The Catechism said it loud and clear: angels existed. Pope John Paul II had authorized it, so it was official. Each believer had an angel and protector that would lead him or her to eternal life. The creature on the beach had protected Madeleine from dying—especially from dying without one final absolution of her sins from a priest. That matched the description.

But angels must also be, as the Catechism put it, more perfect than all earthly creatures, full of splendor and glory. Madeleine’s otherworldly rescuer hadn’t seemed like that. Madeleine hadn’t even seen her face. She hadn’t glowed, except for the moonlight that had temporarily silhouetted her while Madeleine lay dazed and dazzled on the beach.

She’d never heard of angels that kissed you, either. At least not like that, hungry and hard, in a way that had caused her several sleepless nights while she wrestled with urges she’d thought were gone.

So…it might have been something other than an angel. That idea had kept her up at night too. Her faith had room for apparitions, the dead who came from heaven to counsel the living away from sin—but that was a good thing. Opinion was generally divided on ghosts. In any case, neither apparitions nor ghosts were supposed to feel so…physical, and they definitely weren’t supposed to make out with you. Holy Scripture accounted for demons, but they usually possessed humans before Jesus or his saints had cast them out. It was hard to imagine why a demon would possess a human’s body, kiss Madeleine, and then disappear, taking the human body with it.

No. As incredible and impossible as it seemed, an angel was the most likely answer.

Tomorrow would mark the first anniversary of Madeleine’s supernatural encounter. As it approached, she’d grown nervous and jumpy, as if she were bracing for something to happen. But here in Philadelphia, far from that Orcadian beach, what could it be?

For some reason, she thought of Ava, who’d been with her that day. Both she and Emma had graduated and were now at the same university. Months ago, Ava had written to say she’d decided the sisterhood wasn’t for her.

Thank heavens she’d realized it before it was too late. Imagine refusing to give the idea enough reflection, committing yourself, and losing decades to a life that wasn’t right for you. It was enough to make Madeleine’s blood turn to ice.

Someone cleared her throat.

Madeleine started. More than a decade spent as a high school teacher helped her detect even the sneakiest footsteps, but she’d been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard a thing.

Before her stood Sacred Heart’s only other nun under fifty: Sister Bridget, a young woman who worked diligently and was so pretty that Madeleine had spent the last year trying not to notice her delicate hands.