“SHE’S HERE – WE’VE MADE CONTACT several times now,” said Charmeine’s voice.

Raziel was in the parking lot behind the cathedral; when Charmeine had called, he’d been about to drive back up to Silver Trail to go over proposed blueprints for the first Camp Angel. “Excellent,” he said, resting his forearms on the roof of his black BMW. “So she believes you then.”

Charmeine sounded more tired than ever. She managed a low laugh; it tickled at his ear. “Oh, yes. It was a case of ‘fish, meet barrel’. I thought you said the woman was a trained CIA agent.”

The day was cold, with a gun-metal sky; Raziel climbed into the car for warmth and settled against the comfortable leather seat. “Now, now, give her some credit,” he chided. “Hardly anyone knows Nate worked with her. It must have seemed quite the definitive proof that you’re a rogue too. So she’s got the information now?” From what he’d gleaned from Willow, Kylar actually hadn’t been doing badly on his own, though Raziel knew he still needed several crucial pieces of information.

“Yes, everything they’ll need,” said Charmeine. “Plus one or two little details that’ll get your Angel Killers trapped inside the building once they’re finished, so that we can take care of them.”

“Perfect. But she hasn’t actually made contact with Kylar yet, has she?” Raziel was sure she hadn’t; Willow’s thoughts lately had been preoccupied with the plan to try to get the information from the Church. That and her love life, which was fascinating in a sickly way.

“Not yet,” said Charmeine. “I thought it would be best if she could track him down on her own if possible, so that it doesn’t seem like I know too much. Fortunately there’s a mass demonstration scheduled in the Zócalo around the same time as that special service at the cathedral you said they’re going to – she’s already decided it’s a likely place for him to be, with so many angels liable to be around. So with luck, they’ll encounter each other. If not, I’ll have to tell her my rogue angel powers have figured out where they live.”

Raziel frowned. “Just stay away from the team yourself,” he cautioned. “My— The half-angel is extremely psychic.”

Charmeine’s tired voice snapped with irritation. “Raziel. She’s what, seventeen? I know I’m under daily psychic attack here, but come on – you don’t think I could outwit a complete novice?”

In the car, Raziel was still shaking his head at himself for his near-slip. “There’s no need to take chances, that’s all.”