Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Completely enraptured by the way he moved, Elizabeth startled when the shorter man beamed a smile and made a beeline down the right side of the ramp straight towards her, the taller man following.

  “Dr. Bowen I presume?”

  Elizabeth pulled her focus from the young man to the gentleman before her. His hand outstretched in expectation to meet with hers. Slipping her hand into his she was surprised at the coldness of his firm touch. “Mr. Nathaniel.”

  They shook briefly before he let go of her hand to settle the strap on his shoulder that had slipped. His smile never left his face. Elizabeth wondered what colour his eyes were beneath the sunglasses and whether they were as kind and soft as his voice.

  “It is wonderful to finally meet you,” beamed Mr. Nathaniel. “I do apologize for being a bit tardy, but it took forever for the baggage handlers to relinquish their treasures.”

  Elizabeth blinked realizing she could sit and listen to this man talk about books and art all day long, to be held captive by his British accent. “That’s alright, Mr. Nathaniel.”

  “Paul,” he interrupted. “Please call me Paul. All my friends do.”

  She matched his smile, his happiness infecting her and she nodded. “Paul it is.” She turned her attention to Paul’s travelling companion who watched the introductions without exhibiting any emotions. It was like watching a live statue stand witness to the world around it and she immediately wondered what would cause a person, especially one so young as he, to have created such a mask to keep everyone at bay.

  “Oh, I’m being rude,” piped Paul, noticing where Dr. Bowen’s attention landed. “Dr. Bowen, may I please introduce to you my dear, dear friend and ward...” Hesitation halted his melodious voice.

  Elizabeth watched as a momentary frown washed away Paul’s smile as his travelling companion’s jaw momentarily tightened in obvious anger. Elizabeth wondered at the reaction.

  “You can call me Gwyn.”

  If she had thought Paul’s voice was delightful to listen to, hearing the tall young man speak stunned her; soft yet firm, the sound plucked through Elizabeth, sending a shiver down her back. He had a voice that matched his physical beauty.

  “It’s Welsh for white or blessed, isn’t it?” said Elizabeth, congenially. She offered her hand and looked up at the young man.

  A flitter of disconcertment passed across his pale features before he propped his black suitcase to stand without support and released the handle. He slipped his hand into hers for a brief shake before he pulled away.

  It was enough contact for Elizabeth to note that his hand was as cold as Paul’s but that he had the long graceful fingers one would find on a master pianist; strong, alluring. A momentary vision of how those fingers would feel in a caress caught her breath before she realized that their palms had not touched at all. It was then she noticed the leather bracers fitted snugly on both his arms, coming down to cover his palms and held in place by an opening for his thumb and two middle fingers. She had seen similar garb before, in her time during the Society for Creative Anachronism, when archers practiced their craft. It was odd to see someone wearing something so out of time as if it were a normal piece of clothing.

  A fine white eyebrow lifted above the wraparound sunglasses at her observation of his name. She did not understand its meaning, but without receiving a reply to her question Elizabeth turned her attention back to Mr. Nathaniel.

  “I’m sorry about my son, my dear,” said Paul. “It was our first transatlantic flight and it was not as enjoyable as we had hoped.”

  “That’s alright. I don’t fly well myself,” smiled Elizabeth, taking note of what Paul had called the young man. “Shall we get going? I’m sure that you would like to settle in before you start work tomorrow evening.”

  “Oh, most definitely. It’s not every night where we get five extra hours. I’ve never experienced jet lag before, but it never sounded pleasant to begin with.” Paul inclined his head indicating for her to lead on.

  Taking the cue, Elizabeth led them up a set of escalators and onto a carpeted bridge that kept pedestrians safe from the traffic below and any possible inclement weather. They walked high above taxis sitting dark, their drivers resting or talking quietly with co-workers. A few privately owned vehicles were stopped at the side to allow sleepy travellers off for their journeys. The sound of luggage wheels mingled with their footsteps over the grey fabric, adding its notes to the quiet cacophony of the early morning.

  “I must say, I am a bit confused as to why you would insist on working only at night,” she ventured as they entered the parking building. It had been a strange request from the British Museum but the Royal Ontario Museum had to oblige if they wanted the exhibit. Elizabeth took out the parking ticket and placed it into the kiosk, paying for the parking before leaving.

  “Ah, that’s easy to explain, my dear.” Paul walked by her side once she had taken the ticket back, his suitcase squeaking as it rolled along. “Night is the time when mysteries abound, when the ghosts of the past can come to whisper in ones ear, bestowing inspiration and teaching the ways of God.”

  The seriousness of the answer surprised Elizabeth. She quickly glanced at the man the British Museum sent to her and noticed his smile was gone. She also noticed that even at night he still wore the sunglasses.

  Conversation quickly turned to the exhibit they would be working on together and Elizabeth dismissing the strange comment from her co-worker she dove into descriptions of some of her favourite items that would be placed on display. Even approaching her dark blue Honda Accord she kept up the conversation until she pulled out the keys. With a press of the button on the fob the car’s lights flashed and the sound of unlocking doors echoed in the nearly deserted place.

  “Here we are,” she announced, popping open the trunk. “It’s not a limo but it works.”

  She watched Dr. Nathaniel gracefully lift his suitcase and place it into the empty space. “My dear, it is not the ride that matters, but rather the company that makes a voyage enjoyable or not.” He flashed a smile before his face pinched with concern as she watched the tall young man place his cases in the trunk as well. “Though for some of us, even with company as gracious as yours, the ride will be, unfortunately, uncomfortable.”

  Closing the trunk with a thunk, Elizabeth went to open the driver’s door and stared at the interior of the car. She glanced at Paul’s friend and then back at the inside. Understanding blossomed. Offering an apologetic smile, she looked up at the man who introduced himself as Gwyn. “If you don’t mind riding in the front and push the seat all the way back you may be okay.”

  The tall pale young man turned to face her and she could feel his eyes bore into hers even though she could not see them behind the glasses. With a curt nod of his head Elizabeth almost thought she saw the pull of a half smile on his face and wondered what he would look like without the shades and a real smile.

  “You don’t mind sitting in the back, do you?” She asked Paul, but realized it was not necessary as he was already settling himself in the back behind her seat.

  She blinked in surprise and followed suit.

  Having the young man crouched beside her and Dr. Nathaniel behind her, Elizabeth locked the doors and started the car. Adjusting the rear view mirror she noticed that Paul had taken off his sunglasses. Her breath caught at the sight of his large expressive eyes that twinkled in amusement. Checking her side passenger, she noticed that he left the glasses on and seemed disgruntled. Shifting into drive she drove them out of the airport and into the city.

  Shifting in the bucket seat proved that no matter what he tried there was no possibility of getting comfortable. Legs pressed the underside of the dash, and even slouching, his head still pressed the ceiling of the small car. This was why he preferred motorcycles.

  The Angel could feel Dr. Bowen’s attention descend upon him every so often as she drove them onto the motorway – correction; they were called highways, here – that would take them into the he
art of Toronto and to the condominium they rented. He hoped the trip would not take long. Even after all these centuries he still became uncomfortable at prying eyes. In this day and age cloaks were no longer fashionable and wearing one would draw even more stares. With the invention of electricity and the advancements of fashion the Angel was now more exposed than ever. It is also what drew his attention, ignoring Notus’ animated conversation with Dr. Bowen.

  Light posts flickered past as they drove south to connect with the expressway that would take them into the core of the city. The Angel watched illuminated billboards selling expensive wares mingling with low rise buildings. Lights dotted his view until they turned onto the expressway.

  Eyes widening, he was about to remove his sunglasses for an unimpeded view when he felt Dr. Bowen’s attention fall on him again. Lowering his hand he tried to sit up straight only to find his head pressed against the ceiling, making him feel boxed in. This time he ignored the uncomfortable state of his body and took in the sight.

  Ahead skyscrapers, lit up like Christmas trees huddled together, evoked an image of a giant spaceship against the blackness of eternal night. The greatest of these was the world’s largest freestanding object, the CN Tower. Its needle lit up in purples and greens, giving colour to a monochromatic scene.

  “Beautiful,” sighed Notus, memorized by the site.

  Dr. Bowen smiled, proud of her city. “And this is only the downtown core. The city stretches out far past there to the east and far to the North.”

  The expressway rose higher and the Angel noticed the absence of light to his right. In the far off distance he could make out a string of pin lights shimmering against black waters.

  “And that’s, of course, Lake Ontario,” offered Dr. Bowen, noticing where his gaze landed. “On a really clear night you can see across the Great Lake. The best view is, of course, from the top of the Tower.”

  The Angel continued to take in the view while Notus quizzed Dr. Bowen on the history and the sites as they drove past them. Once in the belly of the core, the view of the lake was cut off by towering lakeside condos and office towers. All around them steel and concrete were illuminated by white and yellow.

  The off ramp and the ride north sucked them further into the heart. Here was where Toronto appeared most similar to other world class cities, except for one thing – the proliferation of green trees studded in a concrete forest. Newly budded branches stretched high in competition against the high rises.

  Even at this late hour people were out enjoying the night life. The Angel watched as they drove past groups of young people cavorting and laughing, couples walking hand in hand, and individuals striding with purpose. On occasion he witnessed a vagrant tottering down a street or sleeping in a darkened corner. Relief washed over him in the realization that nourishment would be easily obtained. Despite being a metropolis Toronto was the cleanest city he had ever seen.

  “There is the ROM.” Dr. Bowen pointed out as they were about to turn right onto Bloor.

  Gazing past the doctor, the Angel saw a large stone building with yellow floodlights illuminating the carefully crafted brick and the large posters announcing the upcoming exhibit. It was a stately mansion until he saw the protrusion on the north side of the building.

  “What is that?” asked Notus before he could ask the same.

  Dr. Bowen sighed. “That is the Michael Lee-Chin Crystal.”

  “It’s as hideous as the Pyramid at the Louvre! Who would do such a thing?!” The monk’s outrage at the architectural vandalism brought a small smile to the Angel’s face as he successfully squashed the laughter that threatened to burst out. It was so like his Chooser. Always stuck in the past, barely keeping up with these fast changing times, Notus preferred the beauty of old things even though when they were new he had raged like this.

  “It’s not funny,” stated the monk in response to his son’s emotions.

  It’s just a building, sent the Angel, amusement setting his tone.

  “Building or not, it is hideous,” growled Notus. He folded his arms across his chest, more indignant about how his outburst must appear to Dr. Bowen than the disfigurement of the Royal Ontario Museum.

  They drove in silence. The Angel glanced at Dr. Bowen and noticed a small frown marring her full lips. Not one to pry he returned his attention to the road ahead of them.

  It did not take long before Dr. Bowen pulled into the condominium’s circular drive. Shutting down the engine, she leaned over to press the lever that popped the trunk open. “We’re here,” she announced.

  “Thank you, my dear,” replied Notus as he opened his door.

  Following suit, the Angel gratefully exited the cramped confines of the small vehicle and went around back to retrieve their belongings.

  Dr. Bowen opened her door and stood to lean against her car, watching Mr. Nathaniel and his travelling companion. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night, say around eight.”

  Startled, Notus peeked around the lifted trunk. “Whatever for?”

  The Angel settled the wooden case across his back and closed the trunk with a clunk. A sense of foreboding tightened his gut.

  “For the press conference, of course.” Dr. Bowen smiled. “You do remember, Mr. Nathaniel, do you not?”

  It was not often to catch his Chooser off guard, but this woman had done it. Lowering his head, the Angel hid his smile. The sharp look Notus sent him was felt rather than seen.

  “Of course,” replied Notus, searching his memory and looking for words. “But will it be night here at that time?”

  It was Dr. Bowen’s turn to look confused as she nodded.

  “Then it’s set,” declared the monk as he pressed the button that extended his suitcase’s handle. “Eight o’clock. You have our information. I look forward to beginning our working relationship. Good night, my dear.”

  Turning towards the glass doors, the Angel held one open for Notus to enter first. They did not glance back when Dr. Bowen drove away.

  Didn’t you remember about meeting the press? sent the Angel.

  No, pouted Notus. He pressed the button to call the elevator. I packed the file that holds the itinerary in the suitcase.

  So what are you going to do? The Angel stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would send them to the eighteenth floor.

  I guess I’m going to have to grin and bear it.

  We had better hope that the Vampires here don’t read the newspapers.

  Notus paled as he glanced up at his son’s serious expression. I hadn’t thought of that.

  The elevator door closed and began its ascent. The Angel did not know whether the sudden fall of his stomach was due to the speed they travelled or to the fact that in about fourty-eight hours the Vampires of Toronto may possibly know that the Angel of Death was in their territory.

  Elizabeth frowned as she made her way back home following Kingston Road. The encounter with Paul and his tall pale companion rattled her. She could not put her finger on it, but certain things between them raised red flags with her intuition despite how likable Mr. Nathaniel appeared to be. It was Gwyn, who sat quietly, nary saying a word throughout the whole evening except for his introduction, which drew her attention. Shaking her head, she turned right into the residential area that would lead her home.

  Chapter VIII

  Somewhere in the back of his dreamscape he heard a knocking, but since it did not bear any relevance to the nightmare he was having he disregarded the interruption. Floating into a lucid state, the dream of Jeanie with his sword in her raised hand dissipated until all he was left was the darkness of the back of his eyelids and his fear driven heart. Burying his face into the pillow he attempted to slip into a peaceful slumber he knew was out of reach. Arms clutching the down feathers encased in cotton, it was the sound of the condo door opening and closing that made him realize that sleep eluded him.

  Pushing himself up, he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his sleep dishevelled white locks from his face,
glanced around at his new bedroom and sighed. The tapestry drapes hung from ceiling to floor cutting off all views of the large pane of glass and its picturesque landscape of this young city. Even without any light he could see the details of the master bedroom quite clearly. The black stained oak dresser, night tables and wardrobe stood dark against the white of the walls. His king sized bed, dressed in white, stood in stark relief. Reaching over to the digital clock radio on the night table, he turned the glowing red numbers towards him.

  Eight o’clock he grimaced. Notus and he had stayed up until dawn setting up the condo. Notus called it nesting. The monk could not abide in a new home until he had taken out all his paints, inks and tools of his trade, setting up a corner where he could work in peace.

  Rising to his feet, he found his black denim pants where he had left them on the dark hardwood floor and pulled them on, leaving the top button undone. A quick glance around and he found the white dress shirt hanging crumpled on the edge of the laundry hamper in the opened closet. The undershirt was not to be seen and he figured that he had had better aim with that when undressing that morning. With a shrug he slipped into the shirt, buttons undone, and walked out of his room and into the living room.

  He halted dead in his tracks.

  Dr. Elizabeth Bowen stood with her back to him as she studied something on the dining table. Completely oblivious of him, he was instantly aware of her beauty. Dressed in a black business skirt suit, Dr. Bowen now towered over six feet in her black leather heels. Her dark brown bob swept forward exposing the back of her pale neck, sparking a hunger he immediately squashed. It was when Dr. Bowen lifted his sword, chandelier light reflecting off of the ancient steel, that his breath caught and his heart hammered in his ears.

  “Put. It. Down,” ordered the Angel, teeth clenched as he strode towards the mortal.