Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,61
clasp. “There,” she said, giving him a pat on the chest and sending a fresh jolt of pain through his body. “You’re safe from the bogeyman.”
The door opened and a doctor arrived, a short, hefty woman with thick glasses and perfectly styled hair. She leaned over the bed, yanked the sheets down to Verlaine’s waist. A thick, white, gauze bandage had been taped over his chest. She worked her fingernails under the edges, lifting the tape and pulling it gently away.
“Here,” Yana said, taking a small mirror from her bag and giving it to Verlaine.
He looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of a battered man, a line of fresh stitches over his eye, a series of bruises staining his skin. The image was so unfamiliar, so startling, that Verlaine straightened his spine and threw back his shoulders. His burned skin chafed, and he wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep, but he refused to be the person in the reflection. He held the mirror level with his chest and saw that it was blackened, with raw patches of red and pink oozing a clear liquid. An impression of Eno’s hands was branded into his skin.
“You now carry the telltale mark of an Emim’s attack,” Bruno said.
Yana examined the outline of the fingers seared upon Verlaine’s chest. “The shape of the burn is very particular. It is something I have long been interested in. A creature must position its hands a certain way to draw down the electric charge—the thumbs touching and the palms angled outward. Do you recognize the shape?”
“Of course,” Verlaine said, feeling sickened by the sight. “They’re wings.”
He was used to injuries—he’d been hurt innumerable times over the course of the past ten years—but an assault like this wasn’t one he would forget. The creature had marked him forever.
The doctor stepped away and returned with a tray stacked with ointment, scissors, bandages, and cotton swabs. Verlaine breathed hard, bringing the air into his lungs slowly as the doctor used cotton to clean his chest.
“The nerves are dead where the flesh is black. The pain you feel is from the less severe burns around the edges of the wound.” The doctor paused, studying the shape of the burn. “I haven’t seen one of these in a while,” she said, brushing an ointment over his skin and pressing on a new bandage. “This application will help enormously with the pain. In the old days it would have taken weeks, perhaps months, to fully recover from this.”
Verlaine felt a coolness suffuse his skin. The effect was immediate and intense. “Amazing,” he said. “The pain is fading.”
“Your skin is rapidly healing itself,” the doctor said, leaning close to Verlaine. “The ointment is a nanoemulsion that stops bacteria from setting in while creating the conditions for rapid skin cell production. A layer of new skin forms immediately over the burn, helping to keep out air and reduce pain. It’s a rare commodity: We have only a few doses. It was developed by angelologists for angelologists. It is unbelievably effective.” She ran her hand over the surface of the wound, as if to prove her point.
“Effective or not, we need this angelologist,” Yana said, unable to conceal her impatience. “How long does he need to rest?”
The doctor held Verlaine’s wrist and took his pulse. “Your heartbeat is normal,” she said. “How do you feel?”
Verlaine wiggled his toes and then moved his ankles. The ringing in his ears and the searing pain across his chest were gone. “Tip-top,” he said.
As she took the tray and headed for the door, she said, “Then he should be able to leave the train at your scheduled stop. Tyumen is about thirty-five hours from here. I would suggest taking it easy until then.” Glancing at Verlaine, she said, “That means: no more dates with the devil. Although I doubt you’ll take that advice. Agents like you never do.”
Verlaine threw his legs over the side of the bed. He steadied himself and stood. He was with Yana on this: There was no way he was going to stay in some godforsaken hospital cot.
After the doctor left the room, Bruno said, “There’s some good news in all of this. We managed get the egg back. And, most important, to capture Eno.”
“Where is she?” Verlaine asked.
“In a safe place,” Yana said, her gaze boring into him as if daring him to ask more.
Bruno winked at Verlaine and said, “Yana insisted that we take her to a specialized prison in