Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  I looked around me, confused. The pounding music from behind the club’s doors and the steady murmur of the crowd was making it difficult for me to concentrate. Somehow in that instant I had lost Enoch and Raph.

  “Where are they?” I whispered to Michael, turning around as I desperately tried to find them in the line. He just shook his head, pushing me forward. “Keep walking. And smile.”

  We cut through the crowd of restless teens waiting for entry into the club, who hooted and jeered as Michael steered us to the VIP line. The smell of pot and something else—sulfur, mingled in the air, making me cough.

  “But, we’re not …” my voice trailed off as I looked down. My respectable outfit had somehow been altered. I was now poured into skintight jeans that tucked into thigh-high platform boots. I could feel the leather of my distressed jacket rubbing against the bare skin of my back—a quick peek confirmed I was wearing an ornately beaded silk halter. I stared at Michael, who’d also been transformed into club-worthy clothes—though in his case, they weren’t much different than the jeans he’d wear normally.

  “We don’t have time for questions,” Michael muttered. “Keep moving.” Behind us, I could hear shouting as the men chasing us ran into the buzz of the crowd, who did not want to let them through. Michael pushed me, and I surged ahead, tripping on the cobblestone into the two leggy blondes in front of me.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gasped. They turned and looked at me with grim expressions I recognized.

  “Stop staring and go in,” the first one muttered. I gaped, recognizing the impatient tone I always associated with Raph’s voice.

  “Come on,” said the other blonde, who was dressed suspiciously like Stevie Nicks, as she pulled me up to the rope.

  “Enoch?”

  “Shhh!” The bohemian blonde put a ring-covered finger over her lips, then posed and pouted for the bouncer, who parted the chain and let us through.

  The crowd surged behind us, closing the gap we’d left in our wake, as we rushed into the club.

  We were in a sea of people, a writhing mass that moved as one with the pulsating music.

  “We can lose them in here,” Michael reiterated, staring into the crowd. “Let’s move deeper in—if we’re lucky, they won’t make it in at all—or by the time they do, we’ll be gone. You two keep on Hope’s tail; make sure you block any view of her.”

  The blondes dropped back and converged behind me as we delved deeper into the club, Michael leading the way. The strobe lights and lasers flashed, cutting psychedelic lines through the clouds of dry ice. Everything about this scene was unfamiliar to me—the thumping music, the twisting bodies dancing with abandon. I was starting to feel lightheaded—because of my fear or the pot smoke that seemed to be completely surrounding me, I couldn’t tell.

  Michael kept pulling me through the crush of bodies, his hand clamped onto mine. Suddenly the music shifted—the familiar beat of a popular song rising—and the crowd surged, embracing the music. In that instant, Michael lost his grip on me, and I was alone.

  I scanned the unfamiliar faces, trying to find him, or the blondes, but I was lost in the mass of jumping, swaying bodies. I was buffeted about by unfamiliar hands. Bodies pressed against me as I tried to find a way off the dance floor.

  Behind me, I heard shouting and saw our pursuers pushing their way through, making their way straight for me.

  Everything seemed to slow down in the shimmer of the strobe lights. The crowd moved up and down to the beat, arms raised in tribute to the music. In the shadows, I saw the blondes, their figures shimmering and morphing as they left their female guises behind in favor of bodies that seemed more appropriate for bodyguards. Their faces distorted as they changed, their features melting and blending into a strange blend of familiar and foreign.

  Then, in the brief flash of a strobe, I thought I saw Lucas standing in the crowd, a rush of sulfur rising above the smoke to assault my nose.

  I shrieked, moving backward, spilling drinks out of the hands of angry dancers, not caring in my need to get away. The strobe flashed again and again, but whatever—or whomever—I’d seen was gone.

  Not wanting to take any chances, I began pushing my way toward the stage. A strong hand closed on my arm and I turned to fight it off, only to sigh with relief. It was Michael.

  “This way,” he shouted over the music, steering me through the crowd.

  We made our way to the edges and found ourselves at a long bar. We looked back and saw a struggle erupting in the middle of the crowd.

  “They’re still behind us. Enoch and Raph will take care of them, but we’ve got to find you somewhere safe to hide.”

  Michael looked around, his eyes finally settling on the sliver of light that emanated from the kitchen door behind the bar.

  “Over here,” he insisted, dragging me behind him. He strode purposefully around the bar and pushed his way through the swinging door. A torrent of angry Turkish followed us, but he ignored it, pulling me through the long, almost deserted galley.

  The light was too bright in here after the darkness of the dance floor. It hurt my eyes, and I had to look away from the gleaming stainless-steel surfaces. Our walk turned into a run as we moved through the narrow kitchen, looking for a way out. My heart was pounding, my hand warm in Michael’s grasp as he pulled me along.

  We opened door after door. Refrigerated walk-ins. Freezers. Washing stations. No exits. Behind us we could hear more shouting and the clang of pots and pans being flung onto the floor.

  At the end of the hall, out of options, we opened only door left. The only door behind which we might hide. It was the door to a broom closet.

  “In here,” Michael growled, pushing me in, then quietly pulling the door closed behind him.

  There was no room for us in the muddle of buckets, mops, and brooms. I was pressed tight against Michael’s body. I could feel every hard muscle and the rush of his pulse against me as we held our breaths, listening for our pursuers.

  I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, and tripped backward over a bucket. Before I could fall, Michael caught me in his arms, holding me upright. My hands had nowhere to go but to rest on his shoulders.

  A thrill ran through my body at his touch. Confused, I tried to look away.

  He pulled me closer. “Shhh. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

  Unable to resist, I looked up, trailing a hand down to his broad chest. His breath was shallow, and I could feel the throb of his pulse under my palm. His face was inches from mine. He looked down at me, steely eyes shining.

  Hesitant, he lowered his face toward mine. I closed my eyes, moving on tiptoes to meet his lips, even though I knew I shouldn’t. A small sigh escaped me, anticipating his kiss.

  His lips pressed against mine, searching and soulful, then moving with an urgency that took my breath away. He stood me on my feet, pushing my back against the wall of the tiny closet, my hands pinned beneath his, as he explored, insistent. A wave of emotion swept through me—anger, confusion, desire—and I realized, with a gasp, that the emotions I was feeling were not my own, but his, transmitted directly to me through his touch. He reclaimed my mouth, letting go of my hands to run his fingers along the length of my body. I shuddered, weakening as the familiar pulse of heat began to spread through my body.

  Suddenly, he pushed away, throwing himself back against the opposite wall.

  We leaned apart, the ridiculously tiny space he’d created between us doing nothing to quench the need we felt for one another. Our breathing sounded harsh and foreign to my ears. It was all I could do to drag my eyes away from him in a futile attempt to bring my desire for him under control.

  “Did you feel that?” he asked in a whisper.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.

  “I felt it, too. Your emotions.”

  I didn’t know what to say. He let the silence settle around us before continuing.

  “Why?” he asked plaintively through ragged b
reath.

  “Why what?” I forced myself to look into his eyes as I answered his question. He looked tortured. Not angry.

  “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. You won’t let me in. You don’t trust me anymore. After all this, you still don’t trust me.”

  “That’s not true!” I protested, feeling the heat of anger and confusion rising in my face. “You’re the one who has surrounded yourself with your angelic guard dogs. They don’t want me near you.”

  He sighed a heavy sigh and rubbed his hand against his face, weary.

  “You’re wrong. They’re protecting you from me. I asked them to do it. I can’t trust myself around you any longer.”

  “Why? Because of the fire?” In the darkness, I could see him flinch as I spoke. But he didn’t answer. I continued on impulsively. “I believe you, you know. I believe you didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t know at first. But I do now.”

  He slumped against the wall. There was more he wasn’t telling me, more from which he was trying to protect me.

  “Michael,” I pressed. “Are you changing?” The question hung in the air between us. When he didn’t answer, I persisted. “Are you Falling?”

  He stared at his feet. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice full of misery. “Sometimes I think I see the signs … but then, I don’t know. I don’t even know myself.”

  “No.” The word fell from my lips. Now that I had spoken it out loud, I didn’t want to believe it was happening, despite all the evidence. I forgot about caution and moved to him, clasping his hands in mine. I held onto them tightly, squeezing hard. “You won’t. You can’t.”

  He pulled one of my hands free, placing it on his chest, giving me direct access to his thoughts.

  If I could, I would crack open my chest and keep you there, close to my heart. I’ll make sure you’re safe, Hope. Even if the danger is from me. I promise.

  I pulled away, my hand trembling.

  Outside our door we heard shouting and commotion. Swiftly, Michael pushed me behind him, shielding me with his body. The door swung open to reveal a large man, silhouetted against the light. I held my breath, tensing for a fight.

  “They’re gone. You can come out now.”

  We sighed. It was Raph’s voice. Relieved, we tumbled out of our hiding place, blinking into the fluorescent light.

  Both Raph and Enoch had morphed back into their normal forms. The galley was quiet. We were alone in the back, the sounds of the busy kitchen far away in the distance. Enoch’s discarded cane was back, propped up against the wall where Enoch stood flipping through some documents, thick fingers moving restlessly through the pages.

  “I grabbed these off one of them,” he said, brandishing a little booklet in the air. “Russian passports—not one, but two, with different names. More traffickers, I would bet. Looks like our Chinese friends are calling in some chips.”

  He shoved the booklets at Michael, who flipped to the photos. I peeked over his shoulder—the sneering face in the snapshot sent a shiver up my spine.

  “One of them is the same man from the alley,” I whispered, trying to swallow the aggressive wave of guilt that threatened to swamp me. If slave traders had found us, it was my fault.

  “But how did they track us down so fast? It doesn’t make sense. We’ve been so careful,” Michael said, beginning to pace.

  “Who cares?” Raph challenged. Michael stopped his pacing and confronted Raph.

  “What did you say?” Michael shot back, his jaw clenched.

  “I said: Who. Cares.” Raph rose up to his full height, unwilling to back down. “You’re neglecting the whole world for the sake of this one girl. The world is falling apart around you, and you are barely noticing. We are not but one step ahead of danger, and still we are no closer to finding this … this abomination you call the Key, than we were before. The solution is obvious, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Michael snarled, closing the distance between himself and Raph.

  “Boys,” Enoch warned, trying to step between them. “Raph,” he pleaded, his voice full of reason and warning. “You’re making it worse. Don’t let your jealousy of Michael warp your judgment.”

  Raph’s eyes snapped with fire as he pushed Enoch out of the way. “Don’t speak to me of judgment, old man! Look what he is doing—he leaves everyone open as prey to the Fallen Ones, because he is so certain he is right. It is this same folly that caused him to protect mankind when it should have been condemned. The same foolishness that tore apart the Legion of Angels and allowed this situation to even come about in the first place! He risks Heaven against our better judgment!”

  He spat his final words, defiantly, in Michael’s face.

  They stared each other down. Nobody moved. The only sounds were the sounds of our breath as we waited.

  “If you feel that way,” Michael stated, coldly and quietly, his face a mask of fury, “then you may leave. I banish you.”

  Raph scoffed. “You banish me? You who begged for my help? Very well, then, I will leave you to it.”

  With that, he turned his back on Michael and, in a flash of light, disappeared.

  “Do not come back,” Michael muttered, as he stared with unseeing eyes at the place where Raph had been standing. “I can do this alone.”

  “Michael,” Enoch said, cautiously. “You are not yet alone.”

  “But I am!” Michael roared. He reached onto the stainless-steel shelves that cut through the center of the galley, upending pots and pans in a blind rage. “What have I done? How am I supposed to keep you safe?” he demanded, moving toward me with an anguished look on his face. He slammed his fist against the steel counter, letting the din echo in the night.

  He wheeled on Enoch, continuing his rant. “If it comes down to me against you, Enoch, I will overpower you. You know I will. I am the seasoned warrior. I won’t be able to stop myself.” Shaking with rage and self-pity, he slumped against the wall, sliding down it with his head in his hands.

  Enoch’s eyes flashed, but he remained calm as he stepped between Michael and me. He looked down at Michael with a severity and authority I had not yet seen from him. “You forget whom you deal with. I was human once. I know better than you your every emotion. I can see it forming in your eyes. I recognize it before you have even registered it. You might be stronger than me, but I will outsmart you. I will keep Hope safe, away from your pain and anger.” Michael looked up, disbelief on his face.

  “Come, Hope.” Enoch pulled me away, grabbing his cane in one swift motion as he made for the door. “We must leave him to compose himself.”

  Blindly, I followed Enoch as he dragged me through the kitchen. Somehow, we made our way through the crowds and began our silent walk back to the house. I did not feel the cold. My mind was racing, unsure of what to make of the turn of events as I tripped over the rough cobblestones.

  “Will Michael be okay?”

  Enoch thought for a few moments before answering. “He will be fine. His human emotions are confusing to him, as I am sure they are to you.”

  “Enoch, what’s going to happen to us?”

  “We will continue on as we planned. We will go to Skellig Michael, and you will find the Key.”

  “What did you mean when you warned Raph about his jealousy?” I thought of my earlier conversations with Henri, and my own musings as I’d tried to puzzle out the Prophecy, afraid I already knew the meaning of Enoch’s words.

  Enoch sighed. “Surely even you have noticed how of all the angels, Michael is the subject of human veneration. It stings to have him singled out above us, Hope. Even Michael’s name—‘Who Is Like God?’—is vain and wrong.”

  “He’s too proud, too certain of himself. So sure that he is incorruptible.” Enoch was getting agitated now, his voice rising and his cane hitting the pavement for emphasis. We had come to a full stop in the street, nothing but the moon to witness our
exchange.

  “But you know what they say? Pride goeth before a fall. He will learn to suffer the consequences of his choices before this is all over.” His eyes flashed with a sudden anger that worried me.

  I reached out to rest my hand on Enoch’s where he held his cane. He snatched it away, surprised, and then seemed to remember where we were.

  “I’m sorry, dear. I just worry that Michael is too blind to his own faults, and someday they will come back to haunt him.” He took my hand in his, patting it in an attempt to comfort me, but his words had only unsettled me further.

  five

  GEORGIA

  “You two are awfully quiet,” Arthur, Mona’s driver and friend, commented from the front seat. Normally, Mona would be seated next to him, gossiping and debating the finer points of Georgia football. But the afternoon at the FBI offices had worn her out, and with Don accompanying her home, they’d silently climbed into the middle row of the SUV.

  Arthur tried again. “Don, it is nice to see you after all these years. Though, of course, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Don made his best attempt at a smile, a twisted grimace that told Mona how upset he still was.

  “That’s nice of you to say, Arthur. It’s good to see you, too. I still remember the first time we met. Do you?”

  Arthur chuckled, peering back at them through the rearview mirror.

  “I do, I do. It was crazy, wasn’t it? Your car battery had died, and you both had to be at the airport. Little Hope was with her nanny. She must have been, what, a year old? I don’t remember how you found me, but that was the first time I drove you.”

  “You were supposed to pick up our neighbor that morning,” Mona reminded him. “And our other car was in the shop. Remember? You were out in the cul-de-sac, waiting, and he came out to cancel on you. I couldn’t believe it when you offered to take us. You were a Godsend.”

  “That’s right! After that, you both became regulars for a while.”

  “Until Don stopped traveling,” Mona whispered, remembering what it had been like on those occasional mornings when they’d both had to make their way to the airport. Arthur would stop to pick up coffee for them both, and they’d sit in the back seat, fingers entwined, grinning like teenagers on a date.