“Quarantining pregnant women and handing out surgical masks does not constitute a handle on things.”
“I know that, Detective. WHO knows it. We all know it, but what would you suggest we do? China has already imposed martial law because of the demonstrations there, and damned if I’m not half in agreement with them. People are scared. If these measures give people any peace at all, every member of this force will help to enforce them, including you. Do I make myself clear?”
She held his glare for a second and then subsided. “Of course. You’re right. We need to keep people calm.”
“Good, because we don’t have time for disciplinary crap. You’ve been called to Ottawa.”
“I—what? But why?”
“They didn’t say. I got a call from CSIS half an hour after I sent your list to the techs. They want to see you tomorrow morning at ten. My guess is that someone started connecting the dots and discovered you’re part of the picture.” Roberts grimaced. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your name in that memo to tech. I didn’t stop to think.”
CSIS—the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. With the number of connections she had to events—from Caim’s killing spree in Toronto to the mess in Vancouver—it was inevitable that someone would flag her as a person of interest. She should have expected as much.
Alex shook her head. “It’s okay, Staff. Really. I haven’t exactly kept a low profile. Someone was bound to put it together eventually. Do you know how long I’m there for?”
“Just one night. Trent will go with you.”
“Trent?” The name escaped before she could stop it.
“After yesterday?” His brows rose. “Not up for debate.”
Shit. Overnight in Ottawa with Aramael after that row she’d had with Seth this morning?. She massaged at the ache forming behind her temple. Hell, maybe she’d skip coffee and just find a bar somewhere instead.
“Is that everything?”
“Just one more thing. I’ve been looking into the DNA reports you mentioned. The ones for the babies. They’ve been sealed. So has the one for the claw we found. All I could get out of anyone is what they’ve already released to the media and a promise to keep us apprised of the situation.”
“They?”
“Government Operations Centre. They’ll be at the meeting tomorrow, too.”
Chapter 44
Mika’el hesitated midstride as he passed the gaping hole in the greenhouse’s side. A window, not yet repaired, shattered by pruning shears thrown by the One when their struggles with Seth had begun. He made a mental note to have it looked after by one of the Thrones, then looked beyond the broken glass to the riotous, unkempt growth within the building. The air of desertion was unmistakable, sending a whisper of cold down his spine. How long had it been since the One had tended her beloved plants?
He’d best have the Thrones tend to that task as well.
He continued walking. He had already been through the gardens without success. The only place left to look was the One’s office. Pushing open the great oak door of a small stone building tucked behind the greenhouse, he stepped inside. The coolness of the interior reached out to wrap around him, dim, silent, empty. No Principality standing guard over the outer office, no light other than what filtered through the deep-set windows. Mika’el paused. Was the One not—?
“I’m here, my Archangel,” came a quiet voice through the open door behind the Principality’s desk.
He found her seated in one of the wing chairs by the window overlooking her rose garden. A shadow among the room’s shadows but for the pale glint of light off silver hair. He moved closer, his footsteps absorbed by the carpet. Looking up at his approach, the One held out a hand to him. He took it in his own and crouched at her side. He studied her face, his heart recoiling.
“You look tired,” he said. The understatement of his existence. The Creator’s pale skin had become almost translucent, giving her a fragile, ethereal air, as if she had lost a portion of her very substance.
“I’m not surprised.” She turned her face to the window again. Sadness clouded her silver eyes. “My son’s powers have proved greater than I anticipated, Mika’el.”
His breath snared in his chest. This was why she’d refused to see Verchiel. How long had she been like this, without anyone telling him? Without him paying attention? How in Hell had he not known?
“How bad is it?” His voice was gruff.
Ignoring his question, the One closed her eyes. “Have you made any progress with the woman? Will she help us?”
“I don’t know. She’s very loyal to your son.”
A sad smile tugged at the corner of his Creator’s mouth. “She loves him. She thinks I have failed him, and she is right. What kind of mother uses her son’s life as currency for bartering with her helpmeet?”
“You did what you—”
“I did wrong, Mika’el. I should have ended this matter with Lucifer when it began. When you wanted me to.” Her voice dropped. “When I could.”
The chill returned to crawl along his skin. “But you still can.”
Had her hand always been this tiny? This fragile?
“One—”
“Oh, never mind me,” she said brusquely. “I’m just feeling maudlin today. I’ll be fine, and you have enough to look after without worrying about me. You wanted to know about Seth’s healing.” She raised a brow at the surprise he failed to hide. “You didn’t think I knew why you were here? I am still the Creator, you know.”
“Of course. I just—”
“It wasn’t one of Heaven who healed him.” The One’s gaze drifted away to the window and became distant. “Nor was it Seth himself.”
Mika’el let his head hang. Damn. He’d really hoped he’d been wrong about this. “And the Naphil’s attacker—”
“Mittron. I know.” She shook her head slightly. “I hadn’t anticipated that, either. The woman is unharmed?”
“Her injuries were minor. She’s fine.”
“Is she?”
He opened his mouth to reassure her, then snapped it closed again. “Hell,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m beating my wings against the Hellfire itself where talking to her is concerned. Whatever words she needs to hear to convince her, I don’t have them.” He grimaced. “And I might have made it worse this morning.”
He heaved a sigh and recounted his latest conversation—if it could be called such—with the Naphil, ending on an embarrassed mutter: “I told her to stop feeling sorry for herself and make a decision.”
To his surprise, the One chuckled. “You never were one to mince words, my Archangel.” Withdrawing her hand from his grasp, she rose to her feet. “But I think perhaps the reason you haven’t found the right ones for the Naphil is because they’re mine to speak rather than yours.”
Mika’el stood, towering over the One. “I beg your pardon?”
“You asked how bad it is?” She gave him another tiny, infinitely sad smile. “It’s bad, Mika’el. We’re running out of time. If Seth doesn’t take back his powers soon, I won’t have enough left in me to join with Lucifer. You’ve done what you can, and now I must do my part. Perhaps I might find the words to convince her.”
“Lucifer!” Samael stepped back, hitting the edge of a garbage can. The metal lid slid off, landing with a crash that echoed the length of the street. “You—I wasn’t expecting you here.”