Angelology(122)

stepped into the courtyard, speaking in a low, nearly inaudible voice to Vladimir, who listened to her

as if she were telling him something of great importance.

I struggled to see them better. Gabriella was particularly striking in the moonlight—her black hair

shone, and her red lipstick defined her lips dramatically against the whiteness of her skin. She wore a

luxurious camel-colored overcoat, fitted snugly and belted at the waist, clearly tailored for her figure.

I could not imagine where she had found such clothing and how she could have paid for it. Gabriella

had always dressed beautifully, but for me clothes like Gabriella’s existed only in films.

Even after years apart, I knew her expressions well. The furrow in her brow meant she was

pondering some question Vladimir had asked her. A sudden flash of brightness in her eyes,

accompanied by a perfunctory smile, signified that she had answered him with her customary aplomb,

a witticism, an aphorism, something biting. He listened with all his attention. His gaze did not leave

her for even a moment.

As Gabriella and Vladimir spoke, I could hardly breathe. Given the events of the evening,

Gabriella should have been as distressed as I. The loss of four angelologists and the threat of losing

our discoveries from the expedition should have been enough to kill all merriment, even if the

relationship between Dr. Seraphina and Gabriella had been superficial. But despite everything, the

two had been exceptionally close once, and I knew that Gabriella had loved our teacher. Yet in the

courtyard Gabriella appeared—I could hardly bear to think of the word—“joyous.” She had an air of

triumph, as if she’d won a hard-fought victory.

A burst of light scattered over the courtyard as a car stopped, its headlights streaming through the

iron gates and illuminating the great beech tree, whose branches stretched into the watery air like

tentacles. A man stepped from the car. Gabriella glanced over her shoulder, her black hair framing

her face like a bell. The man was striking, tall, with a beautiful double-breasted jacket and shoes that

gleamed from polish. His appearance struck me as extraordinarily refined. Such wealth was an exotic

sight during the war, and that evening I had been surrounded by it. As he stepped closer, I saw that it

was Percival Grigori, the Nephilim I’d met earlier that evening. Gabriella recognized him at once.

She gestured that he wait at the car and, kissing Vladimir quickly on each cheek, she turned and strode

over the flagstones to her lover.

I crouched farther into the shadows, hoping that my presence would not be discovered. Gabriella

was only meters away, so close I could have whispered to her as she passed. It was at that proximity

that I saw it: the case containing our treasure from the mountain. Gabriella was delivering it to

Percival Grigori.

This discovery had such an effect upon me that I momentarily lost my composure. I stepped into the

plain light of the moon. Gabriella stopped short, taken by surprise to find me there. As our eyes met, I

realized that it would not have mattered what the council had voted to do: All along, Gabriella had

planned to give the case to her lover. In that moment the years of Gabriella’s strange behavior—her

disappearances, her unaccountable rise in the angelological ranks, her falling-out with Dr. Seraphina,

the money that seemed to come to her from out of the blue—all of it made sense to me. Dr. Seraphina

had been correct. Gabriella was working with our enemies.

“What are you doing?” I said, hearing my own voice as if it belonged to another woman.

“Go back inside,” Gabriella answered, clearly startled by my appearance, her voice very low, as

if she were afraid we would be overheard.

“You cannot do this,” I whispered. “Not now, after all we’ve suffered.”

“I am sparing you from further suffering,” Gabriella said, and, breaking free of my gaze, she

walked to the car and climbed into the backseat, Percival Grigori following close behind.

The shock of Gabriella’s actions held me momentarily paralyzed, but as the car drove into the

tangled obscurity of the narrow streets, I awoke. I ran through the courtyard and into the building, fear

pushing me faster and faster through the vast, cold hallway.

Suddenly a voice called out to me from the end of the corridor. “Celestine!” Dr. Raphael said,

stepping in my path. “Thank God you haven’t been hurt.”

“No,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “But Gabriella has left with the case. I have just come

from the courtyard. She’s stolen it.”

“Follow me,” Dr. Raphael said. Without further explanation he led me along a neglected hallway