Angelopolis(13)

an anthropologist. The Emim angel traced a circle around Evangeline, marking her territory, and

slowly opened her enormous black wings. They were magnificent, falling in sweeping tiers, the small

feathers graduating into large opaque bursts of plumage. While the powdery feathers appeared heavy

and substantial, he knew that if he were to touch them, his hand would pass through, as if skimming

through a projection of light. Most Emim were repulsive, but this one was alluring, with all of the

defects of the breed altered to create a disturbing and dark beauty. Verlaine was captivated. He

wanted to remember each minute detail of what he was seeing, to store it in his mind so that he could

examine the creature again in the future.

As if to demonstrate the power and agility of her wings, Eno curled them around her body and, with

a pulse of strength, puffed them outward, so that they flared like the hood of a cobra. Although the

subject of years of intensive investigation, Verlaine was never quite prepared for the mystery, the

sheer inexplicable magic, of angels’ wings. Strength, breeding, and classification in the heavenly

sphere—all of this became instantly evident with a flash of a wing.

When Evangeline looked down at her opponent preparing to attack, she opened her wings in

response, so that a layer of purple light wrapped around her body in a shimmering cloud. Silver

streaks shot through the feathers, quick and electric, as if charged with a current. She swiveled and

turned, moonlight sliding over her. The display was meant to terrify and impress.

“Pay close attention,” Bruno whispered, his manner agitated. “You might never see an

identification ritual like this again.” He leaned closer to Verlaine, lowering his voice further. “First,

they will display their wings to establish hierarchy. When there is a great disparity in strength, the

weaker angel will submit straightaway. But clearly this match isn’t going to be like that. There are

two females creatures, both with extraordinary wings, one with a pedigree that should put her among

the elite angels, the other with the strength of a mercenary. The dominant creature isn’t obvious. If

they can’t establish a pecking order, they’ll fight a duel.”

Verlaine watched, fear growing in his stomach. The duel was an ancient angelic ritual, one that

was considered outdated by modernized Nephilim. For centuries the custom had remained embedded

in Russia, however, where the presence of the most powerful Nephilim, those descending from

ancient angelic families, reside. Human beings once copied the practice, challenging one another in

the name of honor, marking off paces and shooting at close range. In time, human beings had left the

practice behind. Now only the most traditional Nephilim fought duels.

In the abstract, Verlaine found the ritual to be beautiful, a kind of call-and-response between

creatures of strong but quite distinct species. Verlaine had watched archival footage of duels between

Nephilim many times, but Eno’s aggressive posturing, and Evangeline’s defensive reaction, was

unlike anything he had seen in the case studies he’d encountered. A duel between angels was

theoretically a confrontation to the death. Only one of the angels would make it out alive. And

although Evangeline was of a higher species of angel, he couldn’t help but sense that Eno would win.

Evangeline fixed the angel in her gaze. Verlaine could see that she was struggling with her thoughts,

that the confrontation was unexpected, that she didn’t want to fight. He remembered what she had said

about choosing not to become like the Nephilim, about being born with the characteristics of the

beasts but refusing to accept her fate. Every impulse told her to kill Eno, and yet he knew she would

not allow herself to do it.

Suddenly, Eno leaped into the air, her wings pushing her high above the rooftop once more.

Evangeline stretched her wings and swooped into the sky. Eno hovered, waiting for Evangeline,

watching her, preparing to attack. In a swirl of motion, the fight began. From a distance they looked

like dragonflies twisting and circling in the moonlight.

As Verlaine studied their movements, he saw that Evangeline was far more adept than he had

initially thought. Eno dove and struck, harrying Evangeline, darting at her, circling her, teasing her.

Evangeline responded, slamming into Eno full force. Eno fell back, tumbling through the air.

Recovering herself, she held her knees to her body, pushed herself forward, and turning in a

somersault, spun once, twice, three times, gaining momentum with each rotation until she was a ball

of fire. She launched herself at Evangeline, striking her with a force that threw her to the roof in a

clatter of slate tiles. She lay still, stunned from the force of her fall.