It was the same city he’d always known, and yet completely different. The angels were everywhere – he’d noticed it even though he was spending most of his time wandering around Bosque de Chapultepec, searching for the same configuration of trees that he’d seen in the girl’s dream. It was turning out to be a heartbreaking task; Chapultepec was one of the largest city parks in the world. And in the meantime, hardly an hour went by when Seb didn’t see a few angels cruising overhead, like white eagles on the hunt. Each time he passed the Zócalo there were several swooping over it as well; others fed right on the sidewalk. Curiosity had taken him briefly inside the converted cathedral – he couldn’t believe what had happened to the place – and there, too, the angels had been hunting. He was so used to keeping his aura dim and unappealing now that he did it almost without thinking.

“Hospitals for all!” shouted a voice. “We need more beds, more doctors!” Glancing over his shoulder as he crossed the street – darting between the girl dancers and a donkey pulling a flower-laden cart – Seb saw a large group approaching, carrying signs: El DF is Dying for More Doctors, and Angels Don’t Need Money – The Sick Do!

Immediately, the mood of the crowd changed, the auras around him almost crackling with emotion. A woman sitting in a wheelchair yelled, “The angels would help you if you had faith!” Her cheeks looked sunken, her eyes fervent. Several voices called out in agreement, booing the group marching past.

Seb was glad to leave it all behind and reach the street that his hostel was on. Though even here, it looked like they were getting ready for some kind of dance later; there was a stage being set up, and green, white and red bunting hanging from the wrought-iron balconies above. The hostel’s outer walls were once tan, now smudged grey with pollution. Seb knew he’d been lucky to get a bed. Like every other hostel in the city, the place was packed with Church of Angels followers from around the world, here to see the newly converted cathedral. He passed a few of them now on the way to his dorm – a trio of pretty French girls in angel wings, who he’d encountered a few times in the lounge in the evenings.

“Bonsoir, Seb,” said one of them, Céline, with a flirtatious smile as they passed. “Ça va toi?” He summoned up a smile as he returned the greeting, trying not to notice how sick her aura looked. Being around people who’d been hurt by the angels depressed him; he preferred to avoid it.