Angelology(114)

“We prepare all of our lives for such moments,” Dr. Raphael said, crossing his arms and looking at

me with a critical gaze. “When the time comes, we can only expect that we have learned enough to

succeed.”

“You were quite capable,” Dr. Seraphina added. “Your work was superb.”

“I cannot account for my reaction to the gorge,” I said simply. “I found the mission deeply

troubling. Even now I have not recovered.”

Dr. Raphael put his arm around his wife, kissing her on the cheek. “Go to the others, Seraphina.

There is something I would like to show Celestine.”

Dr. Seraphina turned to me and took my hand. “You were very brave, Celestine, and one day you

will make an excellent angelologist.” With this she kissed my cheek and departed. I would never see

her again.

Dr. Raphael ushered me from the meeting room and into a corridor smelling of earth and fungus.

“Follow me,” he said, stepping quickly down the steps and into darkness. At the bottom of the stairs,

there was another passageway, this one longer than the first. I felt the sharp decline in the floor as we

walked and adjusted my weight to bolster myself. As we hurried onward, the air grew cooler and the

smell became intensely rancid. The damp air moved through my clothes, penetrating the thick wool

jacket I had worn into the cavern. Brushing my hands against the wet stone walls, I realized that the

uneven fragments were not stone but bones piled into the cavity in the wall. At once I understood their

location: We were moving below Montparnasse by way of the catacombs.

We climbed through a second corridor, up a stairway, and into another building. Dr. Raphael

unlocked a series of doors, the last of which opened to the crisp, cold air of an alleyway. Rats

scattered in all directions, leaving half-eaten scraps—rotting potato peels and chicory, a wartime

substitute for coffee. Dr. Raphael took me by the arm and led me around another corner and into the

street. We soon found ourselves a number of blocks from the cemetery, where the Panhard et

Levassor idled, waiting for us. As we approached the car, I noticed that a square of paper written

entirely in German had been fastened in the window. Although I could not make out what it said, I

guessed it to be a German permit or license that would allow us to pass checkpoints throughout the

city. Now I understood how we managed to keep such a luxurious car and obtain fuel: The Panhard et

Levassor belonged to the Germans. Dr. Valko, who oversaw our undercover operations in the

German ranks, had managed to obtain use of it—at least for the evening.

The driver opened the door, and I slid into the warm backseat, Dr. Raphael moving in next to me.

Turning, he took my face between his cold hands and gazed at me dispassionately. “Look at me,” he

said, examining my features, as if searching for something particular. I returned his gaze, seeing him

up close for the first time. He was at least fifty, his skin lined and his hair even more flecked with

gray than I had noticed earlier. Our proximity startled me. I had never been so close to a man before.

“Your eyes are blue?” he asked.

“Hazel,” I responded, confused by the strange question.

“Good enough,” he said, opening a small travel suitcase between us. He lifted a satin evening

gown, silk stockings and garter belt, and a pair of shoes. I recognized the dress instantly. It was the

same red satin dress Gabriella had worn years before.

“Put these on,” Dr. Raphael said. My astonishment must have been apparent, for he added, “You

will soon see why this is necessary.”

“But they are Gabriella’s,” I said, objecting before I could stop myself. I could not bring myself to

touch the dress, knowing all that I did about her activities. I recalled Dr. Raphael and Gabriella

together, and I wished that I had said nothing.

“What of it?” Dr. Raphael demanded.

“The night she wore this dress,” I said, unable to look him in the eye, “I saw the two of you

together. You were in the street below our apartment.”

“And you believe that you understand what you saw,” Dr. Raphael said. “How could I misinterpret

it?” I whispered, glancing out the window at the dull gray buildings, the progression of streetlamps,

the dismal face of Paris in winter. “It was very clear what was happening.”

“Put the dress on,” Dr. Raphael said, his voice stern. “You must place more faith in Gabriella’s

motives. Friendship should be stronger than idle suspicions. In times like this, trust is all we have.

There is much you do not know. Very soon you will understand the dangers Gabriella has faced.”