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fashion such a seductive and evil being.
    Verlaine heard something behind him and turned to see Bruno emerge from a balcony just below. He knew that he should have called for assistance right away, that following Evangeline without backup went against all that he’d been trained to do, but Verlaine hadn’t even thought to alert Bruno.
    “I see you have a death wish,” Bruno said.
    “I thought that was one of the criteria for this job.”
    “Going solo against a creature like Eno is suicide,” Bruno said, gasping for breath as he pulled himself over the ledge. “Believe me, I’ve been there.”
    Verlaine noted the hesitation in Bruno’s movements and the self-conscious way he spoke, and strained to imagine what sort of connection to Eno could provoke this reaction in his boss. Veraline turned to the two angels facing off at the center of the rooftop. “I think there’s something else happening here.”
    Verlaine stared at Evangeline and Eno for a moment, as if considering their actions with the eye of an anthropologist. The Emim angel traced a circle around Evangeline, marking her territory, and slowly opened her enormous black wings. They were magnificent, falling in sweeping tiers, the small feathers graduating into large opaque bursts of plumage. While the powdery feathers appeared heavy and substantial, he knew that if he were to touch them, his hand would pass through, as if skimming through a projection of light. Most Emim were repulsive, but this one was alluring, with all of the defects of the breed altered to create a disturbing and dark beauty. Verlaine was captivated. He wanted to remember each minute detail of what he was seeing, to store it in his mind so that he could examine the creature again in the future.
    As if to demonstrate the power and agility of her wings, Eno curled them around her body and, with a pulse of strength, puffed them outward, so that they flared like the hood of a cobra. Although the subject of years of intensive investigation, Verlaine was never quite prepared for the 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