Evangeline. Already you are everything I hoped you would be.”
Without another word, Gabriella followed Alistair through the crowd. Making their way alongside
the ice rink, they disappeared into the chaotic crush of movement and noise.
Bruno took Verlaine and Evangeline by the arms and guided them up the concrete steps to the main
plaza, Saitou-san following close behind. They did not stop until they were standing among the rows
of flags behind the statue of Prometheus. From above, Evangeline saw the danger Gabriella and
Alistair were in: The skating rink had become a solid swarm of creatures, a horrifying congregation
that stopped Evangeline cold.
“What are they doing?” Verlaine asked.
“They are walking into the center of the Gibborim,” Saitou-san said.
“We have to help them,” Evangeline said.
“Gabriella was clear about what we should do,” Bruno said, although the worry in his voice and
the deep furrows lining his brow belied his words. It was obvious that Gabriella’s actions terrified
him as well. “She must know what she’s doing.”
“Perhaps she does,” Verlaine said. “But how in the hell is she going to get out of there?”
Below, the Nephilim parted, making a path for Gabriella and Alistair to walk unimpeded to
Grigori, who stood near the statue of Prometheus. Gabriella appeared smaller, more fragile in the
shadow of the creatures, and the reality of their situation hit Evangeline with full force: The same
passion and dedication that drove the Venerable Father Clematis to descend into the depths of the
gorge and face the unknown and the drive to knowledge that had sealed her own mother’s murder—
these were the forces that brought Gabriella to fight Percival Grigori.
In a distant part of her consciousness, Evangeline understood the choreography of her
grandmother’s plan—she saw Gabriella arguing with Grigori, diverting his attention as Alistair ran to
the statue of Prometheus—yet she was shocked by the directness of Alistair’s execution. Stepping
gingerly into the pool of water, he waded to the statue’s base, mist soaking his clothes and hair as he
climbed to the golden ring encircling Prometheus’s body. Ice must have made the edge slippery:
instead of climbing farther, he reached along the interior of the ring and grasped at something behind
it. From her vantage directly above the statue, Evangeline could not be certain of the mechanics of the
procedure. And yet it appeared that Alistair was unfastening something from behind the ring. As he
lifted it free, she saw that he had detached a small bronze box.
“Evangeline!” Alistair called, his voice almost drowned out by the fountain, so that she hardly hear
him. “Catch!”
Alistair threw the box. It flew over the Prometheus statue, over the transparent plastic barrier
between the skating rink and the concourse, and fell at Evangeline’s feet. She scooped it from the
sidewalk and held it in her hand. The box was oblong and as heavy as a golden egg.
Clutching the case to her chest, Evangeline assessed the plaza once more. On one side, the ice rink
was blocked by people removing skates with studied nonchalance. The Gibborim had begun to
slowly encircle Alistair on the ice. He appeared frail and vulnerable compared to the Gibborim, and
when the creatures descended upon him, Evangeline touched the soft woolen scarf he had given her,
wishing she could do something to help him escape. But it was impossible to get close to him. Within
minutes, the creatures would finish their gruesome business with Alistair Carroll and turn upon the
angelologists.
Aware of the dire turn in their predicament, Bruno looked about the concourse for an escape route.
At last he appeared to arrive at a conclusion. “Come,” he said, gesturing to Verlaine and Evangeline
to follow him along the plaza.
Grigori barked something to them and, drawing a gun from his pocket, put it to Gabriella’s head.
“Come, Evangeline,” Bruno said, his voice filled with urgency. “Now.”
But Evangeline could not follow him. Looking from Bruno to her grandmother, held captive at the
center of the ice, she understood that she had to act quickly. She knew that Gabriella would want her
to follow Bruno—there was no doubt that the case containing the lyre was more important than the
life of any one of them—and yet she could not simply turn and leave her grandmother to die.
She squeezed Verlaine’s hand and, pulling herself away, ran to her grandmother. Down the steps
and onto the ice she ran, knowing even as she went that she was putting their lives—and much more—
in danger. Even so, she could not just leave Gabriella. She had lost everyone. Gabriella was all she