A waiter stopped at their table and placed two cups of espresso before them.
Her father sipped his espresso. “They are still alive, yes?”
“Very much so,” Vladimir said, shaking his head. “I hear they are horrifying creatures-very pure. I don’t understand how they managed to transport them to New York. In the old days, it would have taken a ship and full crew to get them here so quickly. If they are of the pure stock that they claim, it would be nearly impossible to contain them. I didn’t think it possible.”
“Angela would have known more about the details of their physical capabilities than I,” her father said, folding his hands before him and staring out the plate-glass window as if Evangeline’s mother might appear into the sun-filled pane before him. “It was the focus of her studies. But I believe there is a growing consensus that the Famous Ones have been growing weaker, even the purest of them. Perhaps they are so weak they can be captured with more ease.”
Vladimir bent closer to her father, his eyes wide. “Do you mean to say that they are dying out?”
“Not exactly dying out,” her father said. “But there has been speculation that their vitality is in serious decline. Their strength is diminishing.”
“But how is that possible?” Vladimir asked, astonished.
“Angela used to say that one day their blood would be mixed too thoroughly with human blood. She believed that they would become too like us, too human to maintain their unique physical properties. I believe that it is something along the lines of negative evolution-they have reproduced with inferior specimens, human beings, far too often.”
Her father put out his cigarette in a plastic ashtray and took another sip of his espresso.
“They can retain the traits of angels only so long, and only if they do not interbreed. The time will come when their humanity will overtake them and all of their children will be born with characteristics that can only be described as inferior-shorter life spans, susceptibility to disease, a tendency toward morality. Their last hope will be to infuse themselves with pure angelic traits, and this, as we know, is beyond their abilities. They have been plagued by human traits. Angela used to speculate that the Nephilim are beginning to feel emotion as humans do. Compassion, love, kindness-everything that we define ourselves by may be emerging in them. In fact,” her father concluded, “they consider this a great weakness.”
Vladimir leaned back in his chair and folded his hands upon his chest, as if thinking this over. “Their demise is not impossible,” he said at last. “And yet how can we say what is and is not possible? Their very existence defies the intellect. But we have seen them, you and I. We have lost much to them, my friend.” Vladimir met her father’s eye.
Her father said, “Angela believed that the Nephilistic immune system reacted negatively to human-made chemicals and pollutants. She believed that these unnatural elements worked to break down the cellular structures inherited from the Watchers, creating a form of deadly cancer. Another theory she had was that the change in their diet over the past two hundred years has altered their body chemistry, thus affecting reproduction. Angela had studied a number of the creatures with degenerative diseases that severely shortened their life span, but she did not come to any definitive conclusion. Nobody knows for certain what is causing it, but whatever the cause, the creatures are surely desperate to stop it.”
“You know very well what will stop it,” Vladimir said, his voice soft.
“Exactly,” her father said. “To that end, Angela even began testing many of your theories, Vladimir, to determine whether your musicological speculations had a biological significance as well. I’ve suspected that she was on the brink of something monumental and that this is why she was killed.”
Vladimir fingered his demitasse. “Celestial musicology is no weapon. Its uses as such are wishful thinking at best, not to mention inordinately dangerous to pursue. Angela of all people should have known this.”
“They may be inordinately dangerous,” her father said, “but think of what would happen if they found a cure for the degeneration. If we are able to prevent it, they will lose their angelic properties and become closer to human beings. They will suffer sickness, and they will die.”
“I just don’t believe it is happening on that level,” Vladimir said, shaking his head. “It’s wishful thinking.”
“Perhaps,” her father said.
“And even if it were happening,” Vladimir said. “What would it mean for us? Or for your daughter? Why would you jeopardize the happiness you have for the sake of uncertainties?”
“Equality,” her father said. “We would be free of their treacherous hold on our civilization. We would have control of our destiny for the first time in modern history.”
“A wonderful dream,” Vladimir said, wistful. “But a fantasy. We cannot control our destiny.”
“Perhaps it’s God’s plan to weaken them slowly,” her father said, ignoring his friend. “Perhaps he chose to exterminate them over time rather than wipe them out suddenly, in one clean sweep.”
“I tired of God’s plans years ago,” Vladimir said, weary. “And so, Luca, did you.”
“You will not come back to us, then?”
Vladimir looked at her father for a moment, as if measuring his words. “Tell me the truth-are my musicological theories what Angela was working with when they took her?”
Evangeline started, unsure if she’d heard Vladimir correctly. Angela had been gone for years, and still Evangeline did not know the precise details of her mother’s death. She shifted in her chair to get a better look at her father’s face. To her surprise, his eyes had filled with tears.
“She was working on a genetic theory of Nephilistic diminishment. Angela’s mother, whom I blame for all of this as much as I blame anyone, sponsored the bulk of the work, found funding, and encouraged Angela to take over the project. I suppose Gabriella thought it the safest niche in the organization-why else would she hide her away in classrooms and libraries if she didn’t think it prudent? Angela assisted in developing models in laboratories-under her mother’s observation, of course.”
“You blame Gabriella for the abduction?” Vladimir said.
“Who can say who is to blame? She was at risk everywhere. Her mother certainly did not protect her from them. But each day I live with the uncertainty. Is Gabriella to blame? Am I? Could I have protected her? Was it a mistake to allow her to pursue her work? That, my old friend, is why I must see the creatures now. If anyone can understand this sickness, this horrid addiction to learning the truth, it is you.”
Suddenly a waiter came to Evangeline’s table, blocking her view of her father. She had been so involved in listening to him that she’d completely forgotten her cake. It lay half eaten, the cream seeping from the center. The waiter cleared the table, wiping up the remainder of the spilled water and, with a cruel efficiency, taking away the cake. By the time Evangeline turned her gaze back to her father’s table, Vladimir had lit a cigarette. Her father’s seat was empty.
Noticing her distress, Vladimir waved her to come to his side. Evangeline jumped from her chair, searching for her father.
“Luca has asked me to watch you while he is gone,” Vladimir said, smiling kindly. “You may not remember, but I met you once when you were a very little girl, when your mother brought you to our quarters in Montparnasse. I used to know your mother quite well in Paris. We worked together, briefly, and were dear friends. Before I spent my days making cakes, I was a scholar, if you can believe it. Wait a moment, and I will show you a picture I have of Angela.”
As Vladimir disappeared into the back room of the café, Evangeline hurried to the door and ran outside. Two blocks away, through crowds of people, she caught sight of her father’s jacket. Without a thought of Vladimir, or of what her father would say if she caught him, she rushed into the crowd, running past shops, convenience stores, parked cars, vegetable stands. At the corner she stepped into the street, nearly tripping over a curb. Her father was ahead; she could see him plainly in the crowd.