Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,107
said. “It’s probably the only one, though.”
Verlaine grasped her ice-cold hand and pulled her toward the tunnel. Thick, toxic smoke obscured his vision. “We have to go now, before it closes.”
Ahead, at the end of a passage, grew a golden light. As he approached, the light grew stronger until, in a burst of brilliance, it consumed the darkness entirely. Verlaine stood in a blaze of illumination. The walls of the panopticon—polished titanium with bolts the size of his head—gave off a wavering reflection. The light seemed to twist through the air, creating a cone so distinctly overpowering he could not make out what was before him. He removed his eyeglasses and the source came into sharp focus. Verlaine found a creature of such marvelous beauty he was certain it had come directly from heaven. He fell to the ground, covering his eyes with his arm, blinking against the light, falling into a painful blindness.
By the time Verlaine recovered his sight, the angel stood with Evangeline. Despite his huge white wings, there was something simple, something almost childlike about him.
He could see Evangeline staring at the archangel, her eyes narrowed, her body tense. “What are you?” she asked at last.
“You know very well what I am,” the angel said, opening his enormous white wings. “And I can sense what you are, too. Nevertheless, I’ll stand on convention and tell you my name. I am Lucien. And although it is merely an exercise, and I know who and what you are, I will ask you to identify yourself.”
Evangeline circled the angel, sidestepping to the left and right. Then, in an elegant flourish, she snapped open her wings, displaying them in the glow of Lucien’s body. The purple and silver feathers seemed electric in comparison to Lucien’s white wings. Verlaine felt his heart beating in his chest as he realized that Evangeline’s beauty, her luminosity and grandeur, were on par with the creature before her. Together, they were the most pure and rare angels he had ever seen.
“You are lovely,” Lucien said, smiling slightly. “And unusual, too.” He stepped forward and bowed to Evangeline. “I have waited many years to see you again.”
Evangeline stared at Lucien a beat too long, and Verlaine knew that something had passed between the two angels, something that he could never understand completely.
“We’ve met before?”
“Once, when you were just a baby, I held you in my arms. Your mother brought you to me.”
“You knew my mother?” Evangeline asked.
“You were so fragile when I held you, so small, so human that I could only bear to keep you in my arms a moment. I was afraid I would hurt you. I could never have imagined what you would become.”
“But why?” Evangeline asked. “Why did my mother bring me to you?”
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for many years,” Lucien said.
Verlaine stepped forward. “Evangeline,” he said, holding out his hand. “We have to get out of here.”
“I am here to tell you everything,” Lucien said. “But in your heart you know already that I am your father.”
Evangeline stood in silence for many minutes. Then she looked from Lucien to Verlaine and, before Verlaine could prepare himself, she kissed him, pressing her body against his with passion and tenderness.
“Go,” she said, pushing him gently away. “Get out of here. You have to get aboveground before it’s too late.”
The Ninth Circle
TREACHERY
Chelyabinsk, Russia
As Verlaine opened his eyes, he understood that he was lying in a snowy field. He couldn’t say how long he had slept. The snow around him was stained with blood; he realized that it was his own. His leg was injured; the wound to his head had opened yet again. As he examined the cut to his leg, he remembered crawling out of the panopticon, fire rising around him, the noise of explosions ringing in his ears. Looking back toward the prison, he saw that the only landmark remaining was a plume of smoke rising in the far distance. The whole compound had collapsed.
A sound grew in his ears, a buzzing as grating and persistent as an insect. It was a truck approaching through the snow. As it got closer, Verlaine could make out Dmitri at the wheel of a Lada Niva. Yana jumped out of the backseat, leaving Bruno—whom Verlaine could see was badly injured—hunched against the door. A man Verlaine didn’t recognize followed behind Yana and Dmitri. He greeted Verlaine and offered his hand, introducing himself as Azov and explaining that he’d come at Vera’s request.
“What happened in