1 Everywhere we fly, people scatter below us. They see the great shadow of our swarm above them, and they run. We fly over a cityscape that has been charred, broken, and mostly abandoned. San Francisco used to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world, with its trolley cars and famous restaurants. Tourists used to stroll Fisherman’s Wharf and cruise the crowded alleys of Chinatown. Now the grungy survivors fight for scraps and harass terrified women. They scurry into the shadows and disappear as soon as they spot us. The only ones left are the most desperate who choose to stay out in the open, hoping to escape the gangs for the few seconds it takes us to fly by. Below us, a girl hunches over a dead man lying with limbs spread wide. She hardly notices us, or she simply doesn’t care. Here and there, I see light glinting off something in a window, signs that someone is watching us through binoculars, or maybe aiming a rifle at us as we pass. We must be quite a sight. A cloud of scorpion-tailed, man-sized locusts blotting out the sky. And in the middle of it all, a demon with enormous wings carrying a teenage girl. At least, Raffe must look like a demon to anyone who didn’t know he was an archangel