Angelology(171)

smoke, an expression of fear frozen upon her face. Evangeline had tripped on the body of the old

woman, whose upended wheelchair lay tipped at her side, one wheel spinning. Bending over

Ludovica, Evangeline placed her hands upon the warm cheeks and whispered a prayer, a final

farewell to the eldest of the Elder Sisters. Gently, she pressed the lids of Ludovica’s eyes closed.

Rising to her hands and knees, she inspected the scene as best she could through the smoke. The

floor of the Adoration Chapel was littered with bodies. She counted four women lying at intervals

along the aisles of pews, asphyxiated. Evangeline felt a surge of despair. The Gibborim had smashed

great holes in the angelic-spheres windows, bombarding the bodies with debris. Pieces of colored

glass were scattered from one end of the chapel to the other, lying like pieces of hard candy on the

marble floors. The pews had been broken, the delicate golden pendulum clock crushed, and the

marble angels tipped. The gaping hole in the window opened the convent’s lawn to view. The

creatures swarmed over the snowy grounds. Smoke rose into the sky, reminding her that the fire still

burned. Gales of freezing wind blew through the desolate interior, sweeping across the ruin. Worst of

all, the kneelers before the host were empty. Their chain of perpetual prayer had been obliterated.

The sight was so terrible that Evangeline caught her breath at the sight of it.

The air along the floor was slightly cooler, the smoke less dense, and so Evangeline fell to her

stomach once again and crawled over the floor in search of the leather case. Smoke burned her eyes;

her arms ached with the effort. The smoke had transformed the once-familiar chapel into a place of

danger—an amorphous, hazy minefield filled with unseen traps. If the smoke pressed low upon her,

she risked losing consciousness like the others. If she crawled directly to Maria Angelorum to make it

outside, she might lose the precious case.

Finally Evangeline caught a glint of metal—the copper clasps of the leather case sparked in the

firelight. She reached out and grasped the handle, noticing, as she pulled the case closer, that the

leather had been singed. Lifting herself off the ground, she covered her nose and mouth with her

sleeve, trying to block out the smoke. She recalled the questions Verlaine had asked her in the library,

the intense curiosity he’d shown about the location of the seal on Mother Francesca’s drawings. Her

grandmother’s last card had confirmed his theory: The architectural drawings had been made for the

purpose of marking a hidden object, something secreted by Mother Francesca and guarded for nearly

two hundred years. The precision with which the maps of the chapel had been drawn could leave

little doubt. Mother Francesca had placed something in the tabernacle.

Evangeline climbed the altar steps, making her way through the smoke to the elaborately decorated

tabernacle. It sat atop a marble pillar, its doors crusted with golden symbols of alpha and omega, the

beginning and the end. It was the size of a small cupboard, large enough to conceal something of

value. Evangeline tucked the leather case under her arm and pulled at the doors. They were locked.

Suddenly a clamoring of movement alerted her to a new presence in the chapel. She turned just as

two creatures broke through one of the stained-glass windows, shattering the luminous plate of the

First Angelic Sphere so that shards of gold and red and blue glass scattered over the nuns. Ducking

behind the altar, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she examined the Gibborim. They

were even bigger than they’d seemed from the turret, tall and lanky, with huge red eyes and sweeping

crimson wings that draped over their shoulders like cloaks.

One of the Gibborim tore at the kneelers, throwing them to the floor and stamping upon them, while

another decapitated the marble figure of an angel, separating head from body with one vicious swipe.

At the far end of the chapel, another creature clutched a golden candle holder by the base and threw it

with extraordinary strength at a stained-glass window, a lovely rendition of the Archangel Michael.

The glass splintered in an instant, a symphonic crackling filling the air as if a thousand cicadas sang at

once.

Behind the altar Evangeline held the leather case close to her chest. She knew she must measure

each movement with care. The slightest noise would alert the creatures to her presence. She was

scanning the chapel to find the best route for escape when she discovered Philomena, crouched in a

corner. Philomena lifted her hand slowly, gesturing to her to remain still, to watch and wait. From her

hiding place near the tabernacle, Evangeline watched Philomena creep along the floor of the altar.