The villagers look at him, especially when they walk by, but their glances are not shocked and fearful like I’d expect. They act as if they’re used to seeing angels and don’t pay him much attention. At least the men don’t.

The women, on the other hand, are gathering around him. Somehow, I’m not too surprised.

The women wear dark dresses that look like stage curtains. Their faces are made up with black circles around their eyes and bloody red lips. One has devils’ horns. Some have claws attached to their hands. Others wear goatskins complete with hooves and horns, and makeup to match.

They look bizarrely barbaric, and the shifting light of the fire adds to their savage appearance. Despite his wings, Raffe is the only one who looks “normal.”

Weirdly, my dream mind picks up on some of Raffe’s thoughts. I see humans the way he sees them, alien and bestial. Compared to the perfection of angels, these Daughters of Men are ugly and smell like pigs. He tries to imagine what his Watchers could possibly have seen in them. He can’t see anything worth risking a minor reprimand for, much less the Pit.

Even if he could get past their looks and behavior, they’re wingless. How could his angels stomach that?

“Where are our husbands?” asks one of the women. She speaks a guttural language I wouldn’t normally understand except that, in my dream, I do.

“They’ve been condemned to the Pit for marrying Daughters of Men.” His voice is controlled but there’s an undertone of anger. They had been his best warriors and good friends.

The women begin crying. “For how long?”

“Until Judgment Day when they’ll finally get their trial. You won’t see them again.”

The women cry in each other’s arms.

“What about our children?”

Raffe stays silent. How does one tell a mother that he’s here to hunt and kill her babies? He came to earth to spare his Watchers the pain of having to hunt down their own children. Even if they were nephilim—monsters who eat human flesh—what kind of twisted punishment is that for a father? He couldn’t allow it, not for his soldiers.

“Are you here to punish us?”

“I’m here to protect you.” He wasn’t planning to protect the wives. But the Watchers begged him. Begged. He couldn’t fathom the idea of his fiercest warriors begging for anything, much less for Daughters of Men.

“From what?”

“The Watchers’ wives have been given to the hellions. They’ll be coming for you tonight. We need to get you someplace safe. Let’s go.”

I look around at all the costumes and the bonfire and realize that this must be some ancient version of Halloween when monsters and demons supposedly roamed the streets. They’ll be coming in force tonight.

The women clutch at each other in fright.