I giggled at the thought. “My eyes!” I joked, before a sharp resetting of something in my bones took my breath away.
Raph grinned, his eyes still tightly closed. He let his fingers dance about the delicate bones of my ankle, probing and poking to make sure everything was aligned. “Exactly. Anyway, Enoch convinced me to let you continue, undisturbed, as you rescued your mutt here. And I was impressed enough by your courage to let you handle those men on your own.”
“Until you knew Michael was coming.”
A sad look passed over his face. “Until Michael was upon us, yes. I didn’t want any of us to suffer the consequences of his unmitigated anger. Even though I was quite sure you could have gotten out of that scrape on your own.”
He opened his eyes and smiled before looking down at my ankle. It had a healthy pink glow and, except for the burn tissue, looked completely normal. I wiggled it around under his touch.
“Good as new,” I said. “Impressive.”
“Yes. Impressive,” he said, eyeing me with a thoughtful expression. Swiftly, he pulled down my running tights and pulled me to my feet.
I looked back down the alley, searching for the girl who’d melted into the darkness.
“Will she be okay, Raph? That girl?”
He sighed, weighing his words before answering my question. “It’s too late for her, Hope. She’s damaged. Broken. Physically and emotionally, probably beyond repair.”
I gulped. “You couldn’t …?” I didn’t even have the words to ask him. Couldn’t he save her? Couldn’t we all save her?
“It doesn’t work that way. I wish we could, but we can’t. She has to want to be healed for me to be of any help. For any of us to reach her, for that matter. Besides, as noble as your thoughts are, you really should be worried about yourself.” He nodded back up the alley.
“Good luck.”
He turned to give me a full view of Michael, now unencumbered by Enoch, bearing down toward us. The men in the alley had slunk away, leaving no witnesses whose presence might stay Michael’s wrath. I braced myself, expecting a good tongue-lashing.
Raph made a half-hearted attempt to soften him up. “She’s fine, Michael. They weren’t Fallen, if that is what you are worried about.”
Michael ignored him, focusing only on me. He ran his hands over me, checking to be sure I was whole, his touch sending sparks of heat coursing through my body. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”
I nodded, unable to speak for the lump in my throat.
He sighed and then stepped back, turning from me, head in hands, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. I waited for him to turn around, expecting to see a smile of relief on his face. Instead I was met with cold fury. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together so tightly they were turning gray. It was taking every effort he had to keep his temper contained. He could barely bring himself to look at me, couldn’t even stand to be next to me, as he spit out his orders, clearing us out of the alley.
“We’re leaving. Now.”
He turned on his heel and began marching back to the street. I stared after him, almost disappointed. Raph turned to me and shrugged. “Better keep up,” he muttered, pushing me ahead.
We were walking at a blistering pace. If it hadn’t been for the way we darted single file in and out of crowds, weaving our perfectly synchronized way like a flock of birds, you wouldn’t have even known we were together. Nobody spoke; the only sounds were the blaring horns of the cars rushing by, the chatter of the crowds, and the winds surging up from the water. While I’d been fending off the trafficker, Istanbul had woken up, the pale yellow sun rising in the sky doing nothing to warm the air.
“I thought it was supposed to be spring in Turkey this time of year,” Raph muttered to himself, tucking his bare hands under his armpits.
“Maybe hell is freezing over,” Michael said sharply in response. That ended any attempt at conversation for several blocks. Every now and then, I’d look back to see the puppy—my puppy—trotting behind us contentedly.
Michael was not leading us back to the house. It was unclear what he was doing, other than trying to punish us with the death march across the city and up its famous hills. As we crested another swell, things began to look familiar. Greek letters were stenciled neatly on the signs outside of each doorstep, the random sign here and there amended with a spattering of English. The domes and crucifixes of a few ancient churches loomed above the buildings—silent witnesses and survivors of the “cleansing” that had converted many to mosques hundreds of years ago. We wended our way back to the very place I’d wanted to be: the old Greek quarter I’d been haunting for the last few days.
Wearily, I stopped in my tracks and gaped. It couldn’t be an accident. It just couldn’t be.
“Michael,” I began. He kept walking up the steep sidewalk. “Michael. Please.”
He turned around and crossed his arms, looking at me intently.
“Please. Stop punishing us. We’re sorry, okay? I was just trying to clear my head, so I could work on the Prophecy. Enoch and Raph were with me the whole time. I promise.”
A dark shadow came over his face, and his blue eyes shifted to steely gray.
“You went into one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city.”
“I didn’t know. It was stupid of me not to have checked a map. I’m sorry.”
He looked at me, and I realized he wasn’t angry. He was afraid. He let out a giant sigh and lifted a hand to his brow, wrinkled deep with worry.
“Those weren’t just any men, you realize. They were traffickers.”
“You don’t know …” Enoch began, shaking his head sadly. Michael raised a hand, instantly silencing Enoch.
“They were traffickers. I know it. Turkey is infamous as a through-point for trafficking foreign girls. Syrian, Ukrainian, Greek. Girls from all over. Girls just like you, Hope.” He was grabbing me by the shoulders now, shaking me with each word that left his lips. Even through my thermal running clothes I could feel his heat surging against me, and it was all I could do to stop myself from leaning into him, from tilting my face up expectantly, for a kiss.
“If those men had gotten you … if they were allied in any way with the Chinese …” His mouth trembled as his fingers dug even more tightly into my arms. I bit my lip, unsure if there were anything I could say to make him feel better.
“But they didn’t.” Enoch rested a hand on Michael’s arm as he intoned the words, his voice steady. Michael visibly relaxed under his touch.
“No. You’re right. They didn’t.” Michael smiled a shaky smile. “They didn’t,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself that everything would be all right. He searched my eyes—for what, I couldn’t tell.
Raph cleared his throat, and we both turned to face him. Michael’s hand drifted to the small of my back, as if he was sheltering me.
“Did you have any epiphanies during your run?” Raph asked dryly. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking.
“Don’t push yourself too hard. I always found that things would come to me when the time was right.” Michael smiled down at me as he shared his advice, and my heart fluttered. His eyes sparkled, the blue of a robin’s egg, all the worry seemingly wiped away.
Why couldn’t he always be like that?
Because of you, Henri intruded. That’s why.
I couldn’t hide the frisson of self-doubt that struck me. Michael noticed it, too, and frowned slightly.
“I’m not so sure if what worked for you will work for Hope, Michael,” Enoch opined. He was barely wheezing now, having taken advantage of our break to recover from walking the difficult terrain of Istanbul. Even so, he leaned heavily into his cane as he made his way up the hill, catching up with Michael and me.
“She may need even more searching. She is unused to her powers, and they are ill-formed. She will need to try harder to make up for it.”
Michael scowled. “It doesn’t have to work that way, Enoch.”
“But it
might. And we don’t have a lot of time to waste. You know the Fallen will be after us soon, if not already.”
Michael threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine, then. What do you suggest?”
I piped up before Enoch could open his mouth. “You didn’t let me finish earlier. When you asked me if I’d had any epiphanies. I was about to say I have an idea.”
The three angels paused and looked at me, surprised.
“Go on, tell us, then,” Raph prompted. He looked serious, but I could detect the start of a smile, a sign of grudging respect, under the grim set of his mouth.
“That is an antiquities shop,” I began, pointing across the street at the dusty glass front, packed with odds and ends, that had been my object all along. “Am I right?”
“Yes. Go on,” Enoch said, curious.
I thought through how to explain the mysterious pull the shop had on me without giving away the fact that today’s errant run through the city was not an isolated incident.
“Well, what we’re looking for certainly qualifies as an antiquity. Maybe we can find out something by talking with that shop’s owner.”
Raph looked at me dubiously. “Now that’s logical,” he said, rolling his eyes like the old Raph I knew. “What do you propose? Waltz in and ask him if he’s seen the rock that belonged to Cain? And he’ll just pull it out from under the counter and say, ‘Here you go, missy? Is there anything else you’ll be needing today?’”
Raph dug his hands deeper under his armpits.
I raised a brow and gave him my best hard stare, silently willing him to work with me. “At least it will be warm inside.”
“Sold!” Enoch sang out, waving his cane in the air to marshall us all. “Let’s get in there and see what we can find.”
We wandered across the street, and I realized what a motley crew we made. Enoch was still in his Grateful Dead T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. He had a knit cap on his head, the kind with earflaps and ties that really only look right on children under the age of five. Underneath the cap, his gray hair flowed down his back, almost as long as his grizzly beard. His cane had some new bumper stickers—they were hard to read, because they wrapped around such a small surface, but I was pretty sure one read “No Nukes” and another had psychedelic bears.
Raph was the polar opposite. He was dressed in pressed khakis, with a fancy sailing sweater over a button-down shirt that probably cost more than my dad’s used car. Our altercation with the men in the alley had not added a wrinkle or stain to the entire ensemble. He looked like he’d stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine.
I knew I looked ill-suited for any shopping right now, in my running gear and shoes. And then there was Michael.
He looked older, still. The shadows that had once seemed temporary had settled in permanently under his eyes, giving him a haunted look. His skin looked taut, the five o’clock shadow he’d let grow in over the last few days underscoring that he was more, well, grown-up now. He was wearing a faded pair of Levi’s that highlighted every contour of his muscles. The cream cashmere sweater he wore looked like it was molded to his very body.
He caught me staring at him as he climbed the step to the antiquities shop and grinned. I blushed, feeling foolish, and stared down at my feet to compose myself. The shop door’s bell tinkled, and I looked up to find him holding the door for me.
“After you,” he said, politely, the smile wiped from his face.
I looked to the pup. “Stay here,” I admonished, and to my surprise he sat, obediently, at the doorstep.
I climbed the steps and ducked into the store, cursing myself for the lapse that let Michael see my feelings. I could afford to feel sorry for the pain I was causing Michael, but I couldn’t afford to let down my guard. I couldn’t let him catch me thinking about him the way I used to.
Like when he sent you that Valentine’s Day card?
I blushed an even deeper red at Henri’s needling, remembering the promises Michael had made to hold me in the palm of his hand. But it had been easy for him to promise to keep me safe when he was hidden in the shadows of anonymity. Easy, when he didn’t know that I was the Bearer of the Key. I shook my head, reminding myself there was too much at stake for me to indulge in wishful thinking.
My embarrassment was soon forgotten, though, as I took in the treasures displayed inside the store. From the street, the shop had seemed tiny, a space wedged between two larger establishments that took up most of the building’s front. Inside, however, the space seemed to unfurl into a maze of twists and turns, each room unfolding into another, all equally packed with shelves and racks full of books, objets d’art, and other curiosities I couldn’t even begin to explain. Vases and busts were piled upon what looked like old altars. Statues crowded against candelabra and reliquaries, each more magnificent than the last. The air was filled with the must and dust of old things. I breathed it in, my eyes pulled in a hundred competing directions, unsure of where to begin.
I rested a hand on top of a pile of neatly folded cloths. I picked at the top one, wondering at the delicate embroidery that ran along its edges.
“That is six hundred years old,” a stern voice noted with a tone of disapproval. I snatched my hand away from the fabric and turned to see the small, dark man from my earlier visit, dressed formally in a suit and vest, a pocket watch hanging from the front where his jacket hung open. I paused, waiting for him to shoo me away with the same dismissive treatment he’d used on me yesterday, but apparently he didn’t recognize me. He waited expectantly for me to say something appropriate in response to his statement.
“It’s beautiful. Everything is,” I said, hoping my smile might smooth his ruffled feathers. Instead, he grimaced at me, exasperated, over the glasses he’d perched on top of his sharply hooked nose.
“Of course everything in here is beautiful. I have collected it all myself. I only take the very best.”
He turned and began making his way through the maze of things. “That altar cloth is much too new for me, but the embroidery was so exquisite, I couldn’t resist.”
I trailed after him. “Just what is it that you do, sir?”
He turned and looked me up and down before answering me. “You’re too young to be a collector. Have you gotten separated from your parents?”
I ignored the obvious insult. “I’m young, but I am still interested in collecting, as you call it. So are my friends. They came in with me—perhaps you saw them as they entered?”
He scoffed. “The oafish, clumsy ones? They aren’t collectors, either. I can tell.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Michael had somehow appeared at my side. I could tell he was enjoying the banter. “You specialize in antiquities. Of what type?”
The man appraised Michael. “In what type are you interested, sir? Perhaps we can narrow things down more quickly,” he sniffed.
“I’m interested in religious antiquities.”
“Religious? That is quite broad.” The shopkeeper took out his pocket watch, making a big show of checking it and polishing out some unseen smudge on its glass face before snapping its gold lid in place.
“Christian antiquities.”
The man eyed Michael speculatively. “Of what era?”
“Very early Christianity. Byzantine or earlier.”
The man tapped his fingers together, making a V in front of his face. “Mosaics, perhaps? Chalices?”
“Relics.”
“Deveye hendek atlatmaktan daha zor,” he muttered, flushing purple as he tried to maintain his composure. “I am not a huckster, peddling pig bones as the knuckles of Saint So-and-So. I run a respectable shop here; ask any one of my customers.” With that, he turned on his heel, making a dignified retreat to the front of his shop.
“Sir,” I called out, chasing after him, “he didn’t mean to insult you or imply that you are a cheat. It’s just that we are genuinely interested in things that were believed to be relics.” I saw him pause, considering what I said, and knew that I had
him. “If you had any here,” I said, “real or otherwise, we would love to see them.”
He walked behind his front desk, pulling himself up to his full height. “I only trade in things that are authentic.”
“Of course,” I said in my best soothing voice. “Of course we know that. A man with your reputation.”
“Yes, my reputation.” He smoothed his tie out and fidgeted with the chain on his pocket watch. “I am glad we understand one another.”
He spread his hands out on the worn leather top of his desk. All four of us had crowded around him, expectant and hanging on his every word.
“You are Westerners, yes?” He waited for our acknowledgment before continuing. “As Westerners, of course, you should realize that there are no relics left in Istanbul.”
Michael looked confused. “But Constantinople had the greatest collection of relics in the world. It was famed for them.”
The man shifted his round spectacles on his nose and then waved a hand dismissively at Michael. “Had. Was. All in the past. Nothing now. Because of the Westerners who plundered our heritage.”
He slipped on gloves and reached under the desk to pull out a heavy book, bound in leather. He laid the book out carefully on his desk and gently turned its pages until he got to one that looked like a map.
“This is the layout of the ancient city,” Michael breathed, wondering at the pages before him. They were hand scripted, illuminated in gold, purple, orange, and blue. Streets were not just labeled, they were populated with tiny drawings of the people who lived and worked in them, so that every quarter—the tanners, the bakers, the soldiers, and the various monasteries—was brought to life. Little, hand-drawn buildings loomed at intersections and along great squares. Bigger than them all, Ayasofya welled up off the page.
The man adjusted his spectacles. “Where is it?” He peered through his glasses, searching for something in the map. “Ah, here it is.”
He pointed a gloved finger at one of the buildings. “Pick up that magnifying glass; you’ll be able to see it better.”
Raph picked up the magnifying glass that was perched in a velvet case at the end of the desk and passed it to me. I lifted it to my eye and crouched as close as I could to the map. “What am I looking for?”
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