We parked at the elementary school and walked to the square. Alex had on a pair of old work boots that I’d never seen before. He wove his fingers through mine, his dark hair falling across his forehead, just the same as always.

“Willow, listen, I’ve got to talk to you when we have a minute,” he said in an undertone. “I found out something in the angels’ world that – well, we’ve got to talk.”

Every time I looked at him, it was like worlds colliding, reality turned upside down. Just the feel of his fingers against mine was indescribable. I wanted to be alone with him so badly it hurt.

I nodded, still reeling. “Yes, um – talking would be good.”

We made our way through crowds of people hanging out on the snowy front lawn of the town hall: all my old Pawntucket High classmates. I could sense their tension over the scouting angels – then their excitement at seeing Alex and me.

“Go, Angel Killers!” shouted someone, and there were actually cheers.

Part of me was sure this was a dream. When we reached the room with the shortwave radio, everyone was relieved by Alex’s presence but not really surprised. No one but Nina and Jonah had known he’d died.

No, he didn’t die, I corrected myself, gazing at Alex’s face as he studied the map. He’d been alive this whole time.

It had all just…been a mistake.

Scott was briefing Alex on their defence strategy. I could feel Alex’s forced concentration – his desire to get me on my own. “Yeah, attacking from the roofs is good, but it leaves your vanguard fighters pretty exposed,” he said. “What you should also have are bombs you can detonate from the ground.”

“Bombs?” Scott stared. “Uh…we don’t exactly have that kind of technology.”

“Yeah, you do – bombs are easy.” Alex started drawing on the side of the map, his hand moving in quick, sure strokes. “Look: this is a nail bomb.”

He described how to make it; the materials were all commonplace. “You put it on a roof, then shoot at it from the ground as the angels appear. The nails will explode thirty feet up in the air, like bullets – any that hit a halo will take an angel out.”

Excitement crackled through the room. “Oh, yes,” Rachel cried. “We have definitely got nails here!”

“I can help with the bombs.” Seb seemed to be avoiding looking at her. “At the reformatorio, a boy there taught us how to make them.”

“Will five days be enough for all this, though?” Nina put in anxiously.

Alex’s eyebrows shot up; he tossed the pen aside. “Five days, with scouts here just an hour ago? No way. We’ll be lucky as hell to get two.”

“But…” Nina glanced at me in alarm.

The dreamlike feeling had turned nightmarish. There was no way Pawntucket could prepare that fast. “We were supposed to have five more days,” I faltered.

“I’ve got some information that might help, with luck.” Alex’s eyes met mine. Without looking away, he said, “You guys go and get started.” Then he seemed to catch himself. “Sorry, I’m not trying to take over – I’m just used to being in charge.”

Scott barked out a laugh. “Dude, you are Alex Kylar. I think I speak for everyone here when I say: Please take over.”

Alex smiled thinly. “Okay, if you all agree. Jonah, you and Scott tell everyone what the plan is, then get started fortifying the houses and making the bombs; we don’t have any time to lose. Willow…I’ve got to talk to you. Alone.”

29

RAZIEL HAD ARRIVED IN SCHENECTADY Eden earlier than planned – and though his church quarters here were as luxurious as all his others, he found it impossible to relax; this particular church was too full of associations. It had been here where Willow and her assassin boyfriend had first met. Here, too, where Paschar had died, blasted into oblivion by Kylar’s bullet on the front steps.

I don’t believe in omens, Raziel reminded himself darkly.

He was sitting in his church office, going over the list of angels who’d accompanied Bascal on the Nevada attack. Part of him wanted to strike against Pawntucket immediately, especially given the scouts’ report. Caution made him wait. It all came down to Willow, somehow – who had almost certainly slipped through the net in Nevada.

One of the angels on this list knew how. And when Raziel had finished with them, they’d be begging to share all they knew.

A knock came. Raziel frowned to see Bascal come in – late, of course. The little thug looked disgustingly pleased with himself, despite his utter failure to do away with Fields and Kylar.

“Everyone’s here,” Bascal said, sprawling in a lushly upholstered chair. “Over five thousand. The place won’t support them much longer – but then we’ll be attacking soon, right?”

“When I’m ready,” muttered Raziel, going back to the list. He shoved it across to Bascal. “Who do you think?”

Bascal leaned forward; without asking, he plucked a silver pen from the desk. “Not these guys,” he said, crossing names off. “They were all part of the main attack. But some went looking for other AKs while we finished up in the training room.”

A map of the base lay on the desk; Raziel tapped his lower lip as he studied it. “Did you search down these corridors? Especially this one.” He indicated the route to the garage. Maddeningly, Bascal hadn’t taken an inventory of the vehicles in the place before he’d torched it.

Bascal nodded. “Six or seven did, but most of them were killed. Zaran’s the only one who made it back – he says that corridor was empty.”

Zaran. Raziel’s dark gaze narrowed. Not someone he knew well, though Zaran was one of the angels who’d also enjoyed human energy, back before all angelkind came here. Unusually private, even for an angel – when they’d all been linked, the joke had been that you couldn’t even get the weather from Zaran’s thoughts.

“You know, I think I’d like to have a little chat with Zaran,” mused Raziel.

Bascal’s eyes glinted. “That guy, huh? You know, I never did like him. He’s sneaky.”

“Go get him,” Raziel ordered. “Don’t let him know what’s going on – and bring some backup.”

“Will do.” Bascal rose; as he turned to leave, he paused and reached into his pocket. “Oh – almost forgot. Present for you.” He tossed a small framed picture onto Raziel’s desk with a clatter.

Raziel stiffened with unpleasant surprise. Willow as a small child, smiling up through the branches of a weeping willow tree. “Where did you get this?”

Bascal grinned. “At the base – found it in one of the bedrooms that wasn’t destroyed. Thought you might want it. Spoil of war and all that.”

A willow tree. The willow tree, presumably: it would have been just like Miranda to take her there. “Thank you so much,” Raziel said with distaste. “Anything else?”

Bascal pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it over. “Kinda sweet, huh?” he sneered. “Wouldn’t have thought Kylar was the poetic type.”

Raziel opened out the well-worn page. My home is in your touch and in your eyes… He made a face. “No, quite,” he said, tossing it aside. It was the photo that kept drawing him; his daughter’s joyful smile was mesmerizing.

“We’ve got a date with Zaran,” he reminded Bascal. The other angel saluted ironically.

Once he’d left, Raziel leaned back in his chair. The office around him was decorated in quiet good taste: golds and browns; leather and soft fabrics. He scarcely noticed it. He picked up the photo, studying Willow’s face with an intense frown. So like her mother.

He shook his head. He couldn’t believe now that he’d ever been so smitten by a human woman; the week Miranda had spent away from college with her grandparents had dragged into infinity, so that he’d actually travelled up from New York City to this backwater region just to savour her again. That must have been the time it happened, since she’d been so revoltingly sentimental as to name the child “Willow”.