Dark Hope: Book One of the Archangel Prophecies

Dark Hope: Chapter 14

For a full ten minutes after Michael left, I simply sat and stared at the hotel phone that rested on the shiny, mirrored bedside table. I could call my mom. I could call my mom and tell her everything, and she could come and rescue me.

At first, I told myself I was waiting to be sure that Michael was really gone. Then, I realized I was waiting because I knew, deep down, that there really was no point. I knew that there was no way out. Even if I reached my mom, we might be gone by the time she- or anyone else she could muster-could get here. And even if she did find me, I still wouldn't be safe. Until the Key was destroyed, I was still the Bearer. Still the one who would open up the Gates of Heaven to the Fallen Ones.

Still a threat. It was stamped there, the Mark on my neck declaring it for anyone who cared to see.

No, there was no way out, other than the path I was on. A snippet of a Robert Frost poem crept into my mind, a remnant from a barely remembered English class that seemed oddly appropriate.

The best way out is always through.

"Right, Henri?" I said out loud, waiting for him to reassure me. But Henri didn't answer, leaving me to make the decision myself.

I heaved my body off the floor and dragged myself to the closet. A new outfit was hanging right in front of me. Jeans. A T-shirt. And a sweatshirt. I didn't know if this is what Michael had meant by "getting dressed," but I was going to beg forgiveness, not ask permission. I snatched the clothes from the closet and went, resigned, into the bathroom to get ready.

A soft knocking at the door woke me up. I fumbled in the cold bathwater as I jolted awake.

"I don't think even Bathsheba took as long to get ready as you have," Michael's voice said, ringing clearly through the door. My sleepy mind fumbled as I tried to come up with a snappy retort, my cheeks hot, only to be cut off by his chuckle. "There's no rush, but you can come out whenever you're ready, Hope."

I looked at the clock. I'd been in the bathroom for an hour and a half. The water had felt luxurious, stripping away the grit and grime of our desert hike. As I'd relaxed into its warmth, I'd let down my guard and slipped into the first deep rest I'd had since the night Lucas had tricked me with his phone call.

"I'll be right out," I said ruefully. I didn't really want to leave my sanctuary; I was afraid of which Michael I'd find when I crossed the threshold, my friend or my kidnapper. But I didn't have a choice. I sloshed my way out of the tub, wrapping myself in the big fluffy towel and quickly patting myself dry.

I threw on the T-shirt and jeans I'd brought in with me and ran a comb through my hair. I looked at my reflection and made a face. The sunburn on my nose and cheeks contrasted against the bruises on my neck, which were turning a nasty shade of purple. I had white rings around my eyes from my sunglasses, and with my sopping wet hair, I bore a distinct resemblance to a waterlogged Chihuahua. Nice.

Oh, well. There was nothing I could do about it now, anyway. I squared my shoulders, preparing myself for whatever Michael could throw at me, and opened the bathroom door.

"Happy birthday, Hope," Michael said softly from across the room.

I walked through the door and caught my breath. Michael had opened the drapes, baring the night sky to us. We were far from the neon of the Strip, but a carpet of twinkling lights spread below us and up to the mountains. Michael had dimmed the room lights so that nothing would overshadow the view. In the middle of the room, an intimate table for two had been set with candles, china, and crystal.

Michael leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a look of amusement on his face as he watched my reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked intently. My heart gave a little thump.