He was in his human form, walking through the Denver cathedral – apparently pointing out the damage, though the commentary was in Spanish. I sat stiffly on the battered sofa, unable to take my eyes away – and was so, so glad that nobody except Alex knew this was my father.

“That jerk,” muttered Kara. Often she was out with Luis in the evenings, trying to get information, but she was home for a change – perched cross-legged in the armchair, painting her toenails. “You know, I hate all the angels, but that one is really something else. I want to throw stuff at the screen whenever I see him.”

“Yeah, you’re not the only one,” said Alex, beside me on the sofa. He took my hand, squeezing it as the camera panned around the cathedral. There was scaffolding up, and dozens of workers busy repairing the buckled floor and collapsed section of ceiling. I stared at the spot where I’d crouched less than two weeks before, my muscles clenching as I remembered what it had felt like to die.

Raziel appeared again. Jet-black hair; a refined, sensitive face. And long, slender hands that had buried themselves deep in my mother’s energy field when she was only a twenty-year-old music student at NYU. As he spoke, Spanish subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen. “Yes, repairs are almost finished now,” he said. “We’re looking forward to getting back to business as usual, and putting all of this behind us.”

“And you, sir, you claim you’re an angel yourself?”

Raziel gave a small, wise smile directly to the camera. An almost-dimple appeared in one cheek; his eyebrows arched good-humouredly. “It’s not a claim, it’s the simple truth. My kind are now living amongst you, to bring hope in these troubled times.”

Hatred twisted in my stomach. He sure hadn’t brought hope to my mother.

“Will the world see any changes now that more angels have arrived?” asked the reporter. “For instance, will the Church of Angels remain the same?”

Raziel’s benign expression vanished as his brown eyes narrowed – and all at once I was looking at the same deadly angel Alex and I had confronted in the cathedral. “No,” he said. “There will be no changes to the Church.” His smile returned, almost as pleasant as before, though this time I could see the calculation under it. “No changes at all,” he repeated deliberately. “That is my promise.”