“I ran. I had no choice.” Saitou-san pulled out a velvet bundle that had been hidden inside her coat and cradled an object against her body as if it were a baby. “It was the only way to get out with this.”
“The base of the lyre,” Gabriella said, taking it from Saitou-san. “You found it.”
“Yes,” Saitou-san said. “Did you recover the other pieces?”
“All but the tuning pegs,” Evangeline said. “Which are there, in the middle of the Gibborim.”
Saitou-san and Gabriella gazed at the skating rink, which had become filled with Gibborim.
Calling Bruno to them, Gabriella spoke to him in a low, commanding voice. Try as she might, Evangeline could not make out her grandmother’s words, only the urgency with which they were uttered. Finally Gabriella took Evangeline by the arm. “Go with Bruno,” she said, placing the leather case containing the pieces of the instrument in Evangeline’s hands. “Do exactly as he tells you. You must take these as far from here as you can. If all goes well, I will be with you soon.”
The contours of the skating rink wavered at the edges of Evangeline’s vision as her eyes filled with tears-somehow, despite her grandmother’s assurance to the contrary, she felt that she would not see Gabriella again. Perhaps Gabriella understood her thoughts. She opened her arms and took Evangeline into them, hugging her tightly. Kissing her lightly upon the cheek, Gabriella whispered, “Angelology is not simply an occupation. It is a calling. Your work is just beginning, my dear Evangeline. Already you are everything I hoped you would be.”
Without another word, Gabriella followed Alistair through the crowd. Making their way alongside the ice rink, they disappeared into the chaotic crush of movement and noise.
Bruno took Verlaine and Evangeline by the arms and guided them up the concrete steps to the main plaza, Saitou-san following close behind. They did not stop until they were standing among the rows of flags behind the statue of Prometheus. From above, Evangeline saw the danger Gabriella and Alistair were in: The skating rink had become a solid swarm of creatures, a horrifying congregation that stopped Evangeline cold.
“What are they doing?” Verlaine asked.
“They are walking into the center of the Gibborim,” Saitou-san said.
“We have to help them,” Evangeline said.
“Gabriella was clear about what we should do,” Bruno said, although the worry in his voice and the deep furrows lining his brow belied his words. It was obvious that Gabriella’s actions terrified him as well. “She must know what she’s doing.”
“Perhaps she does,” Verlaine said. “But how in the hell is she going to get out of there?”
Below, the Nephilim parted, making a path for Gabriella and Alistair to walk unimpeded to Grigori, who stood near the statue of Prometheus. Gabriella appeared smaller, more fragile in the shadow of the creatures, and the reality of their situation hit Evangeline with full force: The same passion and dedication that drove the Venerable Father Clematis to descend into the depths of the gorge and face the unknown and the drive to knowledge that had sealed her own mother’s murder-these were the forces that brought Gabriella to fight Percival Grigori.
In a distant part of her consciousness, Evangeline understood the choreography of her grandmother’s plan-she saw Gabriella arguing with Grigori, diverting his attention as Alistair ran to the statue of Prometheus-yet she was shocked by the directness of Alistair’s execution. Stepping gingerly into the pool of water, he waded to the statue’s base, mist soaking his clothes and hair as he climbed to the golden ring encircling Prometheus’s body. Ice must have made the edge slippery: instead of climbing farther, he reached along the interior of the ring and grasped at something behind it. From her vantage directly above the statue, Evangeline could not be certain of the mechanics of the procedure. And yet it appeared that Alistair was unfastening something from behind the ring. As he lifted it free, she saw that he had detached a small bronze box.
“Evangeline!” Alistair called, his voice almost drowned out by the fountain, so that she hardly hear him. “Catch!”
Alistair threw the box. It flew over the Prometheus statue, over the transparent plastic barrier between the skating rink and the concourse, and fell at Evangeline’s feet. She scooped it from the sidewalk and held it in her hand. The box was oblong and as heavy as a golden egg.
Clutching the case to her chest, Evangeline assessed the plaza once more. On one side, the ice rink was blocked by people removing skates with studied nonchalance. The Gibborim had begun to slowly encircle Alistair on the ice. He appeared frail and vulnerable compared to the Gibborim, and when the creatures descended upon him, Evangeline touched the soft woolen scarf he had given her, wishing she could do something to help him escape. But it was impossible to get close to him. Within minutes, the creatures would finish their gruesome business with Alistair Carroll and turn upon the angelologists.
Aware of the dire turn in their predicament, Bruno looked about the concourse for an escape route. At last he appeared to arrive at a conclusion. “Come,” he said, gesturing to Verlaine and Evangeline to follow him along the plaza.
Grigori barked something to them and, drawing a gun from his pocket, put it to Gabriella’s head.
“Come, Evangeline,” Bruno said, his voice filled with urgency. “Now.”
But Evangeline could not follow him. Looking from Bruno to her grandmother, held captive at the center of the ice, she understood that she had to act quickly. She knew that Gabriella would want her to follow Bruno-there was no doubt that the case containing the lyre was more important than the life of any one of them-and yet she could not simply turn and leave her grandmother to die.
She squeezed Verlaine’s hand and, pulling herself away, ran to her grandmother. Down the steps and onto the ice she ran, knowing even as she went that she was putting their lives-and much more-in danger. Even so, she could not just leave Gabriella. She had lost everyone. Gabriella was all she had left.
On the ice, Gibborim held Gabriella at Grigori’s side, one gruesome creature to each of her arms. Gibborim closed in behind Evangeline as she made her way across the skating rink, sealing her path. She could not go back.
“Come,” Grigori said, gesturing to Evangeline with his cane. Eyeing the bronze box Alistair had thrown her, he said, “Bring it here. Give it to me.
Evangeline walked closer until she stood before Grigori. Looking him over, she took in his appearance, shocked at his condition. He was nothing at all as she had imagined him to be. He was hunched, frail, and gaunt. He extended his withered hand, and Evangeline placed the bronze box from the Prometheus statue in his palm. Grigori held it up to the light and examined it, as if unsure what such a tiny box could contain. Smiling, he dropped it into his pocket and, with a sweep of his hand, snatched the leather case from Evangeline.
Rockefeller Center Ice Skating Rink, Fifth Avenue, New York City
Verlaine knew that the creatures’ wings were tucked under their black cloaks, and he understood the destruction they were capable of inflicting if they were to deploy them. Yet to the ordinary person the creatures appeared to be little more than a band of oddly dressed men performing some bizarre ritual on the ice. They followed Grigori’s orders, assembling around him at the center of the rink, creating an impenetrable wall between Grigori and the angelologists. The orchestrations of the Gibborim would have absorbed Verlaine’s entire attention if it were not for the fact that Evangeline stood surrounded by this dark horde of creatures.
“Stay here,” Bruno said, gesturing for Verlaine to remain where he stood, above the Prometheus statue. “Saitou-san, take the stairs. I’m going to go to the other side of the rink and see if I can divert Grigori.”