Then she heard more engines, and she slid into a hollow formed by several tumbled rocks. Five more of the four-wheeled vehicles came racing out of the woods and went splashing along the shallow streambed to join the others. One by one the engine roars coughed and fell silent as the motorcycles were switched off. In the ensuing silence she could hear the chatter of at least a dozen voices, and as she watched, she saw people moving through the forest on foot, alone and in small groups of two or three.

Lilah wormed her way forward to get a better look.

The gathering was a mix of men and women of all ages—but they were all dressed alike in black pants and shirts, with bloodred ribbons tied around their arms, legs, waists, and necks. On each person’s chest, whether rendered in chalk, paint, or fine stitchery, was a similar design of stylized wings. Angel wings.

Lilah immediately thought back to what little Eve had said.

I was running after Ry-Ry, and I lost my way ’cause there were angels in the woods.

Every person’s head was shaved bald, and their scalps were covered in complex tattoos. Most of them had patterns of wildflowers, green vines, autumn leaves, and thornbushes. A few had images of chains and barbed wire inked among the flowers. The art ranged from very crude to exquisitely rendered.

All the people were armed, and every one of them showed signs of recent trauma. Bruises, stitched wounds, crusted cuts, and stained bandages.

These were fighters, Lilah decided. She appraised their weapons and saw every kind of knife, hatchet, cleaver, ax, and sword—but not one firearm.

As more people came out of the woods, the others greeted them with joyful smiles, handshakes, and hugs.

Lilah moved away from the rocks and silently threaded her way through a stand of leafy shrubs so she could reach a high stone ledge that rose above and behind the group of people. She moved like a ghost, and no one saw or heard her. She flattened out and went utterly still with a clear view of the gathering through a tiny break in the overhanging foliage.

Two of the gathered people produced glass bottles filled with a viscous red liquid. They uncorked the bottles and moved through the crowd, dribbling the fluid onto the ends of the red ribbons. The breeze carried the foul smell of it to Lilah, and she wrinkled her nose. It was not the same as cadaverine but definitely something similar, and it probably served the same purpose.

The crowd suddenly stiffened and turned as two additional figures stepped out into the sunlight at the edge of the stream. A woman, with a brute of a man walking a pace behind her. The gathered mass of fighters bowed with great reverence to her.

Lilah heard many of them speak a name as they bowed. “Mother Rose.”