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He pulled away. “You are?”
Willow sighed. “I think I’d better. Don’t you, honestly? I mean, I don’t want to cause any problems, and it sounds like it’s sort of the established thing. ”
He grimaced. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean, I’m the lead now. . . I could always just order you to sleep in the same bed as me. ”
“Oh, that’s romantic. ”
Alex half laughed, half groaned, dropping his head down onto her shoulder. He felt her stroke his hair. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said finally. “Dad had the same rule. He didn’t care what people did, but. . . ” He raised his head and smiled ruefully. “Maybe we could find a broom closet somewhere. ”
“It’s amazing; this conversation just keeps on getting more and more romantic. ”
“So. . . that’s a no to the broom closet, then. ”
“It is a definite, emphatic no to the broom closet. ”
Alex smiled. “You know I’m only kidding, don’t you?” He found her hand; linked his fingers tightly through hers. “Willow, when it happens, I want it to be just. . . incredible for you. For both of us. Totally perfect. ”
“I know,” she said, her eyes soft. “We’ll find a way soon. Let’s get used to being here first, okay? Then we can start sneaking around and checking out broom closets. ” She sighed. “I’m really going to miss sleeping with you, though,” she said, running her hand up his arm. “I mean, just – talking to you. Being held by you. ”
Alex could hear Kara returning with their clothes. “Yeah, I know,” he said, giving her another quick kiss. “Me, too. ”
And he thought wryly that was probably one of the biggest understatements of his life.
“RAZIEL!” THE FEMALE VOICE WAS low, urgent. A hand lightly slapped his cheek, and then the other one. “You must wake up. Hurry, we haven’t much time!”
The touch was angelic; the voice wasn’t any that he’d been hearing since lying here in bed – and how long had that been? A day? A week? With terrible, sudden clarity, what he’d sensed while unconscious came roaring back, and Raziel’s eyes flew open. When he saw who was at his bedside, he struggled upright, his head still swimming.
“Charmeine,” he said.
She was sitting on the side of his bed, wearing grey trousers and a black angora sweater that bared one shoulder, her long white-blonde hair falling in a shining stream. Raziel regarded her, pleasure mixing with sharp suspicion. He and Charmeine had had a thing once and were now friends of a sort, though Charmeine was too much like him for comfort sometimes. They’d kept in touch sporadically these last two years, but he hadn’t known that she’d planned to come across with the Second Wave. Given the Council’s sudden appearance as well, it wasn’t particularly reassuring to find her here now, perched on his bed.
“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong – I promise you can trust me. ” Charmeine took his hand and he felt her opening herself to him, showing her sincerity. Which was nice, but meant little. It was standard procedure to let someone in and show them exactly what you wanted them to see.
“The Twelve are here, Raziel. And—”
“I know,” he broke in bitterly, pulling his hand away. He still felt dizzy. “And only three or four years ahead of schedule, fancy that. Why? Did someone tip them off?” Like many angels, Raziel had unconsciously taken on characteristics from some of his human energy donors; the English accent had been with him for years.
“No, I mean they’re here,” said Charmeine levelly. “Downstairs. In the cathedral. They sent me to summon you. ”
Raziel was unable to hide his shock; he felt it leap within him like a flame. “They’re summoning me – in my own cathedral?” he said finally.
“Yes,” said Charmeine. “And yes, they’re here in the first place because they were tipped off. I don’t know who by, but they know everything you’ve been up to – they have for months. They’ve been making plans. ”
Apprehension tightened his muscles. “What plans?”
She shook her head. “You’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid. ”
Typical Charmeine: to dangle information, and then not supply it. Raziel frowned, but didn’t bother to go searching. Angels had had thousands of years to perfect the art of psychic manoeuvring – Charmeine’s defences were as skilled as his own. “And what do you have to do with all of this?” he demanded instead. “What do you mean, they sent you?”
“I was, shall we say, strongly encouraged to come across with the Second Wave and serve them,” said Charmeine. “They’ve decided that only family can be trusted. Even a black sheep like me. ”
Charmeine was one of the “first family” – an angel who had been formed soon after the Twelve. She wasn’t as close to them in lineage as some – more of a distant cousin than anything else. But her basic ethereal make-up was still more similar to the Twelve’s than other angels’, which in theory meant they’d find it easier to have psychic control over her. Hence their sudden yearning to have their “family” around them, no doubt.
“So they’ve bound you,” summed up Raziel. “You’re one of their psychic lackeys now, and they know everything you do. ”
Charmeine shrugged; her exposed shoulder was slim and pale. “They think so. I think they’d be surprised how strong my defences are. The familial energy works both ways, you know – I have layers they haven’t even discovered yet. ”
Raziel regarded her; if true, it was interesting news. “And how long do you think you can keep that up?”
“Long enough, hopefully. ”
Her tone was lightly casual, but he knew Charmeine had never said anything truly casual in her life – like most angels, she thrived on innuendo and subtext. Raziel shoved back the covers and got out of bed. He was wearing a silken pair of pyjamas that he rarely bothered with; obviously one of his human attendants had put them on him.
“Delightfully mysterious as always, I see,” he said. “Fine. I’ve got to take a shower and change. ”
“Don’t be too long,” cautioned Charmeine, glancing at the door. “They expect you down there shortly. ”
“I’ll be as long as I like,” he snapped. “This is my cathedral – they don’t give the orders around here. ”
Despite his bravado, he still found himself hurrying as he bathed, which enraged him. Lurking below the anger was that same almost-fear he’d felt while unconscious. He hadn’t expected the Council to find out the true extent of his power in this world yet. Ever since the First Wave, their knowledge of what was happening here had been somewhat sketchy; only a few First Wavers had the ability to communicate with them across the dimensions. And as time had passed, loyalties had shifted. It hadn’t taken long for the angels living here to feel more in tune with Raziel and others who were connoisseurs of this world than with the old guard back home – or to see the enticing possibilities for the power they could all share here.
Because what no one could have foreseen was the Church of Angels: the fastest-growing religion in history. Though founded by humans, the angels had been quick to take advantage of the Church – particularly Raziel, who’d always chafed at the Twelve’s automatic reign thanks to their status as the First Formed. You could either spend eternity jockeying for position as one of their lackeys, or try to carve out a niche for yourself elsewhere. The angels’ mass presence in this new world had given Raziel the opportunity he’d been craving for millennia; it hadn’t taken him long to wrest control of the Church and rise to its head.