Sins of the Son: The Grigori Legacy (18 page)

But Riley
was
there, and unlikely to leave if asked, and if Alex started spouting off about certain legends and myths being true but not quite as everyone imagined—about Heaven and Hell being real and on the verge of wiping out the human race—she had no doubt she’d find herself on the next plane back to Toronto, leaving Seth on his own, with no one to run
interference for him while he figured out who he was. What he was. What he had to do to stop the Apocalypse.

Alex’s heart stuttered to a halt under the sudden, massive weight of realization.
I’m all he has. I’m the only one in the world who knows about him.

“Detective?” A thread of steel wove through Henderson’s voice.

She sucked in a ragged breath. She had to get back to the hotel. Had to make Seth understand, make him remember. Because if anything happened before then, if anything happened to
her
…

She pushed back hair still damp from the rain. “It’s nothing,” she told Henderson. “Sorry to get your hopes up, but I was wrong.”

“Alex, does any of this have to do with—” Henderson broke off, glancing sideways at Riley. Indecision crossed his face and then his jaw flexed. “It’s not just coincidence, is it?”

“What’s not?”

“The pregnancies. Your serial killer. Benjamin. It’s all connected somehow, isn’t it?”

Despite Riley’s presence, if Henderson had looked at Alex, if he’d met her gaze for even an instant, she might have caved. Might have believed him capable of accepting her words, even if he didn’t understand them. But the way he stared fixedly down at the girl in the bed, the way his body had gone rigid and his fingers clenched around the pen he held—everything about him spoke of denial.

Looking away from the other detective, Alex met Riley’s gaze one last time. Without another word, she left the examination room and headed for the exit, trying to focus on what she could do to help Seth remember, and not dwell on the fact that she had no idea
what
he needed to remember. That she knew nothing beyond what he had told her in parting a short month—and an entire lifetime—ago.

Heaven’s contingency plan, he’d said. But a plan for what? And even if she knew, even if he remembered…

All those babies.

A whole new race of Nephilim.

What if it was already too late?

H
UGH STARED AT
the space vacated by Alex Jarvis for long seconds, debating whether to go after her. Whether he wanted to. By the time Liz cleared her throat beside him, claiming his attention, the Toronto detective had been gone long enough to make the decision moot—and his relief palpable.

Because if he were honest, he was so not ready to hear Jarvis’s idea. Not yet.

He looked down at Liz, who stood with arms folded over Murphy’s chart, and raised an eyebrow, inclining his head toward the door. Nodding, Liz detached herself from the wall, hung the chart at the foot of the bed, and led the way into the corridor.

“Well?” he asked as the door closed behind them. “What do you think?”

Liz snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. You want me to venture a professional opinion on this?” She waved at the room they’d just left. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll settle for an unprofessional one.”

“Fine. Every single one of those girls was—
is
delusional. Except they’re not.” Liz poked a strand of hair back into the coil at her nape and scowled at him. “Their stories are obviously invented. Except they’re not. And the pregnancies are impossible. Except—”

Hugh held up a hand. “I get the picture.” He rubbed a hand over the end-of-day stubble along his jaw. “Has anybody figured out how the hell it’s happening?”

“Theories range from environmental causes to superbugs to the next step in evolution—and the religious extremists have a whole other take on things. But the truth? We have no idea.” Liz went quiet for a moment, and then asked, “Do you really think she knows something?”

“Who, Jarvis?”

“No, the Tooth Fairy,” Liz snapped. “Of course, Jarvis.”

“Yes, I think she knows something.”

“Then why didn’t you go after her?”

“Because I’m not sure I want to know what it is.”

Liz was silent for a moment as an orderly pushed a man in a wheelchair past them, chatting about an upcoming hockey game. A doctor coming from the opposite direction deftly sidestepped the chair without looking up from the clipboard she carried, and continued on her path.

“We need to know.”

Hands in pockets, Hugh scuffed his toe against the gleaming linoleum floor. “Do you believe in God?”

The psychiatrist blinked behind her wire frames, but her expression remained neutral as she allowed the abrupt change of subject. “I believe some people need to believe in a higher power,” she allowed. “For comfort, for security, for direction—for a multitude of reasons. And I believe it’s normal to seek that ideal when faced with an unknown, such as we are right now.”

A smile curved Hugh’s lips. “Very diplomatic, but it doesn’t answer my question. Do
you
believe?”

“I’ve never seen the point. But that doesn’t diminish what you’re obviously going through right now.”

“I spoke to Jarvis’s supervisor in Toronto.”

Irritation crept into Liz’s voice. “You can be a difficult man to converse with sometimes, Hugh Henderson. What does Jarvis’s supervisor have to do with this?”

“He told me things. About Seth.” Hugh leaned back against the wall as an orderly rolled a gurney past them. “Things a part of me would prefer not to be true. The same part that doesn’t want to go after Jarvis right now.”

“Like what?”

Hugh extracted a hand from a pocket and scratched again at his jaw. “Benjamin saved Jarvis’s life.”

“From the serial killer. Yes, I know.”

“Do you know about the fire, too? About how he sent her out of an inferno and stayed behind in the flames—only to turn up on your porch a month later without so much as a scorch mark?”

Liz stared over her glasses at him, eyebrows tugging together. “I should think it obvious he found another way out.”

“Just like he found another way out of a secure room?”

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”

Hugh detached himself from the wall. “Nothing,” he said, because he wasn’t suggesting anything, really. Couldn’t bring himself to do so. He shook his head and said again, “Nothing. Just pointing out another in a long line of fucking impossibilities.”

Blue eyes examined him as they might an interesting specimen. Or a patient. Then Liz shook her head and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Excuse me?”

The psychiatrist pressed her lips together, tapped a toe against the gleaming floor, and then straightened her spine with a snap Hugh was surprised wasn’t audible. “There’s something you should see,” she announced. “Come with me.”

She took him up several floors in the elevator, into the heart of the hospital. Hugh glanced at the sign on the ward doors as she pushed through, ever-present sandals slapping against her feet in the evening quiet.

“Maternity?”

Liz’s lips tightened again. “Wait.”

She strode ahead of him to the glassed-in nursery and slowed her steps, peering into the room filled with bassinets and squalling infants. As they neared the end of the window, she stopped and lifted a hand.

“There.” She pointed.

“There what?”

“Third bassinet from the left, front row.”

Hugh looked at the chubby baby, identified as a girl by the tag on the foot of her bassinet, and felt an involuntary tug at the corner of his mouth. A less pleasant tug at his heart. He gave himself a second and then cleared his throat. “She’s cute,” he said as the black-haired baby returned his interest and waved a rattle in his direction. “But isn’t she a little old to be in here?”

“How old do you think she is?”

Hugh clenched his hands in his pockets. “Is there a purpose to this?”

“I know this is difficult for you, but humor me. Please.”

Difficult?
She had no idea.

Hugh studied the baby in the bassinet, now waving her arms and kicking at her blanket with enthusiasm. He thought back to Mitchell at this stage, remembering how he’d loved listening to his son’s squeals and gurgles, how he’d loved holding him, breathing in the baby-sweet scent, watching the awe and wonder unfold at every new discovery.

Remembering how he’d come home to the awful silence one day. The stillness of both mother and child.

A touch on Hugh’s sleeve jolted him from the past. He swallowed, holding himself rigid against the tremor running through him. All this time and it still felt like yesterday. His nostrils flared with his inhale.

“Six months,” he grated. “She’s six months old.”

The same age Mitchell had been when he’d died.

Liz said nothing.

Glancing down, Hugh raised an eyebrow. Liz Riley, hard-assed shrink, gnawing on her lip like she hadn’t eaten in a week? He caught her arm, made her face him. “All right, what’s going on? Why did you bring me here? And what’s with the baby?”

Liz folded her arms across herself and hunched her shoulders, appearing to deflate before his eyes. With a final nibble at her bottom lip, she said, “She’s Melanie Chiu’s daughter, Hugh. She’s less than three days old.”

Hugh wondered if the message from Father Marcus was still in the trash can by his desk.

“S
o this is it.” Aramael stared out at the moonlit waters. The Strait of Juan de Fuca stretched between where he stood on the coast of Washington State and where he would find Seth. Where he would kill and probably
be
killed in a bid to save the mortal race—and a woman on the other side of the continent whom he would never see again. Squinting through the dark, he shot a disgusted look at Mika’el, who had returned long enough to start him on his journey. “This is your plan. You want me to swim that.”

“It’s either that or cross-country. Water is the shorter route, and time is of the essence.”

“If time is of such import, take me through the border—I’m sure you could sway a guard or two. Oh, wait, I forgot,” Aramael drawled. “That might draw attention to your presence and Heaven can’t get its hands dirty.”

It was for that same reason they’d just traveled twenty-four nonstop hours by car. Superior physical ability or not, every joint in Aramael’s body made its opinion known with regard to that journey, but he’d rather face another like it than swim the distance Mika’el asked of him.

“At least let me take the car and try getting through on my own.”

The Archangel shook his head. “You’d never succeed. Travel between the mortal countries is difficult enough these days even with proper documentation. Try going through border control without it and you’ll find your ass in jail faster than you can blink—and that would just be the beginning of your nightmare.”

It seemed Mika’el had a negative answer for everything. He also had a point. Even if Aramael were able to escape a mortal prison, the ensuing hunt for him would make getting to the Appointed more complicated than he cared to think about. And more time-consuming than they could afford.

“What about once I’m on the other side? I’ll be getting out of the water in a densely populated city, with no mortal identification of any kind. How do I keep from getting my ass tossed into jail there?”

“Stay on course and you’ll get out of the water on Vancouver Island,” Mika’el corrected. “It’s closer and you’ll be able to land near a small community. You’ll have a better chance of remaining undiscovered there while you get your bearings.”

“And then I get to Vancouver how?”

“Be creative.”

Aramael grunted. Scowled. “I’m still going to end up in a densely populated city with no identification.”

Mika’el heaved an exasperated sigh and returned his scowl. “Then I suggest you don’t draw attention to yourself until you get to Seth.”

Aramael’s mouth twisted.
Get to Seth.
Now there was a fucking understatement for what he’d been asked to do. He sighed. “That’s your advice. That’s the best you can do. Swim and don’t draw attention to myself. Can I at least have a boat?”

“Not from here. Too great a chance of being seen by the coast guard. Speaking of which, duck if you see them while you’re in the water. And move fast. Every second you delay
gives Seth more time to regain full control of his powers. Your best chance is to get to him before that happens.”

“I know what my best chance is, Archangel. But you want this to happen quietly, remember? That means I have to get past hospital security without knocking the place apart, because if I cause a scene, the Guardians will notice, and if they notice, you can bet your wings Lucifer will, too. And I don’t remember anyone
here
volunteering his assistance.”

Mika’el’s jaw tightened. “Careful, Power.”

“Or what, you’ll smite me?” Aramael asked bitterly. “I don’t recommend that, it won’t end well. Trust me, I know.”

The two of them fell silent. Aramael stripped off his shoes and socks, shirt and jeans. Bundling everything into the shirt, he secured the load with his belt, hoping he wouldn’t lose it all in the water. No matter how small a community he ended up in, emerging on the Canadian shore clad in nothing but underwear wouldn’t help his stay-out-of-jail agenda.

“Aramael.”

He would have ignored Mika’el and just walked into the water and not looked back, but something in the quiet of the Archangel’s voice made him meet the emerald gaze one last time.

“For what it’s worth, you’re right,” Mika’el said. “You’re not a murderer. I’m sorry you must become one.”

H
UGH CLIMBED THE
stairs toward the stone edifice towering above him, wiping sweaty palms against his jacket. Pulling open the heavy oak door, he stepped into the cool, dim interior of St. Benedict’s. He’d stood outside for almost twenty minutes, battling a racing heart and sweaty palms, waiting until he was sure he was ready for this. But as the door swung shut and the tomb-like silence enveloped him, he knew he’d made a mistake.

He should have called instead.

More than a decade had gone by and he was nowhere
near ready to be back here. Would never be ready. He turned to make his escape but the door handle eluded him in the gloom.