I turned around, only then noticing the exquisite tiles that surrounded the fireplace where Michael crouched, shifting the burning logs with a poker. The light from the fire reflected off the vibrant blues of the tiles, making the scattering of delicate flowers painted across their surface seem to sway, as if the wind had caught them in an open field.
Michael stood, examining my face and obviously enjoying my reaction. “Iznik tiles,” he said quietly. “Famed for their beauty. Very rare.”
“I would have never guessed,” I breathed, stepping closer to absorb the warmth of the fire and give myself a better view of the delicate hand-worked tiles. “From the outside, it looked like it was about to fall down around us.”
I scanned the walls of the room, noting the sheets that covered mirrors or paintings. It was as if someone had moved away and time stood still, eating away at the outside of the house, but leaving the inside pristine.
Michael smiled. “Some things are not as they seem. You’d be wise to remember that. Come, take a seat.” From a dark corner, he pulled up a plush, comfortable-looking chair. “You, too, Enoch.”
Enoch emerged from the dark and approached the fire. “Not bad, Michael. Not bad at all. Now all we need is to get some food in this girl, and she’ll be better in no time.”
I collapsed into the deep seat of the chair and Enoch followed, throwing his cane down and easing himself onto the floor beside me.
“I’m too tired to eat,” I said, letting my body sink into the cushions and relax. I hadn’t realized how tired I was, but now that we’d stopped moving and the heat of the fire was draining the chill from my bones, I could feel the insistent exhaustion coming back to the surface, along with the surging pain from my healing burns.
“Besides, don’t you guys have a supply of manna that just shows up? You can eat that while I get some sleep.”
Michael eyed me sharply. “You’re feeling okay?”
I let my eyes drift closed for just a second before replying. “I just need some ibuprofen and some rest. Then I’ll be good as new.” No sense in worrying him by mentioning my nerve endings, screaming for relief.
Just then, Raph emerged. “The bedrooms are made up, as the owner promised. We’ll keep the central one for Hope and take turns guarding the door.”
I struggled to pull myself up by the arm of the chair. “I don’t need guarding. Besides, as long as you are in human form, you’ll need sleep as much as I do.”
“It’s not up for debate,” Raph said sharply. “I’ll take first shift. Michael, you take your rest, too.”
Michael looked at me again, something like doubt clouding his blue eyes. “You’re sure, Hope? We can call a doctor. It’s not that long since …”
He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.
“I don’t need a doctor. Just show me this bedroom, Raph.” I pushed up from the chair and grabbed my bag, trudging after him. As we were about to leave the room, one of the draped shapes on the wall caught my eye. I reached out to tug the trailing sheet to find that it was hiding a big-screen television.
Before I could say anything, Raph frowned. “Leave it,” he said in a low voice, turning abruptly and proceeding down a dark hallway.
Confused, I dropped the sheet to the floor and followed after him. He was waiting for me outside a lone door. “It locks from the inside. I suggest you keep it locked at all times. Keep away from the window if you can. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.” He was nothing but polite. Although I couldn’t see his face in the dark, I could tell it pained him to be so civil toward me and that his curt instructions amounted to nothing but a dismissal.
“Raph, back there, with the television …?”
Even in the dark I could feel his black eyes boring into me. “The last thing you, or any of us, need is for Michael to accidentally see a news program and be reminded of all the havoc taking place out there.”
“Out there?”
“In the real world.”
His unspoken accusation hung before us. The world Michael left behind, abandoned to its fate, while he watches over me.
Raph did not move. His body was like a massive rock wall, looming in front of me, daring me to defy him.
“Is it getting worse? Out there?” My voice was timid and small. I didn’t want to hear Raph’s answer, but I needed to know.
Raph grunted, crossing his arms as he answered me in a sullen voice. “We have to be sure Michael doesn’t find out.”
A surge of guilt swept through me. I knew Michael was neglecting his charge to protect the faithful on Earth in order to stay with me and search for the Key, but I hadn’t realized the consequences would escalate so quickly. How many thousands of people were suffering because of me? And how long before Michael’s pain—the punishment God inflicts on angels who disobey him—got even worse as he ignored his duties as the defender of the innocent?
“Thank you,” I said, looking down at my feet, unable to meet Raph’s incriminating stare. “Thank you for letting me know.” The massive shape of Raph’s body barely moved in the dark shadows, just enough to open the door to my bedroom. I slipped by him, his presence overpowering the narrow hallway, wondering how much he blamed me for Michael’s obvious suffering.
I shut the door and turned the key where it waited in the lock, then leaned against the door, exhaling heavily. Almost there.
I crossed into the main part of the room, fumbling toward a curtain, careful to avoid the hulking, sheet-covered armoire that nearly reached the ceiling. I flicked the drape aside to let in a little light from the window. The moonlight illuminated the large iron bed, making the white sheets glow in the dark. I slipped out of my shoes, dropped my backpack and slid under the crisp, cotton sheets, not bothering to change out of my clothes.
As I sank into the pillowy mattress I could feel the tension seeping out of my aching muscles. I really should take some ibuprofen, I thought to myself, trying to remember where in my backpack I’d last seen the bottle. But before my mind could envision it, I was drifting away into a dreamless sleep where neither worry nor pain could reach me.
The sliver of daylight that jutted across my wall told me I’d only slept until early morning. The room was still very dark and cool, the heavy draperies muffling out the sounds of the waking city below. I stretched out, testing the dull ache in my muscles, and wondered if anyone else was awake yet. A sense of dread stole over me. If yesterday had been tense, today, I knew, would be even worse: with everyone in our search party following me, hanging on my every word, waiting for my newfound instincts to kick in, waiting for me to cough up some coherent idea of where to search next for the missing Key.
It was laughable, really. And the pressure of knowing they were counting on me would just make it harder.
Steeling myself for whatever the day held in store, I rolled out of bed.
I turned the key and cracked open the door. Nobody standing watch. I slipped out into the dark hallway and worked my way back to the great room, hoping, as I shivered in the cold, that someone had started the fire again. I padded with bare feet across the smooth wooden floor to find fading embers in the hearth. I poked at them, hoping to find a stray spark, but the fire was truly dead.
I stared into the dark, gaping fireplace and realized I was alone.
A thrill shot through me.
Quietly, I dashed into the open rooms and peered out onto the balcony. Yes, it was true—the house was empty. It didn’t matter to me whether the others were still in bed or had gone out. I crept back into my bedroom and began rifling through my backpack to fish out my forgotten running clothes.
You aren’t really going to do that, are you? Henri butted in, voicing his skepticism directly into my mind. Michael will be furious. Besides, those clothes aren’t nearly warm enough for this weather.
“Leave me alone,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled out a tissue-thin T-shirt. I hated how my guardian angel could simply butt into my thoughts at will. As far as I could tell
, I could block him out—but only if I realized he was there, watching me. Where he went when he left me to my own devices, I wasn’t sure. “If I could just have a few moments alone, out in the city, I know something will come to me. And I’ll be back before anybody realizes I’m gone. Now go away. I need to change.”
I barely paused to acknowledge his harrumph of displeasure. Exhilarated by the promise of freedom, I threw on the T-shirt and tights. I pulled on the same stinky pair of socks I’d worn yesterday and thrust my feet into my shoes, fumbling with the laces.
Of all the things that changed when I moved from my Dad’s house in Alabama to live with my Mom in Georgia, the freedom of being able to run outside was one of the best. I’d forgotten how it felt, how much it meant to me, until just now.
I slipped out of my room and down the gloomy stairway to emerge, shivering, into the sunny street.
I was so happy, it felt like my very cells were singing.
I tried to recall the tiny crosses marked out on the map that Michael had tucked away; they seemed to have been scattered across the whole city, so it probably didn’t matter where I headed. Remember, I warned myself as I started up the alley, back toward the direction we’d come from last night, just a short run. Just long enough to loosen the hinges of your rusty brain. But my mind was working as fast as my feet as I raced up the cobbled way. Over the rooftops, the spires and domes of various buildings poked their heads. I set my sights on one and ran even faster, barely pausing to note the landmarks, so I could eventually make my way home.
I ignored the chill that threatened to sink into my very bones, pretending not to see the clouds of steam that I puffed into the cold air with every breath. I stretched out, willing my muscles to work even harder, as I wound through the twists and turns of the old city, eventually picking up the tracks of a trolley or train to follow. I was alone in the dawn, only more stray cats, nestled into shuttered shop-door stoops, to keep me company.
Every now and then I would lose my landmark to the looming rooftops, but I would turn a corner to see its dirty marble rising, catching the sunlight, ever closer, back into my line of sight. At first, the sounds of the city waking up—the vendors pulling up the doors that protected their shop windows overnight, the mothers calling out to their children as they left for school—barely registered as I focused on my breath, in and out. But as I came closer, another sound, a sound I couldn’t place, broke into my consciousness.
I came to a major boulevard at the end of the warren of streets; crossing it, I stepped into an alley teeming with activity. Merchants called from tiny stalls whose wares—carpets and silks, books, and pots—threatened to spill across the paths through which shoppers wandered. Hunched men, wizened by years of heavy labor, skillfully negotiated heaping carts through the lane, ducking into passageways emerged from the long, low building that stretched alongside the outdoor market. They shouted cheerfully at one another in their rapid guttural language, chastising young helpers who were not fast enough on their feet. But that was not the sole source of noise. I froze: Underneath the noise of the market a rhythmic chanting emanated from somewhere deeper inside the city, beyond the stalls.
I pushed my way through, ignoring the curious looks and the repeated calls that followed me:
“Would you like to buy some jeans?”
“A leather jacket? Please, let me show you what I have for sale.”
“Hello? Hola? Salut?”
“Hey! Where are you going, lady?”
Cheeks hot, I stared determinedly at my feet and kept moving.
The alley opened up to a large square. A throng was gathering in front of an impressive gate, the only gap in a high stone wall. Behind the wall, set back behind leafy trees, stood the tower I’d used as my landmark. Young people, dressed in mostly Western attire, shouted and waved signs in front of the gate, which was swathed in an immense Turkish flag. More and more people were joining the crowd, jostling me as they rushed past, towing banners and makeshift cardboard signs behind them. I moved deeper into the crowd, trying to make out what they were protesting. I peered up at the sign above the gate—Istanbul Universitesi, it read. I looked around nervously and realized that they all seemed to be students, some of them were wearing gas masks.
I was pressed against the backs of the people in front of me as the students pushed forward. From the street, sirens wailed. I tried to fight my way through, but I was trapped, forced to march along with them as they thrust themselves forward. I could no longer see anything ahead or around me, my view blocked by the unfurled banners and swaying Turkish flags. Helplessly, I was swept in the tow of the mob as they took to the street. Through the chanting, a stern voice blasted over a bullhorn, warning the students.
Just a short run, eh? Henri’s voice, sarcastic as ever, snaked into my panicked brain.
Why don’t you do something useful and get me out of this mess? I shot back, looking about wildly for a way out.
Just then, a scream rose over the din. Then another. Sirens, whining insistently, drowned out the shouting. The bullhorn reprimands grew more insistent, the voice rising shrilly.
A loud shriek went out, and then a blast of water pushed us all back in a wave.
It hit me like icy needles, sending me gasping for breath as I fell, my body glancing off of others as I tumbled to the hard pavement.
I was shoved against the ground, pinned down by the people falling on top of me. I pushed up onto my hands and knees and began crawling, trying to avoid being trampled by the running students who were now retreating from the challenge of the police.
Then, in the chaos of the crowd, I spotted him. He was bigger, and dressed differently, but the sneer on his face was unmistakable. It was one of Lucas’s Fallen Ones—the one who picked on me at school.
I gasped.
A wicked grin stole across his face as he relished my shock. He looked past me, though, and I followed his eyes to see others, inexorably working their way toward me.
Over here, Henri whispered. To your left.
I dragged my body toward his voice, trying to block out the keening sounds of the police sirens, the sickening thuds of people being beaten, and the cries of resistance being cut short. Several times I was buffeted in the head, but I kept making my way through the chaos, only daring to look over my shoulder for a moment to be sure the Fallen weren’t gaining on me.
Suddenly, I could see a gap in the thicket of feet and legs. I crawled faster, ignoring the gravel that pressed into the heels of my hands.
I blinked at the light. I was in an alley. Alone. Sighing with relief, I crawled over the curb and pulled myself up against the side of a building, leaning back to scan the crowd.
The angels had disappeared, melting back into the crowd. I shrunk farther into the shadows of the alley, hoping I was right and they really were gone.
When I’d retreated a bit farther, I stopped to assess the damage. My tights were ripped, the skin on my left knee grazed just enough to be bloody. My T-shirt was ripped as well, but more than that, I was soaked through, having been caught in the direct blast from the hose. I brushed off my hands, picking the bits of gravel out of my palms and noting with amazement that I had no further injuries. Hopefully, no tell-tale bruises would emerge later to give me away.
From the safety and distance of the alley, I watched the crowd disperse, a handful of students getting marched and shoved unceremoniously into waiting police vehicles.
“What was that?” I wondered aloud.
That, Henri answered, is just one of the things that has gone awry since your beloved Michael decided his time was better spent babysitting you. The people are rising up to protect their rights, because no one else is doing it for them. And they are paying with imprisonment and sometimes their lives. The fact that the Fallen were among them should not surprise you. Wherever there is chaos, you will find them. This was their warning to you. Why they did not take you when they had the chance, I do not know.
I gulped hard, trying
to swallow back my guilt.
You don’t have time to feel sorry. You need to get back to the house before the Fallen change their mind, and before your absence is noticed.
I nodded, knowing he was right. I looked around, trying to reorient myself. I didn’t dare find the train tracks; I would be too exposed. I needed to wind my way back through the side streets and alleys. As I peered back into the emptying square, a flock of birds rose up, startling me.
Were those pigeons, or something more sinister?
The fact that the Fallen might still be all around me, that they might have been trailing me this whole time, spurred me to my feet.
I didn’t try to run. I was too winded. The adrenaline that had coursed through me now waned, leaving me spent. Instead, I clung to the sides of the buildings as I limped my way back. Every now and then, I darted a glance at the rooftops, hoping I wouldn’t spot a stray raven trailing me back to our hiding place.
I managed to creep up the stairs of the house—attracting only a baleful stare from the cat that had apparently taken up residence at our doorstep—and snuck into my room. Slowly, teeth chattering, I peeled off my clothes, shoving them under the bed where I hoped they would not be found. I longed to climb back into bed, piling the covers on top of me to ward away the cold, but I knew I couldn’t linger here, avoiding the angels forever. Instead, I forced myself back into yesterday’s clothes and headed out into the living area.
Michael crouched down before the hearth, coaxing the glowing embers back to a roaring fire. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I’d barely made it back in time to escape his notice.
The room was flooded with light from the bank of windows and seemed to catch his blond hair so that it shone in the morning sun. He leaned into the fire with a poker, his tight T-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders and back as he poked and prodded the reluctant flames. The fire shifted and sprang to life, a real fire now, and Michael stood up, throwing the poker down to look at the fire with satisfaction. My eyes were drawn down the length of his body, admiring how his muscular back gave way to his narrow waist.
Dark Rising Page 3