He slumped against the table, tapping his thigh as he tried to think. Just as Charmeine had said, the Council had apparently known about his schemes for months. They’d informed him that plans were already in place for them to make a state visit to Mexico City soon, where they’d appoint an angel of their choosing to be head of the new cathedral there. Then, once they returned, they’d decide his fate. The implication was clear: he should spend the time in the interim mulling over his wrongs and deciding whether or not he wanted to be their poodle for the rest of eternity.

He glanced at Charmeine, wondering if it was she who’d betrayed him. She’d known enough about his plans here, and could have guessed the details he hadn’t told her. But it could also have been almost any of the First Wavers – several had become increasingly greedy in their demands of late. He supposed he should have dealt with them more diplomatically, played them along until he could get rid of them. But who would have thought they’d go crying to the Council?

“So what now?” asked Charmeine. “Are you going to toe the line?”

Enough of these games. Raziel rose in a quick motion; he gripped her head in his hands and kissed her harshly, shoving her up against the wall. Open to me, he thought. Her arms twined around his neck as she responded. Using the connection their past history gave them, he delved deep, deeper into her mind, probing her roughly. He could feel her slight tremor as she allowed him in, opening up layer after layer to him, until there were no more to be explored.

Finally Raziel raised his head, frowning down at her. Her black sweater was askew on her bare shoulder; her white-blonde hair still lay sleek and perfect. He’d seen only that in return for her help, she wanted to share power with him in this new world. He’d have expected nothing else.

“Well?” Charmeine was a touch paler than usual, but her voice was steady.

“All right,” he said, letting go of her. “Maybe it wasn’t you – and maybe you’re actually sincere, for a change.”

“Of course I am,” she said intensely. “I hate them as much as you do; I always have. So will you answer my question now?” She rested against the wall without adjusting her sweater; he could see the firm upper swell of one breast.

Raziel’s lip curled. “No, I’m not going to toe the line,” he replied. He sat on the table again and shoved at the water pitcher, sending it sliding across the dark, shining wood. “I’ll play their game for now – but that’s all.”