Dark Before Dawn Read online

  She peered at him over the rim of her glasses.

  “They’re fine, thank you. Preparing for a visit to the federal prison to minister to the inmates.” She pursed her lips. “Mona won’t let Rorie come with me. She thinks it’s too dangerous.”

  Michael shrugged. “I happen to agree with her. I suppose she went full nuclear on you when you raised the idea?”

  Tabby winced at the memory. I laughed.

  “She’s mellowed with age, but not that much. She can still wield the hairy eyeball at will. And she’s still protective of her baby, that’s for sure.”

  “That’s good. There’s time enough for Rorie to encounter all the evil in the world. What is she now—twelve?” He didn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Let her enjoy her innocence while she can.”

  He let his eyes linger on my face and reached out his hand. I gripped it in mine, our fingers intertwining, letting the jolt of heat that still ran between us flood my senses.

  Michael sank deeper into the cushions of his chair. “Ah, it’s good to be home,” he muttered to no one in particular, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment.

  My heart swelled to hear him call this place—us—home. And it was home—my downtown apartment still felt like an outpost to me. But I knew that for him, this place would never be more than a temporary hearth, nothing but a way station on the way to our union in Heaven—for him, my choice was a foregone conclusion.

  I looked around at my family and felt the twinge of anxiety I always experienced when I thought about leaving them.

  My mother came back in, bearing a tray of fruit, cheese, and crackers, distracting me.

  “What did I tell you?” Arthur muttered to Michael.

  “What was that?” my mother demanded.

  “Nothing,” we all chimed in, laughing.

  “This looks great, Mona, thank you,” Michael said with real appreciation. I marveled sometimes at how well he played his role as human. I knew it was physically draining, but he hid it well.

  “Mom?” a childish voice called from somewhere. A barrage of words tumbled out, faster and faster, closer and closer. “Mom? Can Macey and I go to the pool? All my friends are going to be there this afternoon. I know you said you wanted me home today, but—” A lone figure emerged on the stairs and paused.

  “Michael!”

  The tiny, fierce bundle of energy flung herself down the rest of the stairs, hurtling into Michael’s arms.

  Rorie.

  She had my mother’s build—petite and compact with muscled strength—and so far, she had somehow avoided the awkwardness that typically comes from the growth spurts and hormones of impending teen-dom. While her love of fashion and makeup and countless hours of watching video bloggers meant she could emerge from the cocoon of her room in any number of guises, she was just a child today, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, her blond hair, so carefully highlighted to add a sunny glow, pulled back simply into a bun so that the warmth and intelligence of her violet eyes shone. She disentangled herself impatiently from the enveloping hug with which she’d greeted Michael and began peppering him with questions.

  “Nobody told me you were coming today! When did you get here? Why didn’t anybody come and get me?” She paused to shoot me a wounded, pouting look, but her imaginary hurt passed as quickly as it came, and she turned her attention back to Michael.

  “I missed you so much.” She began patting the many pockets of his cargo pants. “What did you bring me?”

  Michael laughed. “Glad to know you’re the same girl I remember, looking for your presents before I even have a chance to catch my breath. But what’s this?”

  He gently poked at her face, pulling away a finger and holding it up for a theatrical inspection in the light before wrinkling his nose. “Mascara? Lip gloss?”

  She swatted his hand away playfully and laughed.

  “All the girls in seventh grade wear makeup. It’s just a little bit. Besides, you’re just trying to distract me. You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  He sighed the sigh of a long-suffering parent. And indeed, I knew that he often felt like a surrogate father to Rorie. They had always had a special connection.

  “I may have something here for you. Let me see.” Rorie squealed as he began making a big show of searching his pockets. Finally, he pulled out a big wad of tissue paper that had been painstakingly wrapped and taped to secure its contents.

  “Ah, yes, here it is. Now, this is very delicate, Rorie. You’ll have to unwrap it carefully.”

  Rorie ignored him, eagerly tearing into the paper, little scraps of tissue spilling onto the floor for Ollie to sniff through as she dug into the heart of the bundle. She fished out a polished sliver of iridescent stone. With nimble fingers, she drew out a long, silk thread and let the stone dangle in the light. It was a pendant, sparkling with the colors of the rainbow, mere millimeters thick.

  “My goodness, that is something else,” my mother declared.

  “It’s called iris agate, from the chalcedony family. I got it in Israel. The jeweler had to carve it off from the larger stone. See, it’s almost translucent.”

  Tabitha’s brow crumpled in concentration. “Chalcedony. As in the reference to the foundations of New Jerusalem in Revelation?”

  Michael shrugged, never taking his eyes off of Rorie, who was fascinated by the play of light on the stone.

  “I bought it because the rainbow reminded me of Rorie and her name. Nothing more.”

  “I love it!” Rorie trilled, throwing her arms around Michael and burying her face in his neck.

  “I hoped you would,” he said, laughing. He drew her up. “Here, let me put it around your neck.” Carefully, he looped the silk cord over her head. She fiddled with the agate, arranging it just so.

  “It’s perfect!” She threw her arms around him again and pecked his forehead with birdlike kisses.

  Suddenly, she drew herself up, squishing her face into an expression of disgust. “You’re smelly.”

  Michael roared with laughter. “So I am. Occupational hazard. I promise, I’ll go clean up for my best girl.” He tousled her hair and she wriggled away, smoothing her hair down.

  “You better. Hope won’t kiss you if you don’t smell nice.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “Mom, is the pool okay?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll bring you there myself.”

  She shifted nervously, chewing a bit of hair. “You’ll just drop me off, right? All my friends will be there.”

  “And you don’t want to be embarrassed by me?” my mother said pointedly, raising one sharp brow.

  “You’d never embarrass me, Mom. I just don’t need to be babysat.”

  “We’ll see.” My mother crossed her arms, her signal that now was not the time to have this particular debate.

  “I’ll go call Macey and tell her. See you later!” She bounded out of the room, confident she would get her way. Mona looked after her, her gaze troubled.

  “She’s growing up too fast.”

  “How is she adjusting to middle school?” Michael prompted.

  “Well enough,” my mother replied. “But most of her friends have older siblings. They seem so much worldlier than she is. She is so innocent. I worry she’ll be—”

  “Mom,” I interrupted, “you know she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be fine.”

  “I know. Don’t get me wrong—she hasn’t done anything bad, and she’s still getting good grades. And her friends are good kids. But she is just so different than how I remember you at that age, Hope. I mean, based on the little that I got to see of you, then,” she added, slightly flustered at the old memories of the estrangement that had been forced on us by the determined isolation with which my father had raised me. “She reads all those fashion magazines. She seems so concerned with being pretty and popular. I just worry that she’ll lose sight of what really matters in the process.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have to work at being either of those things.
She is the center of her little group, that is for sure,” I noted dryly. It was true. Rorie was almost completely unlike me at that age. She was normal. Which was, all things considered, a happy thing.

  My mother sighed. “She’s just different than you were. It’s not good or bad, I know. Just different. And harder for me to relate to. Anyway”—she shrugged—“she’s not getting rid of me so easily. Embarrassing or not, I’ll be at that pool.”

  “Who’s her friend, Macey?” Michael wondered. “I’ve never heard her mention that name before.” Rorie had been with the same pack of girls since pre-K, so it was noticeable when a new face joined their crowd.

  Arthur smiled. “The latest stray Rorie has taken under her wing. She’s the daughter of one of our neighbors. They began fostering her a few weeks ago and enrolled her in Rorie’s school. Rorie has taken a shine to her.”

  “Fostering? So she’s had a tough life?” Michael probed, sitting up in his chair with interest.

  Arthur nodded. “Single mother who’s an addict, in court-ordered rehab now. Apparently the mom had a boyfriend who beat her up regularly. Her last trip to the hospital at least got her some help. Macey’s father has been in and out of jail for years and can’t be found, which is probably for the best right now. Not that Rorie knows any of these details. She just knows the kid’s had a rough life and is spooked. Jumps at her own shadow. Rorie feels sorry for her, I think.”

  “I just hope she knows she can’t make a project of her,” my mother fretted. “This child is not a bird with a broken wing. She can’t be fixed. And she can’t be shielded from the pettiness of the girls if they don’t want her in their group.”

  “Mom, I thought you’d be proud of Rorie for being so kindhearted,” I said, surprised at my mother’s stance.

  “She thinks she’s invincible. That she can get people to follow her no matter what.”

  “Maybe she can,” I prodded. “After all, she’s your daughter.”

  My mother smiled. “Maybe. But she’s young to be exposed to some of what happened to Macey. And girls this age can be mean. Macey definitely doesn’t fit in. You’ll see what I mean later when you meet her. I just don’t want Rorie’s heart broken if it doesn’t work out the way she hopes.”

  “Honestly, Mona,” Tabby began, pushing her glasses up on top of her head and leaning in to challenge my mother. “I think it’s good for her to see the real world and how ugly it can be; to learn to stand up for those who are weaker than she is. You’ve kept her tucked away in this gilded cage her whole life. She needs to know what’s out there.”

  “Can you blame me?” my mother challenged. Her fists were bunched into tiny balls, and I knew she was reweighing every choice she had made in raising Rorie, reliving the careful calculus she’d wrought—the value of Rorie’s spirit and freedom weighed against her safety. I felt a pang for her, for how vulnerable motherhood had made her. It was the same for mothers everywhere, I knew, but this was my mother. I had inflicted enough pain on her myself over the years. Everything that had happened because of me—my disappearances, my father’s murder—all of it had stoked her fear for Rorie. She didn’t want to be overprotective, like my father had been, but she couldn’t help it.

  “She’s got good role models in the three of you.” Arthur jumped in, enveloping my mother’s shoulders in a massive squeeze as he tried to defuse the situation. “Three strong, independent women. She couldn’t ask for more.”

  Michael reached out and gripped my hand in his as he echoed Arthur’s words.

  “No, she really couldn’t.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” my mother assented, but worry still stalked her eyes.

  “Do you want me to go with you to the pool, Mona?” Tabby asked, contrite at having upset my mother. “I’m guessing Michael and Hope might have other plans.” She smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

  My mother smiled. “Thank you, Tabby. I could use some backup.”

  “Say no more.” Tabby stood up, stretching. “I’ll run home now to get my suit and meet you there.”

  “I’ve got some errands to run, Mona—unless you want me to drive you?” Arthur offered.

  “Like old times? No thanks, Arthur. I think I can get the girls to the pool myself.”

  He gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “Just call me if you need me. I’ll be in the carriage house later on.”

  And suddenly, just like that, Michael and I were alone, with only Ollie—who kept nudging our clasped hands in hopes of some belly scratching—to keep us company.

  We laughed at Ollie and shooed him away. “Go find Mona,” Michael commanded. The dog tilted his head quizzically, as if he was hoping he’d misunderstood, and then he trotted off in search of my mother, his lopsided gait telling his age.

  When he was gone, Michael and I eyed each other with an air of nervous anticipation. After all these years, the pull of his body on mine had only gotten stronger, like the moon pulling in the tides. I wondered idly if the fact that we hadn’t allowed ourselves to consummate our physical relationship served to heighten this attraction, keeping us in a state of perpetual tension, but I didn’t really care. I just wanted to give myself over to the sensation of him here, before me, now.

  “How long has it been?” Michael asked me, rubbing his thumb along the top of my hand.

  I closed my eyes, enjoying the shivers of heat that trailed after his touch.

  “Six months, Michael. You’ve been gone for six months.”

  He squeezed my hand.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe this contractor story was a bad idea. I’m always afraid to come back too soon and raise your mother’s suspicions.”

  I opened my eyes and smiled brightly at him. His eyes had turned a cloudy gray, the color they always took when he was worried about me.

  “It’s for the best. No matter what we did, it was going to be a weird situation.”

  “‘A weird situation.’ Is that what we’re calling it now?” he teased.

  “I think that is the official term for it. Yes.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. I flushed, wondering exactly what he was thinking. His eyes flickered abruptly.

  “Come swing on the porch with me,” he said, his mouth compressed into a thin line as he pulled me to my feet.

  We walked hand in hand to the open-air wrap-around porch, me trailing behind him, confused at the sudden change in his mood. The scent of magnolias and roses wafted to us on the breeze. He pulled me down onto the swing cushions, nestling me close to his side. His warmth instantly relaxed me as I rested my head on his shoulder.

  Perhaps I had misread him. I let a slow sigh escape me.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded, nestling closer. He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his big hand around mine. He was letting himself age along with me, to keep up appearances, and up close, I could see the faintest of smile lines beginning to mark his skin.

  “I’ve missed you,” he stated flatly, kicking his foot against the floorboards to start the swing rocking. As I melded my body to his, I felt the tension in his muscles.

  There was something he was keeping from me; I was sure of it now.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “Where were you this time?”

  “North Korea. Malaysia. All over Africa, of course. There is plenty of evil in the world to keep me busy. Too busy.”

  I turned his hand over to inspect the mark I’d spied on his wrist. It looked as if his skin had been rent and was halfway through binding itself up.

  “You still heal too slowly because of me.”

  “I heal. That’s what counts,” he reassured me. “It will be gone by tomorrow. Just like all the others.”

  I pressed my lips together, unsatisfied with his answer and more than a little guilty. I still didn’t like that our first physical encounter, years ago in that Las Vegas hotel, had not only permanently transferred a bit of Michael’s intuition to me, but had also drained him of some of his other angelic powers, like
his ability to rapidly regenerate from injury. It also made him more dependent on others as he fulfilled his duties as the Protector of Heaven and the Faithful here on Earth, and the situation he’d described to me years before, where he’d worked in a team with his fellow archangel Gabrielle, had become permanent.

  Thinking of her, I frowned. Over the years, Gabrielle had frequently accompanied Michael on his visits to Atlanta. She’d been nothing but polite, but I’d gotten the sense that she merely tolerated me, grudgingly accepting the central role I had in Michael’s world. She’d also been conspicuously absent the last three times he’d come to visit.

  “Did Gabrielle not come with you this time?”

  He nodded.

  “She’s here. But she was gracious enough to give me some time alone with you.”

  I blushed. What did she think we would do with that time?

  “So,” he said, nudging me. “How is the world of criminal law?”

  I smiled. I was relatively new in the County Attorney’s office, but I was passionate about the work we did prosecuting felonies, bringing people who thought they were untouchable to justice in the name of all the innocents whose lives had been warped and destroyed by misused power. And I was good at it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I’d inherited my mother’s sharp, logical mind. To put it to work solving the puzzles of criminality each case presented was a joy, the search for that last missing piece—sometimes just a wisp of an insight, an indescribable gut feeling—was addictive. I didn’t have a fancy office—in fact I was shoved into what looked more like a closet than anything else—but I made a difference. I was proud of my work.

  “Andrew said he thought I had potential for the DA’s office. Maybe the next job opening, even. He said he’d help me.”

  Michael squeezed my hand. “That’s great, Hope. Really great. They’re really going to miss you when you’re gone.”

  I felt myself stiffen, involuntarily, next to him. “I know, but just think of it,” I said. “The cases I’d get to work on at the state level would be amazing—they’d be precedent setting.”