Angelopolis(30)

the production of angelic proteins. You’ve explored the mysteries of angelic and human hybrids.

You’ve even found and captured me, no small feat. Your work has uncovered the codes, the secrets of

production, all the answers to the questions you have. And still you don’t see.”

A tremor in Angela’s lip was all that revealed her growing irritation. “I think you may be surprised

by our capabilities,” Angela said, the faintest hint of insecurity passing over her features. She stood,

went to a cabinet, and removed an oblong object. “This, I believe, might be familiar to you.”

Verlaine recognized it instantly: It was an elaborately jeweled enamel egg. Although similar to the

one in his pocket, its design was distinctly different. The exterior was sprinkled with brilliant blue

sapphires.

“That,” Vera said, her eyes trained upon the egg, “is another of the missing eggs.”

As Verlaine followed Angela’s movements, he realized that his entire body had gone rigid.

Angela sat down, turning the egg in her hands, the gems glittering. To Verlaine’s great surprise,

even Percival watched with fascination.

“I thought you might recognize it,” Angela said. She opened the egg. Inside there was a golden hen

with eyes of rose-cut diamonds. Angela pushed the beak and the bird split apart, revealing a series of

glass vials.

While Percival Grigori’s expression transformed from surprise to bafflement, and then to rage, his

voice remained calm. “How?”

Angela smiled, triumphant. “Just as you have watched us, we have been watching you. We know

that Godwin has been collecting samples of blood.” Angela lifted one after the other and read the

labels. “ALEXEI, LUCIEN, EVANGELINE.”

Were it not for the undertone of anguish in Angela’s voice when she spoke her daughter’s name,

Verlaine would have doubted what he’d heard. If Evangeline had been marked by the Nephilim from

childhood, what would they do with her now that they had her in their possession?

Angela returned the vials to the egg and closed it. “What I want to understand is why, exactly, you

have these samples.”

“If you want to understand,” Percival said, “you will join us. There is a place for your work at the

Angelopolis.”

“I don’t think that will be possible,” she said, removing a small syringe from her pocket. “I have

some ideas of my own about purification.”

Percival narrowed his eyes as he examined the needle in her hand. “What is it?”

“A suspension that holds a virus. It affects creatures with wings—birds and Nephilim are

particularly vulnerable. I created it in my laboratory by employing mutations of known viral strains. It

is a simple virus, something like the flu. It would give human beings a headache and a fever, but

nothing more serious than that. If it is released into the Nephilim population, however, it will cause

mass extinction unlike anything you’ve seen since the Flood.” Angela lifted the syringe to the light,

revealing a green liquid. She shook it slightly, as if swirling wine in a glass. “A biological weapon,

some might call it. But I think of it as a way to level the field.”

A hint of cruelty shone in Angela’s eyes, and Verlaine understood that she had succeeded in turning

the interview around. Percival Grigori was once again in her power.

Angela hesitated for a moment, and then, taking the syringe in hand, moved toward him. Verlaine

sensed with growing alarm that he should not be there, should not be witnessing Angela Valko’s final

interaction with her father. In the decades since the film had been made, the virus in her syringe had

infected 60 percent of the Nephilim, killing and disabling the creatures with a vicious efficiency. The

disease had been such a powerful force that many in the society had joked that it was a pestilence sent

from heaven to help along their work.

But Verlaine knew a terrible truth that Angela did not: The personal wager she was making would

fail. The angel would tell her his secrets, but there would be consequences. Soon, within days after

the film was shot, Angela Valko would lose her life.



The Third Circle

GLUTTONY

Angelopolis, Chelyabinsk, Russia

Dr. Merlin Godwin noted the heaviness of Evangeline’s breath, the labored flickering of her eyes,

the expression of despair that crossed her face whenever she came back into consciousness. The last

time he saw her she had been a little girl. She had stared at him with intransigent curiosity. He had

spent twenty-five years looking for her, all the while hoping to have her just as he did now, weak as a

dragonfly dessicated in the sun.