Dark Hope (49 page)

Enoch arched a brow. “Go on.”

“I can’t be sure. It was there, and then it was gone. But I thought I smelled sulfur. The same smell I noticed when I was attacked by the Fallen Ones before.”

Enoch drew in his breath. “You smelled the scent of the Changing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You noticed it before because the Fallen Ones nearby were changing their physical form. From human to bird, or vice versa, for example.”

I nodded, urging him on.

“No matter how they shift shape, the evil ones leave telltale trails, like this scent. If Michael is getting closer to becoming one of them—”

He let the thought linger in the air.

“Enoch,” I continued. “How would we know if he fell? Would he look any different?”

Enoch shook his head. “No. There would be no outward sign. But we would know.”

“How? How did Michael know Lucas was Fallen? It seemed like he recognized him. But how can that be, when angels can change their shape at will?”

“Michael and Lucas are age-old enemies, Hope. They choose to reveal themselves to one another so that they can do battle honorably. It is like a challenge. Appearing in a recognizable aspect is almost like waving a red flag before a bull. In this particular situation, it was especially effective for Lucas to do so. He had the additional advantage of being a visible threat to you, something Lucas apparently surmised would be unbearable to Michael. Correctly, I might add. But if Lucas hadn’t wanted to goad Michael, he could have appeared as anyone at all, and Michael would not have been the wiser, unless he was able to pick up the subtle signs, like the scent of the Changing. Just as we would not be able to detect directly if Michael fell.”

It seemed awfully complicated, but nobody seemed to realize that Henri was still at my side, so the idea of an angel—Fallen or otherwise—staying anonymous and incognito rang true. No matter how realistic, though, the thought of Michael slipping, undetected, into the ranks of the Fallen made me sick to my stomach. Before I could dwell on it, Enoch dashed the idea away with an impatient wave of his cane.

“We must not let that happen. And it won’t, I will be sure of it. You, in the meantime, must be careful not to anger him. Can you promise me that?”

I nodded solemnly.

“Good. Then there is the matter of your skin.”

I snatched my hand away from his, flushing even deeper than I had before. “I don’t want to talk about it, Enoch.”

“I’m afraid you must,” he sighed, pulling my hand back across the table into his firm grip. “It won’t do for you to draw attention to yourself. Not where we are going. You must let Raph fix it.”

“Fix it? What do you mean?”

“Raph is the Angel of Healing. He is a mighty warrior, to be sure, just like all the Archangels are, but his special gift is to heal those who are broken. It used to be one of Michael’s gifts, too—in fact, the shrine where Michael last saw the rock was a place dedicated to his healing powers—but over time his role has shifted, and the miracle of healing has now fallen to Raph. I am sure this is why Michael asked him, specially, to come with us.”

“So, Raph can magically make my skin better? As if I’d never been burned in the first place?”

Enoch squeezed my hand. “Of course. And no one will be the wiser.”

I thought about it. The skin on my hand, which Enoch was still holding, was rough and shiny. I couldn’t imagine it ever looking the way it had been before.

“No,” I said simply.

“What do you mean, no?” Enoch asked, his head jerking sharply up so he could stare at me, blind-eyed, through his dark glasses.

“I don’t want him to change my skin back.”

“Why ever not, child? You could be vulnerable to infection if
you go untreated. Not to mention the fact that you will draw attention to yourself everywhere you go.”

“It’s healing on its own,” I said stubbornly. I wriggled my hand free from his grip and waved my fingers in front of his face. “See?”

He stomped his cane down with an insistent thud. “Nonsense. You’re being ridiculous. You must let Raph heal you.”

I crossed my arms and looked down at the table, unable to meet Enoch’s stare.

“I won’t.”

I refused to look up, but could feel Enoch boring a hole into my head with his blind stare, silently demanding an explanation.

“I want him to have to see what he did to me every time he looks at me.”

I let my words fall like a drop of water, sending ripples out into a lake. I was met with silence.

I waited, tracking the grain of the polished table with my eyes, counting the knots in the wood. I braced myself for Enoch’s response, wondering what he must think of me. How could I, with so much at stake, cling to my pettiness? And yet I did, holding on to it like some precious jewel, as if I could hurt Michael through the sheer force of my will.

“Hope,” Enoch eventually sighed. “This isn’t some game you are playing, my dear. You, more than anyone, know the danger you place yourself in if you willfully torment Michael.”

He paused, apparently waiting for me to respond. I stared harder at the tabletop and kept counting the whorls.

“Very well,” he sighed. “I can see there is no sense talking to you about it now. Perhaps later, after you’ve had a chance to rest. For now, I will leave you to your thoughts.”

I heard him struggle up from his chair and move down the aisle
with the strange thumping walk that was the side effect of his use of the cane.

When I looked up, I was all by myself. Raph and Enoch had apparently joined Michael in the cockpit.

The door of the plane had been closed and the lights dimmed. I looked out the window and saw the tarmac rushing by. The plane was so smooth that I hadn’t even noticed we were moving. I had barely felt the plane leave the bounds of the earth as it lifted its nose into the sky and drew up its wheels.

We were on our way, my band of protectors and me; on our way to find the hateful relic that could mean the destruction of the world—or my own death. Everything turned on my ability to guide us to that ancient rock, a rock that had caused so much pain and strife, its aftermath echoing through the ages.

To do it, I had little to count on. I had a scrap of paper shoved deep in my pocket, its words proclaiming the ancient Prophecy I had to fulfill. I had my new powers of intuition, inadvertently stolen from Michael. I had my determination to not fail. And I had a ragtag group of angels, assembled in haste at Michael’s insistence. Whether they were my saviors or my jailers, I wasn’t yet sure.

Even from where I sat, alone, in the back of the plane, I could feel their powerful presence, just as surely as I could still hear Lucas’s taunts from that night at the factory hanging in the air, sowing doubt between Michael and me. The angels were all around me.

But I had never felt so alone.

M
any people have helped me along the way with this book. If the high-glamour, high-stakes world of Las Vegas gambling rings true at all, it is in large part to the counsel of Colin DeVaughan, a career veteran who advised me on the proper etiquette and treatment of “the whale,” as well as clued me in on the rising influence and gambling culture of the Chinese in Las Vegas.

The details of Hope and Michael’s hotel home off the Strip came to me while on a research trip where I was hosted by the amazing Tony Hsieh and his incredible team at Zappos. The hospitality with which they welcomed me was truly awe-inspiring; they shared their contacts and their favorite haunts with me, and as they talked about their plans for engaging and partnering with others to revitalize downtown Las Vegas, I came to love the spirit of the city and their dreams for it. I hope that I have captured just a bit of the magic they are creating there together.

Michael and Hope’s trek through Snow Canyon closely mirrors the guided hikes I shared with my longtime friend, Rebecca Foster,
on our “girls’ trip” to Utah. I was certain the stunning and sometimes eerie landscape would be the perfect setting for some angelic encounters; the fact that Beck and I got to explore it together just made it more special. Thank you, Beck, for the support and love through career, writing, and other travails!

Arthur Greer, how many trips to and from the airport have we shared? You have been on the journey with me all along, and I hope you don’t mind that I wrote you into this book, my tribute to you and our friendship.

I started out with the idea that Hope’s childhood abduction would be the act of a stereotypical lone pedophile. In conducting my research, I stumbled onto the sad, everyday reality of human trafficking and domestic minor sexual trafficking in Atlanta, Las Vegas, and around the world. I am grateful to the many experts who have fact-checked and commented on this critical subplot, creating the opportunity for me to shine a light upon this modern-day slavery. I am particularly grateful to Cheryl DeLuca-Johnson of Street Grace (an actual nonprofit in Georgia!) for her counsel and gracious permission to use her organization’s name. I would be remiss to not mention that with the help of Street Grace and many other fantastic organizations, Atlanta and the State of Georgia have been at the forefront in advocating for stronger victim rights and tougher sanctions for perpetrators of these crimes. While there are still many challenges, we are making progress.

To the amazing team at Greenleaf, and especially Jeanne, editor extraordinaire—thank you for guidance, for understanding my vision and, most importantly, for your intuitive grasp of Hope and the careful balance I was striving to create with her story.

I have deep gratitude for my amazing extended family and network of friends who read this book in its earlier editions (even when it meant—horrors—reading it on your cell phone screen!)
and urged me on to complete the story. Petra, Josselyn, Shami, Tara, Kathy, Michelle—thank you for all the support and advice you have given me. Special thanks go to my mother, Lorraine Houle, and my brother, Jake Houle, for their early and enthusiastic reading and editing of manuscripts.

Finally, Trey, Reagan, and John—thank you for letting Mom sneak some writing in, nights and weekends. I appreciate your forbearance. And to my husband, Tom—for your unflagging encouragement, ideas, critiques, space, and tech support—I couldn’t have done it without you! I love you all.

ABOUT MONICA McGURK

M
onica McGurk started out writing fan fiction based on Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series under the pen name Consultant by Day. She has been recognized for her prequels and alternate versions by her fans, winning the Twific Fandom “Undiscovered Gem” award for
Morning Star
in 2013. Since her fan fiction days, she has left the consulting firm at which she was a senior partner and remains a full-time business executive based in Atlanta. While this is her first novel of any sort, she has been published in the business press on numerous topics.

She is married and the mother of three children, for whom she creates elaborate bedtime stories that sometimes last for over a year.

She has already completed her sequel to
Dark Hope
, which she hopes to publish soon.

Pretty fifteen-year-old Hope Carmichael returns to her mother’s house in Atlanta for the first time since a court order gave custody to her over-protective religious father many years before. Her mother’s frequent out-of-town business trips, the well-manicured home, and her first day at Dunwoody High grant Hope the wish she has had for so long: to be free and to make friends for the first time in her life. As
Dark Hope
unfolds, Hope catches the eye of handsome golden boy, Michael, whose interest in her is more than she could have ever wished for in her wildest dreams. Hope begins to let go of first-week jitters, and to wonder if at long last, she may have made a best friend. When Hope finds herself partnered with pierced and tattooed Tabitha on a school project, she can’t help but stare at Tabitha’s heavy eyeliner and streaked Mohawk hairdo. “Not everyone or everything is what they look like on the outside.
God knows it’s true for me,” comments Tabitha. But Hope’s past is full of dark and frightening secrets and her future is about to become populated with equally dark mysteries. Hope—abducted and returned safely as a toddler—carries a mark that will link her to a host of individuals who are definitely not what they look like on the outside. Hope’s story connects the powerful emotions and desires of a teenage girl with present-day human sex trafficking, the search for an ancient relic, and the battle of good and evil against a backdrop of immense and grave worldwide proportions.

What do we really know about the character of Hope herself? Is she easy to know or not? What are her likes and dislikes? What emotions motivate her? Does the fact that she was isolated as a child make her personality harder to understand?

What do we know about Mona? It’s stated in the book that she had no family. It’s suggested that she and Don have few friends. What in their personalities motivated them to do what they did with regard to Hope? What weaknesses did each of them have? What strengths?