As other likely outcomes flickered past, Raziel shrugged mentally. None of them concerned him very much. Even the potential risk to the human world seemed a chance worth taking, when the single constant in every scenario was the death of the Council. And he himself would most likely be executed soon enough anyway, for he had no intention of succumbing to their rule. So if the risk paid off, it would pay off big – and if it didn’t, he wouldn’t be around to catch the blame.

“You do know what you’re saying, I suppose,” he said finally, regarding Charmeine as she stood against the door.

“Yes, I know.” Charmeine’s eyes were alive with challenge. “Are you a gambling man, Raz?”

The question was how.

Late that night, Raziel sat at his desk in a black silk dressing gown, catching up on his emails while he considered the problem. Several messages included links to news stories; he’d learned almost the moment he’d switched on his computer that the half-angel’s mother and aunt had been killed in an arson attack. Good – it saved him the trouble of doing away with his damaged ex-lover himself. For of course Miranda couldn’t have been allowed to stay alive, now that he knew her identity and that he was the thing’s father. The possibility that his secret might get out was sickening.

Around him, the wooden-panelled room was sedately opulent – a plush grey carpet, antique books and furniture, and, in the daytime, a soaring view of the Rocky Mountains. In his bedroom nearby slept Jenny, the devout who’d sat by his bedside while he was unconscious. Raziel had been gratified to discover just how attractive she was when she’d returned with the other ejected humans after the Council’s departure earlier – crying and throwing herself worriedly into his arms – and how delectable her energy tasted, after days of not being able to feed at all. Once alone with her, he’d plunged his hands deeply into the turquoise lights of her aura and drunk and drunk, leaving her swaying on her feet but wide-eyed with wonder. Her body was no less delectable, as it turned out – made even more so by the fact that the Council had made its disapproval about this sort of thing clear in their meeting. Raziel felt much more himself again now; more able to deal with the problem at hand.

Unfortunately, there was no easy solution. Though the Twelve could be killed like any other angels, their powers of psychic control over their brethren were far stronger than he’d suspected – as the mass execution today had illustrated so well. An angelic army, even assuming he could raise one, would fare no better than the traitors. No, what was needed were more...conventional means.

Mexico City.