sharp-edged red wings opened on their backs, striated feathers glistening in the dull morning sunlight.
In an instant she recognized the creatures, for she was gazing on beasts similar to those angelic beings
she had observed in the warehouse in New York City with her father. Only in the years since she’d
last set eyes on such a creature, she had grown from a girl to a woman, a change that rendered her
sensitive to a seduction she hadn’t experienced before. Their bodies were exceedingly lovely, so
sensuous that a shock of longing passed through her. Yet even through the haze of her desire,
Evangeline found that everything about them—from the way they stood to the immense span of their
wings—struck her as monstrous.
Taking a deep breath to calm her thoughts she noticed a peculiar scent. Loamy and carbon-rich, it
was the distinct scent of smoke. Searching the grounds she observed a group of the creatures huddled
together beside the convent, fanning flames with their wings. The flickering fire rose higher and
higher. The devils were attacking.
Evangeline tucked the angelology journal into the leather case and ran down the turret steps, taking
the direct passage to the Adoration Chapel. The smell of fire grew more distinct as she descended,
and thick drafts of smoke swirled up through the stairwell. There was no sure way to know how far
the fire had blazed and, realizing she might be trapped, she quickened her pace, the leather case
clutched tight beneath her arm. The air thickened as she ran down the successive flights of stairs,
confirming her belief that the fire was—at least for the moment—contained in the lower regions of the
convent. Even so, it seemed impossible that the flames had risen so quickly and with such force. She
recalled the creatures standing before the fire, their powerful wings beating, encouraging the flames
to mount. She shuddered. The Gibborim would not stop until the entire convent lay in ashes.
St. Rose Convent, Milton, New York
Verlaine could hardly make out the words ST. ROSE fashioned into the ornate wrought-iron gate, so
dense was the smoke coming from the convent. Alongside the thick limestone wall sat his bludgeoned
Renault, its windows smashed. It had most likely filled with snow and ice overnight, but it remained
parked where he had left it. The gate to the convent was open, and as they parked the car, Verlaine
saw a line of black utility vans lined up one behind the other before the church.
“Do you see that car?” Gabriella asked, pointing to a white Jaguar hidden in foliage at the end of
the convent driveway. “It belongs to Otterley Grigori.”
“Related to Percival?”
“His sister,” Gabriella said. “I had the great pleasure of knowing her in France.” Gabriella took
the gun in her hand and stepped out of the Porsche. “If she is here, we can presume that Percival is
here as well and that the two of them are behind this blaze.”
Verlaine looked beyond Gabriella to the convent a short distance away. Smoke obscured the upper
regions of the structure and, although he saw movement on the ground, he was too far away to make
out what was happening. He stepped out of the car, following Gabriella toward the convent.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing him skeptically.
“I’m going with you.”
“I need to know you’re here waiting with the car. When I find Evangeline, we will need to leave
very quickly. I’m depending upon you to make sure that will happen. Promise me you’ll stay here.”
Without waiting for a response, Gabriella started off toward the convent, tucking the gun into a pocket
of her long black jacket.
Verlaine leaned against one of the vans, watching Gabriella disappear around the side of the
convent. He was tempted to follow her despite her instructions. Instead he walked through the rows of
utility vans to the white Jaguar. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he peered through the window.
On the beige leather seat sat a folder of his research, the photocopied picture of the Thracian coin on
top. He tried to open the door and, finding it locked, looked around for something to break it with.
Just then he saw Percival Grigori at the side of the road, making his way toward the car.
Quickly, Verlaine ducked behind the stone wall that surrounded the convent grounds. Moving ever
closer to the convent, his sneakers crunching in the ice-crusted snow, he stopped at a gap in the
structure that gave onto the main lawn. He was astonished by the scene before him. Thick, dark smoke
hovered above a raging fire; sheets of flames fell over the convent. Much to his amazement, an army
of creatures—identical to the ones he had killed with Gabriella—swarmed over the convent grounds,