Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,13

mystery, the sheer inexplicable magic, of angels’ wings. Strength, breeding, and classification in the heavenly sphere—all of this became instantly evident with a flash of a wing.

When Evangeline looked down at her opponent preparing to attack, she opened her wings in response, so that a layer of purple light wrapped around her body in a shimmering cloud. Silver streaks shot through the feathers, quick and electric, as if charged with a current. She swiveled and turned, moonlight sliding over her. The display was meant to terrify and impress.

“Pay close attention,” Bruno whispered, his manner agitated. “You might never see an identification ritual like this again.” He leaned closer to Verlaine, lowering his voice further. “First, they will display their wings to establish hierarchy. When there is a great disparity in strength, the weaker angel will submit straightaway. But clearly this match isn’t going to be like that. There are two females creatures, both with extraordinary wings, one with a pedigree that should put her among the elite angels, the other with the strength of a mercenary. The dominant creature isn’t obvious. If they can’t establish a pecking order, they’ll fight a duel.”

Verlaine watched, fear growing in his stomach. The duel was an ancient angelic ritual, one that was considered outdated by modernized Nephilim. For centuries the custom had remained embedded in Russia, however, where the presence of the most powerful Nephilim, those descending from ancient angelic families, reside. Human beings once copied the practice, challenging one another in the name of honor, marking off paces and shooting at close range. In time, human beings had left the practice behind. Now only the most traditional Nephilim fought duels.

In the abstract, Verlaine found the ritual to be beautiful, a kind of call-and-response between creatures of strong but quite distinct species. Verlaine had watched archival footage of duels between Nephilim many times, but Eno’s aggressive posturing, and Evangeline’s defensive reaction, was unlike anything he had seen in the case studies he’d encountered. A duel between angels was theoretically a confrontation to the death. Only one of the angels would make it out alive. And although Evangeline was of a higher species of angel, he couldn’t help but sense that Eno would win.

Evangeline fixed the angel in her gaze. Verlaine could see that she was struggling with her thoughts, that the confrontation was unexpected, that she didn’t want to fight. He remembered what she had said about choosing not to become like the Nephilim, about being born with the characteristics of the beasts but refusing to accept her fate. Every impulse told her to kill Eno, and yet he knew she would not allow herself to do it.

Suddenly, Eno leaped into the air, her wings pushing her high above the rooftop once more. Evangeline stretched her wings and swooped into the sky. Eno hovered, waiting for Evangeline, watching her, preparing to attack. In a swirl of motion, the fight began. From a distance they looked like dragonflies twisting and circling in the moonlight.

As Verlaine studied their movements, he saw that Evangeline was far more adept than he had initially thought. Eno dove and struck, harrying Evangeline, darting at her, circling her, teasing her. Evangeline responded, slamming into Eno full force. Eno fell back, tumbling through the air. Recovering herself, she held her knees to her body, pushed herself forward, and turning in a somersault, spun once, twice, three times, gaining momentum with each rotation until she was a ball of fire. She launched herself at Evangeline, striking her with a force that threw her to the roof in a clatter of slate tiles. She lay still, stunned from the force of her fall.

With an elegant flick of her wings, Eno descended and walked to Evangeline. She was trembling from the effort, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her breathing heavy. She stood over Evangeline and drew her wings back, preparing to deliver a final blow, when Evangeline pushed Eno with an inhuman strength, landing a hit to the solar plexus.

“Very nice,” Bruno said under his breath, and Verlaine had to agree: The solar plexus was the weakest point of all angelic creatures. A solid strike there could end the duel in a second.

“The Emim angel isn’t wearing a shield,” Verlaine noted, surprised. Mercenary angels often protected thier chest.

“She likes the challenge,” Bruno said. “And if she gets hit, she likes the pain.”

Eno buckled, raising her hands to defend herself. Evangeline kicked again, striking her with enormous force, her movements precise, perfectly delivered,