go on.”

  “I think it makes more sense to redistribute our forces over the longer stretches, keeping a bare minimum at the danger points. Then, as Uriel said, five of us remain at those points as well. Glorified sentries or not, we’d be more effective there than doing what we’re doing now.”

  Assuming the increased forces along the rest of the border could summon the collective will to hold back the enemy. It was a big assumption. Mika’el rested his hands against the table and drummed his fingers in a restless rhythm. “And the remaining Archangel?”

  “Would remain near the center of the front line. As a last resort.”

  “It would be a tremendous distance to travel in either direction if anything happened.”

  “Yes.”

  Mika’el frowned at the map. He sensed the dissent in the others and didn’t blame them. The idea was counterintuitive, going against basic military strategy. On the other hand, that could be the very reason for trying it. At the least, it might put the Fallen off their stride for a bit and buy Heaven some time—buy him some time—to find Emmanuelle.

  As if conjured by his thoughts, a knock sounded at the war chamber door. He looked around as it swung inward for Verchiel. Something electric sparked in the pale blue gaze that met his. He caught his breath, and the Highest Seraph nodded. They’d found Alex.

  “Rig
ht.” He turned back to the others. “It’s worth a try. Gabriel will oversee the planning and execution in my absence. Raphael will be her second.”

  “Hold on.” Azrael put an arm out to stop him as he stepped away from the table. “What absence? Where are you going?”

  Mika’el met each of the Archangels’ gazes in turn. He’d said nothing of his doubts to any of them so far, talked to no one but Verchiel of his fears. Sooner or later, however, they would have to know. They deserved to know. He took a deep breath, but a touch on his hand stopped him. Verchiel, pressing a slip of paper into his palm.

  “Go,” she said. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “I should be the one—”

  “You’ll be the one to save us. Go.”

  With a last glance at the gathered Archangels, he nodded. “Tell them everything.”

  “Even…?”

  “Even that.” Curling his hand over the paper Verchiel had given him, Mika’el strode from the chamber. The Highest’s voice followed him across the threshold and into the empty stone hallway.

  “We need Emmanuelle to come home,” she said calmly, “because we’re losing.”

  Mika’el closed the great oaken door on the utter silence that followed her words.

  CHAPTER 11

  ALEX HUDDLED IN THE corner of the room, unmoving, unblinking. The blanket someone had placed around her slipped further off her shoulders with every breath, every treacherous beat of her heart in her ears. She did nothing to retrieve it. Could do nothing.

  A photographer’s flash surprised her eyes into closing, but only once. She was prepared for the next and forced her lids to remain open. Forced herself to continue staring at the spray of red and the flecks of gray matter spread across the wall behind her sister’s slumped body.