“We’ve been looking for a way forward for many, many years. The twentieth century has provided many pieces to the puzzle: War allowed us to test our formulas on human subjects; science has allowed us to look inside the mechanisms of our creation; technology has allowed us to collect and compare data.” Percival folded his hands in his lap. “And we’ve found an ally.”
“Dr. Merlin Godwin,” Angela said. “You’ve found an angelologist to spy and steal for you.”
“We’ve found a man who appreciates the dilemma of our race,” Percival said.
“Nephilistic diminishment,” Angela said. “Nephilim fertility has dwindled, immunity to human diseases has weakened, and wingspan has shortened, as has life expectancy. Of course I’m fully aware of this phenomenon. I have been studying the possible causes for the past few years.”
Percival said, “Your theory on the genetics of angelic creatures has been extraordinarily helpful. In fact, Dr. Valko, it is because of your work that we will be able to rebuild our race.”
“My work has nothing to do with genetic engineering.”
Percival smiled again, and the frightening hunch that Verlaine had sensed earlier—that the creature could manipulate Angela as he wished—returned. “I know your theories very well, Dr. Valko. You have spent your career deciphering Nephilistic DNA. You’ve speculated about the role of Valkine in the production of angelic proteins. You’ve explored the mysteries of angelic and human hybrids. You’ve even found and captured me, no small feat. Your work has uncovered the codes, the secrets of production, all the answers to the questions you have. And still you don’t see.”
A tremor in Angela’s lip was all that revealed her growing irritation. “I think you may be surprised by our capabilities,” Angela said, the faintest hint of insecurity passing over her features. She stood, went to a cabinet, and removed an oblong object. “This, I believe, might be familiar to you.”
Verlaine recognized it instantly: It was an elaborately jeweled enamel egg. Although similar to the one in his pocket, its design was distinctly different. The exterior was sprinkled with brilliant blue sapphires.
“That,” Vera said, her eyes trained upon the egg, “is another of the missing eggs.”
As Verlaine followed Angela’s movements, he realized that his entire body had gone rigid.
Angela sat down, turning the egg in her hands, the gems glittering. To Verlaine’s great surprise, even Percival watched with fascination.
“I thought you might recognize it,” Angela said. She opened the egg. Inside there was a golden hen with eyes of rose-cut diamonds. Angela pushed the beak and the bird split apart, revealing a series of glass vials.
While Percival Grigori’s expression transformed from surprise to bafflement, and then to rage, his voice remained calm. “How?”
Angela smiled, triumphant. “Just as you have watched us, we have been watching you. We know that Godwin has been collecting samples of blood.” Angela lifted one after the other and read the labels. “A LEXEI, L UCIEN, E VANGELINE .”
Were it not for the undertone of anguish in Angela’s voice when she spoke her daughter’s name, Verlaine would have doubted what he’d heard. If Evangeline had been marked by the Nephilim from childhood, what would they do with her now that they had her in their possession?
Angela returned the vials to the egg and closed it. “What I want to understand is why, exactly, you have these samples.”
“If you want to understand,” Percival said, “you will join us. There is a place for your work at the Angelopolis.”
“I don’t think that will be possible,” she said, removing a small syringe from her pocket. “I have some ideas of my own about purification.”
Percival narrowed his eyes as he examined the needle in her hand. “What is it?”
“A suspension that holds a virus. It affects creatures with wings—birds and
“Dr. Merlin Godwin,” Angela said. “You’ve found an angelologist to spy and steal for you.”
“We’ve found a man who appreciates the dilemma of our race,” Percival said.
“Nephilistic diminishment,” Angela said. “Nephilim fertility has dwindled, immunity to human diseases has weakened, and wingspan has shortened, as has life expectancy. Of course I’m fully aware of this phenomenon. I have been studying the possible causes for the past few years.”
Percival said, “Your theory on the genetics of angelic creatures has been extraordinarily helpful. In fact, Dr. Valko, it is because of your work that we will be able to rebuild our race.”
“My work has nothing to do with genetic engineering.”
Percival smiled again, and the frightening hunch that Verlaine had sensed earlier—that the creature could manipulate Angela as he wished—returned. “I know your theories very well, Dr. Valko. You have spent your career deciphering Nephilistic DNA. You’ve speculated about the role of Valkine in the production of angelic proteins. You’ve explored the mysteries of angelic and human hybrids. You’ve even found and captured me, no small feat. Your work has uncovered the codes, the secrets of production, all the answers to the questions you have. And still you don’t see.”
A tremor in Angela’s lip was all that revealed her growing irritation. “I think you may be surprised by our capabilities,” Angela said, the faintest hint of insecurity passing over her features. She stood, went to a cabinet, and removed an oblong object. “This, I believe, might be familiar to you.”
Verlaine recognized it instantly: It was an elaborately jeweled enamel egg. Although similar to the one in his pocket, its design was distinctly different. The exterior was sprinkled with brilliant blue sapphires.
“That,” Vera said, her eyes trained upon the egg, “is another of the missing eggs.”
As Verlaine followed Angela’s movements, he realized that his entire body had gone rigid.
Angela sat down, turning the egg in her hands, the gems glittering. To Verlaine’s great surprise, even Percival watched with fascination.
“I thought you might recognize it,” Angela said. She opened the egg. Inside there was a golden hen with eyes of rose-cut diamonds. Angela pushed the beak and the bird split apart, revealing a series of glass vials.
While Percival Grigori’s expression transformed from surprise to bafflement, and then to rage, his voice remained calm. “How?”
Angela smiled, triumphant. “Just as you have watched us, we have been watching you. We know that Godwin has been collecting samples of blood.” Angela lifted one after the other and read the labels. “A LEXEI, L UCIEN, E VANGELINE .”
Were it not for the undertone of anguish in Angela’s voice when she spoke her daughter’s name, Verlaine would have doubted what he’d heard. If Evangeline had been marked by the Nephilim from childhood, what would they do with her now that they had her in their possession?
Angela returned the vials to the egg and closed it. “What I want to understand is why, exactly, you have these samples.”
“If you want to understand,” Percival said, “you will join us. There is a place for your work at the Angelopolis.”
“I don’t think that will be possible,” she said, removing a small syringe from her pocket. “I have some ideas of my own about purification.”
Percival narrowed his eyes as he examined the needle in her hand. “What is it?”
“A suspension that holds a virus. It affects creatures with wings—birds and
Similar Books
