The Latin was familiar to Evangeline. She recognized it as an incantation, and to her amazement the spell began to take hold. The manifestation began as a gentle breeze, the faintest bluster of wind, and grew in a matter of seconds to a gale that rocked through the nave. In a burst of blinding light, a brilliantly illuminated figure appeared at the center of the twisting wind, hovering above Celestine. Evangeline forgot the danger posed by the summoning, the danger of the creatures surrounding them on all sides, and simply stared at the angel. It was immense, with golden wings spanning the length of the high central dome and arms held outstretched in a gesture that seemed to invite all to come closer. It glowed with intense light, its robes burning brighter than fire. Light gushed upon the nuns, falling over the floors of the church, glinting and fluid as lava. The angel’s body appeared both physical and ethereal at once-it hovered above and yet Evangeline was sure that she could see through it. Perhaps strangest of all, the angel began to assume Celestine’s features, re-creating the physical appearance of what she must have looked like in her youth. As the angel transformed into an exact replica of the summoner, becoming Celestine’s golden-hued twin, Evangeline was able to see the girl Celestine had once been.
The angel floated in midair, glittering and serene. When it spoke, its voice rang sweet and lilting through the church, vibrating with unnatural beauty. It said, “Do you call me in goodness?”
Celestine rose from her wheelchair with astonishing ease and knelt in the middle of the circle of candles, the white robe cascading about her. “I call you as a servant of the Lord to do the Lord’s work.”
“In His holy name,” the angel said, “I ask if your intentions are pure.”
“As pure as His holy Word,” Celestine said, her voice becoming stronger, more vibrant, as if the angel’s presence had strengthened her.
“Fear not, for I am a messenger of the Lord,” the angel said, its voice pure music. “I sing the Lord’s praise.”
In a cataclysm of wind, the church filled with music. A celestial chorus had begun to play.
“Guardian,” Celestine said, “our sanctuary has been desecrated by the dragon. Our structures burned, our sisters killed. As the Archangel Michael crushed the serpent’s head, so I ask you to crush these foul invaders.”
“Instruct me,” the angel said, its wings beating, its lithe body twisting in the air. “Where do these devils hide?”
“They are here upon us, ravaging His holy sanctuary.”
In an instant, so quickly that Evangeline had no time to react, the angel transformed into a sheet of fire, splitting into hundreds of tongues of flame, each flame morphing into a fully formed angel. Evangeline held Gabriella’s arm, bolstering herself against the wind. Her eyes burned, but she could not so much as blink as, swords raised, the warrior angels descended upon the chapel. The nuns fled in terror, running in all directions, a panic that jarred Evangeline from the trance the summoning had cast upon her. The angels struck the Gibborim dead, their bodies collapsing upon the altar and falling from the air midflight.
Gabriella ran to Celestine, Evangeline following close behind. The old nun lay upon the marble floor, her white robes spread around her, the wreath of lilies skewed. Placing her hand upon Celestine’s cheek, Evangeline found her skin hot, as if the summoning had scalded her. Examining her closely, Evangeline tried to understand how a frail, soft-spoken woman like Celestine had the power to defeat such beasts.
Somehow the candles had remained lit throughout the hurricane of the summoning, as if the angel’s violent presence had not translated into the physical world. They flickered brightly, casting the false glow of life upon Celestine’s skin. Evangeline arranged Celestine’s robes, gently folding the white fabric. Celestine’s hand, which had been hot only seconds before, had gone completely cold. In the course of a single day, Sister Celestine had become her true guardian, leading her through the confusion and putting her upon the correct path. Evangeline could not be certain, but it appeared to her that tears had formed in Gabriella’s eyes. “That was a brilliant summoning, my friend,” she whispered as she bent and kissed Celestine’s forehead. “Simply brilliant.”
Remembering Philomena, Evangeline opened her hand and gave her grandmother the key.
“Where did you get this?” Gabriella asked.
“The monstrance,” Evangeline said, gesturing to the shards of crystal on the floor. “It was inside.”
“So that is where they kept it,” Gabriella said, turning the key in her hand. Walking to the tabernacle, she fitted the key into the lock and opened the door. A small leather pouch was inside. “There is nothing more to do here,” Gabriella said. Gesturing for Evangeline to follow, she said, “Come, we must leave at once. We’re not out of danger yet.”
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.