The silver ship . . . in the faerie realm. Maybe I will go there and be at peace. I will hear Father’s song again.
Gabriel’s shadow wings begin to glow. A radiance burns around him. His hair blazes with a golden light.
I close my eyes and think of Mother—?not the mother with the polite smile and clear green eyes, but the one who lashed out with the whip at 17 Wadsworth Place. The one who battled the power of the dark for years. The one who died for me . . .
I scream.
At the same time, my lash burns a fiery red, and squeezes tighter around Malachai.
His terrible tongue recoils, and Emily lets out a gasping breath. She collapses.
Malachai falls to his knees. “The fire comes!” he wheezes. “The fire will still come!”
In the distance I see a light moving quickly toward us. Hot sparks fly in front of it, dancing in the dark. I feel rushing air on my skin. The tracks beneath my feet begin to hum. My hair floats away from my face. It is closer now, and the sound from my dreams—?a terrible screeching and grinding—?rings in my ears.
Only then do I realize what it is.
Malachai rises to his feet.
“Emily!” I cry. “Gabriel! Away from the tracks!”
They look to me, and Gabriel drags Emily by her arms toward the tunnel wall.
Malachai turns to look behind him.
The train comes hurtling through the darkness. There is one last scream, and a terrible thumping sound, and then silence.
I stand still. Struck.
I do not want to look at what is left of him. The ghouls are all dead too, their ragged garments still sizzling. Darby slinks off and licks her wounds.
I rush to Emily’s side. Her expression is calm, as if she is asleep. I take her by the shoulders. “Emily!” I cry. “Wake up!”
She doesn’t stir.
I brush the damp curls away from her face. “Emily, please! WAKE UP!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Song of Sadness
Gabriel and I kneel by Emily’s body.
I look to him for a brief moment. Wings? It can’t have been.
He makes the sign of the cross on her forehead.
“Emily,” I whisper, taking her hand, cold now. “Emily, don’t die.” Tears brim in my eyes.
I will lose her, too. Like Mother. And Father.
Gabriel begins to sing softly, and the words—?if they are indeed words—?fill me with a sense of peace. I hear the rippling of water far away, and wind whistling through treetops. Gabriel sings high, then low. A chorus of voices surrounds him, and it seems so real, I look around for the singers, but it is only the two of us—?and Emily, lying asleep, as if she will never awaken.
Gabriel stops his song and leans close to her. He whispers in her ear.
She opens her eyes.
Without a second’s pause, I hug her to my chest. She feels as light as a child’s dolly.
“Stop,” she says weakly.
I loosen my grip. “What is it?” I ask, searching her face for injury. “What’s wrong?”
“Bloody crushing me, that’s what.”
I smile, relieved, and wipe the sweat from her face. Gabriel and I help her rise on unsteady feet. Her lips are dry and cracked. She still needs water.
Gabriel is breathing hard. I think about what I have just seen and heard. What I think I have just seen.
Wings.
It must have been just a shadow.
“I am an angel,” he says.
I do not speak, only stare.
“There are many of us,” he continues. “But we remain hidden, and show ourselves only in times of great need.”
“The singing—” I start, without even thinking on what he has just said. “What is it? How do you do it?”
Gabriel pulls out his little book and hands it to me.
I take it, but remain transfixed by his face. I can’t believe it. An angel? It’s impossible.
I shake my head and open the book.
Marks and glyphs seem to writhe on the pages. They are symbols I have never seen before, some of them glowing with a faint golden light, as if they are burned onto the parchment.
“It is Angelica,” he says, “the language of angels.”
“You can read this?”
“And sing it too. The forces of evil cannot stand the sound of pure love.”
Pure love. “That is what gave me strength,” I say. “I felt it. In my body.”
“Me too,” Emily says.
I turn to her. “You knew this? About Gabriel?”
Emily shrugs. “Sorry. He made me promise not to tell.”
“Why?” I ask both of them.
“If people knew,” Gabriel answers, “I would be sought out and praised. The Church would use me as a symbol. That is not my fate.”
This makes sense, I realize. People would flock to him, a living miracle here on earth.
I hear a moan, and I turn, on my guard. Another ghoul?
But it is only Darby. She is herself again, lying naked and bruised. I look to Gabriel, who takes off his coat and hands it to me.
I go to Darby and wrap it around her. Livid welts color her neck. She peers up at me, and I see the crooked teeth, the cold white scars.
“Where are we, miss? Did it happen again?”
“You’re safe,” I tell her. “You saved us.”
She sits up. Her eyes are distant, nervously taking in our surroundings. “Saved you? Where am I? I remember a man. He had terrible eyes. Oh! He was ’orrible, Jess. Just ’orrible!”