Annoyingly, it turned out that Nate had marshalled her, making her energy so unpalatable that Raziel had only been able to feed for a second before breaking off in distaste. So instead he’d simply had to dispatch her – crude, but effective. He’d left Sophie still sitting in her chair, looking far more peaceful than when he’d found her. A heart attack. What a shame, in someone so young. Still, smokers were prone to them.

Raziel leaned against the window sill, one hand casually in his jacket pocket as he took another sip of his drink. The AKs must be getting ready; the attack was only a couple of hours away. It was irritating that he couldn’t know for sure, now that Willow had split off from the others. She and the other half-angel had returned to his bolt-hole in Tepito – the boy was as resourceful as Kylar, in his way. Raziel hadn’t been checking on his daughter as much since then; he’d found her heartbreak these last few days fairly tedious.

Even so, thinking of Willow’s upcoming death, Raziel felt a twinge almost like regret. After the attack, if his gamble went as hoped, he’d be on hand to tidily do away with the Angel Killers, trapped like rats in their dead-end hallway. Kylar’s death, of course, would be nearly as pleasurable as the Council’s to witness, but in a strange way he knew he’d miss Willow – he’d become very used to the workings of her mind. He had little doubt that she’d be there for the attack, regardless of what had happened between her and Kylar. She was determined to take part in it, and like Raziel himself, things she was determined about tended to happen. He started to dip into her thoughts again, then restrained himself; it felt somewhat morbid, when he knew his daughter was about to die. He couldn’t deny that he was curious to see her face-to-face again though, this girl he now knew so well.

Pity. But never mind.

Gazing at the sleek lines of the Torre Mayor, Raziel drained his drink and put the empty tumbler on the window sill. As he did so, it caught the sill’s edge – the crystal shattered in his hand. He hissed as a dagger of glass sliced deep into the fleshy part of his palm. Swearing, he went into the bathroom and eased the glass out, his hand throbbing as ribbons of blood streamed down. His human body could feel pleasure; the annoying correlation was that it could also feel pain. At least he knew the blood would stop quickly.

By the time he left to go to the Torre Mayor, it would be just as if nothing had occurred at all.

Seb and I were on the Metro when it happened.