Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,7
they want to hurt you?” he asked, meeting Evangeline’s eyes. Even the green of her irises struck him as hazardous and hypnotic. With this thought came a sharp pang of longing for the person he had once been—trusting, optimistic, young, his future wide open before him. “You’re one of them.”
Evangeline drew close to him, bringing her lips to his ear as she whispered, “You must believe me when I say that I was never one of them. I’ve wandered from place to place trying to understand what I had become. It’s been ten years and still I don’t understand. But I know one thing for certain: I am not like the Grigori.”
Verlaine pulled away, feeling as if he were being broken apart inside. He wanted to believe her, and yet he knew what the Nephilim were capable of doing. She could be lying to him.
“So tell me,” Verlaine said. “What brings you back now?” Verlaine tossed the jeweled egg in the air and caught it in his hand. “The Easter Bunny?”
“Xenia Ivanova.”
“Vladimir’s daughter?” Verlaine asked, turning serious. The death of Vladimir Ivanov had been just one of many fatalities of their failed mission in New York. It had been Verlaine’s first brush with the murderous treachery of their enemies.
“Vladimir was one of the only people I had known outside the convent,” Evangeline said. “He’d been close to my father. His daughter, Xenia, took over the café after he died, and she was kind enough to let me work and live in a small apartment in the back of the shop, deducting the rent from my salary. Years went by this way. I became close to Xenia, although I was never certain if she fully understood the kind of work her father had done, or my family’s connection to him.”
“I’m sure you didn’t go to great lengths to fill her in, either,” Verlaine said.
Evangeline looked at him for a moment, decided to ignore his comment, and continued. “And so I was surprised when, one day last month, Xenia told me that she had something to discuss with me. She took me upstairs to her father’s apartment, a room still cluttered with his possessions, as if he’d only just left. She showed me the egg you have in your hands. She told me she was surprised to have found it among Vladimir’s effects after his death.”
“It’s not really Vladimir’s style,” he said. Vladimir was remembered for his ascetic ruthlessness. His café in Little Italy was a cover for a life of extreme austerity.
“I think he was merely holding this egg for someone else,” Evangeline said. “It was the only object of this kind among his possessions. Xenia found it wrapped in a cloth at the back of one of his suitcases. She believed he’d brought it to New York from Paris in the eighties. Xenia didn’t know what to do with it, so she simply held on to it. But then, a few months ago, she took it to an auction house to have it appraised and, not long after this, strange things started happening. Nephilim began to follow her. They searched her apartment and the café. By the time she told me about the egg, she was terrified. One night two Gibborim broke into her apartment and tried to steal the egg. I killed one and the other escaped. After this I knew that I needed to tell her the truth. I explained everything to her—our fathers’ work, the Nephilim, even my own situation—and, to my surprise, she knew more about Vladimir’s work than I had initially believed. Eventually Xenia agreed to close the shop and disappear. I took the egg. It’s why I came here. I had to find someone who could help me explain what it means.”
“And Xenia?”
“If I hadn’t intervened, Xenia would be dead.”
“Was that her body at the Eiffel Tower?”
“No.” Evangeline shook her head, her expression serious. “That was just some random Nephil who looked a bit like me. I planted my ID on her and led the Emim to believe she was me.”
Verlaine considered this, realizing how far Evangeline had gone in her efforts to survive. “So they think you’re dead,” he said at last.
Evangeline sighed, a look of relief on her face. “I hope so,” she said. “It will give me enough time to hide.”
As Verlaine considered Evangeline, his eyes drifted to her neck, where a chain of bright gold glittered against her skin. She still wore her pendant, the very one she had worn