Dark Hope

by Monica McGurk

  “So now I’m going with you.”

  “Now you’re coming with me.”

  “To look for Maria.”

  He squared his jaw. The effect wasn’t quite the same, seeing it in my father’s jowly face, but his displeasure was clear. “To lay a trail. I’m the only one who will be doing any exploration. You’re going to stay put.”

  I was about to protest when I thought better of it. I still didn’t know whether I could trust him, and it was better not to press my luck now. I could always argue my way out of it later, once we were on the ground in Las Vegas.

  He lifted my chin in his hands. Another wave of heat swept through my body as he cradled my face. “The only thing I need you to do while we are there is to smile for the security cameras. You got that?”

  I nodded mutely, confused and angry that even after everything that had happened, my body still responded to him; embarrassed that his touch affected me so much; and more than a little creeped out by having that reaction when, at least on the outside, it was my own dad standing there. Gross.

  Michael dropped his hand away and moved into the terminal with me in tow. This early, the place was still empty. He walked briskly to the ticket counter and asked for the first flight to Vegas. The ticket agent looked at me funny and then looked Michael up and down.

  “Is everything all right?” she said, looking at me pointedly. I looked down and realized that I was filthy, my clothing stained with red clay and rust from the factory.

  The humiliation and fear of the night was all too fresh, and I began to waver. For a moment, I considered telling her everything. But when I played through the scene in my mind, I kept getting stuck at the part where I told her that the man beside me was not my father. Who would believe that? Even I could only tell the difference when I looked closely into his eyes. And after all, Henri had told me to go with him. Everything—including my own father’s safety—might depend on that.

  “She’s fine. Right, honey?” Michael interjected smoothly, producing IDs and some paperwork. He handed them across the counter to the agent who shuffled through the papers one by one.

  “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Hope Carmichael.”

  “Well, Hope Carmichael, your papers seem to be in order. Including permission from your mother for you to travel with him. And he is?” She pointedly ignored Michael, directing her questions to me.

  “My father, ma’am,” I answered, doing my best to look chipper. “Don Carmichael.”

  “Funny place for a family trip. Las Vegas.”

  Michael interjected before I could answer. “I have business there. It was convenient.”

  “Planned at the last minute, huh?” She looked at me searchingly. “I mean, it looks like he pulled you right off a playing field or something.”

  The agent paused as if she expected me to say something more, but when I dropped my eyes down to stare at my feet, she sighed and started mechanically processing our tickets. She seemed to stall as much as she could throughout the process, now and then looking down the grand hall to where a security guard stood, trying to catch his eye, but he was engrossed in conversation with a janitor. Finally, when she could drag it out no further, she passed Michael the tickets.

  “Hope,” she said, looking at my ID and looking at my face until she was sure she’d met my eyes. “It’s our company policy for me to ask this if I’m not sure of the answer. Do you want to be traveling with your father today?”

  Michael set his jaw, but I ignored him. “Yes, I do,” I said firmly, meeting the agent’s eye.

  The agent bit her lip and looked down. I wasn’t sure how convinced she really was. “You two have a fun trip to Las Vegas,” she said at last, her eyebrows knitted together with worry as she slid my ID across the counter. Michael smoothly thanked her, guiding me away by the elbow.

  In less than fifteen minutes we were through security and on the tram toward our gate. The train rattled around the curves as the mechanical voice announced each stop. Even though our car was empty, Michael stood as close to me as he could, leaning against a pole for support.

  “Henri didn’t show up tonight, did he?” he asked. He tried to sound casual, but I could see the interest burning intensely in his eyes.

  Careful, Henri said. I can be more helpful to you if he doesn’t know I am with you.

  I tried to act surprised. “I always assumed you knew whether or not he was here,” I said to Michael. “Can’t you guys all see or sense each other?”

  Michael shook his head. “No. We can communicate with one another, but it’s kind of like walkie-talkies. If he turns off his button or chooses not to answer me, I have no idea whether or not he’s even out there. I take it he is not.”

  I shook my head and chose my words carefully. “No. I haven’t really heard from him in weeks. Probably since right after you found me on Stone Mountain. After you argued with him in my room.”

  Good girl.

  Michael laughed a bitter laugh. “Some guardian,” he sputtered, his fingers gripping and regripping the shiny steel. “To make a point about me, he goes on strike, leaving you completely exposed. As if he was in a union! I have half a mind to take him to court myself and file a complaint, have him stripped of his duties.”

  “You can do that?” I said, quickly calculating whether there was any way I could forestall him.

  “Yes, though the heavenly bureaucracy is notoriously painful to navigate. If we had more time I would do it in a heartbeat. Maybe after we visit the Library.”

  “The Library? Where is that?”

  The train ground to a halt, the screech of its wheels drowning out Michael’s answer. The doors swung open with a hiss and the train spat us out to find our gate.

  “Not where. Who,” Michael repeated as we climbed the escalator. “The Library is really an Elder—a Librarian, you could call him—who keeps all the records related to Heaven. Every testament, every prophecy, every battle, every promotion or demotion. The Elder remembers it all and keeps records of it squirreled away somewhere.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything,” Michael said emphatically. “If we have any hope of figuring out what the Key is, we’ve got to start with that Elder. He’ll at least be able to tell us the prophecy in its entirety.”

  “Where is he?”

  Michael smiled. “Let’s just say he’s off the grid.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” I asked with a low voice as we stepped off into the concourse. “We’re going to Vegas to lay a false trail that will throw off both my mom and the Fallen Ones, find Maria, visit the Elder, and—if we have time—we’ll squeeze in a little lawsuit against Henri?”

  Michael smiled with grim self-satisfaction. “Exactly. Only there will be very little ‘we’ involved in any of that. You will be staying put in the hotel.”

  I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he cut me off, placing one hand on each of my shoulders and pulling me in close. There was an air of expectation between us as I looked up into his eyes. I could feel his touch burning into my skin, but the heat of his gaze was even stronger. He swallowed, hard, before spinning me around in the opposite direction.

  “Go in and clean yourself up,” he said. “You should have a change of clothes in your pack. And don’t even think about trying to run away. I’ll find you wherever you go, just like I did last night.”

  With that, he gave me a little shove in the small of my back, propelling me toward the restroom.

  Inside, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. No wonder the ticket agent had looked at me funny. My lip was cracked, a tiny clot of blood visible in the corner. My hair was a complete rat’s nest. Clay had worked its way under my nails and into my cuticles, making my hands look almost bloody. My clothes were destroyed.

  I was alone in the restroom, so I stripped down and did my best with the thin paper towels to wipe myself clean. I worked a brush through my hair, the tugging and pulling of snarls and knots jolting me awake,
each bit of pain making me more alert. My old clothes were too damaged to salvage so I dumped them into the trash. I rummaged in my backpack for a change of clothes, but all I came up with was a pair of gym shorts and a lame T-shirt that read, “I run like a girl.”

  Run, run, run, the shirt mocked me.

  Every ounce of instinct I had was on fire, urging me to find a way out, to run anywhere I could to get away from Michael, but I could think of no way out. And at the same time, I felt irresistibly drawn to him; I wanted to bury my face in his chest and let him comfort me as I wrestled with the fear and disillusionment he had caused.

  Was anything that had happened between us—any of our friendship—at all real? Or was I really just a pawn to him in some heavenly game of war?

  Henri’s voice echoed in my mind. It’s as I said. If he means to harm you, you will never escape him, no matter how far you run. And if he is telling the truth, going with him may be your only chance.

  I sighed, knowing he was right.

  “You know, Henri, it’s kind of creepy to spy on girls when they’re changing their clothes. Especially when you’re invisible.”

  Humph, he replied, clearly offended, and for the first time in a long time, a smile stole across my face.

  I shook the wrinkles out of my T-shirt, pulled it over my head, and squared my shoulders.

  “Viva Las Vegas,” I muttered to myself. I gripped the edge of the white porcelain sink and stared at myself, long and hard, under the fluorescent lights.

  “Hope?” I heard my father’s voice calling into the restroom after me. I stared at the mirror for a moment longer before answering.

  “Coming, Dad,” I called back, almost choking on the words.

  Picking up my bag, I whispered to the mirror, “I’m coming, Maria,” saying it like a vow.

  Then I went outside to meet the angel who carried my fate in his hands.

  eleven

  I pushed my face deeper into the pillow, the rustle of sheets reminding me where I was. I groaned. My body ached and my head throbbed with the regularity of the blinking neon signs that decorated the Strip.

  Las Vegas.

  We’d arrived in Las Vegas that morning. Michael had chosen one of the local haunts on Fremont Street as our base. Even though she’d been newly renovated, the old bones of the El Cortez stood as testimony that this shop was “old school.” When we’d stumbled through the riot of slot machines and busy carpets to the front desk, I’d been overwhelmed.

  Despite the early hour, there had been a smattering of people nursing their drinks and cigarettes as they mindlessly worked the machines. They didn’t even notice us as we picked our way through the cavernous room. Only one man even looked our way, his glazed-over eyes not registering how disheveled and dirty we were despite my best efforts to scrub up in the airport bathroom, before returning to his game. It was as if we were invisible. And while the renovation meant that everything was relatively new, to me it still seemed garish and loud.

  “We can’t stay here,” I had begged Michael quietly, pulling on his arm. I looked over my shoulder at the regulars, who seemed to be growing grayer and saggier before my very eyes. “It’s too sad.”

  He’d sighed, pulling me out of the way of the waitress bearing down with a tray of drinks.

  “We need to gamble on the Strip to get access to the traffickers,” he explained quietly. “If we stay in a hotel there, though, we will never be able to let down our guard.” He searched my eyes to see if I understood. “I will always have to appear like this,” he whispered. “As your father. We will never be able to let down the charade. At least this way you can have some semblance of normalcy.” One corner of his mouth shot up in a sarcastic grin. “As normal as you can have in Las Vegas, anyway.”

  I had nodded mutely. It was hard enough being here: half accomplice, half kidnapping victim. It was even weirder to look over, expecting to see a teenager, and instead see my dad. Only the blue eyes gave him away. If it was hard for me, I wondered what a relief it must be to Michael when he could finally slip out of that body, even if only for a few hours.

  Then again, the person I knew as my Michael was just a disguise, too. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal to him. But it was to me. So I’d gone along with his plan.

  Now, in our room, I rolled over and looked around. I was grateful that when we’d checked in, he’d managed to get us booked into a newer building across the street that was not connected to the casino. The room was modern, all crisp whites and blacks with bold furniture and accents. It could have been a hotel room in Miami or New York. I could almost forget where we were and why we were here.

  We’d drawn the shades against the burning sun, leaving the room shadowy. Only the faint glow from behind gave away that it was afternoon. And there, hunched over in the chair at the foot of my bed, was Michael.

  I opened my eyes just a crack to look at him again. He hadn’t moved. My eyes scanned him quickly: the golden hair, the impossible tan even in the dead of winter. The way even a button-down shirt clung to his broad shoulders, accentuating every muscle in his lean, perfect body.

  I was mildly relieved he had reverted to his normal human appearance after being forced to travel with him posing as my father, but my relief was short-lived as I took him in. He held his head in his hands as he stared absently at the muted television, lost in thought. Images flickered across the screen: fighting in some distant country, hostages at an embassy. The deep lines etched in Michael’s face and the shadows under his eyes seemed to grow deeper as he watched the chaos he was unable to stop. I felt a stab of pity, as well as one of guilt. I knew I should be afraid of him, and part of me was. But every minute he spent with me was time away from whatever God had ordained for him; time that would earn him punishment in the form of never-ending pain. It was evident from his face that the pain he was suffering—maybe all because of me—had become more intense.

  I cleared my throat, waiting for him to reel his wandering mind back in before I spoke.

  “You haven’t slept.”

  He lifted his head and turned to me. For an instant, a shadow of a smile flickered across his face, and his eyes seemed to light up with pleasure as he realized I was awake. For that instant, he looked like a slightly more rumpled version of the friend I’d always known. But just as quickly, the smile disappeared and his eyes shuttered his soul from my prying eyes. We might pretend nothing had changed, but we both were kidding ourselves.

  He dropped his hands and pulled himself up in the chair, filling the room.

  “I needed to keep an eye on things,” he answered.

  “Things?”

  His mouth constricted into a tight line. “You.”

  A wave of irritation surged through me and I pushed back the pristine white comforter, swinging to my feet.

  “You wasted your time,” I threw back at him. “You’ve made it perfectly clear what will happen if I try to run away. I don’t need a guard.”

  He stared at me, and I remembered I had been sleeping in nothing but a long T-shirt. My face flushed. Self-conscious, I charged across the room, looking for a robe. Michael’s grim chuckle floated after me.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Especially now that Henri is gone, you need more looking after than ever.”

  Unease crept over me at his mention of Henri, my Guardian Angel, and I stopped, my hand poised over the creamy white bathrobe that hung on the back of the bathroom door.

  Don’t even think about telling him, Henri’s warning rang in my ears.

  Of course I couldn’t tell Michael that my Guardian Angel was still here with me. Henri was the only one telling me the truth, I reminded myself. The only one who might be able to stop Michael from killing me to prevent the Prophecy from coming true, to prevent the Fallen Ones from overtaking Heaven.

  I shook my head, trying to clear out all the loyalty and trust I had felt for Michael—feelings that filled my head like so many cobwebs—and swallowed my bitter retort. I wrapped myself in th
e robe and came back to settle on the edge of the bed, my arms crossed.

  “Now what?” I demanded.

  Michael’s brow shot up but he ignored my icy tone. “The Librarian isn’t far from here. If we leave now, we can get to him before nightfall and find out what we need to about our Prophecy, and the Key.”

  “No.”

  “No?” His eyes flashed, but he did not move, waiting for my explanation. I swallowed hard and kept going.

  “You promised we’d look for Maria. I won’t help you with the Prophecy until we’ve found her.”

  He shook his head slightly. “You don’t know how long that could take. We can’t put everything else at risk on the hope that we find her.”

  I pulled my folded arms closer to me and felt my lower lip go out in a pout. “No, you promised. Or was that just a ploy to get me on the plane without a fuss?”

  He flushed with anger. I could see the little vein in his forehead throbbing, and I heard Henri whispering urgently, Are you insane? But I held my breath and waited for him to respond.

  Michael stared hard at me, his eyes betraying nothing as we engaged in a silent test of wills. I couldn’t tell what complicated calculus was going on behind his hooded eyes; all I knew was that something—some sort of desperate wish to prove to myself that I was in control of the situation—was spurring me on.

  “Fine,” he said, practically spitting the word. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, but we’ll do it your way. We’ll go out right now and start trying to hunt down those traffickers.”

  My heart leapt a little. I hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

  “We’ll start,” he continued, looking at me stone-faced to be sure I understood what he meant. “We can’t wait around before tracking down the Librarian, not with the Fallen on our tail. But we can get the ball rolling; see if we can make a connection. We’re going to have to start at the tables. And since I can’t leave you alone, you’re going to have to do your part, starting with your appearance. I’ll have to get the executive host to send up a few things that would be more appropriate for you to wear on the casino floor.”