Angelology(174)

Evangeline held Gabriella’s arm, bolstering herself against the wind. Her eyes burned, but she could

not so much as blink as, swords raised, the warrior angels descended upon the chapel. The nuns fled

in terror, running in all directions, a panic that jarred Evangeline from the trance the summoning had

cast upon her. The angels struck the Gibborim dead, their bodies collapsing upon the altar and falling

from the air midflight.

Gabriella ran to Celestine, Evangeline following close behind. The old nun lay upon the marble

floor, her white robes spread around her, the wreath of lilies skewed. Placing her hand upon

Celestine’s cheek, Evangeline found her skin hot, as if the summoning had scalded her. Examining her

closely, Evangeline tried to understand how a frail, soft-spoken woman like Celestine had the power

to defeat such beasts.

Somehow the candles had remained lit throughout the hurricane of the summoning, as if the angel’s

violent presence had not translated into the physical world. They flickered brightly, casting the false

glow of life upon Celestine’s skin. Evangeline arranged Celestine’s robes, gently folding the white

fabric. Celestine’s hand, which had been hot only seconds before, had gone completely cold. In the

course of a single day, Sister Celestine had become her true guardian, leading her through the

confusion and putting her upon the correct path. Evangeline could not be certain, but it appeared to

her that tears had formed in Gabriella’s eyes. “That was a brilliant summoning, my friend,” she

whispered as she bent and kissed Celestine’s forehead. “Simply brilliant.”

Remembering Philomena, Evangeline opened her hand and gave her grandmother the key.

“Where did you get this?” Gabriella asked.

“The monstrance,” Evangeline said, gesturing to the shards of crystal on the floor. “It was inside.”

“So that is where they kept it,” Gabriella said, turning the key in her hand. Walking to the

tabernacle, she fitted the key into the lock and opened the door. A small leather pouch was inside.

“There is nothing more to do here,” Gabriella said. Gesturing for Evangeline to follow, she said,

“Come, we must leave at once. We’re not out of danger yet.”

St. Rose Convent, Milton, New York

Verlaine walked across the lawn of the convent, his feet sinking into the snow. Only seconds before,

the compound had nearly buckled under the weight of attack. The walls of the convent had been

engulfed in flames, the courtyard filled with vile, belligerent creatures. Then, to his utter

bewilderment, the battle had ceased. In an instant the fire had disappeared in the air, leaving behind

only charred brick, sizzling metal, and the pungent smell of carbon. The creatures’ beating wings

stilled midflight. They fell to the ground as if stricken by an electrical current, leaving heaps of

broken bodies upon the snow. Verlaine observed the silent courtyard, the last remnants of smoke

dispersing in the afternoon sky.

Walking to one of the bodies, he crouched before it. There was something odd about the

appearance of the creature—not only had the radiance disappeared, but the entire physicality had

changed. In death the skin had become mottled with imperfections—freckles, moles, scars, patches of

dark hair. The clarified white of the fingernails had darkened, and when Verlaine pushed the body

onto its stomach, he found that the wings had disappeared entirely, leaving behind a red powder. In

life the creatures were half man, half angel. In death they appeared completely human.

Verlaine was distracted from the body by voices at the far side of the church. The population of St.

Rose Convent filed into the courtyard and began to drag the bodies of Gibborim to the riverbank.

Verlaine searched for Gabriella among them but could find her nowhere in their number. There were

dozens of nuns, all dressed in heavy overcoats and boots. The women showed great determination in

the face of the unpleasant work, organizing themselves into small groups and getting down to the

business at hand without hesitation. As the bodies were large and unwieldy, the effort of four sisters

was required to transport one creature. They dragged the corpses slowly over the courtyard to the

banks of the Hudson, forming a groove of packed snow that slicked to ice. After stacking the creatures

one upon another under the bower of a birch tree, they rolled them into the river. The bodies sank

below the glassy surface as if weighted with lead.

As the nuns worked, Gabriella emerged from the church with a young woman, both of their faces

blackened with smoke. He recognized Gabriella’s features in the young woman—the shape of the

nose, the point of the chin, the high cheekbones. It was Evangeline.