Angelology(121)

He gestured to the leather case sitting between them.

“This is not our fight to lose. The Venerable Fathers who risked heresy in founding our work, who

preserved texts during the purges and burnings of the church, who copied the prophecies of Enoch and

risked their lives to pass down information and resources-this is their fight we are carrying out.

Bonaventure, whose Commentary on the Sentences so eloquently proved our founding metaphysics

of angelology, that angels are both material and spiritual in substance. The scholastic fathers. Duns

Scotus. The hundreds of thousands of those who have striven to defeat the machinations of the evil

ones. How many have sacrificed their lives for our cause? How many would gladly do so again? This

is their fight. And yet all of these hundreds of years have led to this singular moment of choice.

Somehow the burden is on our shoulders. We are entrusted with the power to decide the future. We

can continue the struggle, or we can give in.” He stood, walked to the case, and took it in his hands.

“But we must decide immediately. Each member will vote.”

As Dr. Raphael called for the council to vote, the members raised their hands. To my utter

amazement, Gabriella—who had never been allowed to attend a meeting, let alone help make

decisions—had gained full voting privileges, while I, who had spent years working to prepare for the

expedition and risked my life in the cavern, was not asked to participate. Gabriella was an

angelologist, and I was still a novice. Tears of anger and defeat filled my eyes, blurring the room so

that I could only just make out the voting. Gabriella raised her hand in favor of the trade, as did Dr.

Raphael and the nun. Many of the others, however, wished to remain faithful to our codes. After the

votes were counted, it was plain that many were in favor of making the trade and an equal number

were against it.

“We are evenly divided,” Dr. Raphael said.

The council members looked from one to another, wondering who might change his or her vote to

break the tie.

“I suggest,” Gabriella said at last, giving me a look that seemed laced with hope, “that we allow

Celestine the opportunity to vote. She was a member of the expedition. Hasn’t she earned the right to

participate?”

All eyes turned to me, sitting quietly behind Dr. Raphael. The council members agreed. My vote

would decide the matter. I considered the choice before me, knowing that my decision put me at last

among the other angelologists.

The council waited for me to make my choice.

After I cast my vote, I begged the pardon of the council, stepped into the empty hallway, and ran as

fast as I could. Through the corridors, down a flight of wide stone steps, out the door, and into the

night I ran, my shoes striking the rhythm of my heart on the flagstones. I knew that I might find solitude

in the back courtyard, a place Gabriella and I had gone often, the very place I’d first glimpsed the

gold lighter that Nephilistic monster had used in my presence earlier that night. The courtyard was

always empty, even during the daylight hours, and I needed to be alone. Tears softened the edges of

my vision—the iron fence surrounding the ancient structure melted, the majestic elephant-skinned

beech tree in the courtyard dissolved, even the sharpened sickle of the crescent moon suspended in

the sky blurred into an indistinct halo above me.

Checking to be sure that I had not been followed, I crouched against the wall of the building, hid

my face in my hands, and sobbed. I cried for Dr. Seraphina and for the other members of the

expedition party whom I had betrayed. I cried for the burden my vote had placed upon my conscience.

I understood that my decision had been the correct one, but the sacrifice cracked through me,

shattering my belief in myself, my colleagues, and our work. I had betrayed my teacher, my mentor. I

had washed my hands of a woman I loved as deeply as I loved my own mother. I had been given the

privilege to vote, but upon casting it I had lost my faith in angelology.

Although I wore a thick wool jacket—the same heavy coat I’d used to stave off the wet winds of

the cavern—I had nothing underneath it but the thin dress Dr. Raphael had given me to wear to the

party. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and shivered. The night was freezing, utterly still and

quiet, colder than it had been only a few hours earlier. Regaining control of my emotions, I took a

deep breath and prepared to return to the council room when, from somewhere near the side entrance

of the building, there came the soft whisper of voices.

Stepping back into the shadows, I waited, wondering who would have left the building by that odd

exit, the usual course being through the portico at the front entrance. In a matter of seconds, Gabriella