Dark Before Dawn

by Monica McGurk

  Enoch pressed his lips into a tight line, refusing to answer.

  I turned back to Gabrielle. The unsteadiness I’d seen had clearly passed. She stood tall, defiant, and more beautiful than ever. One brow arching, she placed a possessive hand on Michael’s arm. He angrily shrugged it off.

  Michael’s figure blurred as angry tears welled in my eyes. I dashed them away.

  “How could you?” I demanded, my voice husky.

  “Hope,” he pleaded, reaching out a hand as he began to move toward me. “You’ve got to believe me, it’s not what you—”

  I flinched. “Don’t come near me!”

  He stopped, shocked.

  “We were working,” he emphasized. “We were working.” He turned back to Gabrielle. “Gabrielle, tell her. Tell Hope the truth.”

  She tilted her head, weighing his request carefully, clearly enjoying the chaos she’d created with her words. I found myself holding my breath.

  “Yes, we worked,” she finally assented. “There was no romantic entanglement, you silly human. How very pedestrian of you.”

  “But then, why didn’t you sense—”

  She didn’t let me finish.

  “It was in the interest of the greatest good for me to keep Michael with me that evening, to suppress my knowledge—which, yes, I clearly sensed—of the risk posed to your family. I deliberately downplayed your family’s needs.” She continued, addressing her words to the judge, her voice full of conviction. “I freely admit my gratitude toward Miss Carmichael, and my appreciation for the role she played nearly thirteen years ago in freeing the Fallen from their burdens. But we must recall that it was Michael’s sacrifice, not hers, that ultimately won their redemption. We angels owe her nothing. And her ongoing interest in Michael, and his in her, while quaint and understandable, is unseemly. I could not continue to pander to this unfortunate relationship.”

  Then she turned to Michael, and suddenly her voice had a hint of remorse. “I warned you,” she said. “You should have listened to me.”

  I frowned. “When? When did you warn him?”

  She shrugged. “Right before our last visit to your home. I told him then that his attachment to you posed a danger to the rest of us. To the world. That he needed to make you get on with your choice—ideally in a manner that severed your ties—so that he could be free to focus upon his duties.”

  His newfound insistence, the pressure for me to decide—it all made sense now.

  “Your warning was unjustified!” Michael raged in response. “I fulfilled my obligations. I’ve never once failed in them.”

  “Did you?” she whispered, her eyes sad. “If I had told you the truth about the danger to Rorie—if you had left me that night to pursue Lucas and save her—what would have happened to the refugees whose boats succumbed to the violence of the Mediterranean?”

  “You could have saved them by yourself. There were not so many,” he countered, eyes flashing.

  “There were ten boats, Michael. Ten boats crammed with women and children without life jackets. Nearly two hundred souls, seeking freedom from tyranny.”

  Doubt crept into his eyes. “Still, you could have saved them. It was within your powers to do so.”

  “And if I had heeded the pledge to protect Aurora, too? If I had abandoned them to follow you?”

  She let the question dangle in the air. Michael’s nostrils flared, chin raised, as he saw her point.

  “I had to do it, Michael.” She turned to me, hands outspread. “I’m sorry, Hope. But as you can see, my actions just helped him see the realities of the situation. He cannot cling to his foolish devotion to you and still serve as God’s general. It is just not possible.”

  Michael and Gabrielle continued arguing, Raph now jumping into the fray. Enoch inserted himself into the tiny knot of angry angels, trying to soothe tempers, while I let the reality of the situation wash over me.

  This revelation only confirmed my worst fears. Gabrielle had known. And she’d deliberately led Michael astray, letting my mother die, letting Rorie be taken. I couldn’t trust them—none of them. Not without having greater control over them myself.

  “Order!” the Chief Magistrate shouted, flapping her wings for emphasis as she cut him off. “I demand order during these proceedings. Michael—is what Gabrielle said true?”

  He shot Gabrielle a venomous look before answering the judge. The cords of his neck stood out, straining as he nearly spat the words. “As you can see, Gabrielle misrepresented the situation to me.”

  The judge cut him off coldly. “It is a simple question, Michael: Did you, or did you not, actively choose to remain with Gabrielle the evening of Lucas’s attack upon this family? I require a simple answer. A yes or no will do nicely.”

  He slumped his shoulders, letting his wings sag behind him. “Yes,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “Yes, I decided to stay with her that night and tend to the refugees. She asked me to, and I did.” He refused to look at me.

  Gabrielle raised her chin, defiant.

  “Despite your sense of danger?” the judge probed, driving home her point.

  “Despite my sense of danger,” he repeated, jaw clenched.

  “And despite suspecting that your intuition, however imperfect, might have to do with some danger to the Carmichaels?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

  “I see,” the judge intoned gravely. “This is an unfortunate finding. Though I am pleased we can at least now all agree on the facts of the matter. As for you, Raphael,” she peered at him over the rims of her glasses, “I take it you were not aware of any need at all, and that you were reliant upon the two of them to alert you to any danger?”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said, his face expressionless. “I have no love for humans. I admit, I might not have attended to them even if I had known. A forced oath does not an enforceable contract make,” he said, looking at me slyly, “as my human friend, the lawyer, well knows.”

  “We are talking about heavenly law, now,” she rebuked him sharply. “An oath given to the leader of God’s army is, indeed, enforceable. Hence I find no other option but to find you all guilty of breach of contract, per the plaintiff ’s filing. I find her requested damages suitable to the injury. You will fulfill your contractual commitments by going after Aurora Carmichael now, at the direction of her elder sister—Hope.”

  My eyes stung with tears. I clung to her announcement—a Pyrrhic victory in my relationship with Michael, for sure, but necessary for me to save my sister. But I had one more request for the judge.

  “Your honor,” I began. “There is one amendment I would seek to your judgment.”

  She raised her brows. “Miss Carmichael. Let me warn you that we have accommodated you, and your request for speed, beyond what many in Heaven found reasonable. I have ruled in your favor—a precedent I may one day rue. Do not push your luck.”

  I gulped, but pressed on. “I understand. But the … revelations at this proceeding have made the continued involvement of the Archangel Gabrielle problematic at best. I seek to remove her from the contract, and I request that Enoch serve as her substitute. If he is willing, that is,” I added hastily, not wanting him to think I was taking him for granted.

  “Enoch is not a warrior,” Raph protested. “That was the whole reason we didn’t include him in the first place. With Arthur also gone, we cannot afford any dead weight. And he lacks the intuition to counterbalance Michael’s deficit.” He shot me a dirty look, reminding me of my own role in creating that lack.

  “I note your argument, Raph,” the judge said, clearly exasperated. “But how Enoch chooses to manifest is up to him. If Miss Carmichael finds his services to be of value, who am I to argue? And from what I understand, Miss Carmichael will be able to provide a useful complement to Michael’s intuition on her own. Enoch, what say you?”

  Enoch nodded, hobbling forward on his cane. “It would be an honor.”

  The Chief Magistrate drew herself up.
“So be it. You have my decision. I suggest you vacate the premises forthwith, Gabrielle. You have brought naught but trouble upon this house. And, I might add, with your meddling, you have forced Michael into a proximity with Miss Carmichael that is the opposite of your intent.”

  Gabrielle sniffed at the rebuke. “I am aware that my plans have backfired, at least for the time being. But perhaps now, even if Hope has no sympathy for my point of view, she will realize the impossibility of her relationship with Michael. She will realize that for all our sakes, she must give it up. In the long run, their connection will do nothing but put others at needless risk.”

  She then turned her full attention to me.

  “It is a fool’s errand upon which you embark. For any human to attempt to fight against the Fallen is futile. And by insisting on entangling Michael in it, again distracting him from his duties, you render your mother’s death in vain.”

  Her words stung, but I refused to dignify them with a response.

  “Nonetheless, I wish you luck.” She smiled sadly. “I truly wished you no ill, Hope. Everything I did, I did in the name of Heaven’s order. While I don’t expect you to understand, I had hoped others would,” she whispered, letting her gaze linger on Michael. “I will tend to God’s people while you are tied up in your fruitless searching. When you realize I am right, you know how to find me.”

  Then, in a flash of light, she vanished.

  After a moment of awkward silence, the judge rose from her bench, the rustle of robes and gusting wings signaling her intent to depart as well.

  “I will file my findings in the Library, Enoch,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “And I will send your regards to your colleagues, whom I know miss you.” She turned to me. “Good luck, Miss Carmichael. You have surrounded yourself with strange company, but whether they are willing or not, they will fulfill their duties to you or suffer God’s pain as punishment. Godspeed.”

  Then she, too, along with her scribe, disappeared, only a twinkling trail of pixelated light trailing behind her.

  I turned to the remaining angels. Raph was pained even to be in the same room as me, let alone forced onto a mission such as this. Enoch placidly unwrapped a granola bar, seemingly unperturbed by all that had just passed. Michael’s face was blank, a cipher. Only the telltale vein throbbing in his forehead gave indication that he was feeling anything at all.

  “You’re in charge,” Enoch said, chewing with his mouth open, letting little crumbles of oats fall into his scraggly beard. “Where are we going?”

  “Colorado,” I answered, steeling myself. “We’re breaking in to the supermax prison to talk to Chen. We’re going to find out where they took my sister.”

  fourteen

  LUCAS

  The roadblock as we’d headed into North Dakota had been their last hope. It had almost given me pleasure, watching the spark of life in their eyes when the girls had realized what was happening.

  The police had blocked Highway 85, stopping every vehicle heading north—miles of pickup trucks, dump trucks, SUVs, campers, all being questioned individually. What they were looking for, I had no idea. But I needed to make sure that when it was our turn to be stopped, they didn’t notice anything strange about two girls huddled in the backseat in skimpy clothing.

  “Not a word,” I warned from the front seat. “Let me do the talking.”

  I rolled down the window as the officer approached.

  “License and registration,” he demanded.

  I fished in the glove compartment and smoothly handed them over.

  While he called in the numbers, I watched Rorie in the rear view mirror. Her face was strained with her silent hope—notice me, ask me, talk to me, help me. It was there in her eyes.

  I knitted my brows together and shook my head slightly with a silent threat: Don’t even think about it. That was all I’d needed— that, and the brandishing of the gun that was tucked under my seat, with a promise to kill us all if she made as much as a peep—to win her silence.

  The officer thrust his hand through the window, offering me back my papers, not even bothering to spare a glance into the backseat.

  “All checks out. Headed to Williston?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  “Well, good luck then,” he responded, pounding the side of the car as he backed away.

  I closed the window, shutting out the cold night air and shutting down the girls’ thoughts of rescue.

  Now nothing stood between us and my object: the Bakken Oil Fields.

  “This is the end of the line for me, ladies,” I said, giving them a mock salute as I swung the door open at our destination. “It’s been a pleasure escorting you to your new home.”

  “You’re leaving us?” Rorie blinked at the harsh parking lot lights, fast to pick up on the fact that the engine was still running.

  No, I thought to myself. I’ll be right here, destroying your friend before your eyes. Just in another human shell.

  I didn’t answer, just reached into the back of the car to haul Macey out. She was bruised from her night at the truck stop, her eyes still blurry with post-drug stupor. I made a mental note that I might have to drag things out a bit if she was to last for as long as I needed her. There was no need for mercy—who had showed me any, over the millennia of pain I experienced?

  No one, I answered, with a grimace as the throbbing ache that was my constant companion spiked to fever pitch. No one at all.

  A young boy, perhaps fifteen, approached our car. In the shadows, an older man who looked like a bouncer hovered, keeping a watchful eye on our transaction. The girls shivered in the night air, pulling the threadbare blankets around themselves, their breaths emerging in puffs.

  “This it?” the boy asked gruffly. His face was wary, as if he’d already seen too much in his short life.

  I nodded. He shoved a wad of cash into my hand, and I counted out the bills, making sure it was all there.

  “All yours,” I said, turning and climbing back into the car.

  “Wait!” Macey called out. “Where are we? Is Luke here?”

  “Luke’s not coming for you, baby,” I answered, enjoying the crushed look on her face as she took in my words. “Welcome to your new world.”

  With that, I slammed the door and put the car into drive, watching the girls standing, stupefied, as I wove through the junk that was strewn across the parking lot.

  Funny how attached they’d become in such a short time.

  Later, when I’d abandoned the car behind a motel, I pondered what to do next. Replace the fifteen-year-old boy? Take on the role of his mother, the former prostitute who’d come full circle to sell girls herself? Or pose as another victim, worming my way into Rorie and Macey’s confidences?

  There were so many choices. It was hard to decide, especially with the constant buzzing of pain in my head. But I smiled to myself, knowing that, really, there was no bad choice. I tossed the keys under the car and, whistling, started walking back to the warehouse where the girls were being kept.

  I’d play the enforcer, the muscle. Such an important role, early in a girl’s training. Lots of interaction.

  This should be fun.

  The girls were being kept in dog cages.

  They were chained inside the wire crates, leaving them only one hand free and exposed to the cold concrete below. They’d been tossed in with their blankets and nothing else. The crates were small enough that the girls had to crouch low to avoid hitting their heads, forcing them into a position of submission from the very start.

  It was brilliant, and sick. Just what I’d come to expect from humanity.

  As I watched them, I felt a surge of delight, shot through with an arc of pain so exquisite it took my breath away.

  Ah, the pain. The more it came now, the closer I knew I was to my aim. I embraced it. I let it wash over me and envelop me. I was pain, and pain was me. We were inseparable now.

  They were in a separate room, a room that was set aside for new
girls, apparently. There were a few empty crates around the perimeter of the room, abandoned clothes and blankets strewn in haphazard piles within them. Only one other girl was in the room, a dark-skinned girl with ebony hair that was matted and tangled behind her. She was curled up in the fetal position on the bottom of her crate, facing the wall, silent.

  The vague smell of urine and vomit suffused the air, and I had to force myself not to gag. I silently cursed my frail human body with all its weaknesses.

  I was trailing the boy, who was tossing cold Pop-Tarts and Fruit Roll-Ups into the crates, paying the girls less attention than one would a stray animal.

  Through the thin corrugated steel walls, I could hear the barking and snarling of dogs, the shouts of a drunken crowd egging on the mangled animals, placing bets on which would emerge victorious. I felt a stab of outrage. Humans destroying one another with their craven depravity was one thing. Taking it out on defenseless creatures of God was another.

  “You can clean the cages out,” the boy ordered. “We’re expecting another shipment tomorrow. Later on, you and I can mark them.” I nodded to acknowledge the task and set to work, moving quietly so that I could listen to the whispers of the girls, looking over my shoulder every now and then to see what they were up to but hoping not to draw attention to myself. I didn’t want them to notice me. Not yet, anyway.

  “Macey, we have to get out of here.” Rorie was pressed up against the crate, her fingers wrapped around the wire bars.

  Macy huddled in the crate. “I’m waiting for Luke. He’ll come for me. I know he will.”

  “Didn’t you hear him, Macey? Luke’s not coming for you. He’s sold you.”

  “That’s not true,” Macey said. She pressed her hands to her ears, the chains jangling as she tried to block out Rorie’s words. “He loves me, Rorie. He told me.” She began rocking back and forth, trying to soothe herself.

  Rorie persisted, her voice sharp. “Wake up, Macey! He took advantage of you. And nobody’s coming to save us. We have to get out of here on our own.”