demonstrated a reasonable concern for your well-being, it’s difficult to understand the motives of a mother subjecting her own child to such invasive scrutiny. Unless, of course, she was not entirely human.”
Evangeline tried to speak. She had been heavily drugged. Although her voice was weak, and she could not focus her eyes, Godwin understood her when she said, “But my mother was human.”
“Yes, well, Nephilistic traits can appear in a human being, manifesting like a cancer,” Godwin said, walking to a table of medical instruments. A series of scalpels, the edges of varying acuity, lay in a line as if waiting for him. He chose one—not the sharpest but not the dullest either—and returned to Evangeline. “Both you and your mother appeared to be human, but angelic qualities could have—how shall I say it?—blossomed in you like a black and noxious flower. No one can say for sure why it happens, and it is quite rare for a human-born creature to transform, but it has occurred in the past.”
“And if there had been a change?” Evangeline asked.
“I would have been very pleased to have seen this happen,” Godwin said, his fingers rolling the scalpel. Once upon a time he had been Angela’s most prized student, the first in years to be granted his own laboratory, and the only one to be taken into her confidence. What she had not considered, and what he had not allowed her to see, was the extent of his ambition. “Unfortunately, neither of you showed signs of being anything but human. Your blood was red, for example, and you were born with a navel. But if you had changed, or shown signs of changing, and the angelologists had discovered this, you would have been handled in the usual fashion.”
“Which is?”
“You would have been studied.”
“You mean to say that we would have been killed.”
“You did not know your mother well,” Godwin said, lightly. “She was above all else a scientist. Angela would have applauded the rigorous empirical study of any one of the creatures. She allowed you to be tested. Indeed, she pushed to have you studied.”
“And if I were one of them?” Evangeline asked. “Would she have sacrificed me?”
Godwin wanted to smile. He bit his lip instead, and concentrated upon the cold metal of the scalpel. “It makes no difference what she would have wanted. If there had been any sign of a genetic likeness to the Nephilim, and the society was alerted to this fact, you would have been removed from your mother’s care.”
Evangeline strained against the leather straps. “My mother would have resisted.”
“That her father was a Grigori was completely unknown at the time. Her heritage was hidden—from herself, from other agents—out of necessity. Your grandmother Gabriella understood that if it were known that Angela was an angel, such a taint would have ruined them both. The threat was not in what she was, but what she could become. Or, rather,” Godwin said, meeting Evangeline’s eye, “the danger was in her genetic potential—in what her body could create.”
“The threat was me.”
“I wouldn’t say that you pose much of a threat, Evangeline,” Godwin said, placing the scalpel on Evangeline’s neck and pressing it against her skin.
Godwin slid the sharp edge under Evangeline’s white skin until a bulb of blue blood rose, collecting into a globe. He watched it rise and fall over her collarbone, pooling and expanding in the arc of her neck. He took a glass vial from the table. Holding it to the light, he felt a surge of triumph.
Hermitage Bridge, Winter Canal, St. Petersburg
V erlaine’s thoughts were in a state of chaos as he walked with Vera and Bruno alongside the palace embankment, the dark water of the canal sluicing by below, glistening as if coated with a layer of oil. Two grand buildings rose on each side of the stone pathway, ornate and Italianate, and, for a moment, Verlaine had the feeling he was walking through a historical film about the
Evangeline tried to speak. She had been heavily drugged. Although her voice was weak, and she could not focus her eyes, Godwin understood her when she said, “But my mother was human.”
“Yes, well, Nephilistic traits can appear in a human being, manifesting like a cancer,” Godwin said, walking to a table of medical instruments. A series of scalpels, the edges of varying acuity, lay in a line as if waiting for him. He chose one—not the sharpest but not the dullest either—and returned to Evangeline. “Both you and your mother appeared to be human, but angelic qualities could have—how shall I say it?—blossomed in you like a black and noxious flower. No one can say for sure why it happens, and it is quite rare for a human-born creature to transform, but it has occurred in the past.”
“And if there had been a change?” Evangeline asked.
“I would have been very pleased to have seen this happen,” Godwin said, his fingers rolling the scalpel. Once upon a time he had been Angela’s most prized student, the first in years to be granted his own laboratory, and the only one to be taken into her confidence. What she had not considered, and what he had not allowed her to see, was the extent of his ambition. “Unfortunately, neither of you showed signs of being anything but human. Your blood was red, for example, and you were born with a navel. But if you had changed, or shown signs of changing, and the angelologists had discovered this, you would have been handled in the usual fashion.”
“Which is?”
“You would have been studied.”
“You mean to say that we would have been killed.”
“You did not know your mother well,” Godwin said, lightly. “She was above all else a scientist. Angela would have applauded the rigorous empirical study of any one of the creatures. She allowed you to be tested. Indeed, she pushed to have you studied.”
“And if I were one of them?” Evangeline asked. “Would she have sacrificed me?”
Godwin wanted to smile. He bit his lip instead, and concentrated upon the cold metal of the scalpel. “It makes no difference what she would have wanted. If there had been any sign of a genetic likeness to the Nephilim, and the society was alerted to this fact, you would have been removed from your mother’s care.”
Evangeline strained against the leather straps. “My mother would have resisted.”
“That her father was a Grigori was completely unknown at the time. Her heritage was hidden—from herself, from other agents—out of necessity. Your grandmother Gabriella understood that if it were known that Angela was an angel, such a taint would have ruined them both. The threat was not in what she was, but what she could become. Or, rather,” Godwin said, meeting Evangeline’s eye, “the danger was in her genetic potential—in what her body could create.”
“The threat was me.”
“I wouldn’t say that you pose much of a threat, Evangeline,” Godwin said, placing the scalpel on Evangeline’s neck and pressing it against her skin.
Godwin slid the sharp edge under Evangeline’s white skin until a bulb of blue blood rose, collecting into a globe. He watched it rise and fall over her collarbone, pooling and expanding in the arc of her neck. He took a glass vial from the table. Holding it to the light, he felt a surge of triumph.
Hermitage Bridge, Winter Canal, St. Petersburg
V erlaine’s thoughts were in a state of chaos as he walked with Vera and Bruno alongside the palace embankment, the dark water of the canal sluicing by below, glistening as if coated with a layer of oil. Two grand buildings rose on each side of the stone pathway, ornate and Italianate, and, for a moment, Verlaine had the feeling he was walking through a historical film about the
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