by Karen Dales
“Jeanie found out?” sputtered the monk.
Fernando inclined his head. “Naturally, I couldn’t allow her to continue with us, restraining us from acting in ways that are normal for us just because she was mortal. In the end I did a favour to both the Angel and Jeanie.”
“How so?” stammered Notus, incredulously. Jeanie was never meant to know about the Chosen. It would have been disastrous for her. It had been disastrous for her.
Brown eyes boring into the monks, Fernando’s jaw tightened momentarily. “Very simply put, if Jeanie hadn’t accepted the truth, she would have been released from the mad quest. Instead she proved her bravery in more than one way.”
Notus shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” sniffed the Master. “You’re a monk. The Angel is not. When I arrived with more information before sunrise that same night, the Angel and Jeanie had firmly solidified their relationship. What is the saying you priestly sorts have? ‘The truth shall set you free?’ It did that for the two of them.”
It suddenly made perfect sense as to his boy’s reaction to Jeanie’s corpse. If they had fallen in love… He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. The evasions, the questing looks, the tensions that made his son flee into the night, it was perfectly understandable and Notus damned himself a fool for not having noticed it before. The boy had been in love with Jeanie from the beginning and she had returned it, but neither had acted upon it because the Angel would never let anyone get that close to him ever again since that time so long ago.
Jeanie had been a formidable young woman. Realizing their secrets she would press forward. The lad, starved for love and affection, would have readily accepted it from her because he too desired it. Notus remembered how the boy was after Tarian’s granddaughter was taken from him, but Jeanie’s death was worse. Notus buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Fernando halted his retelling until the monk regained his composure and then continued with the adventures to Calais, including the Angel’s accidental poisoning which brought a gasp from the monk.
Notus sat stunned, barely comprehending that his son voluntarily made another crossing of the Channel and survived the poisoning. The Master’s description of how they had found the information at the warehouse and that the Angel had fed in front of the girl before they fired the building, sent his mind swimming. He barely took note when Fernando glossed over the encounter with some of the French Chosen before they left for Balinghem.
It was when Fernando spoke of their holing up at St. Martin’s that Notus’ mind focused once more upon the story. Irritation surfaced momentarily before being squashed at the thought that his son would have let Jeanie become so ill on the road. It was clear as the tale progressed that it was out of the Angel’s deep love for the girl that he did not press on to Balinghem, which proved to be beneficial for the quest as well as Jeanie’s well being. It was nice to hear that Father Theodore was still Abbot and that Absolon still the doctor.
The moment of happiness dissipated as the Master began his descriptive narrative of the Angel and his assault upon Le Jardin. Sitting in rapt attention Notus listened about the Mistress of Le Jardin being Jeanie’s friend from the Inn and the battle that ensued.
Shock rolled over him as Fernando described how there were those amongst their attackers who were not Chosen but were not mortals as well and how, through Jeanie’s capture - something that Fernando still could not figure out how that came about - both he and the Angel were also captured.
A growing sense of dread filled Notus as Fernando glossed over his own escape from Le Jardin’s Sun Room and Jeanie’s assistance to get him back to St. Martin’s. It explained the young man’s golden brown skin. The Master was indeed lucky to be alive, but what about the boy?
Fernando approached this topic cautiously. He spoke of Jeanie’s insistence to free the Angel and used her knowledge of who was exacting the genocide of the Chosen against Fernando to do what she needed - to free the Angel. It was further proof that Jeanie was indeed a remarkable young woman in snagging a Chosen to do what she needed.
Fernando spoke of the Vampires.
Notus was shocked at the revelation, but yet at the same time it made perfect sense. How such creatures were able to hide in plain sight of the Chosen mystified him, but that was not what he wanted to know at this moment and Fernando knew this.
The description of Fernando and Jeanie finding the Angel in Violet’s entertainment room filled Notus’ mind with images of torture and abuse. Tears welled up in his eyes as Fernando explained that it was Jeanie’s insistence that the Angel was still alive that forced Fernando to act.
“I didn’t believe her,” explained the Master. “The Angel was all cut up and burnt. By all rights he should have been dead, but he wasn’t.”
Notus closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew what was coming. Centuries of hiding his boy’s differences were now coming to light. It was his worst nightmare coming true.
“Jeanie told me about the Angel’s reaction to iron,” stated Fernando matter-of-factly. “Later when we got him back to the monastery and the Angel had recovered enough, we had a long talk.”
Notus let out a shaking sigh, “You’re here to pronounce him to be Destroyed.”
“Heaven’s no!” Fernando sounded upset at the notion.
It was not the answer Notus had expected and he felt his eyes bulge in disbelief. “What?”
Fernando placed his walking stick across his lap and rubbed his hands. “I know that the Angel was accidentally Chosen and there is a great question as to what he was before he was Chosen. Until that mystery is solved I will live by the adage, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’”
“So you deem my son to be an enemy?”
“I cannot discount the eventual possibility,” remarked the Master. “No ruler, mortal or Chosen, can have the luxury of knowing his friend’s mind, but the Angel’s abilities and potential usefulness outweighs any differences. He proved it just three nights ago, again.”
“I’m sorry. I do not understand.”
Fernando cocked his head and peered at Notus, his finger tapping his lower lip. “When we talked at St. Martin’s he spoke of changes that occurred to him after severe exposure to iron. What he experienced at Le Jardin could be classified as that. Somehow your Chosen can now not only sense all other Chosen’s emotions, but he can also summon a deadly mist. It was that which removed the Vampires that attempted to attack St. Martin’s and did the same three nights ago at the theatre. Whatever the Angel is, such abilities could be useful in this war against the Vampires. I was taught that when one was in war one used whatever tools one had at hand to ensure a win. This means that I, and Bridget, will not allow the Angel to be Destroyed.”
“So long as he serves your needs,” stated Notus, clearly understanding the implications of the Master of London. It was something he never believed could be possible, but now that it was laid before him, the monk was not sure if it was just a way to blackmail the boy.
“Partially,” stated the Master, inclining his head. “Despite his differences, what we have gone through together in finding out the truth about the Vampires and their efforts to eradicate all Chosen, has made us unlikely friends - strange as that may sound.”
Notus leaned back in his chair, astounded.
Unexpectedly the door to the Angel’s room opened and Bridget exited. Notus watched as the Mistress of London walked towards them, asked where the bathroom was and headed off in the direction Fernando gave her. It was clear that it was not Fernando’s first visit to their home.
When Bridget came out with his medical box, Notus stood up. It was the box that held the items necessary for his son if he was wounded by iron. He was about to say something, but Bridget quickly walked past him and went back into the Angel’s room.
Worried curiosity got the better of him and Notus turned to Fernando who now stood. “If you’ll excuse me.” He did not
wait for the Master’s reply.
Hastening to the boy’s room he hesitated before opening the door. Though there were no welcoming feelings directed at him, Notus was also aware that there was nothing pushing him away from entering. The door squeaked on its hinges and revealed a sight that compounded the shocks into stunned inaction.
What once had held ornate, yet simple furniture, now appeared to have had a bomb go off in the middle of it. Only the bed remained unscathed and he knew that it had been the boy’s temper that had destroyed everything. Lifting his gaze from the shattered remains, he watched Bridget help the boy out of the ripped shirt.
His son’s sole focus was on the removal of his clothing that he remained unaware of his Chooser standing in the doorway. Notus’ eyes widened and his jaw slackened at the sight of the blackened wounds on the boy’s chest and arms. He could even see black ribbons beginning at the top of the lad’s pale shoulders and realized he did not want to see the ruin of his boy’s back.
His gasp of alarm brought both his son and the Mistress to look at him. It was the dejection and the sight that the boy had been crying that lowered Notus’ hand from his mouth. What Fernando had described was nothing to what the monk could see on his son’s face and body. Without a moment’s hesitation, Notus put aside his own hurts and went to his son’s side.
“Oh my dear boy,” offered the monk, stepping into the place where Bridget had been just a moment ago. “Fernando told me what happened.”
The boy glanced at Bridget as if he did not know what to do and then dropped his gaze to his lap, his arms hugging his bare chest. Bridget pursed her lips, shook her head and left.
Alone, Notus gazed at his son. Though the lad had saved him from Katherine the damages both internally and externally to his son by the Vampires were more than he could ever fathom. All he could do was fix what hurts he had unknowingly placed on the boy.
Notus placed a tremulous hand on the boy’s face and was rewarded with direct eye contact. I’m so sorry that I accused you of bringing Jeanie to harm.
The boy’s breath caught and his crimson eyes shimmered before glancing away.
Notus could feel his son’s guilt and misery and knew that there was nothing he could do to take it away. He only had brought back his son to himself.
The monk's eyes welled and broke. I loved her too.
Their eyes met an instant before they embraced.
Bridget quietly closed the door behind her and turned to face her Chosen, tears glimmering down her cheeks. She knew it was from the Angel’s projection coupled with her own regrets for the remarkable Chosen. She saw Fernando’s eyes well before he crashed his walking stick against his leg in an attempt to regain composure and wondered when the Angel would learn to master his new found abilities.
“Do you think they’ll be alright,” asked Fernando once control over his own emotions had been established.
Bridget shrugged, wiping her tears with her fingers. “I don’t know, but at least it’s a start.”
Fernando walked over to her and led Bridget to the door. It was time to leave, but he knew they would be back. “Do you think the Angel will be ready soon?”
Threading her arm in Fernando’s, Bridget let her Chosen open the door. “We can only hope so. Any responses yet from our telegrams?”
“Yes.” Fernando shut the door behind them as they walked into the cold night. “Already skirmishes are breaking out. Hugo and several other Masters and Mistresses are concerned. They are asking for a Grand Council.”
Bridget came to an abrupt halt and spun Fernando to face her. “They’re asking for what?”
Fernando waited a moment for the merry couple to pass them before pulling Bridget back into their evening walk. “A Grand Council. I know. I haven’t heard of the like before, but word about the Vampires has gone out and they want to hear what the Angel has to say. I think we over did it in our original telegram.”
“We just told them the truth,” said Bridget, aghast.
“I know,” muttered Fernando. “But panic is setting in and I agree with them that there has to be some consistency in dealing with the vermin. They started this war. We’re going to finish it. Now the issue is how and the only way I can think of is the Angel.”
Bridget nodded solemnly and resisted the temptation to glance back the way they had come. “He’s going to rule us all, isn’t he?”
Fernando misstepped and staggered to a stop. Gazing at the city, a shudder ran up his spine as he remembered the blast of energy they had all felt at the Angel’s proclamation of the new Mistress and Master.
The Angel, even having not fed properly in nearly a month, was more powerful than Fernando could imagine. He pursed his lips and pulled Bridget tighter to him as they set off to his home.
I’m afraid he might already.
Epilogue
Corbie Vale sat perched upon the granite tombstone and watched the dark patch of earth before him. He had done this for the last two nights now and wondered if he had done too much. Of course, the revenge would not be as sweet, but it would do just as well. But this, this would be grand if his plans came to fruition.
He could still not believe the utter ruination of all that he and Bastia had worked towards. All those years of working their way into the ranks of the Chosen so that when Bastia took over as Mistress it was a seamless, if yet bumpy, transition into becoming Katherine, Mistress of London. She had believed it best that she take the role so that he could do what he did best - connive and manipulate behind the scenes to create what they so desired, the destruction of the atrocious Chosen with their high morals and righteousness. No others would dare to bring the Chosen down, but Lord Valraven and Bastia had no qualms to make an attempt.
It was going perfectly. Bastia was in power, bringing about subtle changes to the Chosen’s notions of what it meant to be Chosen, only agreeing upon certain nefarious individuals to be made Chosen while Corbie increased their ranks by creating his own coterie of Vampires, who then, with his permission, created their own.
It was too bad that Corbie and Violet were the only two of Bastia’s coterie left, but it had its own benefits. Now Corbie was Master of a strong line of Vampires beholden only to him. Of course he was upset at first by Bastia’s untimely death, but it did also release him to act completely autonomously from any other Vampire. As far as he knew he was now the oldest Vampire and he planned on using it.
Did he see the earth shift? He peered closer, tapping his upper lip in expectation. A birth of a new Vampire was a remarkable thing and this one was going to be special. If everything went accordingly then his vendetta against the Angel would begin.
Oh how he despised that creature. He hated the Angel with every ounce of his being. Bastia had been in awe of the Angel, but she had been also fearful. It made perfect sense why she chose him for the quest and why she led him to Violet in France. What Corbie could not understand was why, at the last moment, she sent notification that the Angel was not to be harmed. Granted it came too late. Corbie doubted that Bastia ever knew that.
Yes. The earth did shift! Little brown lumps teetered before falling to the side. Revenge was at hand. It was a small measure to what was unleashed three nights ago. Vampires in the city were nervous and Corbie had received word that those in other countries were now under scrutiny by the Chosen. Some managed to flee while others were killed. Many others remained hidden awaiting instructions.
The war he and Bastia had hoped to win through cunning was coming to the forefront and he was ill equipped to handle this. It was not Corbie’s way. Subterfuge was his speciality, but he would manage.
The earth tumbled as if pressed from beneath and he leaned forward expectantly. Come, my flower. Grow.
“Mr. Vale, should I bring the boy now?” asked the man standing behind Corbie.
Corbie nodded without turning to face the head of his coterie. “Yes, Brian. Bring the urchin. I don’t want my new flower to wither before the moonlight touches her.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, sir.” Brian walked a few yards away and lifted a boy of about six off the ground. His dark head lolling, the boy was unconscious. With a little shake the boy’s blue eyes rolled in an attempt to awaken. His dirty clothes were torn and badly mended in places. Corbie knew the child would not be missed.
Brian came to stand beside his Master, holding the child at arm’s length. It was clear he had done this before.
The land shifted again, this time exposing pale white worms working their way skyward. Corbie pushed down his excitement to watch the birthing.
Slowly, hands emerged, flailing in their effort to free themselves and found purchase against the ground. A sudden tremulous heave and the body of a young woman in nothing but a white shift lay on the ground. Her cinnamon curls were littered with brown dirt that rained down as she staggered to her bare feet. Startling green eyes shifted from each of them to settle upon the boy’s dangling form.
Corbie smiled to see her lick her lips. “Feed, my beautiful flower.”
The young woman pounced upon the boy who had just awoken.
A shrill scream cut through the cemetery, widening Corbie’s grin. “Rose. Your name is Rose.”
About the Author
Karen Dales is the author of the widely acclaimed The Chosen Chronicles. Which include Changeling: Prelude to the Chosen Chronicles, Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles and Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles.
She is currently at work researching and writing the next book in The Chosen Chronicles - Thanatos: Book Three of the Chosen Chronicles as well as a historical fiction novel.