Heaven's Bones (44 page)

She will keep her sisters safe, she will keep mad Robarts safe. That is what Angels do.

In the bowels of the London Underground, in a chamber that few men knew of below the platform, a figure stirred.

It was gaunt, and walked oddly, and its back was draped with a strange material that looked like leather.

It made its way up the steps, avoiding the water that trickled from some unseen source, and entered the platform. Tucked between two pillars, a small shrine was set up.

There were candles burning, and a small icon of the Virgin, and a rosary draped over it.

There was also a plate with an embroidered napkin draped carefully over its contents. The figure bent to take it, and moved back to her lair.

She is Seriah and I am her; I see myself as well, like a tiny portrait in a great gallery of moving paintings.

I am a Recording Angel.

I'd like to acknowledge the immeasurable patience and support of my family–Martin, my darling girls Josie and Gennie, and my parents and their infinite acres of books. Many thanks as well to wonder-editor Cortney Marabetta, to my wise readers Merrill Mielke, Jaime Lee Moyer, Andrew Nicolle, Lon Prater, Marsheila Rockwell, Josh Rountree, and to the members of the never-to-be-forgot CritcalMS.