Sins of the Son: The Grigori Legacy

by Linda Poitevin

“And now?”

  Alex stared down at their hands and then tugged her fingers from his. “Now I don’t,” she said. “It changes nothing.”

  HUGH FISHED A tie clip out of the valet tray on his dresser top. Clipping it onto the end of the tie he’d slung around his neck, he stared at his reflection. With the whole world having shifted beneath him the way it had last night, he found it unsettling that nothing about him reflected the change. He still woke at 6:45 a.m., still donned a suit and a clean shirt, still wore one of the ties Laura had bought him the Christmas before she’d—

  His fingers tightened on the fabric. He thought again of what he’d learned from Alex and Father Marcus the night before. What he’d witnessed for himself. Armageddon. Was such a thing even possible? Truly? If it were…His gaze fell on the photo on the dresser, lingering on the face of the smiling woman holding a baby. His son.

  Armageddon.

  “Son of a bitch,” he murmured at his image. He looked again at the photo. Maybe Father Marcus had been right. Maybe things really did happen for the vague, unknowable reasons the priest had tried so hard to convince him existed. Maybe Mitchell and Laura were better off dead, because if they’d lived, how would he have protected them from what he knew with gut-congealing certainty was about to unfold in the world? For that matter, how the hell was he supposed to protect anyone from what he’d seen last night?

  Angels. Archangels. Lucifer. Armageddon.

  Bloody hell.

  Reaching into the top drawer, Hugh withdrew the crucifix that had lived there since his church had abandoned his wife and son. He picked up his keys and cell phone from the night table. No new messages. Nothing more from Liz, even though he hadn’t yet responded to her call about the Chiu baby’s DNA, and nothing from Marcus. A good thing if it meant that the news of the scrolls was still under wraps; a bad one if it meant Marcus himself was.

  He’d call later to find out which. For now, though—he gave his reflection a wry grimace. For now he couldn’t keep avoiding Alex. Or the son of God.

  “YOU LOOK LIKE you had a long night.”

  Alex looked up from her coffee as Henderson strolled into the kitchen and settled onto the other stool at the countertop bar. He wore a fresh suit for the first time since she’d met him and looked like he’d had far more success at the sleep thing than she had.

  She smothered a yawn. “You’ve no idea.”

  “Saving the world getting to you?”

  “For a start.”

  Henderson reached past her to remove a mug from a hook beneath the cupboard. “So what is this thing with Seth?” he asked, nodding toward the living room and the sound of the television.

  Alex didn’t pretend not to understand. “There’s nothing with Seth.”

  Henderson poured coffee into the cup, added sugar, stirred, and raised calm eyes to hers. “Bullshit. You were like a cat on hot bricks when we got back to the apartment last night. Something is going on.”

  “Fine. Then whatever it is, it’s none of your business.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw his eyebrow ascend. He watched her in silence for a moment and then shrugged. “Have it your way.”

  He looped a chain around his neck and tucked something inside his shirt. Alex caught a glimpse of a wooden cross before it became hidden beneath the fabric. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

  “None of your business.” Henderson smiled tightly.

  Alex tinked the spoon against the mug in response and favored him with a dour look. “If you’re having second thoughts about letting us stay here, just say so.”

  The Vancouver detective opened his mouth to respond, hesitated, and snapped it shut again. His expression went from belligerent to weary. “That’s not it,” he said, sighing. “I’m happy to have you here. Really. I was just worried about the consequences of everything, of all of this—well, you know.”

  She did know. And she believed him. Alex let her shoulders relax and took a sip of her coffee. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the television float in from the living room. A military documentary, by the sound of it. Great. Alex massaged at the ache between her eyebrows. More questions she couldn’t answer. “So what are you up to today?” she asked at last.

  Henderson shrugged. “Following up on two more rape-pregnancy cases that came in yesterday. Catching up on paperwork. I’m expecting a copy of your serial killer file later today.”

  Alex frowned. “A copy of the file? Why?”

  “While you’re playing babysitter, I need to start pulling together enough ammunition to convince the earthly powers-that-be of what’s going on.” Henderson looked across at her, his eyes sober. “The secret is going to come out, Alex. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “About that—you’re sure he was real, this friend of yours with the scrolls?”

  He stared at her. “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m sure he’s real. I’ve known him for more than twenty years.”

  Alex waved away her words. “Never mind. Sorry. The last priest I had dealings with turned out to be a Fallen One in disguise. It didn’t end well.” Ignoring the curiosity sparking in Henderson’s eyes, she sipped her coffee. “You trust him, this Father Marcus?”

  “I’ve tried to pretend I don’t for the last ten years, but yes, I trust him.”

  She left the first part of that comment alone. “How did he find out about the scrolls? Has he seen them himself?”

  “He trained as a curator before he took his vows. In exchange for ten years of working in the Vatican, they gave him his choice of post.”

  “And he’s sure these are authentic.” Alex knew Henderson would have asked all these questions of the priest himself, but couldn’t stop herself. The questions—and the investigative thinking behind them—were familiar. Calming.

  “Positive.”

  She lapsed into silence for a moment. The sounds of battle in the living room raged on.

  “Even if the news about the scrolls doesn’t get out for a while,” Henderson said at last, “these pregnancies have already caused a stir. It’s only going to get worse. Every nutcase on the planet will be crawling out of the woodwork and if we’re not ready for them, we won’t need Lucifer’s help. We’ll just have our very own Armageddon. There’s already some weird-ass stuff going on. Reports of certain governments confiscating the babies from their families and putting them into research facilities. You don’t happen to know what they’ll find, do you? What’s special about these kids?”

  Alex shook her head. “I never thought to ask. I’m willing to bet it won’t be good, though. For the babies or for us. Damn it to hell,” she muttered. “Trust humanity to react like this.”

  “Kinda makes you think the old boy has a point about us, doesn’t it?”

  “Where certain people are concerned in this world, he does have a point.” Alex stood and dumped her coffee into the sink. “You’re right about getting our facts assembled, but we’re treading very, very thin ice here. It would help if you could get Riley on board to attest to the possibility we’re not completely nuts.”

  “I’m working on it, but she’s tough. She wants hard evidence. As will everyone else.” Henderson paused and his eyes narrowed. “You’re holding out on me. What do you have that I need to know, Jarvis?”

  Alex reached for a pad of paper and pen hanging beside the wall-mounted phone. She did have something he needed to know. Something that had occurred to her the second she’d figured out the Nephilim connection, back when she’d still been invested in a keeping-secrets agenda. She tore off one of the miniature sheets and jotted down a name and phone number, then held it out to Henderson. “That’s the coroner in Toronto. He has some DNA evidence that should help.”

  Henderson took the paper, his gaze becoming sharp. “DNA?”

  “It’s all in the file, but this way will be faster. It might be what you need to convince Riley. When Caim was on his rampage in Toronto, he left behind a claw in one of the vic
s. The DNA was never identified. You need to have them compare it to Chiu’s baby.”

  Henderson’s expression flickered for an instant—probably at the word claw—or maybe because she hadn’t handed this over sooner. But he said nothing, just nodded, folded the paper, and tucked it into his breast pocket. Then he tipped his head toward the living room.

  “So what’s your plan for the day?”

  Alex crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the counter. “No idea. He’s determined to learn everything he can. Maybe we’ll hit a bookstore or library sometime today so he can do some reading but, beyond that, I’m clueless.”

  “Sounds like a good start.” Henderson stood and pushed the stool back into place. “I have to run. I’ll see you later.”

  “Henderson?”

  He paused in the doorway.

  Alex offered him a lopsided smile. “I suggest you practice the words before trying to get anyone to side with us. Being able to actually say angel will go a long way to explaining things.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  From Power to this.

  Aramael stood in the shadow of a massive tree trunk as Alex and Seth stopped to watch a group of children clambering over playground equipment. Could she really think to influence the Appointed with a morning walk along the shore, a few hours at a bookstore, and now another stroll through a park? Though Heaven knew this was better than having them return to that damnable apartment, where they had both spent the previous night in the same room together, as they had done at the hotel—

  Aramael inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. Damn it to Hell and back, why could he not stop thinking of her in that way? He knew—with every atom of his essence—that he would never have her. Could never have her. But as Seth reached to brush back a strand of her hair, the knowledge did nothing to stop the ache in his chest that became more pronounced with every wretched minute he was forced to watch them.

  “Struggling, Power?” a deep voice inquired beside him.

  Startled, Aramael whirled to face Mika’el. Great. He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery he hadn’t even sensed the other angel’s presence. Now he could add humiliation to his growing list of emotions he wasn’t supposed to have. He glowered at the Archangel.

  “What do you want?”

  Mika’el crossed his arms and leaned against the tree. “A progress report would be nice.”

  “If I had anything to report,” Aramael snarled, “I would have done so. This”—he jutted his chin toward Alex and Seth, now settled on a park bench, his arm extended behind her, her hair brushing his sleeve—“this is all I have. They walked, they talked, they read, he watched hour upon hour of television, and that’s it.” He swallowed, and the knife in his throat sliced all the way to his belly.

  “No activity from Lucifer or the Fallen Ones?”

  “None.”

  “That you’ve seen.”

  Aramael bristled at the not-so-subtle dig. “None,” he repeated in a growl.

  “You are keeping your distance.”

  The knife gave a savage twist. “Yes,” he said, but he could hear the hoarseness in his voice. All night he had wrestled with the desire to go to Alex, if only to stand at her bedside and watch the even rise and fall of her chest in sleep, the peace of her features…

  “Aramael.”

  “I’ve kept my distance, Black One,” he snarled.

  The slur made Mika’el’s wings extend almost halfway before he caught himself and folded them against his back again. For a long moment, the Archangel stared past him without speaking. Then, voice cold, he said, “Just remember your part in this mess, Power, and see you continue to stay away. Your interference at this point could well be the tipping point from which we could not recover.”

  The Archangel departed in a soft swirl of dust, leaving Aramael to his vigil.

  “YOU’RE RESTLESS.”

  Alex paused in her pacing of Henderson’s living room floor and looked over at Seth. “I’m sorry. Am I disturbing you?”

  Seth had paused the documentary he watched and now set the remote on the table. Rising from the sofa, he strolled across the room to join her, as comfortable in his current environment as though born to it instead of having learned it all in just a few short days. Reaching her, he leaned a shoulder against the sliding glass door to the balcony and slid his hands into his pockets.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She grimaced. “I’m just not very good at not doing anything.”

  “I don’t understand. We walked, we talked, we read. Are you bored with me?”

  “No! No, it’s just—” She hesitated, trying to frame her words to eliminate any misunderstanding. As at ease as Seth seemed to be with the world, he still lacked the nuances of language and tended to take things too literally.

  “I miss my job. Miss being in control. Miss working to solve things.”

  “You wish you could solve me.”

  “I wish I could be of more help to you.”

  “So I could make my choice and we would be finished.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What will happen then?” Seth’s black eyes took on the intensity that always sent a sliver of unease through Alex. “To us. Do we just go our separate ways? Will you forget about me and expect me to do the same about you?”

  Alex’s breath snagged at the base of her throat. “I don’t know what will happen in the long term,” she said. “Heaven may have other plans for you. Other expectations. But whatever happens, I do know forgetting you would be impossible.”

  “But you still don’t want a relationship with me.”

  “Want doesn’t come into it.”

  “Then you do want me.”

  Dear God, he could make things difficult. Alex waited for the live-fish-in-her-gut feeling to subside and then tried again. “You have to see how different we are, Seth. I’m just a mortal and you’re—”

  The cell phone at her waist trilled.

  “Leave it,” Seth commanded, but she had already flipped it open, only too glad of the intrusion.

  “Jarvis.”

  “You happen to catch the news today?” Henderson’s tight voice asked.

  “No, why? What did I miss?”

  “The crazies are crawling out of the woodwork. Some guy stabbed a pregnant woman on the street in Houston, Texas. Mother of two, six months along with her third. Both she and the baby were DOA.”

  Alex threaded fingers into her hair and tightened her grip until pain twinged through the roots. “Christ.”

  “He claimed she was carrying Satan’s spawn and he was carrying out the Lord’s orders. He has a history of mental illness. Thinks the angels talk to him. Said the Archangel Raphael told him—”

  “Stop.” Alex sank onto the edge of the couch and rested an elbow on her knee, burying face in hand. Angels. Again with the fucking angels, just like her mother. She took a long, slow breath.

  “You okay?” Henderson asked.

  She closed her eyes. “Ever notice how often the voices that tell these people to kill come from angels?” she asked.

  “Until you mentioned it, no. What’s your point?”

  “Between that and the number of wars fought in the name of God, doesn’t it make you wonder what life would be like without all this religious bullshit?”

  Henderson grunted. “And I thought I was jaded. Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?”

  “My mother killed my father and herself when I was nine, Hugh. Because the angels told her to. I found their bodies.”

  “Shit,” Henderson said quietly. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  Alex waited until she was sure her voice would respond and then said gruffly, “It was a long time ago. But yeah, when it comes to religion, I might be just a little extreme.”

  “Then I’m guessing it might be a little much to ask you to check on a priest for me.”

  She lifted her head. “Father Marcus?”

  “He isn’
t answering his phone. Three new cases just landed on my desk and I can’t get away.”

  “Can’t you send someone else to check on him?”

  “I’ve read the Toronto file, Jarvis. If something has happened to him—something like Father McIntyre…”

  “You’d like to know first.”

  “I don’t know what difference it would make—it would still have to be reported—but yes. I’d like to know first.”

  Alex didn’t question his logic. Or his paranoia. If anything like Toronto had happened to Father Marcus, a heads-up would be a definite advantage. Emotional rather than practical, perhaps, but still very real. “Text me the address,” she said. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Flipping the phone shut, she looked up to where Seth waited by the glass doors, his dark eyes watchful. Assessing.

  “That was Henderson. There’s been an incident.”

  “I heard.”

  “Ah.” Alex stood and tucked the cell phone back into its holder, its vibration announcing Henderson’s text as she did. She cleared her throat. “He wants me—”

  “I heard that, too. I didn’t know about your parents. I’m sorry.”

  A flare of grief blindsided her. Blinking back unexpected tears, she responded gruffly, “Like I told Henderson, it was a long time ago. Would you mind very much if I went out for a while? It should only be an hour or so.”

  “Would it make you happy?”

  She remembered their interrupted conversation and returned his smile. “It’s not quite what I had in mind, but it will do for now.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She hesitated. Cringed from the hurt in his eyes.

  “Go,” he said.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you—” Hell. That sure hadn’t come out right.

  A half smile curved Seth’s lips. “I know.”

  The live fish returned to Alex’s gut. Heat rising in her cheeks, she took her coat from the closet. “Will you be all right on your own here?”

  “I may go for a walk.”

  “Alone?” Alex’s voice came out sharper than intended and she flushed again. “Sorry. I just worry about you.”