Inside, the two-story vaulted ceiling and Art Deco touches give the impression that the foyer was meant to welcome people of good breeding. A curved, gilded staircase dominates the area, creating a picture-perfect setting for couples with long dresses and tuxes, tasteful accents and pedigrees. Ironically, chubby cherubs look down at us from the frescoed ceiling.

To the side stands a long, marbled counter that should have had several attendants asking us how long we intend to stay. Now it’s just an empty reminder that this building used to be a posh hotel only a couple of months ago. Well, not entirely empty. There is a single attendant looking very small and human among all that marble and angelic grace.

The lobby is spotted with small groups chatting and laughing, all dressed in evening clothes. Most of the women are human with only an occasional female angel circulating the foyer. The men are a mix of human and angel. The human men are servants carrying drinks, picking up empty glasses, and checking in coats for the few lucky women who have them.

Raffe hesitates only briefly to survey the scene. We drift along the wall down a wide corridor with marbled floors and velvet wallpaper. The lighting in the foyer and hallway is more atmospheric than practical. This leaves much of the walls in soft shadows, a fact that I’m sure didn’t escape Raffe’s notice. I can’t say that we’re sneaking through the building, exactly, but we’re certainly not calling attention to ourselves.

A steady stream of people flow in and out of a pair of oversized leather doors accented in brass. We’re headed in that direction when three angels push through it. They’re all wide and solid, every graceful move, every casual bulge of muscle declaring them to be athletes. No, athletes isn’t quite right. Warriors is the word that rattles around in my brain.

Two of them stand head and shoulders taller than the crowd. The third is more compact, more lithe, more like a cheetah to their bears. They all carry swords dangling along their thighs as they walk. I realize that other than Raffe and the guards, these are the first angels I’ve seen with swords.

Raffe ducks his head toward me, flashing a smile as though I had just said something funny. He bends his head close enough to mine that I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he simply touches his forehead to mine.

To the men walking by, Raffe would look like a man being affectionate. But they can’t see his eyes. Despite the smile, Raffe’s expression is one of pain, the kind you can’t stop with aspirin. As the angels walk by us, Raffe subtly turns his body so that his back is to them at all times. They laugh at something the cheetah says, and Raffe closes his eyes, steeping in some bittersweet feeling I can’t begin to understand.