beauty. I imagine that Eve found a similar beauty in the serpent. Their presence in the church caused
the most unnatural state to fall over me. I must confess: I was caught completely off guard by them.”
Once again Philomena took her crisp white cotton handkerchief from her pocket, unfolded it in her
hands, and pressed it to her forehead, wiping the sweat away.
“From the choir loft, I could see everything very clearly. The creatures stepped from the shadows
into the brilliant light of the nave. The stained-glass windows were sparkling with sunlight, as they
usually are at midday, and patches of color scattered across the marble floor, creating a diaphanous
glow on their pale skin as they walked. Mother Innocenta took a sharp breath upon seeing them. She
reached for the shoulder of a pew to support her weight and asked them what they wanted. Something
in the tone of her voice convinced me that she recognized them. Perhaps she had even expected them.”
“She could not have possibly expected them,” Evangeline said, baffled by Philomena’s description
of this horrible catastrophe as if it were a providential event. “She would have warned the others.”
“I cannot know,” Philomena said, wiping her forehead once again and crumpling the soiled cotton
square in her hand. “Before I knew what happened, the creatures attacked my dear sisters. The evil
beings turned their eyes upon them, and it seemed to me that a spell had been cast. The six women
gaped at the creatures as if hypnotized. One creature placed his hands upon Mother Innocenta, and it
was as though an electric charge entered her body. She convulsed and that very instant fell to the
floor, the very spirit sucked from her. The beast found pleasure in the act of killing, as any monster
might. The kill appeared to make it stronger, more vibrant, while Mother Innocenta’s body was utterly
unrecognizable.”
“But how is that possible?” Evangeline asked, wondering if her mother had met the same wretched
fate.
“I do not know. I covered my eyes in terror,” Philomena replied. “When at last I peered over the
balustrade again, I saw them upon the floor of the church, all six sisters, dead. In the time it took me to
run from the loft to the church, a matter of fifteen seconds or so, the creatures had fled, leaving the
bodies of our sisters utterly defiled. They had been desiccated to the bone, as if drained not only of
vital fluids but of their very essence. Their bodies were shriveled, their hair burned, their skin
pruned. This, my child, was a Nephilistic attack on St. Rose Convent. And we responded by
renouncing our work against them. I have never comprehended this. Mother Innocenta, may God rest
her soul, would never let the murder of our people go unavenged.”
“Why, then, did we stop?” Evangeline asked.
“We wanted them to believe we were merely an abbey of nuns,” Philomena said. “If they thought
we were weak and posed no threat to their power, they would cease their search for the object that
they believed we possessed.”
“But we do not possess it. Abigail Rockefeller never disclosed its location before her death.”
“Do you truly believe this, my dear Evangeline? After all that has been kept from you? After all
that has been kept from me? Celestine Clochette swayed Mother Perpetua to the pacifist stance. It is
not in Celestine’s interest for the lyre of Orpheus to be unearthed. But I would wager my very life, my
very soul, that she possesses information of its whereabouts. If you will help me find it, together we
can rid the world of these monstrous beasts once and for all.”
Light from the sun streamed through the windows of the library, bathing Evangeline’s legs and
pooling at the fireplace. Evangeline closed her eyes, contemplating this story in view of all she had
taken in over the past day. “I have just learned that these monstrous beasts murdered my mother,”
Evangeline whispered. She pulled Gabriella’s letters from her frock, but Philomena snatched them
from her before she could give them over.
Philomena tore through the cards, reading them hungrily. Finally, upon coming to the last card, she
declared, “This letter is incomplete. Where is the rest?”
Evangeline pulled out the final Christmas card she had collected from the morning mailbag. She
turned it over and began to read her grandmother’s words aloud:
“‘I have told you much about the terrors of the past and something of the dangers that you face in the
present, but there has been little in my communication about your future role in our work. I cannot say
when this information will be of use to you—it may be that you will live your days in peaceful, quiet