“Angela felt this as well?” Vera asked, finding it hard to imagine the savvy Angela Valko falling
prey to any mystical mumbo jumbo.
“I believe so,” Valko said. “In any case, she convinced Katya to let her take Lucien outside. The
creature was delighted by the air, the coldness of the snow, the blue sky, the open spaces. He had
never seen the Neva, never touched ice, never heard music played at the theater. Angela showed him
the human world, and, in turn, he began to teach her what it meant to be ethereal. I cannot say if
Angela had planned to seduce him from the beginning, but from the moment she saw him, there
seemed to be no other course for my daughter. They fell in love before my eyes. Soon they were
having an affair. And in 1978, after Angela returned to Paris, she gave birth to Lucien’s child.”
Vera felt almost too stunned to speak. “Luca Cacciatore was Evangeline’s father.”
“Biologically, Luca had nothing to do with Evangeline’s existence. The girl’s biological father
was, in fact, Lucien.”
“Did Luca know this?” Azov asked.
Valko sighed. “It would be impossible for me to say. My daughter closed herself to me after
Evangeline’s birth.”
“Are there records anywhere about this angel?” Vera forced herself to ask. The existence of such a
creature mirrored her work so closely—and would prove her theories with such finality—that she
was almost afraid to press ahead. “Photographs? Video? Anything that proves his existence?”
“There is no need for photos or videos,” Valko said, crossing his arms and meeting Vera’s eye.
“Lucien is with us.”
Trans-Siberian Railway
Bruno’s thoughts were so filled with Angela Valko’s report, the details of her discovery in
Godwin’s lab, and the repercussions of what she had found that he didn’t hear the metal door slide
open. By the time he realized what was happening it was too late: The Grigori twins were already
inside the carriage, surrounded by an army of Gibborim angels. As Yana pulled her gun, and the
explosion of bullets rattled the car, he snapped into action, falling to the floor, groping for his gun,
and backing Yana up. She was hitting her targets, but, as they both knew, ordinary ammunition did
little to affect or harm the Gibborim. They felt the bullets the way Bruno felt the sting of an insect.
From a purely theoretical point of view, the twins were incredible to watch. Immensely tall, thin,
pale as milk, their large eyes staring vacantly into the beyond—these Nephilim were the ideal
specimens for study. That they were in duplicate, and that they were of such a rarified pedigree, only
made them more desirable. He tried to see them through the masses of Gibborim, but they were so
well protected that he wasn’t even sure they were in the carriage any longer. A wave of anger washed
through him: They should have captured these bastards in St. Petersburg.
Bruno stood and pushed through a line of Gibborim, calling for Yana to watch his back. The
Gibborim surrounded him, their claws ripping into his clothes. He felt his arms and back burn, as if
he were running naked through a twist of barbed wire. Fighting them put him in a space of pure
movement, a place where he lost all thought and simply felt the rush of his fists, the power of his legs,
the breath moving in and out of his lungs. A gush of cold air filled the space: The door to Eno’s
storage cell must have been opened. By the time he’d pushed through the Gibborim, the twins had Eno
out of her cell and were making their way through the train, Eno between them.
Yana screamed something in the distance—he couldn’t make out her words—and he felt a blow to
his head. He hit the ground, closed his eyes, and willed himself to stay conscious. When he opened
his eyes, the Gibborim were scattered throughout the room, their bodies black as electrocuted flies.
Yana stood over him, her beautiful face filled with concern. “Bruno,” she whispered. “Are you
okay?”
Bruno took her hand and sat up. Looking more closely, he saw that Yana had decimated the entire
population of Gibborim in one fell swoop. Bruno raised an eyebrow, sure that he looked like a
smitten schoolboy. “How’d you do that?”
“Gibborish charm,” Yana said, smiling as she helped Bruno to stand up. “One of the many tricks up
my sleeve.”
“Can’t wait to see your next one,” Bruno said, looking through the door at the empty carriages. The
Grigori were long gone. “They’ve released all of your prisoners.”
“Come on,” Yana said. “We have to recapture them.”
Bruno followed close behind Yana as they ran through the train. The carriages were uniformly