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 Princ.i.p.ality 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 Princ.i.p.ality'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 antic.i.p.ated, 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 h.e.l.l 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. d.a.m.n. 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 antic.i.p.ated that, either. The woman is unharmed?"

"Her injuries were minor. She's fine."

"Is she?"

He opened his mouth to rea.s.sure her, then snapped it closed again. "h.e.l.l," he muttered. "I don't know. I feel like I'm beating my wings against the h.e.l.lfire 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 embarra.s.sed 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."

The Light-bearer regarded him without word. Then he nodded at the building across the street. "She's there?"

"The Naphil? Of course. Eighth floor, corner apartment, overlooking the parking lot." Samael pointed at the lighted window of the Naphil's residence, surrept.i.tiously studying his companion. "She and your son, both."

Lucifer gave an impatient wave, dismissing the mention of Seth. "And the Archangel who protects her?"

Samael pointed upward again, this time at the rooftop of the building towering above the first-and the barely discernible outline of the brooding, omnipresent Archangel who watched over the woman. "There."

The Light-bearer jammed his hands into the pockets of his dark overcoat. "So he really is there. Does he ever leave?"

He really is there? Samael scowled.

"You're checking up on me."

Lucifer slanted him an unpleasant look. "That surprises you? Answer the question."

Samael swallowed the acerbic retort hovering on his tongue. The time to take on the Light-bearer would come, but this wasn't it. Not yet. "No. Not without her."

"And does he know you're here?"

"He saw me once. I've been more careful since."

The Light-bearer stared up at Aramael. "Well, I'm not going to wait forever. We'll need a distraction. Something big enough to draw him away so you can capture her."

Samael tensed. "But-"

"Not now, of course. After the infants are born. Get them safely to this place you've prepared-this . . ."

"Pripyat."

"Whatever. And then, as soon as they're looked after, do whatever you must to draw the Archangel-all of the Archangels-away from the Naphil. I want her sister and niece."

"Of course."

"And Samael, for the record, I'm glad you pa.s.sed."

Samael stood rooted to the spot for long, agonizing minutes after Lucifer's departure. Part of him-a quivering, jelly-like ma.s.s deep in his core-waited for the Light-bearer to reappear and strike him down, to tell him that he knew Samael hadn't been watching the woman as ordered, that he would pay the price of failure. But Lucifer didn't return, and slowly the cold cramp of fear in Samael's gut relaxed. He sagged back against the wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven, that had been close. Too close. He'd only just returned to his surveillance-another minute or two and Lucifer would have known of his absence. And he wouldn't have bothered to ask questions.

Samael lifted a hand and stared at the tremble in his fingers. He'd have to be more careful-and he needed to speed up the agenda, too. He'd start by speaking to Mittron about opening Limbo sooner rather than later . . .

He shot another look at his surroundings.

As soon as he was certain Lucifer wasn't still watching.

Chapter 45.

Alex froze, her hand on the kitchen light switch, blinking against the glare at the woman pouring water into the teapot at the counter. Despite the dark in which the stranger had been working, she had laid out matching china cups and saucers, sugar, milk . . . wait. Cups and saucers? I don't own cups and- The woman turned, teapot in hand, and gestured toward the chairs. "Please. Sit."

It didn't occur to Alex until after she'd obeyed that she might object-that she should object, given that this was her kitchen. By then her midnight visitor had set down the teapot and taken the other seat at the tiny bistro-style table, making protest seem petty to say the least. She waited.

Her visitor pushed a plate of m.u.f.fins toward her. "Eat. If you keep losing weight the way you are, you'll make yourself ill."

Alex curled her hands into fists on her lap. "You-"

Silver eyes met hers. Calm, radiant, crystalline in their clarity.

She tried again. "Who-?"

"You know who I am, Alexandra."

Oh, f.u.c.k. Hastily she tried to erase that last thought from her mind. A corner of the woman's mouth tilted upward as if she knew exactly what pa.s.sed through her brain. Alex added a silent but heartfelt s.h.i.t to her list of mental transgressions.

"Tea?" the woman asked, reaching for the pot.

Tea? She had the One, the Almighty Creator herself, sitting in her kitchen offering tea? She had to be kidding. Alex's gaze sought the cupboard over the fridge where the more appropriate beverages were stored. The One slid a filled cup toward her in its saucer.

"Tea," she said. "I need you alert and sober."

Alex looked at the kitchen doorway and the darkened hallway beyond. Seth slept at the end of that hallway. Would he wake? Hear voices? Come to investigate? She shivered at the thought. She could just imagine his reaction at finding her having a midnight tea party with his mother. She pushed cup, saucer, and m.u.f.fin-laden plate away.

"What do you want?"

"Your help."

"With Seth."

"Yes."

"I already told Michael-"

"I know how much you love him, Alexandra. And I know why. But he's not your responsibility."

Alex, she wanted to correct, my name is Alex. But the words stuck in her throat, held captive by the utter gentleness of the One's voice. Her chest went tight. The One reached out and covered her hand with a tiny one of her own, fingers barely capping Alex's fist. Alex focused on the touch. Warm and dry, it held none of the power she had expected. Not so much as a tingle, never mind a surge. In fact, there seemed a remarkable lack of anything about her that she would have termed G.o.dly, or even remotely divine. Alex drew away, defiance sparking in her.

"No, he was your responsibility," she said, "and you failed him. Just as you failed us."

The One's mouth tightened for a fleeting instant. "I might have failed in a great number of my responsibilities, child, but Seth is not one of them. Choices have consequences. My son should never have made the one he did."

"He should never have chosen you."

Even unspoken, the words were a like a fist driven into Alex's belly.

"You know I'm right," the One said. "You've thought the same thing yourself. It is that which stands between you, not Lucifer."

Alex shook her head, but her objection refused to be voiced. The One's hand covered hers again.

"Not even I can save everyone, Alexandra. Seth is responsible for his own decisions, just as you are. When he chose you, he did so over the fate of all humanity. And he did it knowingly."

You're wrong. I can't believe that of him. I won't survive knowing that. I'm not strong enough.

"You're stronger than you think."

No, I'm not. I'm tired, and I'm hurt, and- The tiny hand on hers squeezed with a fierce, surprising strength. "I know, child. And I'm sorry I must ask this of you when you have already given so much. But you are strong and you can do this."

Alex ripped her voice free of its bonds. "And us?" she grated. "What about us? If he does take back his powers and he becomes like you again, what happens then? To him and me, to the rest of the world?"

The One didn't answer. She didn't need to.

"So that's it." Alex looked down at the hand covering hers. She pulled away. "Your little marital spat nearly ended my life-twice-and it will destroy humanity, and this is your answer? You really expect me to turn my back on the son that you and all of Heaven already abandoned? Do you have any idea what that will do to him? And for what? You can't even promise it will do any good."

"No, but I can guarantee the outcome if you don't help."

"That's the best you have? A guilt trip?"

"The truth."

Alex shoved back from the table. Scowling, she towered over the One, the Creator of All, and said, very clearly, "Get out. Take your little schemes and plots and get out of my kitchen. Get out of my life. Get out of Seth's life."

"I can't."

"Fine. Then sit here and drink tea by yourself. I'm going back to bed."

She made it two stomps across the floor, her bare feet slapping painfully against the linoleum, before the quiet voice stopped her.

"Alexandra."

Nothing else. Just her name-and an unspeakably compelling, impossible-to-ignore demand that she turn. She resisted until her entire body vibrated with the effort. Then, clutching the door frame for support, she glared over her shoulder.

The One's crystalline gaze lifted from the table and fastened on hers, seeming to reach inside to the very core of her soul. In the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat, Alex felt herself weighed, measured, and wrung dry of her every awareness and every intention, conscious or otherwise. Her heart turned cold. Panic licked through her. Wait . . . what about Seth? If anything happened to her, what would he think? How would he cope? What would he-?

The One closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. "Sit," said the One.