Read Online Angelology by Danielle Trussoni - Free Book Online Page B

piece of Gothic furniture with serpents carved into the wood frame. Sneja had gained weight in the decades since her move to New York and wore only loose, flowing tunics that draped against her body in silken sheets. She’d splayed her lush, brilliant-colored wings behind her, folded and arranged to great effect, as if displaying the family’s jewels. As Percival approached, he was nearly blinded by their luminosity, each delicate feather shimmering like a sheet of tinted foil. Sneja’s wings were the pride of the family, the height of their beauty proof of the purity of their heritage. It was a mark of distinction that Percival’s maternal grandmother had been endowed with multicolored wings that stretched over thirty-six feet, a span that had not been seen in a thousand years. It was rumored that such wings had served as models for the angels of Fra Angelico, Lorenzo Monaco, and Botticini. Wings, Sneja had once told Percival, were a symbol of their blood, their breeding, the predominance of their position in the community. Displaying them properly brought power and prestige, and it was no small disappointment that neither Otterley nor Percival had given Sneja an heir to carry on the family endowment.
    Which was precisely the reason it annoyed Percival that Otterley hid her wings. Instead of displaying them, as one would expect, she insisted upon keeping them folded tight against her body, as if she were some common hybrid and not a member of one of the most prestigious angelic families in the United States. Percival understood that the ability to retract one’s wings was a great tool, especially when in mixed society. Indeed, it gave one the ability to move in human society without being detected. But in private company it was an offense to keep one’s wings hidden.
    Sneja Grigori greeted Otterley and Percival, lifting a hand so that it might be kissed by her children. “My cherubs,” she said, her voice deep, her accent vaguely Germanic, a remnant of her Austrian childhood in the House of Hapsburg. Pausing, she narrowed her eyes and examined Otterley’s necklace—a globular pink diamond solitaire sunk in an antique setting. “What a superior piece of jewelry,” she said, as if surprised to find such a treasure about her daughter’s neck.
    “Don’t you recognize it?” Otterley said, lightly. “It is one of Grandmother’s pieces.”
    “Is it?” Sneja lifted the diamond between her thumb and forefinger so that light played off the faceted surface. “I would think I should recognize it, but it seems quite foreign to me. It is from my room?”
    “No,” Otterley replied, her manner guarded.
    “Isn’t it from the vault, Otterley?” Percival asked.
    Otterley pursed her lips, giving him a look that told him at once that he had given his sister away.
    “Ah, well, that would explain its mystery,” Sneja said. “I haven’t been to the vault in so long I’ve completely forgotten its contents. Are all of my mother’s pieces as brilliant as this?”
    “They are lovely, Mother,” Otterley said, her composure shaken. Otterley had been taking pieces from the vault for years without their mother noticing.
    “I simply adore this piece in particular,” Sneja said. “Perhaps I will have to make a midnight trip to the vault? It may be time to do an inventory.”
    Without hesitation Otterley unfastened the necklace and placed it in her mother’s hand. “It will look stunning on you, Mother,” she said. Then, without waiting for her mother’s reaction, or perhaps to mask the anguish of giving up such a jewel, Otterley turned on her stiletto heels and slinked back into the crowd, her dress clinging to her as if wet.
    Sneja held the necklace to the light—it burst into a ball of liquid fire—before dropping it into her beaded evening clutch. Then she turned to Percival, as if suddenly recalling that her only son had witnessed her victory. “It is rather funny,” Sneja said. “Otterley thinks I am unaware