“Can she talk?” she asked.
“It’s unlikely, but you’re welcome to try.”
Riley stepped into the cubicle and held the curtain aside for her. Alex steeled herself, then moved to the bedside. Jen lay against the pillow, her face pale and hair awry. A four-point restraint system was visible at the edges of the blanket covering her. Compassionate, beautiful, too-serious Jennifer . . . tied to a hospital bed. Reaching out, Alex brushed the hair back from her sister’s face. Brown eyes stared up at the ceiling without flickering.
Alex blinked back tears. She cleared the thickening in her throat. “Hey, Jenny-girl.”
No response.
She tried again, this time gently turning her sister’s head toward her. “Jen? It’s Alex. I came to see how you’re doing.”
Jen’s gaze drifted past her, unfocused, uncaring.
Alex drew a shuddering breath. Christ. She stared down at the woman who had raised her after their parents had died, the woman she had once thought to be the strongest person she knew. If Jen had caved under the pressure, what chance did Alex stand?
Riley’s hand covered hers on the bed rail. “It’s not unusual for a person’s mind to temporarily close off after a trauma. Give her time. It’s possible this is just the effects of the sedative.”
The sedative. Alex watched the even rise and fall of her sister’s chest. For the second time that evening, she wondered what it might be like to be drugged, restrained, no longer able—or expected—to take part in the world’s disintegration. The idea held such seductive allure, especially when compared with the alternative.
Alex’s hand curled beneath Riley’s. She withdrew it and stepped away from the bed. “If she saw what I think she saw, she might be better off staying where she is.”
“You know what happened to your niece?”
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “Lucifer happened to her. The same way he happened to me. Except Nina’s only—” she broke off. “Oh, God.”
Riley pushed Alex into the chair beside the bed. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Is it your head? Do you want a doctor?”
“What day is it?” Alex whispered. She hunched over, protecting herself from what the psychiatrist would tell her. What she already knew.
“Alex, if you’re experiencing confusion—” Riley tipped up her chin with one hand and peered into her eyes.
“What day is it?”
“It’s Friday.”
“Christ. I missed it.”
“Missed what? Look at this and follow it.” Riley held up a finger. “Was there any blow to your head? It was hard to tell from that video. We should have you checked out, just in case.”
Alex pushed away the psychiatrist’s hand. “Her birthday, Riley. I missed Nina’s birthday. It was yesterday, and I forgot it. She turned seventeen.”
All those calls from Jen, all those texts she’d ignored because she hadn’t wanted to deal with another confrontation—and all her sister had wanted to do was remind her. And now Nina was gone. Son of a bitch.
“Oh . . .” The word drew out into a sigh.
Alex braced herself for the words of comfort, the false reassurance, but Riley merely reached out and stroked back her hair, as if she understood the enormity of the failure. Tears clawed at Alex’s throat, burned behind her eyes. A phone call. She could have at least made a phone call, or sent an e-mail, or texted . . .
Happy birthday, Nina. I love you.
Shit.
A hundred recriminations stabbed at Alex’s soul. She’d failed the two people who mattered most to her in the world. Opened them up to monsters beyond their understanding and then left them to fend for themselves. And three weeks from now, Nina would die giving birth to Lucifer’s baby.
Sweet, sweet Nina, little more than a child herself.
Alex levered herself up from the chair. She motioned to her sister. “Will you stay?” she asked Riley. “Will you look after her for me?”
Riley rose to her feet. “Of course. You’re going to look for Nina?”
“Not look, find,” Alex said fiercely. “I might not be able to save her, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her die alone.”
Chapter 62
“What do you mean, no?” Aramael towered over the desk, glaring down at the Archangel Mika’el.
Mika’el glowered back. “I mean,” he enunciated between his teeth, “no. I need you here, and the Naphil doesn’t need your protection anymore. You’re done with her.”
“And her niece? Are we done with her, too?”
“There are more than seven billion mortal souls on a planet that is about to implode. Do you really think we can drop everything and go running after a Naphil who is going to die whether we find her or not?”
“Protecting mortal souls from the Fallen is our job, Mika’el. It’s what we do.”
“No. What we do is stand between Earth and Hell so that mortals can live their lives independently, according to their own choices. We maintain balance, Aramael. That is our job.”
“But she carries the child of Lucifer.”
“Which changes nothing. With or without a leader born of the Light-bearer, the Nephilim are not our concern. You know this, Aramael.”
Short, angry strides carried Aramael across the room. Mika’el was right. He did know it—had always known it. But somehow it had become muddled during his time with Alex. Less clear-cut. Infinitely more difficult. He spun to face Mika’el.
“This was easier when I was a Power,” he growled.
“When you were a Power, you had no free will of your own. No reason to question your path.”
“What about you? You left before the Cleanse. You didn’t give up your free will when the rest of us did. Does that mean you’ve always lived with this level of conflict going on inside you?”
“Or worse,” Mika’el agreed.
“So deciding to leave when you did . . .”
The Archangel’s jaw flexed. “Wasn’t easy. Just as this isn’t easy for you. I get that. But I ask nothing of you or any of the others that I wouldn’t do—that I haven’t already done—myself. I need you here, Aramael. With us.”
Hands shoved into his pockets, Aramael stalked over to the suit of armor, identical to his, standing in the corner. He scowled at it, his back to Mika’el. “You hold me to an awfully high standard.”
“Because I know you’re capable.”
He thought of Alex, left alone to face her own impossible choices. How much more could she take? How long before Heaven’s demands broke her? He closed his eyes as the ache in his chest spread to engulf his soul. And how long would he be able to stay away, knowing her pain?
Bleakly, he turned back to the other Archangel. “I hope you’re right.”
Alex pressed the lock button on the key fob and then stood by her vehicle, staring up at the light shining from the apartment she shared with Seth. She didn’t want to go up there. Didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to do this. Especially not now, with Jennifer and Nina—
She breathed in raggedly, exhaling a plume of steam. She didn’t want to, but she had to. She’d already avoided it long enough, and he deserved better from her. Hell, she hadn’t even called him after the explosion on the Hill this afternoon to reassure him she was all right, never mind let him know she’d come back to Toronto. It was time to stop being a coward.
She let herself into the building and crossed the foyer to the elevator, her boot heels thudding hollowly on the ceramic tiles. Her internal voice kept up a running monologue of instructions, without which she might not have moved. Push button. Wait. Step inside. Stare at numbers. Press six. Lean against wall. Stare at ceiling.