Raziel clicked a silver pen open and shut as he considered it. Though the entire angel community knew of the rogues’ mass execution, the Angel Killers did not – and he knew from Willow’s thoughts that Kylar had once had hopes of joining forces with them. But remembering how the young assassin had refused to simply obey orders and kill Willow when he’d been told to, the idea made him uneasy nonetheless.

“No,” he decided. “Kylar can get too suspicious – the last thing we need is him poking around in things. We need to find a way to get him the information so he can trust it.” Recalling the email he’d been reading, he brought it up on the screen again. A slow smile grew across his face.

“I might have an idea,” he said. “Leave it with me.”

“Not too long,” cautioned Charmeine; he could hear her tension. “It makes me nervous, not even having a plan in place. I’ll call you as soon as I can get away again.”

After they hung up, Raziel wrote several emails; a few were from anonymous accounts. Finally he hit Send on the last one, pleased with himself. A week or two was all it would take, he was sure of it – there was no way she’d be able to resist the lure he’d just cast. Once in Mexico City, she’d be the perfect liaison between themselves and Kylar, even if she thought her role there was completely different. And far less expendable, once she’d served her purpose.

Turning back and forth in his chair, Raziel allowed himself to daydream about what it would be like if his gamble paid off, and the assassination meant only the deaths of the Twelve. On the whole, angels were conservative beings. Once they got over the shock of the Council being gone, he didn’t think he’d encounter a serious challenge to his leadership – just lots of angels asking for positions in his new reign. The thought made him smile. He had so many plans for this world.

The newest, Camp Angel, was particularly exciting.

Raziel had long wished there was a way angels could savour the energy of all humans, not just the ones who’d reached some semblance of maturity. The energy of childhood was so particularly delicious, though of course it wasn’t really the done thing: to feed on too many children would soon spell the angels’ own destruction. But with families encased behind gated communities, he could keep track of exactly who was being fed from – and so with careful management, angels would be able to indulge their tastes regardless of their victims’ ages.

Like a veal farm, thought Raziel in satisfaction. And remembering the Council’s admonition to him about the importance of moderation, he laughed out loud.

Chapter Sixteen