by Karen Dales
Fernando watched the whole spectacle with a wry grin. The blaze was quite beautiful, and the mention of the housekeeper’s death in the blaze sparked his imagination. He could imagine how the fire would slowly, like a lovers caress, work its destructive powers upon such a beautiful girl. He had seen others burn to death; even his own kind that fell into inquisitors’ hands. In the eye of the fire immortals and humans were equal, so it was a bit of a surprise to find the Angel approaching the screaming blaze.
Recovering himself, Fernando rushed up to the pale man and grabbed the cloak to stop him as the scream reached its pinnacle with a deafening blast that nearly knocked them both off their feet.
Clothes slightly singed, Fernando whirled to face his partner. “What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?” he raged, ignoring the pained defeated look in the Angel’s eyes.
Refusing to meet the Noble’s baleful glare, he continued to stare at the blaze. All he could think of was that somewhere amongst the flames was Jeanie, and that thought left a hollowness he never imagined could be there. He had known and witnessed the deaths of people in his very long life. Some were gruesome and horrible to bear, others were by his hands, but never before, in his life as a Chosen, did he feel the desolate hole that Jeanie’s death rendered in him and it terrified him. Jeanie’s death. He still did not want to believe it, but no one could survive such a disaster.
Closing his eyes, shutting out the horror, he only opened them after turning to face Fernando. He had heard the Noble say something and from the furious expression on the man’s dark face, he knew that Fernando was expecting an answer. But what could he say? With a sigh and a shake of his head, he looked back at the survivors of the Rose and Thorn to find them gawking.
“Your hood,” muttered the Noble, anger still tightened his speech. He did not like the answer, or more to the point, the non-answer. Nor did he appreciate the Angel’s lack of recognition that it was he who pulled him from foolishly throwing himself into the fire.
Hood down around his shoulders from the impact of the blast, he raised his hand to pull it back up, only to let it drop instead. It was too late; they could see him. Shock mixed with either fear or horror filled their faces, all except Mistress Reiley who did not lift her head to gaze up at him and her destroyed life.
Unable to feel anything of Notus, he still knew what needed to be done. Straightening himself to his full height, he walked over to the group, aware of Fernando’s inquisitive stare and the increasing wariness of the group. A couple of them even took retreating steps. He could not blame them. He had come to expect such reactions and the hurt he felt at it. He even admired Lily’s protective stance beside her mother. Alice and Tom had raised a strong daughter.
With a quick saddened glance at the young woman, he knelt on one knee before the owner of the Inn. “Mistress Reiley,” he ventured and watched as she lifted her heavy head.
She no longer cried, but defeat played its mask across her features. At first she gazed through unseeing eyes. Slowly recognition alighted. “You are an angel,” muttered Alice through soot-covered fingers. “She was right. She was right.”
A frown tugged at his pale lips. He knew who she was but did not understand what Jeanie was right about, he so wanted to know, yet did not know why. Bringing his gaze back to the suddenly old woman, he spoke, “I am so sorry, Mistress Reiley. I wish I could have…” He trailed off. What could he say?
Rising to his feet, he addressed Lily who now stood more at ease in his presence. “Take your mother to St. Benet’s Welsh Church and ask for Reverend Iefan Davies. Tell them that the angel of the south wind sent you and that they should help you as much as they can. Reverend Davies will know what to do.” He glanced down on Mistress Reiley and then to Lily. “Tell them to give you anything, even if they have to break into our coffers.”
He turned to leave, Fernando gazing speculatively at him, and he felt a hand on his arm. Turning back he faced Lily.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, taking back her hand as if she had been burnt.
“For Jeanie,” he replied, and left with Fernando walking silently beside him. Feeling their eyes sting his back, he cowled himself.
Even after he and the Noble rounded a corner, blocking out the holocaust of the Reiley’s lives, he could still feel them - feel their remorse and desolation. He knew what it was like to have your home and your life burned by those who wished nothing but harm. The ancient hurts from lifetimes so long ago pricked at his consciousness, but this time it held Jeanie.
It was only when they were a few blocks away and the light of the fire could not be seen over the buildings that he allowed himself to steady his weakened legs by leaning against the brick of a wall, and slid down to sit, his eyes closed. At this moment he did not care that Fernando would use this as another excuse to pick and pry.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” demanded Fernando, silent for so long in simmering rage. “I stop you before you throw yourself into that inferno and I don’t even get a thank you for it. And then you help – actually help! – those pitiful mortals. Who cares if one puny, annoying one dies? We have more important things to worry about!”
I care, he thought, refusing to look up at the fuming Noble. Raking his bone white hands through his thick white hair, he pushed the hood back and gazed up at the Noble. “Thank you,” he said sternly. He hoped this would placate the storming man.
It did not. In response, Fernando blew up. “Thank you?” roared the Noble, glaring down at the Angel, his hands balled into tight fists, wishing he could pummel that pretty face into a pulp. “Is that all you have to say? Are you crazy? You have said time and time again that you will have your sire back and then you do this! Vampires do not sacrifice themselves for dead – dead! – mortals! You had a mortal housekeeper – correction, your sire did. You don’t kill when you feed – which reminds me I’m famished. And your sire plays doctor to our prey. Pray tell me that this is just a dream, a very bad dream, or am I crazy to be around one such as you?”
He matched Fernando’s gaze and slowly lifted himself to his feet, not breaking eye contact. “Chosen have forgotten their humanity. Most on the night of their Making, and I am not talking about their mortality.” His voice was filled with wintery contempt. “We take from them. We take their future, their dreams, their immortality, and give nothing back, not even to each other. Our lives are less than theirs because we chose to give up what we take away in others – humanity. And yes, I would gladly give my life so that a human may live. I have done so in the past and will most probably do so in the future. And if I choose to grieve for one I could not help, then I am closer to finding what I never had.”
Realizing that this was the longest speech the Angel had ever spoken, Fernando simply raised a brow and clenched his jaw. No one had ever talked to him in this manner since his Making. It was too esoteric for him, yet the argument whirled around in his mind, replaying itself over and over as if it held merit. Stifling a shudder, he realized that he did not want to see the truth of the Angel’s words.
Unable to find a snappy retort, Fernando chalked one up to his partner and decided to change the subject. There would be time enough later to deal with his whirling thoughts. “Do you remember what that scrumptious morsel said about how the fire started?” he asked carefully lest he release the anger he felt.
Crimson eyes narrowed suspiciously and he nodded. He remembered that Lily mentioned that two men had started the fire after a sale was refused, but what did that have to do with anything? Enough people witnessed the arsonists and could describe them to the Bobbies.
“Then you remember that the fire was started because the innkeeper wouldn’t buy their special spice?” asked Fernando, suspiciously. After the Angel’s irrational display, Fernando was none too sure about him and from the look on his pale partner’s face he knew that the Angel had missed this important fact. With an exasperated sigh, he continued, “It is possible that that special spice is the sam
e as this.” He fished out the phial out of his vest pocket and held it up.
“There is nothing to give credence to that theory.”
“And there is no proof that this is what is poisoning us,” retorted the Noble, “yet we made our own conclusions about it. The fact is, is that we have no facts. Everything we have is circumstantial.”
“Then what is your theory?” If there were a connection between the poisoners and the fire that killed Jeanie, he would have his revenge.
A half smile flickered across Fernando’s face. “I propose that this is indeed a sample of that special spice. That it is the cause of the poisoning. And the way to infect as many mortals as possible is to coerce innkeepers, taverns, soup kitchens and maybe the ware mongers, to buy it and then sell it in their food.”
The Angel frowned. It all seemed plausible, yet there was one thought that nagged at him. “How does such a spice work? Nothing has ever affected the Chosen, not plague, not pox, not cholera, and not mortal drugs. Stay out of the sun, don’t drink dead blood, and you will live forever.”
“You forgot fire,” stabbed Fernando. He was not going to let the Angel forget that.
“And fire,” he scowled. “So tell me, if that is the cause, how can it be so?”
“Hell if I know. What do you think I am? A herbalist? I thought that was the reason for checking out that apothecary you mentioned. It’s probably closed now…” Fernando trailed off, his attention drawn to a solitary figure standing at the entrance of the blackened alleyway.
Turning to see what had silenced the Noble, his long, fine fingers tried to grasp at a sword hilt that was not there. The woman, for it was clearly a woman, stood silently in what appeared to be a sheer shift. A finely knitted white shawl was held tight about her shoulders and over her head, pulling so that it covered her features, leaving only a strand of blue-black hair to float in front of her piercing blue eyes. He relaxed his fist but not his stance. Something was strange about this woman wearing almost nothing on a cool October night.
“Ahh, a tasty little morsel here,” grinned Fernando, and took a step towards the girl who looked no more that nineteen.
She took a step back, her eyes flickering nervously from the Noble to the Angel.
Everything about her cried out that she wanted to say something and it made him think he had seen her before. He shook off that possibility.
“You’re…you’re the Angel?” Her voice was soft and sultry despite her obvious trepidation.
He nodded as Fernando glowered, “You’re sure popular around here.”
Ignoring the Noble’s remark, he addressed the young woman. “I am sometimes called that.” She nervously shifted her shawl, staring at his exposed white features. Expecting to find his hood in place, he only met his hair. “What is it that you want of me?”
Wide ice blue eyes cast their gaze onto the slick paving stones as if searching for the answers there. She lifted her eyes back onto the Angel; worry creasing her brow. “Jeanie Stuart works for you?”
The mention of Notus’ housekeeper caused him a momentary flash of pain before he set himself against it. “I did know Jeanie. She is dead,” he stated it more bluntly than intended. “What do you want?”
Surprised, the young woman’s eyes widened. “No. That can’t be. She was alive when I saw them take her –”
“What?” he took a step towards the young woman. It was his turn to be surprised.
“I … I … I saw two men –” she stammered at the intense crimson gaze.
“Where?” he ordered, his mind reeling at the glimmer of hope.
“The Rose and Thorn.”
“When?”
“This evening.”
“Before the fire?”
“Fire?” She glanced in confusion from the Angel to the man with him.
“The Inn’s been arsoned, my dear,” explained Fernando. “Now why don’t you tell the Angel what you saw, and you,” he turned his attention to his partner, “stop interrupting and let this pretty young thing continue.”
Both the girl and the Angel blinked at Fernando as if he had popped out of thin air. Returning his attention to the young woman, the Angel apologized.
Casting her eyes down, she bobbed her head, releasing another thick black curl. “At about seven, or half past seven, I saw two men, one carrying Jeanie like a sack of flour. I thought she was dead, but I saw her move. I don’t know what they wanted from her so I followed them.”
“You followed them?” admired Fernando the same time the Angel blurted, “Where?”
Momentarily rattled by the bombardment of questions, the young woman stammered, “Bankside, near Southwark Bridge. I tried to go unnoticed.”
Frustrated at her incomplete answer, the Angel pressed, “Where on Bankside?”
“There’s … there’s a soup kitchen just west of the bridge. That’s where I saw them take Jeanie.”
He straightened with a sigh, hope filling him for the first time this evening.
Fernando, on the other hand, continued to scrutinize the girl. “Now, my dear, why should we believe anything you say? You haven’t even given your name.”
The young woman flickered her gaze up at the Angel, obviously confused. “No one ever need tell the Good Father or the Angel their name if they wish it,” she answered, more as a question rather than a statement. At the Angel’s nod, she continued, “I know Jeanie. I’m one of her friends. I work as a maid at the Alexander residence.”
“A maid?” echoed Fernando, hopefully, as he took a step closer to the girl. “I haven’t had a maid in –”
“Leave her be, Fernando,” ordered the Angel, noticing were the Noble was heading.
Taken aback at the ferocity of his partner’s words, Fernando backed away and raised a brow. “What? Another one under your protection?”
“You might say that.” Returning his attention to the young woman, he continued, cutting off any remark the Noble may slip from his lips. “Thank you for your information.”
Turning on his heel, he did not wait for a reply before leaving to wind his way to Bankside, yanking up his hood as he walked. The sound of racing clicks told him that Fernando was hard pressed to keep up, but he did not care. His whole focus was to find Jeanie alive and see her safe.
The young woman stood in the alley mouth watching as the black clad figures strode off into the night, and quietly chuckled to herself. Shifting her shawl down to her shoulders, she released the tight grip on the material. Long black hair fell in luxuriant waves, making her violet eyes glimmer more brightly.
She had not expected to see the Angel uncovered and knew that what she had been told was a pale rendering of his beauty. A beauty she desperately desired to acquire for her own pleasures, despite what she had been ordered to do. Maybe there would be time for both. She smiled at the fantasy. Truths mingled with lies are almost the best intoxication.
Inhaling the scent on her wrist that was her namesake, Violet Flowers, turned down the alley. Her job was done for tonight.
Chapter XI
The single candle that spilt its white wax onto the barrel dimly illuminated the small cell that took up the back third of some type of storage cellar. Its futile light reflected in the iron barred, grime covered window. Not much stirred in the place, only the sounds of footsteps, voices and clanging that permeated through the floorboards above.
Outside the rods that formed the cage, barrels of unknown contents littered the floor. Inside, sitting on a bundle of straw, Jeanie sat contemplating the tray of tantalizing smelling food that her captor had sent. She was famished from a long day behind bars, but her stubbornness about her situation refused her even the luxury of contemplating the food. It did look good, piles of meat with peas and potatoes steamed in the cool air. It was a much better sight than what hung on the southern wall.
She did not remember much of the night before, nor how or why she was brought to this place. One moment she was hopeful for a good night sleep in her own bed and the nex
t she woke with a headache worse than any hangover. Dirty straw had clung to her face and stuck out of her disarrayed locks so that she had to spit, brush and yank the itching plant matter from bothering her any further.
The bright light from the autumn sun had made her eyes water in pain, and yet let her see clearly her unknown whereabouts. At the sight of the dismembered arm and two legs still chained to the wall she let out a shrill scream that even threatened to burst her own oversensitive ears. Nowhere was there to be found the torso or the head of the corpse. Judging by what was left of the clothing, he must have been some nobleman.
Her scream had not brought anyone to her aid so she had shouted her throat raw and rattled her cage door, demanding to be let out. When that failed, she yelled to her nonexistent captor to at least show himself until the strip of sunlight turned orange and lengthened, casting the remains of the last tenant into dark shadow. Jeanie finally resolved herself to the fact that she was left forgotten and sat in a heap of straw, waiting.
It did not take long for the dungeon to be cast into the pitch black of early night. Crying in frustration, she thought back to the Angel. Soon he would be expecting her at his home, but she would not be there. Would he care? She doubted it. He would probably be pleased, one less person to get in his way. Still she wished that he would come and rescue her from wherever she was. But if she did not know, how was he to? It seemed unlikely that he could come, being so focused on getting the Good Father back.
Alice is wrong, she thought sullenly, he dinna care.
At the sound of footfalls above, Jeanie had gotten to her feet and yelled for someone, anyone, to get her out, or at least bring her something to drink. She was actually surprised to hear a door open and see a nervous young girl bring the tray of food and a wineskin. Jeanie had tried to get the girl of about eight to tell her where she was, if she could not let her out. The girl ignored Jeanie’s attempts at conversation as she slid the tray under the barred door, but she did leave the candle as Jeanie requested.