St. Rose Convent, Milton, New York
Verlaine walked across the lawn of the convent, his feet sinking into the snow. Only seconds before, the compound had nearly buckled under the weight of attack. The walls of the convent had been engulfed in flames, the courtyard filled with vile, belligerent creatures. Then, to his utter bewilderment, the battle had ceased. In an instant the fire had disappeared in the air, leaving behind only charred brick, sizzling metal, and the pungent smell of carbon. The creatures’ beating wings stilled midflight. They fell to the ground as if stricken by an electrical current, leaving heaps of broken bodies upon the snow. Verlaine observed the silent courtyard, the last remnants of smoke dispersing in the afternoon sky.
Walking to one of the bodies, he crouched before it. There was something odd about the appearance of the creature—not only had the radiance disappeared, but the entire physicality had changed. In death the skin had become mottled with imperfections—freckles, moles, scars, patches of dark hair. The clarified white of the fingernails had darkened, and when Verlaine pushed the body onto its stomach, he found that the wings had disappeared entirely, leaving behind a red powder. In life the creatures were half man, half angel. In death they appeared completely human.
Verlaine was distracted from the body by voices at the far side of the church. The population of St. Rose Convent filed into the courtyard and began to drag the bodies of Gibborim to the riverbank. Verlaine searched for Gabriella among them but could find her nowhere in their number. There were dozens of nuns, all dressed in heavy overcoats and boots. The women showed great determination in the face of the unpleasant work, organizing themselves into small groups and getting down to the business at hand without hesitation. As the bodies were large and unwieldy, the effort of four sisters was required to transport one creature. They dragged the corpses slowly over the courtyard to the banks of the Hudson, forming a groove of packed snow that slicked to ice. After stacking the creatures one upon another under the bower of a birch tree, they rolled them into the river. The bodies sank below the glassy surface as if weighted with lead.
As the nuns worked, Gabriella emerged from the church with a young woman, both of their faces blackened with smoke. He recognized Gabriella’s features in the young woman—the shape of the nose, the point of the chin, the high cheekbones. It was Evangeline.
“Come,” Gabriella said to Verlaine, clutching a brown leather case under her arm. “We haven’t time to waste.”
“But the Porsche has only two seats,” Verlaine said, realizing the problem even as he articulated it.
Gabriella stopped short, as if her inability to foresee the dilemma at hand annoyed her more than she wished to let on.
“Is there a problem?” Evangeline asked, and Verlaine felt himself drawn to the musical quality of her voice, the serenity of her manner, the ghostly shade of Gabriella in her features.
“Our car is rather small,” Verlaine said, wondering what Evangeline might be thinking.
Evangeline looked at him a moment too long, as if verifying that he was the same man she’d met the day before. When she smiled, he knew that he had not been mistaken. Something between them had taken hold.
“Follow me,” Evangeline said, turning on her heel and walking swiftly away. She traversed the courtyard quickly, with purpose, her small black shoes breaking through the snow. Verlaine knew that he would have followed her anywhere she cared to go.
Ducking between two of the utility vans, Evangeline led them along an icy sidewalk and through the side door of a brick garage. Inside, the air was stagnant and free of the dense smell of the fire. She lifted a set of keys from a hook and shook them.
“Get in,” she said, gesturing to the brown four-door sedan. “I’ll drive.”