“Make it quick, Enoch,” Raph complained as we stood, poised, on the edge of the room. “Show us whatever it is you want us to see.”
“It’s not so much what you can see, as what it is,” Enoch answered, his voice echoing against the cold plaster and stone walls. “This is actually three churches. Right now we’re in the original Pantocrator. As you said, Michael, it’s a mosque today.”
My eyes began adjusting to the dim light, and the shape of the church began to make sense to me. It was shaped like a cross, a giant dome spanning the center with a half-dome at the head. The floor of the half-dome was covered in a rich, burgundy carpet. Its upper walls were decorated in ornate calligraphy—graceful white on green, surrounded by swags of gold—delicate flourishes in jewel tones circling the domes and arches, reaching higher and higher toward the sky. A turned wooden pulpit sat at the far end, to the side. I started to walk toward it, but Michael’s hand darted out and grabbed my elbow.
“Better not,” he warned. “I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“Hurry up, Enoch,” Raph ordered, looking uneasily about him.
Enoch’s mirrored sunglasses reflected a tiny sliver of light from the far-off windows as he turned to speak. “This is the Pantocrator, Christ Almighty and Triumphant. Over there, on the far side,” he continued, waving his cane to the north end of the building, “is the Church of the Virgin Eleousa, The Merciful. What we came to see is the chapel that connects them.”
He turned and began making his way toward a dark arch, not bothering to see if we were following him. Ahead of us, from the shadows, we heard him swear an oath.
“It’s boarded up! We’ll have to push our way through.”
Michael and Raph gave each other a look.
“Enoch …” Raph began, a note of warning in his voice. They pushed ahead, forming a wall of angelic flesh before me. I couldn’t see past them but heard the creaky protest of boards and the sudden explosion when they splintered. A cloud of dust blew toward me. I closed my eyes and felt a rush of dust, woodchips, and dirt whip about me. My hands flew up to cover my mouth, but not before a fit of coughing shook my body.
“Are you okay?” Michael was at my side. The heat radiating from his body exercised some sort of magnetic pull on me. I wanted to lean into him and rest my head against his shoulder, breathing him in. Instead, I just mumbled something and shook my head.
“You can open your eyes now; the dust has settled.”
I lowered my arm and looked. The tiniest hint of light glimmered ahead of us, well past a row of stone arches. We began to pick our way through the broken plywood that littered the floor, heading toward the light.
The passageway opened up into a narrow, but very long, room. The limited light came from tiny windows that punctuated the two oval domes overhead. Pale beams of sun filtered through their dirty glass, illuminating the floating particles of dust and glancing off silvery cobwebs that hung from piers and unlit sconces. The air was stale. At the right end of the room, I saw a half-dome and a raised pulpit that mirrored that of the church from which we’d just come, scaffolding from some forgotten project abandoned up against the dirty marble walls.
“This is the mortuary chapel of the Comneni dynasty,” Enoch explained breathlessly, worn out from his escapade.
“That means you’re standing on bones,” Raph said drily, laughing as I jumped to the edge of the room and backed against the wall.
“Really?”
Michael nodded. “The crypt is underneath us.”
The floor was dirty, but when I scraped my foot across the layer of dirt I could see the strange script of an ancient grave marker. A faint pattern of them ran in straight lines across the marble.
“It reminds you of the Martyrium in Jerusalem, does it not?” Raph queried Michael. Michael nodded, distracted, as he walked around in the empty chapel.
“A martyrium? Like for people who sacrificed themselves for God?” I asked, curious.
“Yes,” Enoch replied, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. “How interesting, then, that it is dedicated to Michael.”
In the dimness, I could see Michael’s back stiffen. Without turning, he announced, “It means nothing, Enoch.”
His denial was still echoing when Raph snorted derisively. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? You, who are the only one of us to whom churches are built and icons are struck?
Michael swung around, then, his face stiffened with irritation. “Your jealousy ill becomes you, brother. I would have thought the millennia would have diminished your pettiness.”
Raph crossed his arms as if daring Michael to come closer. “I have no jealousy of your sick love of humans. Did you extend your protection to these dissolute emperors, too? Is that why they bowed and scraped to your name?”
Michael scowled. “Actually, no. I had nothing to do with them. I have no idea why they named their burial chapel for me.”
Raph laughed, a harsh bark that rang through the chapel. “Likely story. You, linked as equal with the Virgin and the Savior, with your own church at the center of it all? I would have thought even you would have some shame.” With that, he stalked off through the corridor. Behind us, I could hear the giant door of the Pantocrator squeal angrily and then slam shut as he stormed out of the church.
Michael wasted no time before pouncing on Enoch, who stayed uncharacteristically silent through the whole exchange. The throbbing vein in his forehead broadcasted that his irritation was quickly turning into anger.
“What game are you playing, Enoch? Why did you bring us here if not to stir up trouble between Raph and me?”
Enoch backed away, raising his palms in protest. “I meant nothing by it. But you must admit, it is unusual.”
“Not so unusual,” Michael retorted, biting his words with anger. “Mont Saint-Michel. Castel Sant’Angelo. There are countless churches around the world named for me.” He took a swipe at the open map that still drooped in Enoch’s hand. “That damned pamphlet is full of them; you said so yourself.”
Enoch tilted his head, seeming to be lost in thought. “Yes, perhaps you are right. Perhaps it was a mistake. But to be—”
“That’s enough.” Michael didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t need to. His steely eyes flashed his warning to Enoch. No more.
Enoch shrugged. “Perhaps we can go to the next—”
“Enough!” Michael’s voice shook with fury. “We’re leaving. Now!”
He pointed through the dark archway and stared at Enoch while the old man slowly folded the pamphlet and tucked it into his guidebook. Enoch took his time before placing his cane firmly in front of him and beginning his strange, thumping walk through the dark.
Michael turned and waited for me to go next, his lips clamped into a firm line.
Instinctively, I defended Enoch and tried to smooth things over. “It’s not so bad. What he did, Michael. He didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” I said, the stillness of the chapel making my voice seem tiny.
Be careful, Henri whispered. He’s not thinking rationally.
I tried to ignore my guardian angel and focused on Michael.
His mouth curved into a frown as he shook his head. “He knows the history between us. He knows how hard it is for Raph …” He cut himself off, and I could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
“How hard it is for Raph to help you when he resents you? Or how hard it is for Raph to help me, when he hates humanity?”
Michael’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “You. You see too much. Your mind grasps understanding too quickly. I should have known it was useless trying to hide it from you.”
Impulsively, I moved closer and reached out to rest my hand on his arm. I could feel his biceps tense under my touch, but I didn’t move away, not even as my fingers began to tingle with the familiar heat. And neither did he.
“You don’t need to hide anything from me,” I whispered.
“I just …” He stopped short again. Frustrated, he threw off my hand
and raked his fingers through his hair. He turned toward me, suddenly close, eyes wild.
“If this damn pain would just stop.” His tone was almost plaintive, beseeching me to make the hurt go away. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and I swallowed hard, knowing Henri was right. Michael was dangerously close to the edge.
“We need to go, Michael. You said so yourself.” My voice trembled, but I kept my eyes steady, gazing directly into his, hoping he couldn’t see how scared I was. I needed to be strong—strong enough for the both of us.
My words echoed around me, fading bit by bit until we were alone in silence. Every plane of Michael’s face was taut. He looked stretched beyond his limits, and I watched as he took deep breaths, gulping down the stale air until slowly, with great effort, he forced himself to relax.
He let out a big breath and dragged his hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples to chase the last vestiges of his pain away. When he dropped his hand, his eyes looked normal, except for the lines that seemed to be carved even more deeply around them.
“I don’t like for you to see me like this. Let’s go,” he said, his voice emotionless, the moment between us lost.
He led the way, guiding me in the dark over the fallen splintered boards that were scattered in the arched corridor as we moved back toward the first church. Wordlessly, he pushed open the door, which creaked its protest at being disturbed, and waited for me to walk out.
Phew, Henri said. That was too close. You better hurry up and figure out where that rock is. Once he loses control, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
My finger snaked up involuntarily to trace the outlines of the Mark, once something I did out of habit. I traced its intricate design, knowing now that it identified me as the bearer of the rock with which Cain had slain Abel—the rock that was, in reality, the key to unlock Heaven’s Gate, the thing the Fallen Angels wanted more than anything, so they could overthrow Heaven. If I failed in my quest to find it in time—or if Michael decided to take things into his own hands—this Mark meant my death sentence.
four
TURKEY
“I need to go running.”
I wasn’t negotiating. Simply stating the facts. As far as my angel companions knew, since I’d left Atlanta I’d had no time, let alone opportunity, to run. My muscles were aching from fatigue. My brain was clouded by jet lag. And my skin, though healing, still stung with the pain of the licking flames that had enveloped my body. I was testy and anxious. After yesterday’s clashes at the churches we had toured, the tension between us all had simmered and bubbled. There had been no discussion of what to do next, nor where to go. Instead, I’d been cooped up inside our temporary home, Enoch and Raph my watchdogs, while Michael disappeared to do God-knows-what. I had nothing to entertain me and had been forbidden use of the single television in the living room.
Enoch used the opportunity to keep pushing me to think about the Prophecy. I’d pored over the strange words, smoothing out the crumpled piece of paper for what seemed like a thousand times, waiting for inspiration, but nothing came. It seemed just as foreign as before. But this time I had an audience pacing around me, watching me struggle with the ancient text, which only heightened my frustration.
I knew that my previous effort had only failed because I’d stumbled into that protest. The fact that the Fallen had turned up, in a twisted sort of way, confirmed that I was on the right track. If I was going to find the Key, I needed to get out.
I needed to run.
Now.
I had a window while Michael was gone. I had a halfway decent chance of convincing Enoch, which would put him and Raph at a stalemate. And in a stalemate, I might just win. So I crossed my arms and faced off against the two angels who had put me on lockdown inside the old wooden house in the backstreets of the Sultanahmet, daring them to refuse me.
Raph rolled his eyes, yet again, at my seemingly inane request.
“She doesn’t get to do anything,” he said, speaking of me in the third person as he pretended to read Enoch’s discarded guidebook with great interest. “She is not on vacation. She is not on a pleasure tour. Clearly the answer is no.”
He’d been this way ever since the blowup at the chapel. He didn’t even bother to look up from his book, pointedly ignoring me while he kept turning the pages with a perfectly manicured finger.
I hated him. I hated his impossibly pressed khakis and cotton shirt. I hated his immaculate grooming. I hated his dark, brooding handsomeness. I hated how he goaded Michael. And I hated how dismissive he was of me. It was almost better when he was openly hostile, when he had treated me as if I had been personally responsible for the fall of man.
But if Raph drew me into an argument, he’d win. So I counted to ten and tried again, focusing my efforts on Enoch. While we were staying indoors, Enoch had changed his appearance back to the Birkenstock-wearing hippie guise in which I’d met him. It reminded me that he’d said I was like one of his granddaughters. I could use that, if I could just make him remember it again.
“Enoch,” I began, tentatively, uncrossing my arms, “running clears my head. I think it would help me focus on the Key and where we might find it.”
I looked up into his round, dark glasses expectantly. But he said nothing and simply grunted. I took that as a sign he was considering it and pressed on.
“I promise, I won’t do anything dangerous. I’ll stick to populated areas, I won’t talk to anybody, and I’ll come right back. Twenty, twenty-five minutes, tops. I promise.”
Enoch was stroking the scraggly lengths of his white beard. My pleading eyes, distorted into two huge orbs, stared back from the mirrored lenses of his glasses.
“Michael will never know,” I offered, hoping this might seal the deal. My fingers snaked up to the Mark upon the back of my neck, nervously fingering it as I waited for Enoch to answer.
“But are you well enough to run?” Enoch asked. “You haven’t let Raph heal you. It might do more harm than good for you to exert yourself.”
Raph slammed the guidebook shut and sent a sharp look to Enoch. “You can’t be seriously considering letting her go, can you? Michael wouldn’t allow it.”
“Michael’s not here. And Michael is not infallible, as you so regularly point out,” Enoch responded, stretching out a hand to me. “Come here, my girl.”
Obediently, I went to his side.
“Give me your hand.”
I offered my hand up to him and he began to inspect it, turning it over to examine the shiny scars that crisscrossed its back and palm. He grunted again, and then pushed up my shirtsleeve with his other hand to see if the skin on my arm was in the same condition.
He didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and regarded me with his sightless eyes. The warmth from his touch radiated against my skin, sending waves of comfort and relief throughout my body.
“All of your skin is the same, is it? No open sores anymore?”
“No sores. It’s just itchy and tight. I think it might help to move around a bit more.”
He hadn’t broken his gaze. I shuffled nervously, worried that I might have misplayed my hand. But my fears were unwarranted.
“You may be right. We need to find that rock. I am willing to try almost anything, if it will help you unlock the mysteries of its whereabouts. But only under one condition: you must let Raph and me run with you, for your protection.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly, as if in warning.
Grudgingly, I nodded. “You can follow me, but only at a distance. I don’t want to know you’re there. I need some time alone.”
Raph snorted, tossing the book to the ground. “Perfect. Just like that, she gets her wish? Enoch, are you out of your mind?”
I flinched at the anger in his tone, but Enoch simply smiled. “She is the Bearer, Raph. Without her, we have no chance of finding this … thing. And we must find it,” he continued on, eagerly. “If a little run will help her, I
am more than happy to oblige.” He squeezed my hand, complicit in my scheme. “I think you’ll find some things you’ll need in your room. Just look in the armoire.”
“Thank you, Enoch!” I squealed, throwing my arms about him and nearly knocking him out of his chair. For the first time ever, he seemed discomfited. He patted my arm awkwardly. “There, there. Go get yourself ready. We’ll wait for you here.”
I pulled the sheet off the armoire, rolling it up into a ball that I tossed into the corner. I pulled the heavy doors wide. The musty smell of old air and mothballs seeped out of the cabinet. I peered inside to find the entire thing taken up with long coats—some woolen, some fur.
I reached an arm in to jostle among the coats until my knuckles came upon a hidden shelf. Shoving the coats aside, I saw everything I needed for my run, just as Enoch had promised: long tights with reflective stripes, a base layer and running top, even socks and running shoes just like the ones I had at home—but new. I slid into it all, my body already exhilarated at the thought of the freedom I’d experience—at least for a little while—while let loose upon the streets of Istanbul.
The last thing I found, at the bottom of the pile, was a set of earphones and an iPod. I flicked through the playlist and found all my favorites, loaded up and ready for me to run.
I was ridiculously happy.
When I emerged from the house into the cobblestone street, I found myself alone. I looked around, trying to spot Raph and Enoch while I stretched to warm up, but I couldn’t see them anywhere.
Impressive, Henri said snidely. I would think it would be hard to hide the kind of girth Enoch carries around.
“Be nice,” I chided under my breath.
I didn’t have a map, but I didn’t think I’d need one. After all, how far could I go in twenty minutes? I started my playlist and set off down the street, my ponytail tucked neatly inside my hood.
The music kicked in, and I found myself falling into the old, familiar rhythms of my run. The cobblestones were trickier to navigate, however; one false step could mean a sprained ankle or worse. So I reminded myself to watch the road, my steady breaths quieting my mind, so I could think.
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