Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “That sounds all well and good, Fernando,” chastised Bridget. “But what are you planning on telling the Mistress of London?”

  “What about me?” Jeanie piped in as she began to cinch off the Angel’s hair into a tail with a black leather thong. She enjoyed working her fingers through his soft straight hair

  “You aren’t coming inside.” Fernando scowled. “You can come with us, but you’re not entering that building. I believe we already agreed upon that.”

  Jeanie let out a huff of resignation. She knew after the last time she followed them what her actions had caused. Little did either Fernando or the Angel know that she had left the monastery to pursue them and thus caused them the harm that befell them. Guilt and shame would forever plague her soul every time she saw the marks left on her lover’s body. She would be content that this time she would go with them, even if not into the building itself. She would wait outside, under the light post, where she had first met the Noble and had began such a perilous quest to release the Good Father. Jeanie brought her focus back to brushing the long tail of white hair.

  Fernando smiled victoriously, pleased that the mortal girl finally learned to listen to her betters. It had been the Angel’s suggestion that she come along, but not go in. It seemed the most reasonable solution to the hellcat’s desire to follow them everywhere. He returned his attention back to Bridget, noticing how much the lady she appeared in her blue dress, make-up and stylized hair. If the Angel and Jeanie had not been in the room, Bridget’s clothing would not have remained on her for long.

  “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” sighed the Noble. “We do have to tell her about the spices, how they are being transported and that England isn’t the only country being affected, but we also have to tell them about the existence of Vampires.”

  “That’s the hardest one that even I find difficult to believe.” Bridget rose gracefully and glided to the door to her bedroom, opened it, muttered a thank you and closed it, holding the finished shirt for the Angel. “If you hadn’t agreed to open our bond again, Fernando, allowing us to share as a Chooser and Chosen should, I wouldn’t believe your story, even with Miss Stuart as proof.” She offered the white material to the girl before returning to her seat by the dressing mirror. “The whole concept that there are other immortals out there that drink blood, yet are well defined in mortal literature as Vampires is unbelievable. The Chosen had always believed themselves to be named so by mortals, only that their facts were mostly skewed. How are you going to make Katherine believe that there are Vampires, and that they are not just Chosen choosing to use that mortal term? Neither you nor the Angel can link to her and pass on your memories as you did with me.”

  Silence plunged into the room, leaving only the sound of the licking flames in the hearth and Jeanie’s steady brushing of the Angel’s hair to fill the void.

  Closing his eyes against the luxuriant feeling of having his hair brushed, the Angel knew the answer. Jeanie’s knowledge from reading the penny presses and Violet’s admissions during his torture gave him the ammunition he needed to gain Notus back and set the Chosen into a war of survival. He sighed heavily and spoke quietly. “Katherine does not matter. It is the Chosen that matter and we need to have as many of them there as possible.”

  “What, to see you limp down the carpet?” sniped Fernando, sitting up straight.

  He met the Noble’s brown eyes. “If they must – yes.” He heard Jeanie’s gasp and watched Bridget turn to face him as if recognizing that he was actually in the room with them. “But I hope that is not what they will be focused upon.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Bridget stood up and went to stand next to Fernando, her small dainty hand coming to rest protectively on the Noble’s shoulder.

  Waving Jeanie’s brushing away he welcomed her help in clothing himself in the long elegant shirt. He winced as he twisted his back and pulled the stitching in his chest until the light cotton rested on his body, hiding the blackened wounds.

  He pushed down his embarrassment as he watched Jeanie carefully clothe him. When his wounds were all concealed under the uncomfortable fabrics he attempted to stand beside the bed. His thigh pulsated with the promise of increased pain if used and his back twitched as if readying for a spasm, but he managed to stay standing.

  Breathing back the pain, he met Fernando’s glare and then Bridget’s eyes, slowly pulling the full countenance of the Angel over him like comfortable armour. He watched Chooser and Chosen as their eyes went round at the transformation.

  He stood, wounded and damaged, and wondered how long he could affect this glamour when it was the Angel that brought such destruction to his life. He made his face a mask of non-emotion despite the desire to grimace with the realization that the Angel was always an affectation to keep people away from him. It had horribly backfired and now he stood, feeling a fake behind the mask, and wondered who he truly was.

  After a lengthy period of time, the Angel whispered darkly, “We declare war.”

  Bridget and Jeanie’s gasp met with Fernando’s beam of approval.

  He wanted to lean against the light post outside the deserted theatre that served as the court for the Chosen of London, and thus all of Britain. Instead he remained erect beside it. The circle of gas light cascaded about him, Jeanie and the two other Chosen. They had arrived early. The cab they took had made good progress across the sleepy city. It had been a dreadful ride; one he knew would have been enjoyable had he not been jostled into pain at every bump or sway. It was as if the driver purposely rode over every pothole the road manifested just for this trip. The Angel suspected it was punishment for going uncloaked and therefore terrifying the old man with his appearance.

  It was Bridget’s first experience travelling with the Angel but her remonstration of the driver to accept his riders despite their appearances shocked him. No one in his long life had ever stepped up for him in this way and it made him re-evaluate Bridget’s offer of friendship as possibly being sincere. It was a strange feeling because with her fury at the driver came a strong protective and caring feeling towards him.

  Jeanie came over to stand beside him and slipped her warm hand into his. Her strong fingers curled up to grasp his and he wished he could return the gesture, but his own fingers could only twitch painfully at the attempt.

  Fernando and Bridget stood quietly. The Noble tapped his walking stick against the top of his black leather shoe while Bridget leaned her head against his shoulder as if to rest a moment. The Angel watched the two Chosen so at ease and comfortable with one another and felt a pang of jealousy.

  It felt oddly comforting to finally be fully accepted for who and what he was, yet it did not override the years of isolation and loneliness placed upon him by others throughout his very long life. A large part of him could not trust Bridget and Fernando’s offers of friendship despite how he found himself desiring to be finally included. It itched his skin as if waiting the sun to appear, proving the rule of his life; that due to his differences he would always be feared and thus threatened.

  Yet the sun did not appear. Jeanie still stood by him. And Fernando and Bridget were keeping his secrets. All this wiggled a wedge of doubt into the reasons Notus kept him apart from all others, mortals and Chosen alike, except for when it served Notus’ desires. His breath puffed a white cloud before his face to finally dissipate into the frosty night air and he frowned.

  The sense of nervous anticipation pulsating between the two other Chosen shifted its tone as they turned to face him. A question cocked Bridget’s golden head at the same time Fernando stared haughtily.

  “When was the last time you fed?” queried Bridget, her blue eyes penetrating him.

  The question, coming out of the blue, stunned him and he blinked. White brows knitting together, he frowned trying to recall and then it came to him. It was the night they went to the warehouse that they arsoned. His mind tumbled at the realization that it had been nearly a month, the longest he had ever gone wit
hout needing sustenance. What was even more shocking was that he was not even hungry now. He quietly mentioned this, his words barely audible in the still night.

  “That’s no’ true,” interjected Jeanie, glancing up at him. “I fed ye as best I could while ye were unconscious at the monastery.”

  His frown deepened and he shook his head. He did not remember.

  “I saw what you fed the Angel and a couple of spoonfuls once or twice a night is hardly enough to stave off starvation,” stated the Noble, plainly. His walking stick dug into the crack between the cobbles as if trying to dig up the truth.

  It was evidence of more changes, but the Angel tried not to think about what this one might mean. The silence that filled the night was broken by the steady pace of a man walking down the road towards them.

  Saved by the distraction, he watched the Chosen he assumed was Maurice slowly progress. Skittering fear and awe flowed from the newcomer. This time the Angel did not lower his eyes from the other. Maurice glanced quickly away, his fear pulsating. It was clear that Maurice was terrified, not only of what he was about to do, but with whom he was meeting. The Angel sighed with the realization that some things never change.

  Fernando stepped forward, his hand extended in greeting. “Thank you, Maurice, for meeting us tonight.” Their hands clasped momentarily; bronze flesh against pale.

  Maurice was the first to pull out of the embrace. “If I hadn’t done what you asked, I would be on a nice long cruise to the Americas eating rats and wondering what Indians would taste like.” His awkward smile showed his discomfort despite his poor attempt at a joke. Maurice gazed up at the Angel. “So that’s him, eh?”

  It was the same thing over again. He was not seen as a person, but an object of speculation. He found anger instead of the usual resolute sadness. His jaw clenched tight and his gaze bore into Maurice’s grey green eyes until the Chosen became uncomfortable and shifted his attention to the girl at the Angel’s side.

  “A mortal?” Maurice turned his flabbergasted attention onto the Noble. “You brought a mortal? Do you know what Katherine will do if she finds out that a mortal knows where our meeting place lies? Are you crazy?”

  “Calm down, Maurice,” placated Bridget, her hands raised up in supplication.

  “Calm down. Calm down!” Maurice’s panicked voice rose. “You’re telling me to calm down!”

  “Shush,” extended Bridget. She glanced over to Fernando, completely at a loss of what to do.

  “The hell I won’t,” shouted Maurice, ignoring the two door guards at the theatre turn their attention towards them. “I should have taken that ship to the Americas! She’s killing Vampires who won’t do what she wants them to do!”

  The sound of a gloved hand slapping flesh punctuated the night. Bridget shook her hand and glared at Maurice. “Shut up. Get in there and do what Fernando told you to do.”

  Snapped out of his panic, his eyes wide with shock, Maurice held a hand to his stinging cheek. A sneer of anger transformed his pudgy face. Before he could even issue a threat in return Fernando stepped closer, his hands gripped tightly at either end of his walking stick.

  Realizing that there in to Katherine’s court was about to bail, the Angel hardened his voice. He did not want to step closer as he knew Maurice would notice his obvious limp.

  “Stop this.” His voice rolled into the night with an implied threat. He felt Jeanie’s hand tighten on his and he directed his attention to Maurice. How he hated the look the other Chosen gave him, but he pressed forward. “You say Katherine’s killing Va - Vampires,” he suppressed a shudder at saying the word and hoped Maurice and the other did not notice. “We’re here to inform the Chosen what is going on so that her killings will cease.”

  Maurice snorted a laugh. “What? You’re vying to become Master? After all these centuries?”

  The statement stunned him. He knew what they needed to do, but never considered the implications. Both Fernando and Bridget turned to stare at him as if having never expected this possibility. He could feel their dread at what the keeping of his secret could cost them if he became Master and he shook his head. “No. The Angel - I - am unsuitable for such a task.”

  Relief washed over him from his friends. It seemed that even in their acceptance of his secrecy there was still one aspect that would place them at odds with their friendship and that was if he was placed in a position of authority over them in the hierarchy of the Chosen. It was clear that even to Fernando and Bridget he would never be deemed equal due to his differences.

  The surprise that flitted from Maurice was even more unnerving. Eyeing him suspiciously, Maurice shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention back to Fernando. “I’ll go. But you and the Angel better show up before Katherine decides to do away with me too.”

  Maurice turned on his heel and walked up the theatre‘s steps and into its dark confines.

  With Maurice’s presence gone, the Angel breathed out in a huff and slumped his aching shoulders. The ever pressing emotions of the other Chosen was wearing on him and he wondered if he could manage the influx he was due to receive upon joining Maurice in front of Katherine.

  “Are ye sure ye hae t’do this?” Jeanie’s soft voice flitted in the breeze as she gazed up at him. “Maurice said Katherine’s killing Vampires. Maybe she’s found out the truth about them.”

  He slid his gaze from her pale drawn face to the moistened cobbles and shook his head. He could feel curiosity and compassion from Bridget mixing with Fernando’s annoyance as they stared at him in expectation. “That’s not possible.”

  “It could be,” extemporized Bridget. “If that’s the case then you don’t have to go in.”

  Bridget’s concern flowed over him, surprising him. Except for Notus he had never met another Chosen who seemed so genuinely concerned about him and he gazed upon Bridget in a new light. He wondered why she ever Chose Fernando in the first place.

  He pulled his attention back to her words, recognizing that he was responding not to what she was saying but to what she was feeling. It was becoming distracting again and he wished he could learn to shut off this new found ability. “I have to go in to bring Notus out.”

  “Fernando and I can do that,” offered Bridget.

  If Bridget’s concerned had surprised him, her offer stunned him. “I - I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why no?” Jeanie’s pleading eyes bore into his.

  “Because he’s the one who Katherine is truly scared of,” stated Fernando, tapping the cobble by the side of his foot. “I was there when you walked down the aisle that first time we met at the theatre. I saw her face before she gained control of herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Angel here is the only one Katherine is afraid of and fear can be a great motivator.”

  Biting his tongue, the Angel knew that was not the real reason he needed to go and save Notus. It was because he knew her secret. The idea of sharing this information with the others was necessary. He did not want to, because with it came the memories of how he gleaned this knowledge. His fear of those memories pushed back any fleeting impulse to divulge the secret. He would act on it, but that was because he was dealing with it now and not remembering the how.

  Fernando turned to face the theatre. “I think it’s about time.”

  Bridget fidgeted the fox fur wrap snugly around her shoulders and slipped her arm through the Noble’s. “Shall we?” her voice hinting at the nervousness they all shared.

  The Angel nodded and took a faltering step before Jeanie’s clasp brought him to a halt. Turning around his breath caught. Despite the fall of the lamplight and all the tribulations she had suffered for him, she was still beautiful in her worry. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” He tried to put confidence in his tones. What came out gave voice to her concerns.

  “I’m afraid for ye.” Jeanie’s breath caught. “It feels as though I’ll ne’er see ye again.” Tears threatened to break from her liquid green eyes. “I could easily go in and bring
ye out from Violet’s a hundred fold, but somehow this is different. I dinna ken what I would do if ye dinna come back to me.”

  He took his hand from hers and lifted his impotent hand to brush against her soft face, wishing he could do more. “I am coming back, Jeanie. I was stupid to stay away from you as long as I did. I will never make that mistake again. You are my heart, cariad.” He could not hold himself back any longer. Her warm lips were soft and yielding against his and he lingered, savouring her taste.

  Too soon he stood straight, the bending had sent a shock of pain up his back and he gazed down at the only woman he had truly given himself completely to. “Stay here. I will be back with Notus and then the three of us can talk.”

  Jeanie nodded, her lips slightly parted. “I love ye, Gwyn.”

  His lips twitched into a soft smile, imbibing in her visual presence before turning his back.

  Painfully, he followed the Noble and his Chooser to the base of the steps to the theatre. Once there, he realized that they had witnessed the whole exchange.

  “Aww, wasn’t that just sweet,” simpered Fernando.

  “Shut up, Fernando.” Bridget whacked the Noble across the head.

  “Ow. What did you do that for?” Fernando massaged the back of his head.

  “If I have to tell you…” Bridget let out a huff and rolled her eyes to the dark clouded heavens. “Men,” she groaned, detaching herself from her Chosen and alighted up the steps.

  Fernando shot the Angel a dark look as if it were his fault and shook his head. “Katherine can’t be worse than Bridget,” mumbled the Noble as he followed up and into the building.

  Worse, thought the Angel as he stood at the base of the stairs. Turning to glance once more at Jeanie, he was returned with a apprehensive smile. He wanted to return a more genuine one, but found he could not muster even the semblance of a smile. Lowering his eyes, he hobbled up the stairs, taking them one at a time.