Angelology(210)

snatch the instrument from her, Percival measured his movements. He must remain calm. He mustn’t

frighten her away.

“You have waited for me,” he said, smiling down at Evangeline. Despite the power her wings gave

her, there was something childlike in her manner. She was hesitant as she met his gaze.

“I couldn’t leave,” she said. “I had to see for myself what it means—”

“What it means to be one of us?” Percival said. “Ah, there is much to learn. There is much I will

teach you.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Percival placed his hand on Evangeline’s back, sliding his

fingers on the delicate skin at the base of her wings. As he pressed the point where the appendages

met her spine, she felt suddenly vulnerable, as if he had hit upon a hidden weakness.

Percival said, “Retract them. Someone may see you. You must only open them in private.”

With Percival’s instruction Evangeline retracted the wings, their airy substance collapsing as they

slipped from view.

“Good,” he said, leading her along the platform. “Very good. You will understand everything soon

enough.”

Together Percival and Evangeline made their way up the stairs and through the mezzanine of the

station. Leaving the neon behind, they walked outside and into the cold, clear night. The Brooklyn

Bridge lifted before them, its massive towers illuminated by floodlights. Percival searched for a taxi,

but the streets were deserted. They would need to find a way back to the apartment. Sneja was surely

waiting. No longer able to contain himself, Percival eased the lyre from Evangeline’s grasp. He held

it close to his chest, basking in his conquest. His granddaughter had brought him the lyre. Soon, his

strength would return. He only wished Sneja were there to witness the glory of the Grigori. Then, his

triumph would have been complete.

Brooklyn Bridge—City Hall station, New York City

Without the lyre, Evangeline’s senses returned and she began to understand the spell the lyre had cast

upon her. She had been captive to it, held in a mesmerism that she only fully comprehended once the

lyre had been taken from her. Horrified, she recalled how she had simply stood by as Percival killed

Gabriella. Her grandmother had struggled under his grasp, and Evangeline—who was near enough to

hear the exhalation of Gabriella’s last breath—had merely observed her suffering, feeling nothing at

all but a removed, almost clinical interest in the kill. She’d noted how Percival had placed his hands

upon Gabriella’s chest, how Gabriella had struggled, and then, as if the life had been sucked from

her, how Gabriella had become perfectly still. Watching Percival, Evangeline understood the

pleasure he’d taken from the kill. To her horror, she longed to experience the sensation for herself.

Tears came to her eyes. Had Gabriella died as Angela had? Had her own mother struggled and

suffered at Percival’s hands? In disgust, Evangeline touched her shoulders and the flat of her back.

The wings were gone. Although she remembered clearly that Percival had taught her to retract them

and that she had felt them settle under her clothing, resting lightly against her skin as she’d tucked

them away, she was not quite certain that they had existed at all. Perhaps it had been a terrible

nightmare. And yet the lyre in Percival’s possession proved that everything had happened just as she

remembered.

“Come, assist me,” Percival ordered. Unbuttoning his overcoat and then the silk shirt beneath, he

revealed the front of an intricate black leather harness. “Unbuckle it. I must see for myself.”

The buckles were small and difficult to unfasten, but soon she had worked them open. Evangeline

felt that she might be sick as her fingers brushed her grandfather’s cold, white flesh. Percival stripped

away his shirt and let the harness fall to the floor. His ribs were lined with burns and bruises from the

leather. She stood so close to Percival that she could smell his body. His proximity repelled her.

“Behold,” Percival said, his manner triumphant. He turned, and Evangeline saw small nubs of new

pink flesh scaled with golden feathers. “They are returning, exactly as I knew they would. Everything

has changed now that you have joined us.”

Evangeline watched him, taking in his words, weighing the choice before her. It would be easy to

follow Grigori, to join his family and become one of them. Perhaps, he had been right when he said

that she was a Grigori. Yet, her grandmother’s words echoed through her mind: “Do not fall pray to

the temptations you feel. It is up to you to do what is right.” Evangeline looked beyond Grigori. The