Angelology

Rockefeller Center Ice Skating Rink, Fifth Avenue, New York City
Evangeline glanced at the rink, following the skaters’ slow, circular progress. Colored lights fell upon the glossy surface of the ice, skittering under blades and disappearing in the shadows. In the distance a tremendous Christmas tree rose against a solid gray building, its red and silver lights glinting like a million fireflies captured in a glass cone. Rows of majestic herald angels, their wings delicate and white as lily petals, stood below the tree like a legion of sentries, their wire bodies illuminated, their elongated brass trumpets raised in choral praise to the heavens. The shops along the concourse—bookstores and clothing stores, stationery shops and chocolatiers—had begun to close, sending customers into the night with gifts and shopping bags tucked under their arms.
Pulling her overcoat close, Evangeline wrapped herself in a cocoon of warmth. She cradled the cold metal casket—the crossbars of the lyre tucked safely inside—in her hands. At her side, Bruno Bechstein and Alistair Carroll scanned the masses beyond the rink. Hundreds and hundreds of people filled the plaza. “White Christmas” played through a tiny overhead speaker, its melody punctuated by laughter from the skating rink. Fifteen minutes remained until the designated meeting time, and the others were nowhere to be found. The air was crisp, smelling of snow. Evangeline inhaled, and a fit of coughing overtook her. Her lungs were so tight she could hardly breathe. What had begun as simple discomfort in her chest had grown in the past hours to a full-blown hack. Each breath she took felt labored, giving her only the slightest bit of air.
Alistair Carroll removed his scarf and placed it gently around Evangeline’s collar. “You are freezing, my dear,” he said. “Protect yourself from this wind.”
“I’ve hardly noticed it,” Evangeline said, drawing the thick, soft wool about her neck. “I’m too worried to feel anything. The others should be here by now.”
“It was at this time of year that we came to Rockefeller Center with the fourth piece of the lyre,” Alistair said. “Christmas 1944. I drove Abby here in the middle of the night and helped her through a terrible storm. Luckily, she had the foresight to call the security personnel herself, informing them that we would be coming. Their assistance proved most useful.”
“So you are aware of what is hidden here?” Bruno said. “You’ve seen it?”
“Oh, yes,” Alistair said. “I packed the tuning pegs of the lyre into the protective case myself. It was quite an ordeal, finding a case that would allow us to hide the pegs here, but Abby was certain that this was the best place. I carried the case in my own hands and assisted Mrs. Rockefeller in locking it away. The pegs are tiny, and so the case is merely the weight of a pocket-watch without its fob. It is so very compact that one cannot conceive that it could hold something so essential to the instrument. But it is a fact: The lyre will not produce a note without the pegs.”
Evangeline tried to imagine the small knobs, envisioning how they fit onto the crossbar. “Do you know how to reassemble it?” Evangeline asked.
“Like all things, there is an order one must follow,” Alistair said. “Once the crossbar is fitted into the arms of the lyre’s base, the strings must be wound about the tuning pegs, each at a certain tension. The difficulty, I believe, is in the tuning of the lyre, a skill that requires a trained ear.”
Directing their attention to the angels collected before the Christmas tree, he added, “I assure you that the lyre looks nothing at all like the stereotypical instruments held by the herald angels. The wire angels at the base of the Christmas tree were introduced to Rockefeller Center in 1954, one year after Philip Johnson completed the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden and ten years after the treasure’s interment here. Although these lovely creatures’ appearance here was purely coincidental—Mrs. Rockefeller had passed away by then, and nobody, save myself, knew about what had been hidden here—I find the symbolism rather exquisite. It is fitting, this collection of heralds, wouldn’t you say? One feels it the moment one enters the plaza at Christmastime: Here is the treasure of the angels, waiting to be uncovered.”
“The case was not placed near the Christmas tree?” Evangeline asked.
“Not at all,” Alistair replied, gesturing to the statue at the far end of the skating rink, where the statue of Prometheus rose above the rink, its smooth gilded-bronze surface wrapped in light. “The case is part of the Prometheus statue. There it lies, in its gilded prison.”
Evangeline studied the sculpture of Prometheus. It was a soaring figure that appeared to be caught in midair. The fire stolen from the hearth of the gods blazed in his tapering fingers, and a bronze ring of the zodiac encircled his feet. Evangeline knew the myth of Prometheus well. After stealing fire from the gods, Prometheus was punished by Zeus, who bound him to a rock and sent an eagle to peck at his body for eternity. Prometheus’s punishment was equated with his crime: The gift of fire marked the beginning of human innovation and technology, harkening the gods’ growing irrelevance.
“I have never seen the statue up close,” Evangeline said. In the light of the skating rink, the skin of the sculpture appeared molten. Prometheus and the fire he’d stolen were one incendiary entity.
“It is no masterpiece,” Alistair said. “Nevertheless, it suits Rockefeller Center perfectly. Paul Manship was a friend of the Rockefeller family’s—they knew his work well and commissioned him to create the sculpture. There is more than a passing reference to my former employers in the myth of Prometheus—their ingenuity and ruthlessness, their trickery, their dominance. Manship knew that these references would not be lost on John D. Rockefeller Jr., who had used all his influence to build Rockefeller Center during the Great Depression.”
“Nor are they lost on us,” Gabriella said, surprising Evangeline as she appeared among them, Verlaine at her side. “Prometheus holds fire in his hands, but thanks to Mrs. Rockefeller he holds something even more important as well.”
“Gabriella,” Evangeline said. Relief overcame her as she hugged her grandmother. Only then, feeling Gabriella’s frail embrace, did she realize how worried she’d been.
“You have the other pieces of the lyre?” Gabriella said, impatient. “Show them to me.”
Evangeline opened the casket holding the crossbar, showing her grandmother the contents. Gabriella unfastened the leather case, where she had kept the cloth pouch containing the lyre’s strings, the plectrum, and the angelological notebook, then set the casket inside. Only after collecting the pieces of the instruments in the case and making sure that it was securely closed did Gabriella notice Alistair Carroll standing at the periphery of the group. She examined him warily until Evangeline introduced him, explaining his relationship with Mrs. Rockefeller and the assistance he had offered them.
“Do you know how to remove the pegs from the statue?” Gabriella inquired, her manner one of intense purpose, as if a lifetime of expertise had been distilled into this one moment. “You know where they have been hidden?”
“The precise location, madam,” Alistair said. “It has been etched upon my mind for half a century.”
“Where are Vladimir and Saitou-san?” Bruno asked, suddenly realizing that they were missing two angelologists.
Verlaine checked his watch. He stood so close to Evangeline that she could read the time. It was 6:13.
“They should be here by now,” Evangeline said.
Bruno looked at the Prometheus statue glinting at the far end of the skating rink. “We can’t wait much longer.”
“We can’t wait another second,” Gabriella said. “It is too dangerous to expose ourselves in this fashion.”
“Were you followed?” Alistair asked, clearly alarmed by Gabriella’s anxious manner.
“Gabriella believes we were,” Verlaine said, “although we were fortunate enough to complete our work at the Cloisters without trouble.”
“This was part of their plan,” Gabriella said, scanning the crowd as if she might find the enemy lurking in the mass of shoppers. “We left the Cloisters unmolested because they chose to let us do so. We can’t wait another moment. Vladimir and Saitou-san will be here soon enough.”
“In that case let us proceed immediately,” Alistair said, displaying a calm Evangeline found admirable, reminding her of the stalwart sisters of St. Rose Convent she’d left behind.
Alistair led them along the edge of the plaza and down a concrete stairway to the rink. Walking alongside the plastic wall bordering the ice, they made their way toward the statue. The GE Building soared before them, its great facade broken by a row of flags-American, British, French, Portuguese, German, Dutch, Spanish, Japanese, Italian, Chinese, Greek, Brazilian, Korean—the unrelenting wind lifting them into the air in whorls of color. Perhaps the years of isolation at St. Rose had made Evangeline sensitive to crowds—she found herself examining the people gathering around the rink. There were teenagers in tight jeans and ski jackets; there were parents with little children; there were young lovers and middle-aged couples, all skating around and around one another. The crowd made her see how far away from the world she had lived.
Suddenly she spotted a dark-cloaked figure not five feet from her. Tall, pale-skinned, with great red eyes, the creature stared intently at her, a menacing expression on its face. Evangeline turned in all directions, panic coursing through her. Gibborim had mixed within the crowd, each tall, dark figure standing in silent attention.
Evangeline grasped Verlaine’s hand and drew him closer. “Look,” she whispered. “They’re here.”
“You have to leave,” he said, meeting her eye. “Now, before we’re trapped.”
“I think it’s too late for that,” Evangeline said, glancing around them, her terror growing. The number of Gibborim had multiplied. “They are everywhere.”
“Come with me,” he said, pulling her away from the cluster of angelologists. “We can leave together.”
“Not now,” Evangeline said, leaning close so that only he could hear her. “We have to help Gabriella.”
“But what if we fail?” Verlaine said. “What if something happens to you?”
She smiled slightly and said, “You know, you are the only person in the world who knows my favorite place. Someday I’d like to go there with you.
Evangeline heard her name and they both turned. Gabriella was beckoning to them.
As they joined the angelologists, Alistair was examining the crowd. His expression solidified into one of horror. Evangeline followed his gaze to the end of the skating rink, where a cluster of the stark white creatures, their wings carefully hidden under long black cloaks, had gathered at the statue of Prometheus. In the middle of it all stood a tall, elegant man leaning heavily upon a cane.
“Who is that?” Evangeline asked, pointing to the man.
“That,” Gabriella said, “is Percival Grigori.”
Evangeline recognized his name at once. This was Verlaine’s client, Percival Grigori of the infamous Grigori family. This was also the man who had killed her mother. She watched him from a distance, transfixed by the terrible spectacle. She’d never met him before, but Percival Grigori had destroyed her family.
Gabriella said, “Your mother looked very like him. Her height, her coloring, and her big blue eyes. I was always worried that she was too much like him.” Her voice was so quiet that Evangeline could hardly hear her. “It terrified me how Nephilistic my Angela appeared. My biggest fear was that she would grow to be like him.”
Before Evangeline could respond to this cryptic message-and the horrifying implications it foretold—Grigon raised a hand and the creatures embedded in the crowd stepped forward. They were more numerous than Evangeline had initially thought—row upon row of black-cloaked figures, pale and skeletal, appeared from nowhere, as if they had materialized out of the cold, dry evening air. Evangeline watched, awestruck, as they pushed toward her. Soon the periphery of the ice darkened with a nimbus of creatures. A collective consternation appeared to immobilize the skaters as the Gibborim encroached. They left off from their hypnotic circling and looked askance at the growing population looming around them, pausing to examine the strange figures with curiosity rather than fear. Children pointed to them in wonder, while adults, perhaps inured by the everyday spectacles of the city, endeavored to ignore the strange events entirely. Then, in one swift motion, the Gibborim swarmed the railings of the plaza. The collective trance of immobility shattered in an instant. Masses of frightened people were suddenly surrounded on all sides. The angelologists were caught at the center of an elaborate net.
Evangeline heard someone call her grandmother’s name and turned to find Saitou-san making her way through the throng. Evangeline knew instantly that something terrible must have happened at Riverside Church. Saitou-san had been injured. Cuts covered her face, and her jacket was ripped. Worst of all, she was alone.
“Where is Vladimir?” Gabriella asked, looking over Saitou-san with concern.
“He isn’t here yet?” Saitou-san asked, out of breath. “We were separated at Riverside Church. Gibborim were there, with Grigori. I don’t know how they would know to come here, unless Vladimir told them.”
“You left him?” Gabriella asked.
“I ran. I had no choice.” Saitou-san pulled out a velvet bundle that had been hidden inside her coat and cradled an object against her body as if it were a baby. “It was the only way to get out with this.”
“The base of the lyre,” Gabriella said, taking it from Saitou-san. “You found it.”
“Yes,” Saitou-san said. “Did you recover the other pieces?”
“All but the tuning pegs,” Evangeline said. “Which are there, in the middle of the Gibborim.”
Saitou-san and Gabriella gazed at the skating rink, which had become filled with Gibborim.
Calling Bruno to them, Gabriella spoke to him in a low, commanding voice. Try as she might, Evangeline could not make out her grandmother’s words, only the urgency with which they were uttered. Finally Gabriella took Evangeline by the arm. “Go with Bruno,” she said, placing the leather case containing the pieces of the instrument in Evangeline’s hands. “Do exactly as he tells you. You must take these as far from here as you can. If all goes well, I will be with you soon.”
The contours of the skating rink wavered at the edges of Evangeline’s vision as her eyes filled with tears—somehow, despite her grandmother’s assurance to the contrary, she felt that she would not see Gabriella again. Perhaps Gabriella understood her thoughts. She opened her arms and took Evangeline into them, hugging her tightly. Kissing her lightly upon the cheek, Gabriella whispered, “Angelology is not simply an occupation. It is a calling. Your work is just beginning, my dear Evangeline. Already you are everything I hoped you would be.”
Without another word, Gabriella followed Alistair through the crowd. Making their way alongside the ice rink, they disappeared into the chaotic crush of movement and noise.
Bruno took Verlaine and Evangeline by the arms and guided them up the concrete steps to the main plaza, Saitou-san following close behind. They did not stop until they were standing among the rows of flags behind the statue of Prometheus. From above, Evangeline saw the danger Gabriella and Alistair were in: The skating rink had become a solid swarm of creatures, a horrifying congregation that stopped Evangeline cold.
“What are they doing?” Verlaine asked.
“They are walking into the center of the Gibborim,” Saitou-san said.
“We have to help them,” Evangeline said.
“Gabriella was clear about what we should do,” Bruno said, although the worry in his voice and the deep furrows lining his brow belied his words. It was obvious that Gabriella’s actions terrified him as well. “She must know what she’s doing.”
“Perhaps she does,” Verlaine said. “But how in the hell is she going to get out of there?”
Below, the Nephilim parted, making a path for Gabriella and Alistair to walk unimpeded to Grigori, who stood near the statue of Prometheus. Gabriella appeared smaller, more fragile in the shadow of the creatures, and the reality of their situation hit Evangeline with full force: The same passion and dedication that drove the Venerable Father Clematis to descend into the depths of the gorge and face the unknown and the drive to knowledge that had sealed her own mother’s murder—these were the forces that brought Gabriella to fight Percival Grigori.
In a distant part of her consciousness, Evangeline understood the choreography of her grandmother’s plan—she saw Gabriella arguing with Grigori, diverting his attention as Alistair ran to the statue of Prometheus—yet she was shocked by the directness of Alistair’s execution. Stepping gingerly into the pool of water, he waded to the statue’s base, mist soaking his clothes and hair as he climbed to the golden ring encircling Prometheus’s body. Ice must have made the edge slippery: instead of climbing farther, he reached along the interior of the ring and grasped at something behind it. From her vantage directly above the statue, Evangeline could not be certain of the mechanics of the procedure. And yet it appeared that Alistair was unfastening something from behind the ring. As he lifted it free, she saw that he had detached a small bronze box.
“Evangeline!” Alistair called, his voice almost drowned out by the fountain, so that she hardly hear him. “Catch!”
Alistair threw the box. It flew over the Prometheus statue, over the transparent plastic barrier between the skating rink and the concourse, and fell at Evangeline’s feet. She scooped it from the sidewalk and held it in her hand. The box was oblong and as heavy as a golden egg.
Clutching the case to her chest, Evangeline assessed the plaza once more. On one side, the ice rink was blocked by people removing skates with studied nonchalance. The Gibborim had begun to slowly encircle Alistair on the ice. He appeared frail and vulnerable compared to the Gibborim, and when the creatures descended upon him, Evangeline touched the soft woolen scarf he had given her, wishing she could do something to help him escape. But it was impossible to get close to him. Within minutes, the creatures would finish their gruesome business with Alistair Carroll and turn upon the angelologists.
Aware of the dire turn in their predicament, Bruno looked about the concourse for an escape route. At last he appeared to arrive at a conclusion. “Come,” he said, gesturing to Verlaine and Evangeline to follow him along the plaza.
Grigori barked something to them and, drawing a gun from his pocket, put it to Gabriella’s head.
“Come, Evangeline,” Bruno said, his voice filled with urgency. “Now.”
But Evangeline could not follow him. Looking from Bruno to her grandmother, held captive at the center of the ice, she understood that she had to act quickly. She knew that Gabriella would want her to follow Bruno—there was no doubt that the case containing the lyre was more important than the life of any one of them—and yet she could not simply turn and leave her grandmother to die.
She squeezed Verlaine’s hand and, pulling herself away, ran to her grandmother. Down the steps and onto the ice she ran, knowing even as she went that she was putting their lives—and much more—in danger. Even so, she could not just leave Gabriella. She had lost everyone. Gabriella was all she had left.
On the ice, Gibborim held Gabriella at Grigori’s side, one gruesome creature to each of her arms. Gibborim closed in behind Evangeline as she made her way across the skating rink, sealing her path. She could not go back.
“Come,” Grigori said, gesturing to Evangeline with his cane. Eyeing the bronze box Alistair had thrown her, he said, “Bring it here. Give it to me.
Evangeline walked closer until she stood before Grigori. Looking him over, she took in his appearance, shocked at his condition. He was nothing at all as she had imagined him to be. He was hunched, frail, and gaunt. He extended his withered hand, and Evangeline placed the bronze box from the Prometheus statue in his palm. Grigori held it up to the light and examined it, as if unsure what such a tiny box could contain. Smiling, he dropped it into his pocket and, with a sweep of his hand, snatched the leather case from Evangeline.