your luck with Clematis. However, I must warn you that he can be a great puzzle. He beckons one
forward, promising to answer the mysteries of the Watchers, and then remains eerily silent. He is an
angelological sphinx. If you are capable of bringing something new to light from Clematis, my dear,
you will be the first to accompany me on the Second Angelic Expedition.”
Throughout the remaining weeks of October, Gabriella and I spent our days in Dr. Seraphina’s office,
working with quiet determination as we cataloged and organized the mountains of information. The
intensity of our schedule and the passion with which I strove to understand the materials before me
left me too exhausted to ponder Gabriella’s increasingly strange behavior. She spent little time at our
apartment and no longer attended the Valkos’ lectures. Her work on cataloging had fallen off so that
she came to Dr. Seraphina’s office only a few days a week, while I was there every day. It was a
relief to be so occupied as to forget the rift that had developed between us. For a month I charted
mathematical data relating to the depth of Balkan geologic formations, a task that was so tedious I
began to wonder at its benefit. Yet despite the seemingly endless stream of facts the Valkos had
collected, I carried on without complaint, knowing that there was a larger purpose at hand. The
pressure of our impending move from our school buildings and the dangers of the war only added
urgency to my task.
On a sleepy afternoon in early November, the gray sky pressing upon the large windows of Dr.
Seraphina’s office, our professor arrived and announced that she had something of interest to show
us. There was so much work before us, and Gabriella and I were so buried in papers, that we began
to object to the interruption.
“Come,” Dr. Seraphina said, smiling slightly, “you have worked hard all day. A short break will
clear your minds.”
It was an odd request to make—Dr. Seraphina had warned us often that time was running out—but
a relief nonetheless. I welcomed the recess, and Gabriella, who had been agitated most of the day for
reasons I could only guess, appeared to need a respite as well.
Dr. Seraphina led us away from her office, through a winding hallway and into the farthest reaches
of the school, where a series of long-abandoned offices opened upon a darkened gallery. Inside,
under the dim light of electric bulbs, hired assistants were fitting paintings and statues and other
works of fine art into wooden boxes. Sawdust littered the marble floor so that in the waning afternoon
light the room had the aspect of the ruins of an exhibition. Gabriella’s characteristic appreciation of
such precious works drew her to wander from object to object, looking carefully upon each, as if
memorizing it before its departure. I turned to Dr. Seraphina, hoping she would explain the nature of
our visit, but she was wholly absorbed in studying Gabriella. She watched her every move, weighing
her reactions.
On the tables, waiting to be packed away, uncountable manuscripts lay open for view. The sight of
so many precious objects collected in one place made me wish that I were with the Gabriella I had
known the year before. Then our friendship had been one of intense scholarship and mutual respect. A
year ago Gabriella and I would have stopped to discuss the exotic beasts leering down from the
paintings—the manticore with its human face and lion’s body, the harpy, the dragonlike amphisbaena,
and the lascivious centaur. Gabriella would have explained everything in precise detail—how these
representations were artistic depictions of evil, each one a manifestation of the devil’s grotesqueries.
I used to marvel at her ability to retain an encyclopedic catalog of angelology and demonology, the
academic and religious symbolism that so often eluded my more mathematical mind. But now, even if
Dr. Seraphina were not present, Gabriella would have kept her observations to herself. She had
withdrawn from me entirely, and my longing for her insights was the desire for a friendship that had
ceased to exist.
Seraphina stayed close by, watching our reactions to the objects that surrounded us, paying
particular attention to Gabriella.
“This is the point of departure for all treasures this side of the Maginot Line,” Dr. Seraphina finally
said. “Once properly boxed and cataloged, they will be moved to safe locations throughout the
country. My only worry,” she said, pausing before a carved ivory diptych laid out upon a bed of blue
velvet, a fan of pale tissue paper crinkled about its edges, “is that we won’t get them out in time.”
The anxiety Dr. Seraphina felt at the possible invasion by the Germans was evident in her manner