He cried out again as he felt himself shifted by force into his human body. The sensation was exceedingly unpleasant. “Conspiring to assassinate us is treason,” continued Isda as a chorus of psychic voices joined hers. “And we will get all the details out of you before your execution. For now, watch and learn while we show you that it’s possible to feed without getting carried away with gluttony.”

Trapped in his human form, Raziel felt just as ensnared as before, as if he’d been bound from head to toe. He stood weakly against the wall, keeping the surface of his mind as impassive as possible. Underneath, he was fuming. At least he had a ringside seat for what was about to occur – and oh, was he going to enjoy it. He watched the door, thankful that he was out of direct view. He only prayed that neither Kylar nor Willow would see him until it was too late.

The Twelve shifted to their angel forms and lifted up in a fiercely-burning row, glowing even brighter as they lowered their frequency so they could be seen by humans. And like a tiny, apologetic tendril, Charmeine’s thought came creeping into his mind: I’m sorry, Raz. They delved me when I wasn’t expecting it. I just couldn’t hold them off any more.

Raziel shrugged mentally; it was too late to do anything about it now. Then the door opened, and a group of six young adults filed in – three males and three females.

Where was Kylar? Raziel only just managed to restrain the leaping thought. Were these the assassins, or not? He reached quickly for his connection to Willow. It was gone.

She knew. His pulse rate doubled, and Isda gave him a sharp look. He writhed under the sudden pain of her psychic probe – and knew that, this time, he hadn’t managed to hide the group’s identity. The awareness of the humans’ intentions rippled ominously through the Twelve, their expressions never changing.

Looking nervous, the team faced them, blinking from the glow. A tall black woman with exquisite features and masses of long braids nodded to the Twelve. In Spanish, she said, “Good afternoon; we’re from Mexico City University. It’s an honour to—”

She broke off, startled, as the Twelve swooped forward in a rush. “Now!” she cried, ducking back.