“Her interest was artistic?”
“She had wonderful taste in art, but she also understood the value of artifacts. I believe she came to care about our cause, but her initial assistance arose from financial concerns.”
“She was a business partner?”
“Such involvement does not diminish the importance of the expedition. We had been planning the expedition to uncover the lyre for many years. Her assistance was used only as a means to an end. We always had our own agenda. But without Mrs. Rockefeller’s assistance, we would not have made it. With the dangers of the war and the ruthlessness and power of our enemies, it is remarkable that we undertook the journey to the cavern at all. I can only credit our success to assistance and protection from a higher place.”
As Celestine struggled for breath, Evangeline could see that she was growing tired. And yet the old nun continued.
“Once I arrived at St. Rose, I gave the case that contained our discoveries in the Rhodopes to Mother Innocenta, who in turn entrusted the lyre to Mrs. Rockefeller. The Rockefeller family had such vast sums of money-those of us in Paris could hardly imagine such fortune-and I felt a great sense of relief that Mrs. Rockefeller would care for the instrument”
Celestine paused, as if contemplating the dangers of the lyre. Finally she said, “My part in the saga of the treasure was finished, or so I thought. I believed that the instrument would be protected. I did not realize that Abigail Rockefeller would betray us.”
“Betray you?” Evangeline asked, breathless with wonder. “How?”
“Mrs. Rockefeller agreed to shield the Rhodope artifacts. She did an excellent job. She died on April fifth, 1948, four years after they came into her possession. In fact, she did not disclose her hiding place to anyone. The location of the instrument died with her.”
Evangeline’s feet had grown numb from sitting. She stood, walked to the window, and drew back the curtain. There’d been a full moon two days before, but that night the sky was black with clouds. “Is it so precious?” she asked at last.
“Beyond reckoning,” Celestine said. “Over one thousand years of research built to our findings in the cavern. The creatures, who have thrived on human toil for so long, flourishing from the labor of mankind, mimicked our efforts with equal vigor. They watched us, studied our movements, planted spies among our numbers, and occasionally-just to maintain a level of terror among us-kidnapped and killed our agents.”
Evangeline thought immediately of her mother. She had long suspected that something more had happened to her than her father had disclosed, but the thought that the creatures Celestine described could be responsible was too horrible to imagine. Determined to understand, Evangeline asked, “But why only a few? If they were so powerful, why didn’t they kill all of you? Why not simply destroy the entire organization?”
“It is true that they could have exterminated us with ease. They certainly have the strength and the means to do so. But it would not be in their best interests to cleanse the world of angelology.”
“Why is that?” Evangeline said, surprised.
“With all their power, they have a remarkable flaw: They are sensual creatures, wholly blinded by the pleasures of the body. They have wealth, strength, physical beauty, and a ruthlessness that is hardly believable. They have ancient family connections that buoy them during the tumultuous periods of history. They have developed financial strongholds in nearly every corner of the globe. They are the winners of a power system they themselves have created. But what they do not have is the intellectual prowess, or the vast store of academic and historical resources, that we do. Essentially, they need us to do their thinking for them.” Celestine sighed once again, as if the topic caused her pain. Struggling to continue, she said, “This tactic nearly worked in 1943. They killed my mentor, and when they learned that I had escaped to the United States, they destroyed our convent and dozens of others in search of me and the object I’d brought with me.”
“The lyre,” Evangeline said, the pieces of the puzzle coming together suddenly.
“Yes,” Celestine said. “They want the lyre, not because they know what it can do but because they know we prize it-and that we fear their possession of it. Of course, it was a hazardous endeavor to unearth the treasure at all. We had to find someone who could protect it. And so we entrusted it to one of our most illustrious contacts in New York City, a powerful and wealthy woman who vowed to serve our cause.”
A look of pain flickered in Celestine’s expression.
“Mrs. Rockefeller was our last great hope in New York. I have no doubt she took her role seriously. Indeed, she was so adept that her secret has remained hidden to this day. The creatures would kill every last one of us in order to discover it.”
Evangeline touched the lyre pendant, the gold warm against her fingertips. At last she understood the significance of her grandmother’s gift.
Celestine smiled. “I see you understand me. The pendant marks you as one of us. Your grandmother was right to give it to you.”
“You know my grandmother?” Evangeline asked, astonished and confused that Celestine should know the precise provenance of her necklace.
“I knew Gabriella many years ago,” Celestine said, the faintest hint of sadness in her voice. “And even then I did not truly know her. Gabriella was my friend, she was a brilliant scholar and a dedicated fighter for our cause, but to me she has always been a mystery. Gabriella’s heart was one thing nobody, not even her closest friend, could discern.”
It had been ages since Evangeline had last spoken with her grandmother. As the years had passed, she began to believe that Gabriella had died. “Then she is alive?” Evangeline asked.
“Very much alive,” Celestine said. “She would be proud to see you now.”
“Where is she?” Evangeline asked. “France? New York?”
“That I cannot tell you,” Celestine said. “But if your grandmother were here, I know that she would explain everything to you. As she is not, I can only try, in my own way, to help you to understand.”
Pulling herself up in her bed, Celestine gestured for Evangeline to go to the opposite side of the room, where an antique trunk sat in a corner, its leather trim scuffed. A brass-plated catch gleamed in the light, a padlock hanging from it like a piece of fruit. Evangeline walked to it and held the cool lock in her hand. A tiny key protruded from the keyhole.
Checking to be sure that Celestine approved, Evangeline twisted the key. The lock popped open. She unhooked it, set it lightly upon the wooden floorboard, and pushed open the trunk’s heavy wooden top the brass hinges, without oil for many decades, creaked with a sharp feline whine and gave way to the earthy smell of stale sweat and dust mixed with the more refined, musky smell of perfume that has begun to soften with age. Inside, she found a layer of yellowed tissue paper placed neatly over the surface, so light it seemed to hover above the edges of the trunk. Evangeline lifted the paper, careful not to crease it, and found pressed stacks of clothing beneath. Taking them from the trunk, she examined them one by one: a black cotton pinafore, brown jodhpurs stained black at the knees, a pair of women’s lace-up leather boots with the wooden soles worn down. Evangeline unfolded a pair of wide-legged wool trousers that seemed better suited to a young man than to Celestine. Running her hand over the trousers, her nails catching upon the rough fabric, Evangeline could smell the dust trapped in the material.