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said Brice under his breath.
    Reuben squatted beside Obi. “We can’t hold your hand, little buddy, now you’re in a human body. But you can still see us, right?”
    Obi gave a delighted nod. “You all look very shimmery aksherly, but I’m not any more, am I, now I’m human?”
    Miss Dove must have told him humans don’t go around talking to angels in public. Obi was literally talking behind his hand like a spy!
    “We should get moving,” said Brice. “And put up your freakin’ shields, angel girl!” He shot me a meaningful glare.
    War vibes are not something you want to take into your aura by choice, so I quickly put up my cosmic defence shields. In the old days I’d have resented Brice bossing me around, but I knew he was just trying to take good care of everyone.
    Brice checked the GPS on his phone. “OK, Obi, bit of a walk now,” he said in a jolly un-Brice-ish voice. “Soon have you inside in the warm.”
    We set off to the orphanage. Obi hadn’t totally got his Earth legs back. Now and then he stumbled into the frozen snow piled at the side of the road. I saw him shiver in his thin kaftan top.
    Everywhere we saw signs of war and devastation. Convoys of military vehicles chugged past. In the back young soldiers fidgeted tensely with their guns. One waved at Obi. No one seemed surprised to see a four-year-old child plodding along by a busy main road all alone.
    I saw a young girl in traditional Kashmiri forehead jewellery pick her way across the rubble to a minimarket with boarded-up windows. Her shocking pink dress was the one splash of colour against the backdrop of burned-out buildings.
    On the snowy pavement a guy carefully adjusted the kerosene burner he was using to boil tea for his one-man tea stall. Spice sellers joked with customers as they scooped cardamom pods and peppercorns into paper bags. It’s amazing what humans can get used to. Even in a war zone life somehow goes on.
    The road crossed over a rushing river that literally seemed to be made of cappuccino. The frothy brown water was really melting snow thundering down from the Himalayas. The distant, snow-capped mountains gave off a pure, unearthly vibe, seemingly untouched by the human war raging at their feet.
    This lakeside town had once been beautiful and v. stylish. Those houses which had survived the missiles and gunfire had a dilapidated Indian-style glamour even now, helping you to imagine it in its glory days.
    I made the mistake of saying this to Brice and immediately he’s like, “Which glory days were you meaning? The time of the great Mughals? The days of the British Empire? India has a LONG history, sweetheart.”
    I opened my mouth, but he coldly cut me off. “Angel girl, you have no idea what Kashmir was like in its glory days. I saw it at the time of the Mughals and it was a freaking paradise.”
    I tried not to take it personally. Walking through town with a child bodhisattva , not knowing if or when his old PODS cronies would try to snatch Obi from under our noses, was fraying Brice’s nerve-endings to breaking point.
    If our short, fraught walk to the orphanage was bad for Brice, imagine how it felt for Obi, literally catapulted out of paradise into a war zone. Yet he was a little star, turning where we said to turn, crossing when we said it was safe to cross. “Pothole, pothole,” said Brice urgently.
    “Obi!! Look at that truck! They’ve painted a picture of Ganesh on the bonnet, look! I think it’s Ganesh,” I chattered. “Ganesh is the elephant god, isn’t he?”
    Obi nodded happily. He loved elephants and he loved the brightly painted truck with its huge laughing, blue-faced Ganesh.
    The “pothole” was actually a false alarm. Being responsible for a potential buddha was making Brice unusually jumpy.
    Obi’s face suddenly lit up. “I can see the blue door!” he yelled, instantly clapping his hand over his mouth. “I can see the blue door!” he repeated in a hoarse whisper. Reubs and I exchanged