Jude and I stand closeas we read the words.
Taken from the Testament of the Watchers, AD 1053
In the beginning, God made the angels. He formed them in light and goodness, that they might serve His will. But many fell from grace, drawn by pride and the lust for dominion. Among these were Dante and Seraphina, glorious in form, terrible in purpose, bound together in a love corrupted by envy.
Dante, seeking to magnify his strength, begat a mortal line in secret, that his power might be increased through the mingling of blood. Unwilling to be lesser, Seraphina did likewise, and forged a lineage of her own.
But when Dante perceived her ambition, he rose up in fury. From her three amulets, wherein her gifts were bound, he did strip of power and sealed it within his tomb. The vessels left barren,he descended into the grave by his own hand.
She doth now wander the earth, awaiting her hour.
When his fire blazeth brightest in the heavens, when the amulets are set within the arch, and the mortal blood of Dante’s seed is willingly spilled upon the vault wherein her power was sealed, then shall she rise, more terrible and mighty than before.
Translated faithfully by my hand.
- Ezra Vandenberg, AD 1757
“1757,” I whisper.
The last time Dante’s comet appeared, blazing bright in the heavens.
Jude’s eyes meet mine. He hasn’t given me the chance to tell him about the gemstones, about Seraphina’s powers. But this does the job well enough.
I open the Bible, half-expecting it to be carved out like the one from Simon’s bedroom, only this will have the gemstones inside. But the pages areintact and as dry as fallen leaves. I flip through them, stopping in Lamentations, where three loose pages have been tucked, their edges ragged on one side.
As though torn from a book.
No. A journal.
The first was written the same year as Ezra’s translation.
She came to me not as an angel but in the likeness of a woman, fair to behold with a countenance that stirred longing in the hearts of men. She named herself Sara—a maiden with no kin, a damsel in need of saving. Many fell beneath her influence. I alone beheld the truth and would not receive her.
She turned then to my brother. He gave her his heart. I entreated him to reconsider, for I perceived she sought not love but power. She required our blood to reclaim that which had been taken from her. But he wouldnot listen. Or perchance he did, and chose to love her still.
I resolved to destroy her, but every attempt failed. I came to suspect the endeavor an impossibility. That which hath fallen from heaven cannot be destroyed by earth. My only hope was to cast her out. Yet in my attempt, it was my brother whom I destroyed.
In my despair, I struck a bargain with the devil. My brother’s life for my heart. I believed I might outwit her.
As she brought Raphael back from death, I moved against her. I opened the tomb and sealed her within. The seal held. Yet what returned to me bore not the soul of my brother, but a shadow of a man filled with bitterness and rage.
He has fixedhis hatred upon me, for it was I who imprisoned Seraphina.
“She was real?” Jude says.
It’s not so hard for me to believe. But for him? His face has gone a shade paler, casting the shadows beneath his eyes and cheekbones into sharper relief. This beautiful boy, tumbling deeper down Alice’s rabbit hole.
Seraphina and Dante.
Not just characters in a children’s fable.
But actual fallen angels.
As real as the curse.
I reread the entry, trying to make sense of the implications. Seraphina wanted her powers back. To do that, she needed to open the tomb. To open the tomb, she needed the blood of Dante’s mortal descendants. So she went after Ezra, and then Raphael. Which means …
“Jude,” I whisper.
