by Karen Dales
“What the hell is going on, Notus?” growled Fernando. “I’ve been getting calls from Masters and Mistresses all over the EU – like I have any clue – as to why we all nearly passed out earlier tonight.”
Notus’ breath caught at the revelation. It was not supposed to happen like that. Only the Chooser or Chosen would suffer if the other died. That was what happened to the boy and explained the sudden pain Notus had felt, nearly felling him at the ROM. How the boy was killed after so many centuries remained a mystery, but if the emergency doctor was right, then it still did not explain it. Then again Notus had never heard of any other Chosen having been hit with lightning. It was a fluke. It was also a miracle that the paramedics were able to revive him. What could not be denied was the boy was no longer Chosen.
“So are you going to tell me or do I have to speak to the Angel like everyone’s been demanding me to do?” threatened the Noble.
Swallowing the stone that had formed in his throat, Notus barely recognized the voice as his own. “The Angel is gone.”
“What are you talking about? Gone where?”
A click and Bridget joined the conversation on another handset. “Paul, what is going on?”
Closing his eyes did not help assuage the lump in his throat or the tears that threatened to spill. “The boy—” His voice caught in an attempt to halt the truth that when spoken could no longer be denied. “He died. He is no longer Chosen.”
The dam broke releasing a flood of tears.
“What?!” came the unified response.
“What happened?” asked Bridget.
“What are you talking about?” yelled Fernando.
Slowly, through a halting description, Notus explained the events of that evening, ending with the incredible revelation that the boy, after a millennium and a half, was once again mortal.
Silence filled the void, allowing Fernando and Bridget the ability to digest the news.
“That’s not possible,” whispered Bridget, finally breaking the silence.
“Everything about the Angel is impossible,” remarked Fernando with a snort. “You will fix the problem, won’t you, Notus?”
The question caught the monk unaware. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously, afraid of the answer.
“You will Choose him again?” Fernando’s question was more a statement of fact.
Notus released his baited breath in a huff. “No,” he whispered into the receiver.
Shocked responses travelled the line to his ear forcing him to pull the handset away.
“Fernando! Fernando. Calm down!” Bridget’s voice filled the air.
“Calm down? Don’t you realize what that idiot monk is condemning him to?”
Notus sighed as he listened to the banter between Master and Mistress.
“He’ll be eaten alive, literally, by the Vampires, once they find out!” continued the Noble. “They’ll make what Violet did to him look like a fucking day at the fucking beach! He has to come home, now.”
“To what?” replied Bridget, hotly. “Once the news is out that the Angel is no longer Chosen, what do you think the other Masters and Mistresses will demand? He’ll either have to be Chosen again or put to death, and we know how most of them will vote. Notus, you must Choose him again before anyone finds out.”
“I can’t,” replied the monk. Hating himself he placed the receiver to his ear. “God gave the boy a treasured gift. He’s done his work in saving the Chosen and this is his reward.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Paul,” spat Bridget. “What’s the real reason?”
New tears trailed down the monk’s face. How could he tell them that he wished that it had been he and not the boy to have been given the blessing of mortality? Jealousy percolated up to join with the desperate loneliness that filled him. He should be happy for the boy, but he could not find it within himself to be so.
He shook his head, knowing that they could not witness his denial. The boy had been Chosen accidentally – an Oath broken unwittingly. Notus cared for his charge, growing to love the boy and eventually believed he was blessed with someone to walk eternity with. It was no longer the case. The boy had received what Notus had always hoped to attain, and now he was asked to consciously break his Oath never to Choose another, thereby insuring his search for mortality was a failure.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t.”
Notus lowered the receiver until it fit into its cradle, cutting off Fernando’s protestations.
In the darkness, Notus made his way to his bedroom. Despite the newness of the building the door creaked on its hinges. It was then he realized it was not his room, but rather the boy’s.
The unmade bed awaited the boy unknowing that he could never return. A book lay open, its spine cracked despite Notus’ constant insistence to treat them with more care. A black wooden stand on the dresser displayed the boy’s wakizashi and katana, and on the wall behind hung his naginata. All appeared expecting the return of their master, unknowing that the boy’s life among the Chosen was over.
Turning away from the weapons, Notus walked to the open closet, running his hand over the white cotton dress shirts, their textures soft to the touch. The scars the discipline, a scourge made of steel chain and barbs, had left on the boy’s back were sensitive to the touch. Only the finest clothed his boy. But the boy was no longer his.
Pain gripped the monk around the chest and he spun to face the empty space.
The boy was no longer his!
Notus had been in a stupor, even when he spoke to Fernando and Bridget. Having spoken the words to them and witnessing the desolate room sloughed off the shock, permitting reality to crash in.
The boy was no longer his!
On unsteady legs, Notus barely made it to the dishevelled bed before his legs gave out. The scent of the boy on the bedclothes was strong in his nostrils. Lifting the expensive down pillow the boy used, Notus hugged it to his chest, tears flowing to moisten the pillowcase. For the first time since he was Chosen, millennia ago, Father Paul Notus wept.
Chapter XVII
Snipping the last suture closed, Thanatos leaned back on his heels to observe his work and sighed. It was not his best, the irregularities in the sutures’ spacing was evidence to this fact. It did not matter. There would be no healing, no scarring, only decay. Thanatos placed the tools of his current trade on the stainless steel tray, the clatter resounding off the concrete walls, and cocked his head to the side as he took in the nude form of the corpse before him.
He had found the cause of death in the stomach of the too skinny woman. A condom filled with crack cocaine had burst. There was a word for her kind - a mule - and her blue horsy features fit the bill perfectly.
He had seen these things over the ages. Death came to all mortals, some by choice, some by accident, some by genetics and bad luck, but most by stupidity. It was clear by the tracks in this woman’s arms which route she had chosen.
Snapping off the latex gloves he hit the stop button on the recording device that had to be on during autopsies and removed the gore stained apron over his grey-green medical uniform. He would leave the body for the individuals responsible for taking her back to the freezer but before doing so there were notes to make and forms to sign off on.
The desk housing the computer sat in the corner and was splashed with cold illumination from the old CRT monitor. It was the chair that offered succour to his tired body. A couple of clicks with the mouse and the program providing him with the basics of the woman’s existence came to life. Her first and last name was listed simply as Jane Doe157. No birthday, no address, no other information was filled out except for her height, weight and colouring. An estimation of age was listed, but it was always so hard to tell with heavy drug users. They always appeared much older than they were, the drugs sloughing off years the harder the drug usage.
Typing in his findings, he filled out the online form. Computers made life easier and more complicated at
the same time. One of the best things he had ever done was to have Godfrey go and purchase him a typing tutorial. Now his fingers flew over the keyboard until the computer could no longer catch up. Lifting his hands, Thanatos watched the screen magically display the words he had written, his brown eyes widening at what was revealed.
Instead of his autopsy observations and conclusions the words “The Angel” repeated themselves over and over, filling in the lines of text meant for the deceased girl.
Dumbfounded, he knew he had not typed those words, or had he? Highlighting the text he hit the delete key and watched the pixels disappear. It did not erase them from his memory.
Releasing a huff, he leaned back in the chair and ran a hand over his brow before letting it fall to the armrest. He was shaken. That was the feeling he denied himself. Having seen, let alone touched the Angel’s sword was the closest he had ever come.
He would have approached the Angel earlier, but fear of what to say to him, what to ask, curdled in his stomach. All his hopes were pinned upon the Angel, but what Bastia had done shattered any possibility of approaching him. He had only to watch from the distance as the Angel summoned the Dragon’s Breath to eradicate the Vampires of Paris to prove that it was better to watch and to wait. After all, he had waited all these millennia; a few more centuries would not hurt if it meant that Thanatos would finally find the answers to the questions that plagued him.
It seemed now Bastia’s first born would continue where she was forced to leave off. If only Thanatos had enough sway over the pup to convince him to leave the Angel alone.
It had been centuries since he stood before a Vampire. The last was when Bastia yelled at him over his obsession with the Angel and the Chosen, before she rushed out in a huff never to be seen again. His beautiful Priestess of Bast had twisted into something he never had intended to see. Now Corvus was taking up where she had left off. Corvus, the first Vampire Bastia ever created. The mortal Roman general who had been her plaything, her slave, bending to her will as she supped upon his blood. The same one who had proven that the curse continued onto the next generation, and who was now Dominus of all Vampires and set to destroy Thanatos’ only chance for redemption.
Thanatos frowned. The idea of being placed in the middle of the Vampires and the Angel seemed more promise than threat. Removing the small plain metal phial that hung around his neck, Thanatos clutched it in both hands, his eyes closed in fervent prayer.
Chapter XVIII
Somewhere in the distance the sound of organized chaos mingled with metallic calls to order permeated the shroud that darkened his consciousness. Computerized sounds superimposed themselves over flesh and blood voices, yanking him further into his body until pain washed away the external noise as his breath caught. Aching all over he tried to retreat into the void that succoured him, but to no avail. The pain, throbbing in time with his pounding heart, pulled him further into his body. He did not realize his groan until the sound hammered his brain, sending a wave of nausea to crash in. He was going to be sick and it took the tattered shreds of his will to push it down. Mouth dry, he wished for something to wash away the metallic cobwebs.
A familiar voice caught his attention and yanked his focus away from the bone deep ache that throbbed in time with his heart.
“Are you sure of your findings, doctor?” The familiar voice sounded weary despite the tinge of surprise. “I informed you that I did not want further tests to be done.”
“I understand that, Mr. Nathaniel, but the blood tests are routine and were ordered before your request. No further tests were done in accordance to your orders.” Slight annoyance coloured an Island accent. “Regardless, the findings of the blood tests have prompted me to ask you to reconsider your decision.”
Tense silence masked the distant cacophony.
“What…what did you find?”
“There were many irregularities, things that registered outside the normal levels.” The doctor’s voice dropped into a drone. “His white count is nearly triple while his platelets are well below normal. Despite the glucose levels being normal, the HDL, LDL and triglycerides were all over the place. There was also an irregularity to the shape and colour of the red blood cells. I would like to have a full genetic profile done on your son, Mr. Nathaniel.”
There was a sharp intake of breath and a subtle change in how the familiar voice spoke. “Dr. Thompson, you will cease and desist any further investigation into my son’s health. Furthermore you will do whatever is necessary to delete, destroy, erase, and remove all physical and all electronic evidence and all records of my son within the hospital and any networks this hospital shares. Since my son is now awake, you will give orders for his immediate release and then you will carry out my orders. Once complete, you will forget that my son has ever been a patient of yours and you will forget having ever met me. Do you understand all that I have stated?”
Quietly, in a voice sounding drugged, the doctor repeated the instructions without any faults.
“Good,” replied the voice. “Now you may leave. As you pass the threshold you will not consciously remember this conversation and nor will any attempts to retrieve this memory from your subconscious find success.”
The shushing sound of rubber soled feet disappeared into the chaos of the hospital floor.
Fatigue bit at his aching muscles and he felt the darkness close around his consciousness, buffering him to sleep.
Icy tendrils snaked down the side of his face before resting on his cheek, burning the warmth away and draining his awareness from the nightmare that clutched at him. Again Jeanie thrust his sword through his body, his blood on her twisted full lips. His gasp at the fiery sensation startled the cold touch on his face, allowing heat to rush in where the tendril had been. The conflicting sensations, both real and imaginary, were enough to snap his eyes open.
The alien room was awash in gloaming darkness. A beige curtain cut off his view of most of the room. The ceiling was striped with large rectangular fibrous tiles intermingled with darkened clear plastic that housed slumbering fluorescents.
Everything appeared off, fuzzy and too dark for the yellow light that splashed across the lower half of the ceiling near the source of the distant, yet hushed, sounds. Blinking did not alleviate the bizarre images his eyes sent to his brain. Raising his hand in the hopes that rubbing his eyes would return the world into brilliant detail, he was surprised to see a thin plastic tube disappear beneath the white tape stuck to the back of his left hand. He followed the line with his eyes until it led him to the clear liquid suspended in an intravenous bag. Eyes wide he closed his dry mouth with a click and nearly jumped out of his skin as something cold grasped his invaded hand.
“Let’s get this thing off.”
He turned his head to see Notus carefully remove the I.V., bending the plastic back on itself so that the clear liquid would not leak onto the floor. White brows furrowed, increasing the headache pounding in his temples. Something was very wrong.
Where am I? What’s happening? he Sent, worry blossoming to constrict his chest.
When no voice replied in his mind he took a closer look at his Chooser. In the dim light he could barely make out Notus’ red rimmed eyes in a face drawn and haggard. The monk’s eyes slipped away from his as Notus continued to remove the wires leading to quiet monitors. Notus’ silence sent his heart racing in fear and he grabbed the man’s cold hand in the process of removing a padded wire from his chest. Hazel eyes glanced sideways up at him and he dropped his grip. There was no doubt that something was terribly wrong. He had no awareness of his Chooser beyond what his regular senses told him and they were woefully lacking.
“What—” he began, his voice dry. He swallowed the dust in his mouth and tried again. “What’s wrong with me?”
He did not intend for his voice to rise in volume but the panic strangled it out of him. It grew when Notus frowned and turned his head away to stare at the curtain.
“Notus.” His voice, constrict
ed in fear, was barely audible, but he knew his Chooser heard him and chose not to respond.
“Paul,” he whispered, hating how small his voice sounded. “Tell me.”
Notus sighed. His shoulders dropped in resignation and began his quiet retelling of the events leading to their current situation. Straining to listen to the whispered narrative, it provided more evidence to the situation he currently found himself. His ruby eyes widened throughout the retelling, his ears unbelieving. It made no sense. The last he remembered was preparing to jump after the Vampire responsible for the theft of his sword.
His sword!
They stole it!
“My sword!” he gasped. He made a move to get out of the short bed only to find a cold hand on his chest, pressing him to be still. Notus met his gaze, holding each other still.
“Did you not hear, boy?” Hazel eyes welled with unshed tears.
“I heard,” he replied, confused. He did not understand.
“I don’t know how it’s possible. A miracle, maybe.” Notus’ eyes bore into his own.
For the first time in their lives he was the one to look away. He had never seen Notus in such a state. A new thread of panic twined around the others and he frowned. Daring Notus’ burning gaze he was frightened to see tears trailing down the monk’s face.
“You are no longer Chosen. Gwyn, you are mortal again.”
The words, at first, made no sense. Disjointed sounds strung together to imply meaning slowly coalesced and he sucked in his breath, comprehension punching his gut.
“Tha—that’s not possible.”
Notus lowered his eyes and stood. “Possible or not, the fact is for some reason you are once again mortal.”
Disbelieving shock filled the silence. It was impossible!
It also explained why the room should be brighter, the images sharper. It explained so much, but even more, it explained why the I.V. puncture was still there and why he could feel nothing from the monk. He shook his head, denying the truth the facts pointed towards.