Dark Rising

by Monica McGurk

  Q: Many readers might be upset by where you end the book. Can you explain why you chose to end it with such a cliffhanger?

  MM: Well, I originally intended to end it even earlier—at the chapel in France. Then I felt like the story needed to keep going and I wrote quite a bit of additional content. In the end, my editors and I decided there was too much happening at the end of the book, too many changes coming too fast, so we chose a happy compromise. Hopefully readers will be excited to know what happens next for Hope and Michael and pick up the third book when it is released!

  Q: Do you already know how Hope and Michael’s story will end?

  MM: Oh, yes. I have it all plotted out and have run this final chapter in The Archangel Prophecies by my teen daughter. She approves, by the way!

  Q: How have you expanded your efforts to combat human trafficking and domestic minor sex trafficking since the release of Dark Hope?

  MM: One of the efforts I am most excited about is the development of a reading curriculum more closely centered around the elements of human trafficking depicted in Dark Hope. I have worked with specialists in the anti-trafficking and anti-DMST movement, as well as middle school teachers, to develop a reading guide that can be linked to Common Core standards. The curriculum is being piloted with several nonprofit agencies that work extensively with middle- and high-school-aged girls. Best of all, it is available free of charge to any organization or teacher wishing to use it in their own clubs or classrooms. Anyone interested can find it on my website, http://monicamcgurk.com.

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of

  Dark Before Dawn

  Book Three of the Archangel Prophecies

  one

  They’d left the window open. The gauzy, Swiss-dot curtain billowed and danced on the spring breeze that filtered through the screen.

  It was twilight. The baby had been put down for her evening nap—still on the seemingly endless cycle of sleeping and eating that cut up the day into three-hour increments—giving her mother a precious few hours to nap. Her mother was just down the hall, the baby monitor transmitting each rustle of blanket, each little coo, so that the weary woman’s subconscious mind could stay alert to any deviation in the peaceful noises of her sleeping child.

  The curtains billowed again, but this time, it was different.

  A wisp of shimmering smoke rode in with the breeze, another, then another. They buffeted the delicate fabric of the curtain, writhing and twisting as yet another delicate filament ghosted in to join them. They danced together, merging in a flash of brilliant light that, for a split second, illuminated the darkness that was beginning to fill the room with the setting of the sun. The pulsating mass floated over to the head of the crib, a slight electric tang filling the air as it settled and began to flicker.

  One by one, the smoky shapes separated out and took up their forms. Bone. Flesh. Wings. As they took shape, another figure stepped from the corner of the room to join them.

  Muscle-bound and armor-plated, the angel sentries stood before the crib and peered in. They had hard-planed faces, chiseled by worry and war, but soft eyes that melted as they gazed on the sleeping babe.

  One shook out his wings, releasing a soft rush of wind that would sound no different than a gentle breeze over the baby monitor.

  The angel at the head of the crib shot him a dirty look, then looked pointedly at the baby monitor. The offending angel, Arthur, rolled his eyes and extended his wings again, unfurling them just to make his point before turning the knob on the monitor to “off.”

  “Really, Michael. Mona’s not going to notice a thing,” Arthur argued. “She’s exhausted. She’s so afraid of missing something—keeps saying she wants to take advantage of every moment. I just sent her and Hope both to catch some sleep. Rocked Rorie to sleep myself.”

  The Archangel Michael ignored him, turning back to the crib.

  “Aurora,” Michael breathed, leaning over the railing to get a better look at the child. “Our Rorie.”

  Michael had laughed as Arthur—who now more than ever was Mona’s confidant—explained to him the agonies Mona experienced while choosing her baby’s name. Mona wanted something to honor her late husband, Don but didn’t want it to be so obvious. The play on words and rhyme she’d come up with—Aurora, meaning dawn—was clever, just like Mona. Michael wondered if the allusion to the goddess who renewed herself daily, a symbol of hope and of life’s eternal wheel, was deliberate, too.

  The babe was tiny and, apparently, feisty—having wriggled out of her swaddling to splay herself out across the mattress. Her skin was so delicate it was nearly transparent. Michael reached out a finger to follow the tiny trail of veins that stretched like lace across her open palm.

  In her sleep, she grasped his finger, refusing to give it up.

  “She’s got a kung fu grip,” Michael chuckled, wiggling his finger.

  The lone female angel, Gabrielle, moved to Michael’s side and tucked her arm into his.

  “She’s beautiful, Michael. Truly beautiful.”

  “I just wish Mona would change her mind and allow for a real christening,” Raph, the last angel in the group, added gruffly.

  “She’d see it as giving in to Don’s old religious whims. She’ll never do it. Besides, there’s no need,” Michael said, dismissing the concern as irrelevant. “We’re here now. We’ll be her witnesses.”

  “Real life fairy godmothers,” Arthur chimed in, grinning.

  Michael smiled despite himself. “Something like that.”

  He gently pulled his finger from Rorie’s fist. “Everyone, it’s time.”

  They took their places around the girl—each warrior angel taking the foot or side, Michael, their captain, retaining his place at the head.

  Arthur shifted on his feet. “It doesn’t seem right, doing this without Enoch. Or Hope.” He looked pointedly at Michael.

  “Enoch isn’t a soldier,” Michael responded, his eyes never moving from where they watched the slight rise and fall of Rorie’s breathing, “and the time may come when we will have to fight for her. It wouldn’t do to make pledges we cannot keep. And as for Hope,” his voice broke with emotion as he spoke her name, “It’s too soon. She cannot know of us. Not yet.”

  “I don’t know why you don’t tell her, Michael,” Arthur argued softly. “As a reward for her service and sacrifice, you have been offered something almost unheard of—God has granted her the choice to be with you, either in Heaven, in angelic form, or here on Earth, with you cloaked in the flesh of full humanity. Yet you say nothing, letting her wonder if you have risen or not, letting her believe you have left her alone. Why?”

  Michael’s jaw stiffened. “We’ll not speak of it.”

  “But why? You know she still spends all of her spare time looking for you. Her damned bedroom walls are covered with things she’s printed off from her Internet searches, dribs and drabs she’s hoping add up to proof that you are resurrected. She hides it well, but she hasn’t gotten over you. She’s suffering, and you let her.”

  “Do you think it’s fair, Michael, to keep her choice from her?” Gabrielle, added, carefully appraising Michael’s reaction. She did not wish to goad him; she honestly could not fathom what he was thinking.

  The muscle in Michael’s jaw tensed. He stood up, stretching his wings wide. Even in the half-light of dusk they glinted and sparkled, majestic.

  “It’s too soon to thrust such a choice upon her. I will tell her when the time is right. For now, it is just us. Just us four. Now.”

  He wrapped the crib rail in his massive hand, the scarred and bruised flesh a contrast against the carefully turned, bright pine. “Let us begin.”

  A sense of gravity came upon them as they considered what they were about to do.

  “I’ll start,” Arthur began.

  The angels closed their eyes as if by silent agreement as he took up his vow. He reached a gigantic hand over the baby’s head in blessing.

  “Daughter of God, we gather
here as witnesses and to pledge you to Him. In His name, I offer you the gift of laughter to sustain you on your journey.”

  He withdrew his hand from the baby and Gabrielle’s took its place.

  “I offer you the gift of insight. May it guide you to wisdom in His path.”

  “I offer you the gift of strength, to sustain you in times of physical and emotional duress,” Raph added quickly, his hand hesitating before reaching down to caress the crown of Rorie’s head.

  Michael stretched his muscular, scarred arm above the baby.

  “I offer you bravery. May you have no need for it.”

  He raised his eyes and looked sternly at each of his comrades in turn. “Together, we pledge to come to your aid, to protect you in your need, to be your sword and your shield. In the name of Heaven, I swear it.”

  “I swear it,” Gabrielle breathed.

  “I swear it,” Arthur added, his normally twinkling eyes suddenly grave.

  There was a long pause. Michael looked at Raph, barely containing his impatience.

  “I swear it,” Raph muttered, knowing he had no choice. The tension in Michael’s face finally dissipated.

  “Now it is done. We are bound to her.”

  He turned to the other angels. “I know you do this for me and for no other reason. I thank you.”

  “Look, she’s awake,” Gabrielle whispered.

  Everyone turned back to the crib. Rorie’s eyes were wide open, a startling blue that was nearly violet. Her tiny arms flailed as she stretched, unable to control the movements of her body. Gabrielle leaned over to draw the baby up in her arms.

  “Hello, baby girl. You’re safe here, with us.” She held Rorie against her chest, the baby’s wee chin propped against her shoulder. “She’s such a good baby,” she explained to nobody in particular. “She barely ever cries.”

  Michael gazed a little too intently at Gabrielle as she cradled Rorie in her arms. Gabrielle didn’t need to see him to know what he was doing. She had seen that longing look on his face before as he’d hidden in the shadows, watching Hope holding her baby sister in much the same way.

  “We should leave,” Gabrielle said, gracefully interrupting the awkward moment.

  “Yes, we should leave,” Michael whispered, flushing, but unable to pull his eyes away.

  Gabrielle buried her nose in Rorie’s wispy fine hair, breathing in her sweet baby smell and avoiding Michael’s gaze. “Your mama will be here for you soon, sweet girl.” She kissed Rorie’s head and laid her gently back in the crib before returning to the door.

  “Goodbye,” she said, giving the baby one last look.

  Raph just scowled. “Don’t think I’m going to like Hope, or any humans now, just because of a baby.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Michael answered, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from betraying his amusement.

  “Goodbye, Rorie,” Michael whispered, backing away from the crib. “You’ll keep us posted, won’t you, Arthur?”

  Arthur nodded. “Of course. Just like always. It will be easier now that Mona has decided to move into a more secure home. It will be strange for Hope, I’m sure, being behind a fence and gate, but with me living in their carriage house, I’ll be sure they’re kept safe. Whether it’s from traffickers or the Fallen, I’ll be there to watch over them.” He clasped Michael’s shoulder—warrior to warrior, brother to brother—and, with a shimmer, put away his wings, turning back into his human guise before slipping out of the room.

  Wordlessly, the other angels began their own metamorphosis. From flesh and bone to shadow and air they shifted, swirling about the crib for a final look at the special little girl they had promised to watch over, the special little girl whose father had been sacrificed to the fulfillment of an angelic Prophecy not even a year ago. If any of them resented being pledged to her, they swallowed it down out of respect for Michael’s role as commander of the heavenly army, and out of respect for Hope, for whom, they knew, Michael had done this. If he couldn’t be with her, he had reasoned, he could at least be sure to protect her and those she loved.

  Each angel had his own thoughts as they left the baby.

  That it was unfair being pressed into service in this way. That it would never come to pass that they would need to defend her, anyway, making it an empty promise, a gesture but not more. That the babe seemed so sweet and helpless, yet strangely wise with her big, serious eyes.

  And the wistful thought that Gabrielle kept brooding upon: that Hope looked so natural with a child in her arms, that she would be so beautiful with a child of her own. Something that might not ever happen if Michael continued down his foolish path, hiding himself from Hope while she clung to his memory. Gabrielle shrugged, thinking it best perhaps that Michael harden himself to his feelings for this girl. She was necessary to the fulfillment of the Prophecy; anything more than that, well … it was not suitable for an angel of Michael’s stature.

  They hoarded their feelings and thoughts to themselves as they floated away from the crib and out the window. They were too preoccupied to notice that there was another presence, hovering in the shadowy corner of the nursery a presence that shimmered and shifted like them, but with resentment and malevolence.

  The presence waited for them to leave before moving from the dark corners of the room and weakly materializing itself beside the crib. It was an angel, too, but an angel of darkness. Evil radiated off him in waves as he sneered at the helpless child below him.

  “They brought you gifts but didn’t invite me to their party. You are claimed by God, now, and I suppose they think that will keep you safe. But I have brought you my own gift. For if I cannot take you for my own, I will bestow upon you the gift of endurance.”

  His lips twisted into a strange smile as he held his hand over the child, his image flickering as if he were too weak to remain substantial.

  “May you have endurance to bear your suffering well. For suffer you shall. May you be able to bear the pain of doubt. Of rejection. Of loneliness. Of fear. Of pain so excruciating it makes you grind and crack your teeth and cry out for the release of death.”

  He paused, closing his eyes to imagine all the pain he could inflict upon this babe, so innocent.

  He knew pain. After millennia of rejecting the One on High, he was crazed by it, hollowed out in his very soul from enduring the constancy of it.

  Yes, he smiled to himself, he knew pain.

  “May you endure all these things and yet not pass. May you be forced to carry on in the grip of loss so profound it would break the hearts of other mortals and send them early to their graves.”

  He let his eyes flutter open and rest upon the tiny girl, who stared up at him, wide-eyed, unmoved by his speech. He reached down and touched her cheek with his rough hand, which was so transparent it seemed to be absorbed into her very skin.

  “You will be the instrument of my vengeance upon Michael and Hope,” he whispered, eyes glittering in the dark. “Eventually, I will have my way.”

  The doorknob turned.

  In a flash, the angel vanished.

  Mona, the baby’s mother, walked into the room. She paused just inside the doorway, tilting her head and sniffing the air. The curtain fluttered, the chill of the evening air seeping into the room. Mona pulled her fuzzy, worn bathrobe closer about her before striding over and firmly closing the window sash, shutting out the cold. She sniffed the air again, alert to any danger, real or imagined.

  “I’ll have to check the gas,” she said to herself before walking to the crib and swooping her baby daughter up in her arms.

  “For an instant, I thought it smelled like sulfur.”

 

 

 
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