importance is at hand. In certain cases the square alerts us that something is hidden nearby—a missive
or communication, perhaps. Magical squares have always played a part in religious ceremonies, and
this square is no exception. The use of such squares is ancient, and our group does not take credit for
their development in this regard. Indeed, the squares have been found in China, Arabia, India, and
Europe and were even constructed by Benjamin Franklin in the United States in the eighteenth century.
The next page contained the Square of Mars, the numbers of which drew my eye into it with an
almost magnetic pull.
Below the square Seraphina had written:
The Sigil of Michael. Sigil derives from the Latin sigilum, which means “seal,” or the
Hebrew segulah meaning “word of spiritual effect.” In ceremony each sigil represents a
spiritual being—either white or black—whose presence can be summoned by the
angelologist, most prominently the higher orders of angels and demons. Summoning occurs
through incantations, sigils, and a series of sympathetic interchanges between spirit and
summoning agent. Nota bene: Incantatory summoning is an extraordinarily dangerous
undertaking, often proving fatal to the medium, and must be used only as a last and final effort
to bring forth angelic beings.
Turning to another page, I found numerous sketches of musical instruments—a lute and a lyre and a
beautifully rendered harp, similar to the drawings that filled earlier pages of the notebook. Such
instruments meant little to me. I could not imagine the sounds the instruments would make when
played, nor did I know how to read musical notation. My strengths had always been numerical, and as
a result I had studied mathematics and the sciences and knew next to nothing about music. Ethereal
musicology—which Vladimir, the angelologist from Russia, knew so well—had thus far completely
baffled me, the modes and scales clouding my mind.
Occupied with these thoughts for some time, I at last looked up from my reading. Gabriella had
moved next to me on the settee, her chin resting in her hand, her eyes moving languidly over the pages
of a bound text. She wore clothing I had not noticed before, a silk twill blouse and wide-legged
trousers that appeared custom-tailored to her figure. The hint of a bandage could be seen under the
diaphanous silk sleeve of her left arm, the only remaining evidence of the trauma I had witnessed after
Dr. Raphael’s lecture weeks earlier. She seemed to be another person entirely from the frightened girl
who had burned her arm.
Examining the book in her hands, I discerned the title The Book of Enoch stamped upon the spine.
Much as I wanted to share my discovery with Gabriella, I knew better than to interrupt her reading,
and so instead I refastened the golden clasp of the journal, pressing the delicate sickle-shaped wings
together until they caught and clicked. Then, resolving to forge ahead in our cataloging duties, I
braided my hair—long, unruly blond hair that I wished to cut into a severe bob, as Gabriella had done
—and began the tedious task of sorting through the Valkos’ papers alone.
Dr. Seraphina came to check on us each day at noon, bringing a basket of bread and cheese, a pot of
mustard, and a bottle of cold water for our lunch. Usually I could hardly wait for her arrival, but that
morning I had been so engrossed in my work that I did not realize it was nearly time for a break until
she swept into the room and deposited the basket on the table before us. In the hours that had passed, I
had barely noticed anything at all but the seemingly endless accretion of data, especially the Valkos’
field notes from their earliest expedition, a grueling journey through the Pyrenees, with measurements
of caves, their gradations and densities of granites filling ten field journals. It was only as Dr.
Seraphina sat with us and I was able to pull myself away from my work did I realize that I was
extremely hungry. Clearing the table, I gathered the papers and closed the notebooks. I made myself
comfortable on the settee, my gabardine skirt slipping on the textured vermilion silk, and prepared for
lunch.
After arranging the basket on the table before us, Dr. Seraphina turned to Gabriella. “How are you
progressing?”
“I have been reading Enoch’s account of the Watchers,” Gabriella replied.
“Ah,” Dr. Seraphina said. “I should have known you would be attracted to Enoch. It is one of the
most interesting texts in our canon. And one of the strangest.”
“Strangest?” I said, glancing at Gabriella. If Enoch was so brilliant, why hadn’t Gabriella shared
his work with me?
“It is a fascinating text,” Gabriella said, her face brimming with intelligence, the very passionate