"Alex."

Again she met Riley's wire-framed gaze.

"I understand more than you realize," Riley said.

Alex walked away.

Chapter 40.

"Ah, for chrissakes," a voice above Mittron muttered. "What have you done to yourself, you idiot?"

Mittron twisted away from the hand cupping his chin, the disgust in the voice. No. Don't make me come back.

The cell guard grabbed him again, harder this time, forcing his head one way, then the other, then thrusting him away with a sigh.

"Christ, your head is a G.o.dd.a.m.n mess. Wait here. I'll call the ambulance."

He tried not to listen to the man rise, or to hear the metallic clang of the cell door or the retreating footsteps. He wanted to stay in the dark place he'd found, where the voices couldn't follow. But it was too late.

The cold of the concrete penetrated first, hard against body parts stiff from lying on it too long. The pain of his battered skull came next, a deep, throbbing ache where he'd beaten it against the bars of his cage as the drugs wore off and the voices returned. Beaten it rhythmically, mercilessly, until the dark finally claimed him. How long had he managed to escape? Not long enough. Nothing short of eternity would be long enough.

A whisper slid through his brain, heralding their return. All the souls lost so far to the Fallen, to be joined by billions more by the time Lucifer was done. And now, caged and without access to the drugs, he would have no choice but to endure. He lifted his head and smashed it down on the floor once, twice, again.

Strong hands seized his shoulders and hauled him to his feet, shoved him against the bars. "Would you stop that?" an irritated voice asked. "I can't talk to you if your brains are scrambled."

Fingertips tried unsuccessfully to pry open one of his eyes. Then the hand slapped his cheeks, once on each side, sharp enough to create a new pain that overrode the first. Forcing his arms up to ward off another blow, he mumbled an objection.

"Then open your eyes," the voice retorted. "Look at me."

He sagged to the floor.

"b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven, Seraph." The voice's owner dragged him upright again. Sheer surprise at the address accomplished what pain could not. Mittron's eyes flew open. A hand patted his cheek. "That's better."

He stared at the burnished, mahogany-dark face inches from his own. "You-what-Samael?"

"You recognize me. Good. I wasn't sure you would in your current state." Samael drew back, wrinkling his nose. "For the record, you reek."

Footsteps thudded somewhere down the corridor. Mittron's visitor shot an impatient look in their direction. "We need to make this quick."

More words issued forth from Samael's mouth, but they became lost in the growing volume of whispers. Mittron put his hands to his ears, trying in vain to block what originated within his soul. Trying to focus.

"What?"

Samael pulled his hands away.

"Limbo. You broke Caim out. Can you do so for others?"

The whispers- "d.a.m.n it, Seraph. Can you or can't you get others out of Limbo?"

"How many?" he mumbled.

"All of them."

The voices dropped to murmurs.

A door clanged. The heavy footsteps drew nearer. More than one set. Cursing his ownsluggishness, Mittron wrestled with Samael's question, seeking its purpose. Was such a thing possible?

"Why?" he asked.

"Suffice it to say I need to raise an army, and they're the most likely recruits. If I can get them out."

Mittron shook his head. His brain smashed against the inside of his skull. "Even if you could, there's no telling what you'd get. Some of them have been in there for millennia. Their minds-"

"I'm willing to take the chance. Can you do it?"

"Why should I?"

Samael held up a clear gla.s.s vial filled with an amber liquid. "Because I can stop the pain," he said. "Temporarily for now, with this. Permanently if my plan succeeds."

"Permanently-you'll kill me if I help?"

"If all goes well, I won't have to. But yes. If necessary, I will do what your enemy will not."

Mittron stared at the vial. He fought to still his tremble, to block the voices so that he could think for one moment more. What Samael wanted-opening Limbo and releasing the Fallen imprisoned there-it would be the ultimate betrayal of the One who had created him.

Another door clanged, closer this time, and the guard who had gone for help gave a shout.

"Hey! Who the h.e.l.l are you? How did you get in-"

A betrayal of the One whom he had wanted nothing more than to serve for eternity.

Booted feet broke into a run. Samael glanced toward the approaching men. His wings spread wide, filling the cell. He looked at Mittron. "Well? I need a decision, Seraph."

The One who had instead chosen to judge him and sentence him to this.

Mittron reached to grasp Samael's arm.

Chapter 41.

Mika'el looked around from his post at the window as the door opened without invitation. He raised an eyebrow at Verchiel. "Let me guess. Another problem?"

"Is there ever not?" The Highest Seraph slumped into one of the wingback chairs on the other side of the desk.

Mika'el's other eyebrow joined the first. Verchiel didn't slump. Ever. Nor did she chew on her lip the way a dog worried a bone. "I doubt the news will improve with waiting."

"There's been an attack on the woman."

"The Naphil?" He became alert. "Was she harmed? Was it Samael?"

"She's fine. And it was Mittron."

"Mitt-" He gaped. He couldn't help it. He paced the floor between window and desk, then turned and retraced his steps. "How in all of h.e.l.l did he find her? And why attack her?"

"As far as we can tell, he wanted to goad Aramael into putting him out of his misery. The One's Judgment has been most . . . effective."

"And Aramael?"

"Resisted temptation."

Thank the One for that. Mika'el traversed the floor again. "Where is everyone now?"

"Mittron was taken into human custody. Seth and the woman were taken to a hosp-"

"Seth! How does he fit into this?"

"He was with the woman. He was injured trying to defend her. Nothing serious, just broken ribs and a concussion. The woman sustained superficial lacerations."

"So everything is under control, then."

"Not quite. Mittron has disappeared."

"I thought you said he was taken into human custody."

"And locked in one of their holding cells," she agreed. "And now he's gone. The guard saw someone talking to him and then-in his words-poof."

"Poof? As in he simply disappeared?"

"Apparently so."

"We're sure it wasn't one of ours?"

"They found a black feather in the cell."

Samael. First his interest in the Naphil and now Mittron. What in h.e.l.l was the former Archangel up to?

"I'll a.s.sign someone to look for him," he said. "Was that all?"

"Not quite." Verchiel pressed her fingertips to the crease between her brows. "Seth appears to have healed himself."

His eyes narrowed. "Healed himself how?"

"One minute he was injured, the next he was fine."

"Without taking back his powers? That's not possible. The doctors must have been wrong about their diagnosis."

"X-rays confirmed it."

"And Aramael didn't-?"

"No."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l." He spun on his heel and crossed to the window again, turned, and started back.

Verchiel dropped her hand. "Will you please stop pacing!"

He halted mid-stride. Glared. Then dropped into his chair with an aggrieved sigh. "Maybe we're wrong. Maybe he's reclaimed a portion of his powers. Have you checked with the One? She would know better than we do."

"That would be the third thing I came to tell you. She refused to see me."

"She-" He stared at her. "She has never refused to see anyone. Ever."

"I know."

An eternity ticked by. At last Mika'el roused himself, pushing out of the chair again. "I'll speak with the One," he said, crossing to the door. "But, Verchiel, if this isn't the Appointed's own doing . . ."

Verchiel folded her hands into her robe. "If it's not Seth's doing," she finished his thought, "then we have a bigger problem than protecting the Naphil."

Aramael stepped in front of the door, blocking Alex's exit to the waiting area.

"Move," she growled. "Or I will cause the biggest scene you have ever witnessed."

"Alex-"

"Now, Aramael."

He held his ground. "Something isn't right about this. We both know it."

She did. But she'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd discuss it with him. She squared her shoulders and met him stare for stare. "Now."

Gray fire flared in his eyes. Then, in stony-jawed silence, he moved aside. Alex brushed past. In the emergency ward waiting room, Seth stood, tall and impa.s.sive, beside windows still boarded over from the shooting the night before. Her step hitched. She stopped. He remained unmoving, waiting. With a steadying breath, she crossed the room. She didn't skirt the issue.