Angelopolis(103)

lower order of angel, nor any of the common creatures serving the Nephilim. She was not one of the

Anakim, Mara, Golobians, or Gibborim. It was such a simple truth that he was astonished he hadn’t

understood it before: No angelologist could possibly gauge how far the Nephilim had fallen from

grace until beholding the beauty of a pure angel.

“We need to find an exit tunnel that hasn’t been blocked,” Verlaine called up to her. “If the nuclear

reactor is affected, this is going to be a death trap. If we don’t find an open tunnel, we’ll die here.”

“Maybe there’s another way out,” Evangeline said.

Verlaine looked up, trying to imagine her perspective. She was at the top of the structure. “Can you

see something from up there?” he shouted.

Evangeline swooped close and Verlaine grabbed hold of her without giving it a moment’s thought.

She flew fast and reckless through the panopticon, rising up and falling back, as if she were afloat on

a stormy sea. Verlaine clung to her, overwhelmed by the pure adrenaline of losing contact with the

ground. The thrill of their ascent made him giddy. He wanted to hold Evangeline closer, to move as

her body moved, to fly higher and higher with her. He was sure that all of the thoughts and all of the

desires that he’d ever felt had collected in his heart at that moment. It didn’t matter what happened, as

long as he was with Evangeline.

Another explosion ruptured through the panopticon, sending a cascade of fire in their path.

Evangeline dipped and rose, and Verlaine felt breathless as he lost hold of Evangeline’s body. He

fell, reaching for something solid to grasp, his hands flailing in the air. Before he had a chance to call

her name, Evangeline appeared, her green eyes sharp, her body as bright as the sun as she swooped

underneath and caught him. He never wanted to let her go.

He looked at her in wonder. There was a profound serenity in her features and—despite the fact

that she was much stronger than him and had just saved his life—a gentleness he admired.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. “I owe you one.”

“I wouldn’t let you fall,” she said. “Ever.”

They flew to the ground and he stepped away from her, examining her among the ruins of the

panopticon. In the smoke, with her wings retracted, she looked almost human.

“Can you see?” he asked, gesturing toward a tunnel. “Can we get out that way?”

Evangeline nodded. “It’s open,” she said. “It’s probably the only one, though.”

Verlaine grasped her ice-cold hand and pulled her toward the tunnel. Thick, toxic smoke obscured

his vision. “We have to go now, before it closes.”

Ahead, at the end of a passage, grew a golden light. As he approached, the light grew stronger

until, in a burst of brilliance, it consumed the darkness entirely. Verlaine stood in a blaze of

illumination. The walls of the panopticon—polished titanium with bolts the size of his head—gave

off a wavering reflection. The light seemed to twist through the air, creating a cone so distinctly

overpowering he could not make out what was before him. He removed his eyeglasses and the source

came into sharp focus. Verlaine found a creature of such marvelous beauty he was certain it had come

directly from heaven. He fell to the ground, covering his eyes with his arm, blinking against the light,

falling into a painful blindness.

By the time Verlaine recovered his sight, the angel stood with Evangeline. Despite his huge white

wings, there was something simple, something almost childlike about him.

He could see Evangeline staring at the archangel, her eyes narrowed, her body tense. “What are

you?” she asked at last.

“You know very well what I am,” the angel said, opening his enormous white wings. “And I can

sense what you are, too. Nevertheless, I’ll stand on convention and tell you my name. I am Lucien.

And although it is merely an exercise, and I know who and what you are, I will ask you to identify

yourself.”

Evangeline circled the angel, sidestepping to the left and right. Then, in an elegant flourish, she

snapped open her wings, displaying them in the glow of Lucien’s body. The purple and silver feathers

seemed electric in comparison to Lucien’s white wings. Verlaine felt his heart beating in his chest as

he realized that Evangeline’s beauty, her luminosity and grandeur, were on par with the creature

before her. Together, they were the most pure and rare angels he had ever seen.

“You are lovely,” Lucien said, smiling slightly. “And unusual, too.” He stepped forward and

bowed to Evangeline. “I have waited many years to see you again.”