Dark Hope: Book One of the Archangel Prophecies

Dark Hope: Chapter 12

Michael roused me from bed with the rising sun, pushing the curtains roughly aside to let in the glare.

"We need to get a move on. We have a bit of a drive." He was moving about the room restlessly. I scooted back against the headboard, wondering whether he was still angry with me.

"A drive? To where?" I asked through my yawn as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"We're going out to St. George. All the crazy crystal-toting people think Sedona is the spiritual center of the universe, but St. George is where we need to go. You have twenty minutes. Dress for a hike. You'll find some new clothes in the closet. I'll meet you in the car out in front."

Twenty minutes later, we were pulling away from the hotel. Michael shoved a paper bag at me. "Croissants from the Beat. And there's a latte for you, too."

My stomach growled, accusing me over the dinner I'd missed last night, and I gratefully took the bag. I looked at him cautiously, trying to gauge his mood as I stuck my nose into the bag, inhaling the scent of fresh pastry. He no longer seemed angry. In fact, the further we drove, the more visibly relaxed he became. Only the tightness around his eyes gave away the fact that he was still battling the pain.

"Thanks," I said, picking up the steaming latte from the cup holder and inhaling the fragrant aroma. "Mmm."

As soon as we were on the interstate, he abandoned the guise of my father, which seemed to cheer him even more. We were headed toward Salt Lake City, winding through desolate landscapes that seemed to scrape the blue sky. Without a cloud to be seen, the brightness was otherworldly. I fumbled for my sunglasses, wanting to drink in every aspect of the terrain as we drove.

"Why are we going to St. George? Is that where the Librarian is?"

Michael nodded. "At the dawn of Christianity, monks used to stay out in the desert, sometimes for years, trying to provoke visions and become closer to God. Their asceticism helped, of course, but there are places in deserts where the Heavens touch the earth. Those are special places where the boundaries between men and angels blur. It is in one of those places where we will find the Librarian."

"How do you know he is there?" I asked, my curiosity aroused.

Michael shrugged. "He is always there. The only question is whether he will allow himself to be found."

"You mean he might not want to help us?" I looked anxiously at Michael, but I couldn't read his eyes through his sunglasses.

"He will," Michael asserted, his jaw becoming stern. "He will."

I pulled off a piece of my flaky croissant and popped it in my mouth. A moan escaped me-I'd not realized how hungry I was. Michael laughed out loud. For a moment I remembered, sadly, the way he'd made fun of my appetite when Jessica Smythe had fallen into his arms, back when we had been friends. I pushed aside the

memory and kept questioning him as I chewed.

"Why do you call him the Librarian?"

"It is an appropriate title for the one who has been appointed to document the history of the Heavens, wouldn't you say?"

I rolled this over in my mind.

"Is the Librarian Enoch?"

Michael looked over at me, a half-smile of surprise on his face. "Not much gets by you, does it?"

I was oddly pleased by his praise, and blushed. "He is the only one I've heard of writing that much about the angels."

Michael turned back to the road and continued. "Yes, the infamous Book of Enoch. Though the versions you have here on earth are false and corrupt, the ideas you have of Enoch documenting our history and of his skills as a prophet are well founded."