Angelopolis by Danielle Trussoni

Author:Danielle Trussoni [Trussoni, Danielle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-03-25T22:00:00+00:00

The Fifth Circle

FURY

Trans-Siberian Railway

Verlaine’s ears rang with a steady, grating buzz. He opened his eyes and saw an indistinct space, foggy and insubstantial, its gray walls bleeding into a gray ceiling, giving him the impression that he’d awoken in a cave. His whole body was consumed in heat, so much so that even the crisp cotton sheets under his shoulders burned his skin. He couldn’t figure out where he was, how he had ended up on such a hard mattress, why his whole body throbbed with pain. Then it all came back: St. Petersburg, the black-winged angel, the electricity moving through his body.

The outline of a woman appeared at his side, a shadowy presence that seemed both comforting and menacing at once. He blinked, trying to make out her features. For a second he was in his recurring dream with Evangeline. He felt the icy coolness of her kiss, the electric attraction as he touched her, the strength of her wings as they wrapped around his body. He was disoriented by her presence, confused about whether he had seen her at all, afraid that—when he awoke completely—she would be lost to him again. But his eyes were open and she was at his side. The beautiful creature he had been longing for had come back to him.

Verlaine blinked again, trying to focus on his surroundings. “You might want these,” a voice said, and Verlaine felt the metal of his wire-rimmed glasses against his skin. Instantly the world contracted into focus, and he caught sight of the Russian angel hunter he’d seen just before he lost consciousness. Without her helmet she looked softer than he remembered—less the professional killing machine and more a regular person. The woman had long blond hair and an expression of concern on her face. Bruno stood nearby, looking almost as bad as Verlaine felt. His hair was matted and his cheek had been scraped raw. Seeing Bruno’s injuries brought Verlaine back to his own. Every breath hurt. He remembered the chase through St. Petersburg, he remembered Eno and the wretched Nephilim twins. He swallowed hard, the pain going down with it. He wanted to say something but couldn’t find his voice.

“Welcome back,” Bruno said, moving close to squeeze Verlaine’s shoulder.

While Verlaine had discerned that he was in some kind of medical facility, he had no idea if he was in Russia or France. “Where am I?”

“Somewhere between Moscow and Yaroslavl, I’d guess,” Bruno said, checking his watch.

Bruno’s face was encrusted with dried blood, his clothes streaked with dirt. Verlaine gave Bruno a questioning look, trying to understand what was happening.

“We’re on our way to Siberia,” Bruno said. “By train.”

“What happened to you?” Verlaine asked, trying to pull himself up in bed and feeling a spike of pain.

“Run-in with the Russian Raiphim,” Bruno said.

“Sounds like a good name for your memoirs,” the blond woman said.

“This is Yana,” Bruno said. “She’s a Russian hunter who has, coincidentally, been tracking Eno for nearly as long as I have. She has also agreed to relinquish one of her transport cars for your recovery.

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