brilliantly alive she was, how much she loved you. I am certain your father, who adored
Angela, has told you much about her.
He must also have told you that he insisted upon leaving Paris immediately after the
incident, believing that you would be safer in America. And so you left, never to return. I do
not fault him for taking you far away—he had every right to protect you, especially after what
happened to your mother.
It may be difficult to understand, but no matter how I wish to see you, it is not possible for
me to contact you directly. My presence would bring danger to you, to your father, and, if you
have been obedient to your father’s wishes, to the good sisters at St. Rose Convent. After
what happened to your mother, I am not at liberty to take such risks. I can only hope that by
twenty-five you will be old enough to understand the care that you must take, the
responsibility of knowing the truth of your heritage and your destiny, which, in our family, are
two branches of a single tree.
It is not in my power to guess how much you know about your parents’ work. If I know your
father, he has not told you a thing about angelology and has attempted to shelter you from even
the rudiments of our discipline. Luca is a good man, and his motives are sound, but I would
have raised you quite differently. You may be utterly unaware that your family has been taking
part in one of the great secret battles of heaven and earth, and yet the brightest children see
and hear everything. I suspect that you are one of these very children. Perhaps you uncovered
your father’s secret by your own devices? Perhaps you even knew that your place at St. Rose
was arranged before your First Communion , when Sister Perpetua—in accordance with the
requirements of angelological institutions—agreed to shelter you? Perhaps you know that you,
daughter of angelologists, granddaughter of angelologists, are our hope for the future. If you
are ignorant of these matters, my letter may bring you quite a shock. Please read my words
through to the end, dear Evangeline, no matter the distress they cause.
Your mother began her work in angelology as a chemist. She was a brilliant mathematician
and an even more brilliant scientist. Indeed, hers was the best kind of mind, one capable of
holding both literal and fantastic ideas at once. In her first book, she imagined the extinction of
the Nephilim as a Darwinian inevitability, the logical conclusion of their interbreeding with
humanity, the angelic qualities diluted to ineffectual recessive traits. Although I did not fully
understand her approach—my interests and background resided in the social-mythological
arena—I did understand the notion of material entropy and the ancient truth that the spirit will
always exhaust the flesh. Angela’s second book about the hybridization of Nephilim with
humans—applying the genetic research founded by Watson and Crick—dazzled our council.
Angela rose quickly in the society. She was awarded a full professorship by age twenty-five,
an unheard-of honor in our institution, and equipped with the latest technological support, the
best laboratory, and unlimited research funding.
With fame came danger. Angela soon became a target. There were numerous threats upon
her life. Security levels around her laboratory were high—I made sure of this myself. And yet
it was in her lab that they abducted her.
It is my guess that your father has not told you the details of her abduction. It is painful to
relate, and I myself have never been able to speak of it to anyone. They did not kill your
mother immediately. She was taken from her laboratory and held for some weeks by
Nephilistic agents in a compound in Switzerland. It is their usual method—kidnapping
important angelological figures for the purpose of making a strategic trade. Our policy has
always been to refuse to negotiate, but when Angela was taken, I became frantic. Policy or no
policy, I would have traded the world for her safe return.
For once your father agreed with me. Many of her research notebooks were in his
possession, and we decided to offer these in trade for Angela’s life. Although I did not
understand the details of her work in genetics, I understood this much: The Nephilim were
getting sick, their numbers were diminishing, and they wanted a cure. I communicated to
Angela’s kidnappers that the notebooks contained secret information that would save their
race. To my delight, they agreed to make the trade.
Perhaps I was naive to believe they would keep their end of the agreement. When I came to
Switzerland and gave them Angela’s notebooks, I was given a wooden casket containing my
daughter’s body. She had been dead for many days. Her skin had been badly bruised, her hair