The night before, Alex and I had managed to talk on our own a little, while the others were all getting ready for bed or watching TV. As I’d stood against the closed door of the other storeroom, I’d been very aware of how strongly Seb was in my thoughts. Even though I knew it was just because he was another half-angel, it still made me feel guilty.

“It’s been a weird day, hasn’t it?” I’d said, clearing my throat.

“Yeah, understatement,” Alex had agreed. I could feel the tension in his muscles, even though we weren’t touching. “God – a half-angel and the Council, both in the same afternoon.”

I tried to smile. “Hey, have you got something against half-angels?”

I saw him wince as he realized what he’d said; he shook his head at himself. “Not this one,” he said, taking my hand and drawing me to him. “I like this one a lot, actually.” He looped his arms around my neck, dropping his head to mine. “Look, I really am glad he’s here. I just want you to be safe, Willow.”

And all I’d wanted to do was hold him as tightly as I could. I’d hesitated, still worried about angel burn. Sometimes, like when I’d kissed him earlier, I thought I must be going insane to even be thinking about it; other times, the fear was an ocean of ice inside me. Then Alex had pulled me gently to his chest, and I’d given in to it. We’d stood against the wall holding each other for a long time, while the rest of the world faded away. Nothing else seemed to matter, apart from being in Alex’s arms.

Now, sitting in the basement exercise room with Seb, I was desperate to get some answers about what had been happening with my angel. Perversely, she seemed to have calmed down a little since I’d met him, but I was still so aware of her, there inside me – so conscious that I didn’t know what she might do.

Seb and I settled ourselves on the large, square sofa cushions, sitting a few feet from each other. He was wearing faded jeans again, and a blue T-shirt that had a swirling white logo in Spanish. The words looked slightly crumbled, like they’d ridden through the wash too many times.

“What does your shirt say?” I asked.

He glanced down at himself as if he couldn’t remember. “It’s for Cinco de Mayo – when we threw the French out of Mexico.”

“The French were in Mexico?”

“A long time ago.” Seb shrugged. “I bought it at a marketplace.”

I nodded, realizing how very little I knew about this country. It wasn’t exactly something that was covered at school, which was sort of strange when you thought about it – Mexico was so close.