by Karen Dales
Jeanie glanced up at his hidden eyes and realized they were but a breath apart. The light from the lamp shadowed all but his perfectly full pale lips. Heat rose, flushing her cheeks as she wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. Instead she backed away, allowing her hand to slip from his. Head and shoulders taller than herself, she let her eyes fall on his cloaked chest and turned away.
He drank in her yearning eyes and followed the heart shaped curve of her jaw to the quickening vessel on her neck, tantalizing him with each pulse and was relieved when she pulled away and turned her back. He did not know what to make of what he saw in her face. He had not seen that look directed at him in such a very, very long time.
Frowning at her back, he turned his attention to the Noble now crouched down using his blade to pick at the bag. The strong scent of blood filled his nostrils, drawing him forward. Jeanie hesitantly followed on shaky legs, the object of curiosity catching her. They both stood over Fernando who paid them no mind.
“If you are so damned interested, why don’t you just ask?” spat Fernando, still fuming from the near miss. Frustrated, he dropped the knife to lay, blade leaning, on the crumpled burlap bag and stood, his hands coming to rest on his hips, causing his cloak to spread out like black wings.
“If you expect me to do all the work, you have another thing coming,” he sneered. “I usually demand servitude.” His eyes flashed momentarily on the girl. “And since fate has tossed us together, may I suggest that you understand that.”
With a growl Fernando bent his knees to crouch down once more before the bag, a half smile curled his lips when the Angel joined him on the cobbles. Only the girl remained standing.
The rest of Fernando’s smile flourished as he took up his blade and resumed the examination. “What do you think? A clue? A warning? An accident? One thing is certain this is not the blood of an animal. Shall we open the wrapping and see what the present is?” A glint of mischievousness flashed in his smile.
Manoeuvring his cloak over his shoulders to free his hands, he and the Noble worked together at the gruesome task, carefully pushing and pulling to finally reveal the treasure from the blood soaked burlap. He ignored Jeanie’s strangled cry and pursed his own colourless lips at the sight. Only Fernando seemed unaffected by the severed arm, the hand in a fist set tight in death.
Careful not to allow the gore to ruin his clothing, Fernando lifted the limb to study the only ornamentation beside the blood. The ring gleamed gold and blood, and with an expletive the Noble tossed the arm back onto the burlap, splattering crimson droplets around it. He spun away from the sight.
“Shit!” he exploded over and over as he paced. Abruptly, he turned and resumed his place by the severed limb and said, “Do you know who this is …was?”
Mystified, the Angel shook his head.
Taking up the dismembered arm, Fernando gazed at the ring. “Sebastian,” he said vehemently. “Sebastian von Hausen. The most sadistic individual among the – you know.” His tone softened somewhat. “Half of Bridget’s whores are branded with this signet. He would have gotten the rest of the mortal ones, but Bridget put an end to it when she found out.”
Ignoring the slight slip, he suppressed his disgust. “You sound as if you envied him.”
“Envy? No. Never that.” Fernando gave the Angel a sidelong gaze. “Admire, yes. He always had more imagination than I.”
Revolted by the Noble’s admission, the Angel stood and wrapped his cloak tightly around him and noticed Jeanie leaning heavily against the lamp, beads of sweat dotting her brow. Her heartbeat rapidly pulsed in his ears. Glancing down at the Noble, who as now trying to figure out how to get the ring off, he wiped his soiled hands on his cloak, turned and strode over to her.
Her eyes fluttered open to see his cloaked figure standing before her. “I guess it was a good thing I dinna have any dinner.” She gave a half-hearted laugh and then swallowed thickly, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm.
“You don’t look well,” he said softly, unable to keep the worry from filtering through his veneer. “I am going to take you back to your room.” Jeanie opened her mouth to protest but quickly shut it as he raised a bone white finger. “If you are still intent on joining us,” he continued, “you can meet me at my home after sunset tomorrow. Is that agreeable?”
Recognizing defeat, she nodded. “Aye. It is.”
Leaning the back of her head against the lamppost she shut her eyes. “I believed myself to be able to deal with anything, ye ken? After that first night here, so long ago, I could withstand anything, but this…ye said it would be bad, did ye ken it would be this bad?”
He glanced quickly at Fernando who had managed to open the hand and was now pondering a small phial between his thumb and forefinger. Warning or clue, the wild carriage and the bag with Sebastian’s arm was no accident, and whoever had done this to one of the Chosen meant serious business. Looking back at Jeanie, he realized he could not tell her it was worse than he first expected.
Opening her eyes, Jeanie stood without support of the post. “What is that smell?” She inhaled deeply. “It’s delicious.”
Astounded at her complete change of demeanour, he blinked in confusion and inhaled. The ever so slight scent that Jeanie so easily picked up made him gag. It was the worst thing he had ever smelled. Taking another whiff, he realized the direction the scent came, from Fernando and the now open phial. Following their noses, he and Jeanie walked towards the Noble. The sight of the dismembered arm no longer adversely affected Jeanie. For some strange reason Fernando seemed unaffected.
“Do you have any idea what this is?” Fernando stood; Sebastian’s signet decorated his outstretched hand, open phial raised.
The source of the smell, so close, forced him to jerk his head away and take a retreating step.
“Oh come now –” exasperated Fernando.
“You smell it,” he interrupted, his voice muffled with the edge of his cloak.
“Ye’re acting as if it’ll bite ye,” piped Jeanie. She moved to take the little bottle from Fernando, but he pulled it away from her grasp. Jeanie cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Ye dinna hae t’do that. We can share it. Whatever it is.”
Screwing up his face, Fernando said, “I do not think so,” and deeply inhaled the aroma from the lip of the bottle.
It was all that Jeanie could do to catch the phial before it fell as Fernando’s mouth once more issued forth unintelligible expletives.
His hand covering his mouth and nose did not dissuade the smell, now imbedded in his nostrils. “Meu Deus! That is the most disgusting - Ugh! I can’t even get it out of my nose!” Whipping out a finely embroidered handkerchief, Fernando blew his nose and looked at Jeanie who was now inhaling the contents with great sighs. “Do you mind if I cap that?” he asked, sarcastically.
Jeanie’s dilated eyes opened and clutched the bottle to her breast protectively. “Aye!”
“Give it to me,” said the Angel. He figured that the less he spoke the less he would have to breathe that sickening smell. It was strange that Jeanie had picked up the scent before their preternatural senses could.
Blinking rapidly, Jeanie hesitantly handed it to him.
The phial was standard medical issue, yet the label glued lopsidedly on it had only a series of numbers that did not make any sense. Tipping the mouth over his white palm, he tapped a small portion of the brownish-green powder and was instantly glad that he too had not had any dinner that evening. Whatever consisted within the powder was vile.
Spilling the contents onto the ground, he rubbed his hand against his cloak, praying that the scent would wash off. He did not want to go through the hassle of having another cloak tailored.
“Seal it,” he stated, handing it back to Fernando who was more than willing to be compliant to the order.
“Why did ye do that?” implored Jeanie.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“Why did ye waste it?”
“I did not waste anything. I had to see what was in it.”
“Better you than me,” butted in Fernando, slipping the sealed bottle into a vest pocket.
He frowned at the Noble and turned his attention back to Jeanie. “What would you have me do? Put it back? And since your appetite has returned, I am returning you to the inn.”
“But–” stammered Jeanie.
“It looks like it’ll be the boys’ night out,” mocked Fernando. “Unless you wish to be dinner.”
He shot the Noble a pointed glare and grabbed Jeanie’s arm, careful not to squeeze too hard, and walked her down the street.
Ignoring her protests, he let go when it was clear she was going to keep pace. Fernando walked at his side, a smirk on his dark features. He welcomed the silence and the relief to Jeanie’s constant arguments and Fernando’s – well, Fernando’s attitude was almost expected. Now why is that? He strained to remember but only flashes of finely dressed people from another time floated in his mind.
Somewhere in the distance a bell rang the hour and, as if on some predetermined plan, a light misting rain began. Jeanie sighed and pulled the neck of her coat tighter while Fernando grumbled, shrouding his head with his hood. Hunkered in the depths of his cloak, the Angel was not affected by the rain.
It did not take long for the streets to become slick with water, reflecting gaslight back up into the darkness above, making the night seem brighter. Even the sounds of sleepy horse’s hooves hitting cobbles seemed louder and clearer. No other wild rides threatened them. Everything felt lazy and he was momentarily surprised to hear Jeanie break the silence.
“We left that…um…arm back there. Should we do somethin' about it?” She wiped the beads of water from her brow. Her fiery hair was alight with clear pearls.
“The police will find it,” lied Fernando. Both Chosen knew that once the daylight touched the arm and the blood soaked bag, all that would remain would be ashes. “Let them do their job.”
Jeanie glanced quickly at the Noble and without another word silence over took them again.
It was not long before they came upon The Rose and Thorn. The rain teetered the sign out front. An old inn, the Angel remembered it being there before the Great Fire. Totally destroyed, it was rebuilt by the surviving family and handed down from father to son or son-in-law. Each generation left their mark upon the place with subtle modernizations. Now Tom ran the inn with his wife Alice, who issued orders with her large wooden spoon.
“Go,” he said to Jeanie.
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with the realization that the Angel meant exactly what he said.
“Come tomorrow night, half seven, and we will see how you can help,” he stated before she could reply. His voice softened, “Tonight get some food and rest.”
He watched Jeanie turn and hesitate with her hand on the door before pushing it open, allowing warm yellow light to spill momentarily onto the street before disappearing, taking Jeanie with it.
“That was nicely done,” commented the Noble, a smile on his face. “To keep a mortal girl – and a beauty at that – around. I think I like her quiet and demure. Her tongue takes away her lusciousness.”
He spun around. He did not like Fernando’s implications.
“Oh come now,” irritation perked Fernando’s speech. “You must have noticed. She is a delicious sight. Another time perhaps? We have some work to do, I believe.” He walked back the way they had come.
Allowing his eyes to linger for one last moment on the doors of The Rose and Thorn, he turned to catch up with the Nobel.
I have noticed, he sighed.
He hoped she would be safe. The more he could keep her out of it the better. He could not afford to have his attention divided.
Chapter VII
Being around that girl has sparked my hunger,” stated Fernando after a time. “And I do not feel in the mood for – ahhh perfect.”
Watching Fernando approach the two prostitutes regaining their positions on the street corner, the Angel's hunger flared. He did not need to feed as often as a newly made Chosen. At his age the hunger depended on how much he exerted his abilities, and in this day and age that was not often nor excessive, leaving him to feed once every week or so. It had been that long since the last time he hunted London’s streets with Notus.
By the time he reached the girls, Fernando already had his arm around one of them, leading her off into a nearby alley. He loathed the idea of feeding off of someone not causing anyone harm, but the hunger flared within at the scent of the young woman’s blood, demanding its due. He would satiate it, but this was not the hunt he relished.
Pulling the hood low over his brow so as to shadow his unique features, the short, dark haired woman looked up at his approach. Closing her mouth, obviously astonished at the short wait for a new customer, she checked herself, patting and smoothing out the wrinkles in her stained brown skirt.
He stopped, the hood shading eyes and hair, and asked, “Are you for hire?” He had done this a thousand times, if not more, over the ages, yet he still did not like the need for it.
“Yea, ‘ow much ye willin’ t’ spend?” she replied, gazing up with a false sultry smile.
“That depends on how much you charge,” he whispered. No, he did not like what his need for blood could drive him to do. He wished for the forest hunts or the battlefield where everything seemed fair.
“Two pounds fo’ quarter of an ‘our. Five fo’ ‘alf an ‘our.” She placed a short wide hand on her hip.
He raised a snow coloured brow at the increased prices. “Quarter of an hour will be sufficient,” he replied.
“Quick like a rabbit, wot?” she smiled, offering her hand and was unaware of the cold touch as he brought it to his lips.
Bending to kiss her warm hand so filled with life, his hood slipped to reveal the whiteness of his hair and the unnatural colour of his eyes. Her gasp and attempt to flee were cut short as he locked her eyes to his.
Whispering, he Pushed, “You will not remember any part of this night. You will not remember me. You will feel no pain.”
Mumbling his words back at him, proving his glamour over her to be complete, he gently bit into her wrist in a mockery of the first kiss. The flesh gave way to his sharp teeth. Her heart carried the sweet blood to his mouth as he fought the urge to suck – an urge that would surely kill such a weak creature as she – until her heart slowed to a plodding rhythm.
Pulling out, satiated, he left her alive, but drained. Carefully, he assisted her to sit at the curb and placed a five-pound note in her hand. He folded the flaccid fingers shut, securing the bill in her possession as he kissed the crown of her filthy head. She sat there, blinking and sighing as if she had run a great distance.
He heard Fernando clear his throat and turned around to find the Nobel looking quite confused.
“You kissed her on the head?”
“Yes,” he answered, walking to the Noble, suddenly uncomfortable that a Chosen other than Notus had seen him feed.
“You paid her?” Fernando kept pace with the Angel as they left the street corner.
He nodded.
“And you let her live?”
Again he nodded with a sigh.
“I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to know.” Fernando shook his head in disbelief. Turning down the lane, he declared, “Let’s go. We don’t have all night.”
This time Fernando had to wait for the Angel to follow. Biting his lip, the Noble absently led the way. More and more aspects of the Angel bothered him, got under his skin, to a point he had never thought possible. Even the Angel’s pale appearance and blood coloured eyes sent unconscious shivers up his spine. Fernando appreciated beauty in women and in men; his preference was always for the ladies, but the Angel’s features were more androgynous, lending to a strange beauty that unnerved him. What the hell is he?
“You killed her.” Despite its hard edge, the Angel’s voice was soft and sensuous.
Fernando gla
nced sideways. The Angel still faced straight ahead. “She is…was…nothing more than a titillating treat.” He ignored the angry glare. “Oh come now, mortals are rabbits to us wolves. They have no value except for the blood they contain and the service they provide.”
He brought his stare away from the Noble. He had heard this many times and it still bothered him. “Did you believe this when you were mortal?”
Brown eyes became menacing. “Do not trifle with me,” sneered the Noble. “There is too much at stake.”
“To be trifled with is a small matter compared with how you view mortals.” The Angel’s voice reflected the impassivity of his well-devised mask.
Deciding to turn the tables, Fernando stated, “They have value to you. Why?” His eyes widened with insight. “That’s why that whore…that housekeeper, what’s-her-name-”
“Jeanie.”
“Whatever,” dismissed Fernando with a wave of his hand. “But the best way to see something’s value is to have it taken away.” He glanced up at the Angel. “Yet we both know this, do we not? Katherine is exploiting this even now. Do you not miss the day? The sun at high noon with its heat pressing down, lighting up everything in its brilliance? You value their mortality, the ability to walk in the sunlight, to live a mortal life. I refuse to regret anything, thus giving no value to them.”
Praying that the Noble could not see how his words stung him, he could not stop himself from saying, “I never had the day,” and stared into the black rain curtained sky.
Fernando blinked at the unexpected reply, a snippet of conversation with Bridget floated into his consciousness. One phrase lingered: He was born a vampire. Knowing this piece of gossip to be ludicrous left Fernando wondering. There were no others like the Angel, at least to his knowledge. Peering up at his strange partner, he asked, “What are you?”
The question caught the Angel completely off guard, shattering his carefully constructed façade. Spinning around to face the Noble, he halted their progress. Slowly the horror in his face became hidden as pieces of the mask slowly knit together leaving only sadness in his crimson eyes. “You are the second Chosen in nearly fourteen hundred years to ask me that.”
