And if he still had a life once this was over with, then he’d get on with it and forget about Willow.

He had a sudden flash of her lying beside him, so vivid he could almost smell her shampoo; feel the silky warmth of her skin. The memory gouged through him. Yeah, sure, he’d forget all about her. Nothing to it. Who was he kidding? The only way he’d ever get Willow out of his mind would be to have a brain transplant – and even then, he had a feeling she’d still be twined around his heart and soul for good.

Chapter Twenty-seven

RAZIEL COULD SEE THE TORRE Mayor from his hotel window: a curved green tower that caught the sun’s rays like a promise. There was a minibar in the room; he poured himself a glass of cognac while he gazed out at the view, swirling the golden liquid in a cut-crystal glass. Angels couldn’t get drunk, of course, but the taste of anything so vintage and expensive was pleasant. He took a slow, savouring sip, his eyes narrowing at the tower as he remembered how the Council had threatened him in his own cathedral; the slurs they’d been casting on his leadership ever since they’d arrived.

The Zócalo, with its converted cathedral, was also visible; the building’s exterior looked placid and undisturbed even after the terrorist attack earlier that week. Raziel took in its solid, ancient form, thinking of how the Twelve had appointed Tyrel as head of the Church in Mexico just to insult him. Not to mention their televised “promise” of his demise. Oh, he was looking forward to this afternoon, all right. No matter what happened, he was looking forward to it very much indeed.

Luckily, the chaos caused by the terrorist attack hadn’t kept Sophie Kinney from encountering Kylar; it was a relief to have the information safely in the Angel Killers’ hands. Sophie had been surprised to find out that her role in the operation was now at an end though – Raziel had done the honours himself the day before, just hours after arriving in Mexico City. When he’d glided into her hotel room in his angel form, she’d been sitting curled up in an armchair, tensely watching TV. He’d latched onto her mind with a smooth shimmer.

“Hello, my dear – we meet at last,” he’d said as he started towards her.

She’d known who he was immediately, but had been powerless to do more than gape at him. “You – but how—” she stammered, staring up at his radiant form.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said gently, reaching for her aura. “I have my ways. I’m an angel, you know.”