Letting the tug guide him, he flew through a tall white wall.

A slam of energy, a binding, as if several invisible nets had been thrown on him at once. Instantly he felt like a cartoon cat, frantically trying to back-pedal in mid-air. Because Charmeine wasn’t alone in the room: the Council were there, seated at a long conference table.

“Raziel,” said Isda mildly. “How good of you to join us. We were looking forward to seeing you in your cathedral again, but this is even better.”

He struggled to free himself, but the psychic bindings drew tighter with every wing-stroke. Down below, a broken-looking Charmeine stood slumped against the wall, wearing a short black dress, her face wet with tears. The Twelve sat in a row down one side of the long table, male and female angels alternating, with Isda at the centre. They all stared up at him dispassionately, as if he was of no more interest than a trapped moth.

As their energy slowly reeled him in, Baglis, another of the Twelve, spoke, his resonant voice echoing through the high room. “We were most surprised to hear of your plans for us, Raziel. However, your friend Charmeine doesn’t seem quite certain of all the details. Perhaps you can help.”

They kept him a foot or so off the floor, making him hover though every movement of his wings was agony now. Raziel’s eyes met Charmeine’s; she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. So the Council knew there was a plot – but what exactly might still be hidden.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said aloud, then cried out as a dozen mental whips scorched his mind.

“Oh, we think you do,” said Isda. “Charmeine, as it turns out, is very good at hiding things – but I rather imagine you’ll be easier to delve.”

There was a knock at the door. It opened a cautious crack, and a human attendant stuck her head in. “Excuse me, Señora Isda – but it’s time for the private audiences. Shall I send the first group in? It’s the one from Mexico City University.” She didn’t even glance at Raziel; in his angel form, he was as invisible to her as air. Remembering that this first group was the AKs, Raziel shoved the knowledge away as hard as he could.

“Just give us a few minutes, and then send them in,” directed Isda.

Once the attendant had withdrawn, Isda sat back in her seat, her gaze fixed on the mentally-trussed Raziel as he hung suspended before them. The faces of the Twelve were bland. “You don’t seem to have taken our warnings about moderation and angelic dignity to heart, Raziel,” she said on the psychic level. “Such a shame.”