Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  The Noble had a point, and going out the way they came seemed doubtful. It was likely there were now guards in place all over the kitchen if the sounds above were any indication. He scanned their cell and his gaze fell on the iron barred window. It was small, but not too small.

  “We could do it,” replied Fernando as if he heard the Angel’s thoughts. “But what about them, and her?”

  “Discretion.” He would have to keep Jeanie occupied while the Noble worked his magic on the guards.

  Taking the girl by the shoulder, he steered her towards the back corner opposite to the hanging corpse and put her in the corner, blocking her view. She hugged herself in an effort to warm her trembling form and did not look up. He could see that Jeanie was in shock from the events of the last twenty-four hours.

  Removing the clasp from his cloak, he draped the too long material around her shivering shoulders and refastened the material. It was then that she looked up into his worried features. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “we will be out of here soon.” He so wanted to draw her close, yet was terrified at the thought.

  “No,” she shook her head, sending fiery wisps floating. “We’re no’ gettin’ outta here.”

  Dropping down to one knee, he was able to gaze directly into her forest green eyes. Her trembling had eased a bit with the help of the cloak. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “Then trust me now when I say that I will do everything in my power to see you safe.” He glanced away for a moment in astonishment of his own confession. Looking back at Jeanie he softly restated, “We will get out of here.”

  Full red lips parted in surprise at the fierceness of his words, Jeanie swallowed the dryness in her throat with a nod.

  “Done,” called the Noble.

  He stood to face the four guards who now wore blank expressions. Whatever the Noble had done it was evident that their guards would be no trouble.

  “Now what?”

  “The bars on the window.” He walked over to it, leaving Jeanie in the corner. “We remove them.”

  He wrapped his hand around the cold bar and gave an experimental tug. The masonry, old and crumbly, gave way enough to encourage another try. He knew he could easily pull them out by himself, but with Jeanie watching, he could not. He turned to face the Noble. “They are loose. The two of us can pull them out. The glass will be easier to deal with.”

  Fernando ogled in disbelief that the Angel would need help with such a simple task. Astounded at the preposterous notion, he sheathed the blades through his belt, shrugged and joined the Angel by the window. He gave his partner a long glare and placed his hands on the bar above his head. It came free with a tug and he tossed it to the ground, making metal ring on stone. “What?” he demanded from the accusing crimson glare.

  “Don’t make it look so easy,” hissed the Angel.

  “Oh for the love of Christ,” exasperated Fernando, but went along with the charade.

  It went painstakingly slow trying to mimic the results of mortals but they managed to remove the iron bars one by one. The only mishap occurred when Fernando pulled the second to last bar too quickly from the bottom causing the jagged iron top edge to slide too fast out of place, cutting across the Angel’s palm. The unexpected burning sensation caused him to jump back with a hiss. Sucking the wound until the pain somewhat receded he scrutinized it. The scratch was not serious and he shied away from Jeanie who wanted to examine his hand, saying that it was fine before rejoining in the effort to gain their freedom. Fernando’s appraising gaze did not go unnoticed. It would be a disaster if either one got a glimpse of the bloody red scratch with the charred edges.

  At last the final bar was removed and the glass broken as quietly and carefully as possible.

  “You go first,” he suggested to the Noble.

  “Gladly,” answered Fernando, pleased to quit from the dank surroundings and the Angel’s strange behaviour. Hauling himself through the window took little effort, but he knew that the end of the escapade would ruin his clothing.

  Alone in the cell, he turned to Jeanie and held out his uncut left hand. She took it. She was light in his arms as he assisted her through the window with less grace than the Noble for all the complications of skirts and cloak. Half way through the window she got caught on a shard of glass and he had to ease the material lest she be cut, at the same instance sounds of footsteps on the stairs made him rush.

  With a final shove, Jeanie was through the window and he turned to face the woman from the alley ringed by men with drawn swords. In the limited light she seemed even more recognizable, but from where he could not recall. The expression on her face was one of surprise as he bowed his head and exited through the window.

  Jeanie stood wrapped in his cloak while Fernando searched the area. Unable to take the time to find what the Noble lost, he grabbed Jeanie’s arm. “Let’s go, they’ve discovered us.”

  Fernando snapped his head around at the sound of pursuing feet and followed the Angel and the girl down the alley muttering angrily about running away from a good fight. He caught up as they came out onto a brightly lit street, the sound of pursuit in the distance, and looked to the Angel, amused to discover what was next.

  Bereft of his cloak, he stood exposed to the street. The only sound ringing in his ears was Jeanie’s haggard breath. He could not flag down a carriage, not like this.

  “What – are – we – gonna – do - now?” panted Jeanie. She never thought anyone could run that fast and for the most part she had felt herself be dragged, feet hardly touching the ground. Her wrist hurt and the beginnings of a bruise began to develop. She was surprised to find the Angel’s blood smeared on it and hastily she wiped it away.

  “We need to find a cab.” His eyes darted up and down the road, finally narrowing on a slowly approaching carriage in the distance. Slinking into the shadow of a nearby building, he hid himself from view. “When it comes, hail it.”

  “What the hell are you planning to do?” demanded Fernando.

  He stepped back into the gaslight. “Do you think he will stop for one such as I? Hail him, distract him and then I will join you.” He moved back into the comforting shadows.

  There was nothing Fernando could do. The Angel was right. He would not stop if he were the driver.

  As the carriage approached, Fernando hailed it, helped Jeanie into the comfortable confines and engaged the driver in conversation over fees and destination, allowing the Angel to sneak aboard. Once all three were inside and rolling, Fernando broke the silence. “They were gone.”

  Slouching down so his head would not hit the ceiling of the cab, his head rested against the wall, his long white hair disarrayed against the backing. He opened his eyes. “Who?”

  “The men I killed who were on guard,” replied the Noble, testily.

  Jeanie mutely observed her two liberators, eyes widening through the conversation.

  “They were probably discovered.” He felt tired, his hand hurt and he wanted to get Jeanie to safety and that most likely meant a trip back over the Thames. He did not want this.

  “Doubtful. By the looks of it, one got up and dragged the other away and both received killing blows.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t make mistakes about these things,” responded Fernando, curtly.

  The two Chosen stared at each other for a long moment as the carriage trundled along the cobblestone road.

  Chapter XII

  Violet Flowers stood enraged as she watched the Angel escape through the cell window. All around her the hired thugs gaped, open mouthed, swords held at relaxed angles. Realizing that no one had made a move to apprehend the escaping prisoners, Violet swung around screaming at the men to chase after them.

  Shocked out of their reverie, the men hastened to the stairs, each clambering over the other lest they receive her wrath. The only men left standing were the four original guards, eyes staring into oblivion.

  "They will not
catch them, even with the girl."

  Violet spun around. Her revealing blue dress with ivory lace scattered the dust on the floor. She found a trim dark haired man with fine features and dark, almost black eyes, advancing towards her. He was handsome despite his perpetual air of arrogance.

  "Corbie Vale," she sneered. "Come to see the failure of your plan? I am sure Bastia will not be pleased when she hears of this fiasco."

  Corbie stared at the soft white mounds exposed by Violets low cut dress, a smile played momentarily on his thin lips before meeting her frosty glare. He cupped his chin in appraisal. "No, I don't think she will like this at all, but no matter, there is always a second chance."

  "She doesn't give second chances." Violet moved out of Corbie's stare to stand behind one of the automatons.

  "You would know," muttered Corbie.

  "And what is that supposed to mean?" she said hotly, peeking around the solid form, blue eyes blazing.

  "Well, you did fail with Sebastian."

  "That was an accident!"

  Corbie made a disbelieving sound in his throat and rolled his eyes. "Please. I am not a fool. I was the one who had to clean up after you, and as you can see I made no mistakes."

  "Then what about those two?" she sniffed. "The ones you let get away?"

  Features darkening, he slinked up behind Violet and whispered into her pearl studded ear, "There would have been no mistakes had someone not led them here so early."

  "Are you accusing me of sabotaging your schemes?" She remained where she was, feeling his words on her neck.

  "Now why would I do that," he said, sarcastically.

  Spinning away, Violet gave a laugh. "Because you are vindictive, psychotic, a psychopath and a sociopath."

  "All those, eh? One might think you were glorifying yourself," sneered Corbie. "At least you did not call me a liar. That title is reserved only for you."

  "Bastard!"

  "Bitch!" His hand slammed across her face, making her head snap sideways as she stumbled backward. "You ruined my plan to successfully capture and destroy those Chosen, for what? So that you can get your putrid hands on the one called the Angel? You disgust me. I think Bastia will be as repulsed by your secret agenda as I am!" He turned to go up the stairs.

  Violet touched the cut inside her mouth with her tongue, the taste of her own blood fuelling her anger.

  "I don't think so, darling," she sneered. He halted on the stair. "I've already been given the next attempt."

  "Things change, Violet." Corbie continued up the steps. "I always make sure of that."

  She was left alone in the cellar, except for the four oblivious guards, and the guttering candle snub. Once the light left she screamed out her rage.

  Chapter XIII

  The carriage came to a halt along a well-gardened strip of large homes. Sleeping inhabitants blackened most out; others had one or two lights on, either forgotten or in use by those who could not sleep. No other coaches roamed this remote suburban area near Hyde Park. Silence dominated the night, punctuated by the snorts and shuffling of the horses.

  The Angel lifted his head from the cabin’s wooden wall and opened his eyes. The scratch on his right hand was worse than he thought but he could not let on so he kept his fist in a tight ball. Willing the pain and heat away, he prayed he would not need stitches. The bridge crossing was even worse for it, and he had to feign sleep so as to escape any questing glares from Fernando. The carriage not only trundled along but also seemed to spin and swirl once they moved over the water beneath the bridge. Never before was he so gratified to be off of a bridge.

  Fernando and Jeanie sat on the opposite leather bench. Fernando gathered himself to exit the close confines while Jeanie stared out the window still huddled in his cloak. She sighed sadly at the Angel and tried to force a smile. Despite the dark circles under her eyes she looked pretty.

  She had not said a word since entering the cab and sometimes he had seen tears fill her eyes, only to be dashed away by her hand. He had freed her, she had been so happy to see him, now she would not even as much as look at him.

  “Awright, folks,” called the driver. “You’re ‘ere.”

  The Noble exited the cabin, landing on the fancy styled stone walk and helped Jeanie down, a slight scowl on his face, before turning to pay the driver.

  This diversion allowed the Angel the opportunity to step out and stand behind the carriage. It was only when the driver chucked the reigns with a click and drove off did he step out to join the others on the walk.

  “Where are we?” he asked, studying the fancy architecture of the surrounding homes.

  ”My place.” Fernando pulled out a set of keys from a cloak pocket and turned to go up the walk of a very fine house. “I thought the farther away from those cadroes the better, and frankly your place is too small.”

  The Noble’s home was a large three-story manse built in deep red brick with windows of large paned glass. Over the bay window of the main floor, leaded glass carved with a wildlife scene accentuated the grandness of the home. Drapes blocked access to view the interior.

  “You can stay the day.” Fernando slipped the key into the lock and gave it a turn. “There’s safety in numbers.”

  The large dark oak door swung inwards revealing a beautiful interior of dark mahogany wainscoting that accentuated the patterned green velvet wallpaper. Off to the right, flanked by a banister of dark polished wood, a stairway with a glorious Persian runner led to the second story.

  With a flick of the switch, the foyer lit up with gaslight, revealing the richness of the home. The Angel’s eyes widened as Fernando moved into the parlour, lighting candles as he went. Jeanie gasped at the sight of expensive furniture arranged in a way so that all persons would face one another if seated. The polished hardwood floor reflected the candlelight to the vaulted ceiling plastered in a menagerie of swirls and designs, making the room appear brighter than the number of candles would suggest.

  On the wall, opposite to the parlour entrance, a large fireplace, neatly stocked with wood and kindling awaited to be lit into life. Above the mantle, flanked by matching pillar candles, hung a large portrait of a young beautiful woman. Her delicate features intensified her large brown eyes and full red lips. There was an air of innocence around her despite the fanciful nature of her rich courtly gown from another era. Her brown tresses had been done in a most becoming, yet intricate network of pearls and combs.

  Ducking under the lintel, the Angel entered the room, followed closely by Jeanie, not taking his eyes off the portrait.

  “Ye hae a most beautiful home,” whispered Jeanie as she stared, trying to take in the sheer richness of the place. Any doubt she had regarding Fernando’s nobility vanished at the sight.

  Finished lighting the last candle in the candelabra that sat on the baby grand, Fernando turned and blew out the taper. “Thank you. It has taken me many years to get it this comfortable.” He gestured for Jeanie to sit on the cherry wood rimmed couch.

  Noticing the Angel’s rapt attention on the portrait, Fernando scowled. “Am I going to have to stand on ceremony, or will you sit?”

  Breaking his gaze, he blinked not absolutely sure what the Noble had said. “Who is she?” he asked, seating himself beside Jeanie, who deepened her frown.

  “She is the Lady Maria Isabel de Leiora, and she is very dead,” explained Fernando with a finality that brooked no further comment. Seating himself on the opposite identical couch, he continued, “I brought you here because I figured we needed to have a little chat.” He reclined against the back of the couch, placing his feet on the low table between them.

  The Noble’s condescending tone did not go unnoticed, and the Angel sat back. Whoever the Lady Maria Isabel de Leiora was would remain a mystery. He let his hands rest comfortably on his lap, ignoring the rising heat in his right. “What is it that you want to talk about?”

  “A few things, in fact,” remarked Fernando.

  He waited patiently for the Noble
to continue.

  “First and foremost, no matter the reason we are not going to run off on a wild goose chase any longer. I will only follow facts. They are more reliable; though I have to admit this time it paid off.” He began to empty his pockets of the different powders, careful not to mix them. Four neat piles of spices lined up on the table. Fernando continued, “Secondly, what are we going to do with her? I don’t need a liability in this venture, and if she is going to become one, take heed, I will eliminate the liability before any harm comes to me.”

  Pale white features darkened at the veiled threat. “Pardon me?” he demanded, leaning forward.

  “You heard.” Fernando tried to match the Angel’s glare but could not meet the smouldering ruby eyes.

  “And so did I,” interjected Jeanie, the shocks of the night’s events threatened to repeat themselves.

  Fernando raised a brow. “Ahh, so you’ve finally managed to find your tongue. I thought that it was lost forever. I so did miss it.”

  “Fernando,” growled the Angel.

  “Oh come now. If she’s going to help us – if she still wishes it.”

  “I still wish,” blurted Jeanie, not at all appreciating the treatment. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Like you did tonight?” pointed out Fernando. Jeanie closed her mouth without protest. “This one here,” he pointed to the Angel, “may accept your help in this matter, but that does not mean I have to. I have seen how you listen to orders. Well, little miss, I do not and will not go through rescuing the damsel in distress again. Understand? That means you will not only listen, but you will do as I say, because if you do not you will never be able to listen to anything again.” He ignored their glares, yet the Noble could see that the Angel recognized the sentiment in his words.

  “Ye canna order me around,” yelled Jeanie. “I did nothin’ wrong. How dare ye –”

  “Shut up, Jeanie,” The Angel's voice was tired yet pointed enough to halt the girl in mid sentence.