Angelology(161)

hidden among us, we must find it quickly. Then we will have all that we need to move forward.”

“Pray, tell me, Sister Philomena,” Mother Perpetua said, examining Philomena doubtfully, “move

forward in what direction?”

Philomena said, “I do not believe that Abigail Rockefeller died without leaving concrete

information about the lyre’s whereabouts. It is time to know the truth. In fact, we must know

everything. What have you been hiding from us, Celestine?”

Evangeline looked at Celestine. She was concerned for her health. Celestine had declined

dramatically in the past twenty-four hours. Her face was waxen, her hands knit together at the fingers,

and she hunched so deeply in her chair that there appeared a danger she might fall out of it.

Evangeline had hesitated to bring Celestine to the meeting at all, but once she’d learned the truth of

everything that had happened—of Verlaine’s visit and Gabriella’s letters—Celestine had insisted.

Celestine’s voice was feeble as she said, “My knowledge of the lyre is as incomplete as your own,

Philomena. These many years I have, like you, puzzled over its location. Although unlike you I have

learned to temper my desire for revenge.”

Philomena said, “There is more to my desire to find the lyre than simple revenge. Come. Now is

the moment. The Nephilim will recover it if we don’t.”

“They have not found it yet,” Mother Perpetua said. “I believe we can trust that they will be lost for

some time longer.”

“Come, now. You are fifty years old, Perpetua, too young to understand why I object to doing

nothing,” Philomena said. “You have not seen the destruction the creatures bring. You have not

watched your beloved home burn. You have not lost sisters. You have not feared every day that they

might return.”

Celestine and Perpetua eyed each other with a mixture of worry and weariness, as if they had heard

Philomena discoursing upon the subject before. Mother Perpetua said, “We understand that what you

saw in the attack of 1944 fuels your desire to fight. Indeed, you saw the worst casualties of the

Nephilim’s merciless destruction. It is difficult to countenance inaction in the face of such horror. But

long ago we voted to maintain peace. Pacifism. Neutrality. Secrecy. These are the tenets of our

existence at St. Rose.”

Celestine said, “As long as the whereabouts of the lyre are unknown, the Nephilim will find

nothing.”

“But we will,” Philomena said. “We are so very close to finding it.”

Sister Celestine lifted a hand and turned to the sisters gathered around the table, her voice so quiet

that Sister Boniface, sitting across the room, adjusted her hearing aid. Celestine clutched at the knobs

of the wheelchair’s armrests, her knuckles white with the effort, as if holding herself against a steep

fall. “It is true: A time of conflict is upon us. But I cannot agree with Philomena. I hold our position of

peaceful resistance sacred. We should not fear this turn of events. It is the way of the universe for the

Nephilim to rise and to fall. It is our duty to resist, and we must be ready to face it. But, most

important, we must not become as base and treacherous as our enemies. We must preserve our

heritage of civilized and dignified pacifism. Sisters, let us not forget the ideals of our founders. If we

stay true to our traditions, in time we will win.”

“Time is something we do not have!” Philomena said fiercely, her fervor distorting her features.

“Soon they will be upon us, just as they were so many years ago. Do you not recall the destruction we

endured? The foul, murderous bloodlust of the creatures? Do you not remember the horrid fate of

Mother Innocenta? We will be destroyed if we do not act.”

“Our mission is too precious for rash actions,” Celestine said. Her face had flushed as she spoke,

and for a fleeting moment Evangeline could imagine the intense young woman who had arrived at St.

Rose Convent seventy years before. The physical effort of Celestine’s speech overwhelmed her.

Lifting a trembling hand to her mouth, she began to cough. She appeared to consider her physical

frailty with dispassionate attention, as if noting how the mind burned as brightly as ever even as the

body made its way to dust.

“Your health has altered your ability to think clearly,” Philomena said, the drapery of her black

veil brushing her shoulders. “You are in no state to make such crucial decisions.”

Mother Perpetua said, “Innocenta felt very much the same way. Many of us remember her

dedication to peaceful resistance.”

“And look where her peaceful resistance got her,” Philomena said. “They killed her mercilessly.”