As he’d known it would, the angel went for him while his angel self was still shielding Mike. Seb didn’t let himself think. Dodging sideways to avoid its outstretched hands, he flicked out the blade of his knife and went for the halo before the angel could strike him with its wing. The blade glowed white as it sliced through; for an agonized second, his arm felt like it was on fire. An explosion of light that knocked him off his feet – the sound of the angel’s screams.

It was gone.

Seb lay where he was on the sidewalk, breathing hard as the remnants of the creature glittered gently over the dance. He brought his angel back to himself, relishing the feel of it safe inside of him. He had done it. Somehow he had done it. The half-angel girl flashed in his mind, and the realization that he was still alive and still had a chance to find her was like diving into a clear mountain pool.

“Uh...Seb?” Mike was squatting beside him. “Tell me that was some kind of Mexican folk dance, right? And that you didn’t really just start leaping around with a switchblade for no reason at all.”

Seb smiled. With an effort, he sat up. He was still holding the switchblade; he flicked the knife away and stuck it back in his pocket. Then he took his beer from Mike, pulling at it in a long sip. “Folk dance,” he said as the singers warbled into the night around them, guitars strumming. “It was definitely a folk dance.”

Mike shook his head. Settling cross-legged next to Seb on the sidewalk, he said, “You Mexicans are weird.”

“But you like us.”

“Yeah. Guess I’m weird, too.”

Seb gazed at the dancers, watching the bobbing colours of their auras as they spun past – and knew that sometime soon, he was going to have to think about what he’d just done.

He’d always told himself that at least the angels gave something back to humans with their touch – but if he really believed this made a difference, then why did he try to protect every human he ever met from them? Why had he just risked his life for the niñita, when for the first time in eighteen years, he might be close to finding the only thing he’d ever wanted? If he’d let the thing feed from her, then the street girl would have been happy for ever, no matter how she might have been damaged. Yet at least she had a choice now. Perhaps she could pull herself out of the streets, and be safe and well – find a happiness that was grittier, more real than anything the angels’ touch could give her. Seb shook his head in amazement as he realized: he’d do the same thing again, if he had to do it over.