students had sat quietly at the tables preparing for exams, carrying on their work as generations of
students had done before them. Now it felt to me that all had been lost. What would be left once our
texts were hidden away? I averted my eyes, unable to look at the undoing of my sanctuary.
In reality, the impending move was no great surprise. As the Germans drew closer, it was unsafe to
remain in such vulnerable quarters. I knew that we would soon be suspending classes and beginning
private lessons in small, well-hidden groups outside the city. Over the past weeks, most of our
lectures had been canceled. Interpretations of Creation and Angelic Physiology, my two favorite
courses, had been suspended indefinitely. Only the Valkos’ lectures had continued, and we were
aware that they would soon be disbanded. Yet the danger of invasion had not felt real until the
moment I found the Athenaeum in shambles.
Dr. Seraphina’s manner was tense and hurried as she brought us into a chamber at the back of the
library. Her mood reflected my own: I could not calm myself after what I had witnessed that morning.
I stole glances at Gabriella, as if her appearance might have been altered by her actions, but she was
as cool as ever. Dr. Seraphina paused, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and straightened her dress,
her anxiety plain. At the time I believed that my delayed arrival had upset her and that she was
concerned that we would be late to her lecture, but when we arrived at the back of the Athenaeum and
found an altogether different sort of meeting under way, I understood that there was more to Dr.
Seraphina’s manner than this.
A group of prestigious angelologists sat arrayed about a table, deep in heated debate. I knew the
council members by reputation—many had been visiting lecturers during the previous year—but I had
never seen them all gathered together in such an intimate setting. The council was composed of great
men and women stationed in positions of power throughout Europe—politicians and diplomats and
social leaders whose influence extended well beyond our school. These were the scholars whose
books had once lined the shelves of the Athenaeum, scientists whose research on the physical
properties and chemistry of angelic bodies made our discipline modern. A nun dressed in a habit of
heavy black serge—an angelologist who divided her time between theological study and 6eldwork—
sat near Gabriella’s uncle, Dr. Lévi-Franche, an elderly angelologist who specialized in the art of
angelic summoning, a dangerous and intriguing field I longed to study. The greatest angelologists of
our time were there, watching as Dr. Seraphina brought us into their presence.
She gestured for us to sit at the back of the room, at a remove from the council members. Deeply
curious about the subject of such an extraordinary meeting, I found that it took all my efforts to keep
from staring impolitely, and so I focused my attention upon a series of large maps of Europe that had
been posted upon the wall. Red dots marked cities of interest—Paris, London, Berlin, Rome. But
what truly piqued my interest was that a number of obscure cities had been singled out: There were
marks upon cities along the border of Greece and Bulgaria, creating a line of red between Sofia and
Athens. The area held particular interest to me, as it was in that obscure location at the farthest
reaches of Europe where my father was born.
Dr. Raphael stood by the maps waiting to speak. He was a serious man, one of the few completely
secular members to rise to the level of council chair while retaining a teaching post at the academy.
Dr. Seraphina had once mentioned that Dr. Raphael held the same dual position of administrator and
scholar as Roger Bacon, the English angelologist of the thirteenth century who had taught Aristotle at
Oxford and Franciscan theology in Paris. Bacon’s balance of intellectual rigor and spiritual humility
was an accomplishment regarded with great respect throughout the society, and I could not help but
see Dr. Raphael as his successor. As Dr. Seraphina took her place at the table, Dr. Raphael began to
speak, resuming where he had left off.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Raphael said, gesturing to the half-empty shelves and the assistants
wrapping and packing the books into boxes scattered throughout the Athenaeum, “our time has grown
short. Soon all of our resources will be packed up and stored in secure locations throughout the
countryside. Of course it is the only way—we are protecting ourselves from the contingencies of the
future. But the move comes at the worst possible time. Our work cannot be postponed during the war.
There is no question that we have to make a decision now.”
His voice was grave as he continued.