Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  She flew down the stairs, speech ready. At the corner before the kitchen, she paused and squared her shoulders before sweeping into the room.

  It was empty.

  Confused, she ran into the living room.

  Nothing.

  She walked back into the kitchen. Only then did she notice the aroma of coffee and see the half-empty pot and the note on the counter, propped up against Hope’s stuffed animal.

  Fingers shaking, she unfolded the paper.

  Gone home. Call with any news. I love you. Don.

  She looked at the note, her brain refusing to accept what she was reading. Slowly she walked to the front door and swung it wide, poking her head out to look around the cul-de-sac. The reporters had already regrouped for the day; Don’s pickup was nowhere to be seen.

  Disappointment, heavy and undeniable, rushed through her.

  She closed the door and leaned her back against it, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. Knees shaking, she sank to the floor and unfolded the note, tracing Don’s handwriting over and over again.

  Alone on the stone floor, she wept, the ink of his goodbye running from her tears.

  six

  TURKEY

  Was I crazy? Was I falling easy prey to Michael’s manipulation?

  I kept turning the questions over in my mind, unable to sleep.

  Raph was gone, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, he’d been a complete pain in the ass—except for the brief moment we’d had earlier this afternoon, when it finally seemed like he understood me. He did nothing but goad me—and Michael—with his barbed comments.

  On the other hand, he might have been the only thing capable of keeping Michael from destroying me if Michael finally was pushed too far by his pain. Or turned.

  I shivered in the cold night and pulled the sleeping puppy closer to me. After seeing what happened earlier at the club, I had no trouble imagining Michael being pushed too far.

  But, then again, he’d protected me from the men who’d been pursuing me, when it would have been easy to let me fall into their hands. And when we’d kissed …

  I brushed my fingers up against my bruised lips, remembering the feeling of his hard body pressed against mine and shuddered again.

  When we touched, in his inner thoughts, he said he would always protect me. I wanted desperately to believe him. But even Enoch wasn’t sure. Besides, Michael didn’t even trust himself and said as much.

  Frustrated, I pushed the covers away and started pacing the floor, the wooden boards creaking with every step. I needed some air to clear my head. I remembered the old winter coats inside the depths of the armoire. I pulled one out and slid into it, slipped on my shoes, and moved to my bedroom door. I paused before the lock, leaning into the door to listen. Hearing nothing, I turned the key in the old-fashioned keyhole and cracked the door just wide enough to slip out.

  Alone on the bed, the dog lifted his head, suddenly alert.

  “It’s okay. Go back to sleep,” I whispered before easing out the door.

  Enoch, who’d set himself the task of guarding me overnight, was slumped in a chair, snoring. I tiptoed past him, pausing only when he grumbled in his sleep. Then I tread like a ghost through the house, moving to the French doors inside the old ballroom. I opened the doors wide. A gust of wind whipped the curtains around me before swirling around the dying embers in the fireplace, which gave off a little puff of sparks.

  I slipped onto the balcony. The air was sharp, like needles piercing my lungs, as I took a deep breath. When I turned to take in the view, I saw something unexpected: Michael.

  He was engrossed in thought, sitting cross-legged inside an empty alcove that once held an urn or statue. Moonlight glowed against his skin, the shadows playing up his chiseled brow, the muscles splayed across his chest and the arc of every perfect rib. His wings were folded behind him, the feathers a million different shades of silver and white—iridescence that shifted as he did—reflecting back the glory of each soft moonbeam that struck them.

  I knew I should turn away—give him privacy—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. He was too beautiful.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Michael said, “I’d prefer you to stay with me. If you want to.”

  Tongue-tied, I nodded. “I’d like that,” I finally managed to choke out. I looked around for somewhere to sit and was about to take a seat at the small bistro table, but Michael swung his legs around and patted the space next to him.

  “Come here. I’ll make room.”

  I moved to the alcove and jumped up, awkward in my pajamas and coat. I pulled my knees in as tight as I could, tucking my feet in under me, trying to stay warm. The concrete surface was rough, and I shivered in spite of myself. I stared steadfastly ahead, acutely aware of the silence and space between us.

  Michael finally spoke. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Too much going through my head.”

  “Me, too,” he said, swinging his legs. “I finally gave up and put on these,” he said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shrug his wings, giving off a shimmer of light. “I thought I’d be fine after the last few days, but no luck. It’s funny how it works. It’s like recharging my batteries, getting out of my human body for a while. Makes everything better.” He sighed, and then whispered almost as if to himself, “Well, almost everything.” I heard him settle back deeper into the alcove.

  “Michael?” I began, hesitating. “What is going to happen to us?”

  “Don’t you mean you? What will happen to you?”

  I said, turning to face him. “No,” I whispered. “I meant us.”

  He was deep in the shadows now, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face as he spoke.

  “Through all of eternity I have always been so … certain. So certain of the right thing to do. How things would and should work. Everything made sense. God’s will, my instincts—all of it was perfectly in synch, all of it focused on the eternal battle. Good versus evil. Protector of the people of God. I never doubted. And I never questioned. Not once did I think about, really think about, who it was I was saving—their hopes, their dreams, the people they loved. Nor did I think about the millions of people who did suffer. I paid no heed to the unlucky ones, the millennia of people who were forced to deal with their misfortunes without divine intervention. It was as God had ordained, and I never gave it a second thought.

  “Until, in the quiet of the night, I heard a little girl crying in her sleep. I heard you, and my soul leapt at your voice. It was as if my heart recognized you, and I finally understood. Suddenly, humanity was more than just a mass of sinners, beloved by God and therefore warranting, if not deserving, my respect. Humanity was fragile. It was innocent. It was embodied in you, and you were so vulnerable, like a flower in a cesspool. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath, as if bracing himself before continuing his story.

  “The man who abducted you was human trash. He was an addict and had no idea what he had gotten into. He probably had concocted some harebrained idea while he was high of ransoming you for drug money, but he had no capacity for carrying it out; he didn’t even know where to begin. He was panicking. If I hadn’t done something, he would have hurt you. I was sure of it.

  “So I waited until you fell back asleep in the motel room where he had hidden you. He was pacing, scratching at imaginary bugs and mumbling to himself, trying to get up his nerve to do whatever it was he was planning to do to you. Periodically, he would burst into tears. Then he’d scream at you, blaming you for his circumstances. I knew you were running out of time. I waited until you were asleep, and then I cornered him. I didn’t want you to be scared when you woke up, so I forced him into the bathroom.”

  I thought back to the photos in my mother’s album.

  “You burned him alive.”

  “You’ve seen my sword. Its flame was the instrument of his death. He di
d not suffer.”

  I willed my brain to remember, but only bits and pieces of that night came back to me. Like the ravaged mosaics we’d seen in the churches of Istanbul, my memories were only a patchwork. The only thing of which I was certain was that Michael had truly been there. I saw him. It just took me tumbling off Stone Mountain to recognize him.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I demanded. He leaned forward, his face emerging from the shadows. His eyes were shining with intensity.

  “Because I don’t know if you were already chosen to be the Bearer, or if by my helping you, I marked you myself. All I know is that I chose to save you. Because of that, my path has been changed forever, and I have put you in danger—I continue to put you in danger. And yet, I do not know what else to do.”

  Tears were gathering in eyes. He reached for my hand, blindly, gripping it against his chest.

  “I like this—this feeling of being with you—a little too much for my liking, Hope. I could give myself over to it so easily. But I can’t. I can’t let myself love you anymore. It’s too dangerous. For both of us.”

  Even as he said it, he winced, a visible sign of how his feelings for me brought down God’s punishment.

  His words cut me.

  He stopped talking, letting the winds from the strait and the long, lonely calls of the midnight barges fill the silence. My mind rejected his words and searched for anything, anything at all, to bring him back to me, to make him talk, so we could both forget what he’d just said.

  “Did you kill Ana’s uncle, too, when you brought Ana and Jimena back to Mexico?” My tone was rough, accusing.

  Michael laughed, a harsh, cold laugh that made me shrink back. “He deserved it. But no, I did not kill him. Ana asked me not to.”

  I gaped at him, astonished.

  Michael raised his eyebrow. “What, you think he cannot be forgiven?”

  “What he put them through was horrible. And they were family!” I protested, stunned at Ana’s request.

  “Yes. Family. Perhaps that is why Ana could not bring herself to condemn him in the end. So she asked that I simply teach him—and all the other traffickers—a lesson.”

  “What did you do?”

  Michael grinned, the old wicked grin that meant he was up to no good.

  “Go on, tell me.”

  “Ana told me where to find her uncle, at some seedy bar where he liked to play dominoes and watch dog fights. She brought me right to it. He was there, with a bunch of his cronies, way too flush with cash to be working any legitimate job. I waited for the right moment. When he was right in the middle of telling some big story, really the center of attention, I made my grand appearance. Full Archangel regalia, flaming sword, voice of God, the whole bit.”

  “I bet that was a hit,” I prompted, envisioning the scene.

  “It was total chaos,” he chortled. “The whole place was tin and bits of leftover wood and cardboard, so in no time flat the entire building was on fire. Everyone darted around, screaming. I stood my ground, glorious as the sun, reciting the litany of pain that will be his to endure as he lives out his destiny, burning in Hell, unless he repents and puts an end to the trafficking. He fell to his knees, praying Hail Marys and promising to do anything I demanded.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, there is a big square right in the middle of town. At one end of it there is an old church with a giant crucifix on top. I scooped him and a couple of his buddies up and flew them around the square first, just to make sure they were good and terrified. Then I flew to the top of the church and mounted them on the crucifix, leaving them dangling there to think about what I had said. I carved into the stone of the church the chronicle of their crimes, using the flames of my sword to darken the rock, so that all could read and know of their guilt. I’m fairly certain that by the time I left, our trafficking friends weren’t sure whether they should be more afraid of me or of the mob of angry townspeople that was going to come after them with their proverbial pitchforks.”

  “Did you go get the police then?”

  Michael’s face fell, his glee at recounting his tale gone. He regarded me sadly. “Hope,” he said, gently, “the chief of police was right there. He’s part of the trafficking ring. I tied him up right next to Ana’s uncle.”

  The world was full of people who disappointed you, I thought bitterly. People you thought you could trust. People you turn to for help when you most need it, who then use your weakness against you, laughing about your gullibility and never hesitating to make the trade: your innocence for cold, hard cash. He probably never even gave it a second thought. At least now Ana and Jimena would know the truth.

  I shivered as the blast from another passing ship lightly shook the glass panes of the door.

  “You’re cold. I shouldn’t have kept you out here,” Michael reproached. “Besides, Enoch will have my head. He’s determined to keep you away from me. For your own good, I might add,” he sighed.

  “I’m not ready to go in,” I protested through chattering teeth while I stifled a yawn. “I’ll be fine.”

  “At least come here, where I can keep you warm.” He surprised me by holding out his hand.

  I hesitated, wondering how safe it was for me to be so close to him. I didn’t have to explain.

  “You’re protected by your coat. Besides, haven’t you noticed? As you’ve been absorbing my powers, you are becoming immune to the heat of my touch. You should be fine.”

  He extended his hand farther. I took it and slid across the alcove toward him.

  “Come close, now,” he instructed, pulling me tight into the crook of his arm. “These feathers are nice insulation.” Gently, he folded a wing around me, enveloping me in its downy softness. The heat rising off Michael’s bare skin coursed through me, warming me to my core. I was acutely aware of Michael’s proximity, even if it was through my bulky coat.

  “Go on, settle in,” he urged. “You’ll feel better.”

  I burrowed into his side, resting my head against his shoulder and wrapping my arms the best I could around his waist.

  “Comfortable?” He asked.

  “Mmmmmm. Yes. Though I’d trade the comfort for a flight with you,” I added, gazing out over the rooftops. “One where I’m actually conscious. It would be quite a view.”

  He shook his head slightly. “Yes, it would. This is one of the most beautiful places in the world, with the skyline of the ancient city, the sparkling stars and lights, and the Bosphorus and the sea coming together. But I can’t. I’m not sure I’m strong enough. With all the time I am spending in human form, I’m not at my strongest. My powers are a bit unpredictable right now.”

  Just another reason for me to feel guilty.

  “Do you miss it? The flying?”

  “I can’t even begin to describe it. It is the closest I can ever get to feeling like my spirit form when I’m on Earth. All energy and light. And riding the air currents? Dive bombing through clouds?” A slight smile stole across his face, lighting up his eyes as he remembered his last flight. “There’s nothing like it. Maybe someday I’ll be able to show you.”

  I bit my lip, biting back the urge to question his maybe, and nestled in even closer. We sat there together, looking out at the twinkling stars, for what seemed like ages. I started to drift asleep when I felt the dusting of something cold on my nose.

  “Snow,” Michael whispered softly. “In April.” I opened my eyes. Fat flakes were falling heavily around us.

  He tilted my face, brushing it with his thumb. Little drops of melted snow followed in its wake.

  “This weather …” he began, his voice a caress. “The last time I saw anything like it was during the reign of Constantine. The Bosphorus actually froze over. Maybe it’s a sign.” He ran his hands over my face and my arms, and then he looked at my hands.

  “Your skin continues to heal,” he said, wondrously. “It’s not my imagination.”

  I nodded sleepily. “I thought so, too, but I wasn’t s
ure. It doesn’t hurt very much anymore, either.”

  I burrowed my head against his chest and sighed. “You never really answered my question,” I mumbled.

  “What question?” he replied, pulling me in tighter.

  “What is going to happen to us?”

  He didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled my palm to his chest, splaying my fingers over its muscled expanse, covering my hand with his. There, in the beating of his heart, I heard his answer.

  I don’t know, Hope. I don’t know.

  Istanbul was soon just a smudge of darkness against the sea as we lifted off for Ireland. Michael had been strangely chipper—maybe because of the time and rest he’d been able to steal last night in his original form.

  Despite this, Enoch insisted he keep Michael company in the cockpit. He was still miffed that I had snuck past him to be with Michael on the balcony.

  “Better to keep you two separated. That stunt you pulled last night was dangerous, Hope. You cannot expect Michael to control his rages, especially since you are the cause of his pain. You cannot be alone with him. I can’t keep you safe if you defy me.”

  “But, Enoch,” I began, leaning into him conspiratorially, “I think his changing has stopped. Or maybe slowed down. I’ve only smelled the sulfur once since we got to Istanbul.”

  His face softened. Gently, he rested his hand on my cheek. “Dear Hope,” he said. “We’ve been sheltering you from the worst. All the more reason for you to listen to me now.”

  Chastised and stunned, I plopped into one of the rear seats, alone.

  “Besides,” Enoch continued, trying to distract me, “you can use the time to work on the Prophecy again. There’s got to be more to it than just finding this rock.”

  I looked at him, confused. “I don’t understand why you can’t just tell us, Enoch. You know what the Prophecy means. Why aren’t you helping?”

  My complaint startled him. Flustered, he shot back, “I can’t tell you anything. You’re the only one who can interpret it. You’re the Bearer.” When I began to argue with him, he turned and thumped his way down the aisle, back to the cockpit.