Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  When he finished there was a long moment of silence, broken only with Bridget’s soft whisper, “Fernando, would you stay the day? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  A gentle smile softened the Noble’s features and he nodded.

  Realizing that the end of the night was approaching, the Angel stood. “I should be going.”

  “You don’t have to,” offered Bridget. “You could stay here.”

  The offer and her generosity took him off guard and he glanced from Chosen to Chooser. “No. I should go home.” He walked towards the door, found his cloak and put it on.

  “In that case,” she followed, “please let me call you a cab. I’ll have my personal driver take you home.”

  Bridget pulled on the bell-pull next to the front door and turned to face the Angel. “You are most welcome here anytime.”

  He made to leave, but her hand caught his and he noticed her sad smile. “Take care of yourself, and take care of your Chooser. What the two of you have is rare among our kind.”

  He returned her smile with a nod and opened the door. As he exited he heard Fernando call out, “Half seven. Your place.”

  Chapter VIII

  The door closed behind Jeanie, cutting her off from the strangeness of the nights events, and the Angel. The other – Fernando – she was pleased to be rid of. He was what her father would have called an arse, and rightly so. She could not believe the way he acted, as if he were superior to the Angel. He had some nerve.

  Standing before the door, she felt safe taking in the quiet of the inn. This late in the evening, only a handful of patrons sat in chairs and benches in groups numbering no more than two or three. In the huge hearth along the west wall a fire blazed, warming the large open room with its gloaming heat. Quiet conversation drifted incoherently, punctuated with the occasional boisterous laugh.

  Pounce, the mouser, was, as usual, passed out in front of the fire, purring contently, ignoring the goings on in his home. The large orange cat always knew the best places to be. Smiling at the curled form, Jeanie found an empty table beside Pounce as Tom came out of the kitchen.

  “Been worried about you,” stated the innkeeper with a smile. “Alice was edgy all day and night – your bed not even slept in. I’ll have something brought over.”

  “Aye, that'd be wonderful,” beamed Jeanie. Exhaustion and starvation vied for attention as she sat down on the chair and watched the plump balding man nod and turn back to the kitchen. Staring at her folded hands, she sighed, secretly glad that the Angel had insisted she come back here.

  Tomorrow night she would meet up with him – too bad Fernando will probably be there –and she would help in…in what? She frowned. To get the Good Father back? That was surely part of it, but it did not explain the severed arm. God, that was horrible. Nor did it explain what was in that phial that turned her disgust into ravenous hunger. Her frown deepened. Why did it revolt the Angel, yet the arm dinna? She shook her head. There were so many questions and no answers to satisfy her. The Angel made it clear he would reveal nothing.

  The smell of hot beef stew drew Jeanie away from her ponderings to find Alice carrying a tray with a large steaming bowl, bread and a mug, walking towards her. Placing the food down before Jeanie, she settled her round form onto the chair across from the girl. The chair groaned under Alice’s weight and Jeanie feared, as she always did, that the chair would collapse. It did not. The angry frown on the cooks face increased Jeanie’s apprehension.

  “Well you might as well go on and eat. I didn’t keep it hot so you could watch it freeze under your nose.” Alice pushed the loaf of bread towards Jeanie.

  Breaking off a thick chunk of the hard-crusted white bread, Jeanie quickly dunked it into the stew and popped it into her mouth. A big mistake. The heat was more than she expected and after quickly swallowing, she grabbed the mug, cooling her burnt mouth with dark ale.

  “I told you it was hot,” reiterated Alice, the side of her mouth curled into a half smile.

  “Aye, but ye dinna say it was that hot.” Jeanie took a last cooling gulp and put the pewter mug down. This time she ate with more caution, blowing on the soaked chunks of bread until the steam stopped rising and watched Alice with each bite. The woman’s features never changed, and this worried the girl to the point where she could no longer taste the food.

  Ever since the Good Father had brought her here to live Alice instantly took it upon herself to properly mother Jeanie since all her girls were out, married and with children of their own. At first Jeanie found the woman’s constant worrying quite annoying, but after a few months Alice felt like the mother she remembered from childhood. Seeing Alice glowering, Jeanie worried and secretly wished that the cook would come out and say what was on her mind. She knew it would not take long. Alice was not one for patience when it came to the people she cared about.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” stated Alice; crossing her fleshy arms on the table and leaning forward, her motherly diatribe beginning.

  Jeanie popped in a cooled mouthful. “What are ye talking about?” she asked, hesitantly.

  “Oh don’t you give me that, li’l miss.” Jeanie’s eyes widened; this was serious. “Violet told me what you planned. I’m shocked that you would listen to that trollop. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s out all night, sleeps all day and pays her rent on time, that streetwalker would be living on the streets! But to actually take that whore’s suggestion is beyond me, girl. I supposed that is the reason why you didn’t come home last night and only now show up?”

  Suddenly Jeanie’s appetite vanished. She knew. Alice knew! Alice was glaring at her, waiting for a response. Deciding to tread cautiously, Jeanie asked, “What did Violet tell ye?”

  The cooks grey brows shot up. “Don’t try that with me, li’l miss. I’ve raised four daughters and three sons. You know very well what Violet told me – you trying to seduce the Angel.”

  Jeanie gagged on a chunk of meat. It was not really a plan. It was a dream and an unlikely one at that. Even being so bold as to slip into his bed had taken nerve she did not believe she could muster again, especially given how he was towards her after that.

  “Everyone knows that he’s the Good Father’s sworn protector,” continued Alice. “And even if he be no priest, the Angel might as well be as untouchable as one. What were you thinking of, girl? Just because you have the honour of being their housekeeper doesn’t mean that little stunts like this…”

  “Nothing happened,” piped in Jeanie, a little too loudly. Some of the other patrons had turned in their chairs to listen.

  More than a little embarrassed, Jeanie lowered her voice, “I swear nothing happened.” By God, I wish it had. She pushed the half empty bowl away not looking at Alice’s surprised pudgy face, and sighed. The fullness in her belly made her feel weighted down, sleepy.

  “I’m quitting.” She took another swig of ale hoping it would dull her feelings and ignored Alice’ astonished gasp. “I’m gonna move on. I’ve been there, what, five years? ‘Tis time.”

  She did not realize she wanted to do so until she said the words, but only after the Good Father was home safe and sound. That she could not admit. Too many people relied on his work with the poor and if they found out about his abduction it would not help the situation. It was the idea of leaving the Angel she could not bear.

  The drooping double chins wobbled side to side as Alice shook her head in dismay. “You do have it bad for the Angel, don’t you? I can see it in your face. Oh, don’t cry.” She took a cloth from her apron and passed it to Jeanie.

  Fatigue and shock of the night’s events had stripped away her defences and Jeanie found her eyes blurring with tears. “Oh Alice, I dinna ken what to do. I believed with all her experience Violet would hae some good advice.” She wiped away the wetness on her cheeks.

  “That girl knows nothing of love, my dear. You do love him, don’t you?” Alice’s harsh tones were replaced with the motherly affection that Jeanie had come
to love.

  New tears spilled down her face as Jeanie nodded.

  “Oh dear,” sighed Alice. “Does the Angel know how you feel?”

  “I dinna ken,” sniffed Jeanie. “I’ve never told him. I guess he must have some idea. I just don’t know. Sometimes when I’m cleanin' and he’s home I can feel him watchin' me, but when I turn to look at him, he turns away. And when I try to get close, he either backs away or leaves. I fear he hates me.”

  “Now that’s just plain silly talk. He doesn’t hate you.” The sternness returned, but only slightly. “When he walks you home, I see him stand outside and wait until you’ve turned off your light and gone to sleep. Someone who doesn’t care about another doesn’t wait around to see if she’s safely tucked in.” Her fleshy hand patted Jeanie’s.

  “I guess so,” muttered Jeanie, managing a weak smile.

  “Don’t give your resignation just yet, my dear. Give it some more time. Maybe things will change. After all, the Angel is not a priest. He’s a man just like any other man, isn’t he?” Alice did not sound too sure.

  “He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever met,” she said breathlessly, and looked away, suddenly embarrassed, red filling out her cheeks.

  Alice’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t know, my dear. You and the Good Father are the only ones who have ever seen his face.”

  Slowly, Alice came to her feet with a groan of effort. “Though, I must admit he does have a lovely voice, when, on the rare occasion, I’ve heard him speak.

  “Now get off to bed, my girl. I’ve got cleaning to do and you’ve taken up too much of my time already.” Placing the bowl and mug on the tray, she turned towards the kitchen.

  Matching the cook’s smile, Jeanie rose, the creek of the chair bolted Pounce awake. “Thank ye, Alice.”

  “Don’t thank me, girl. I’m doing this for selfish reasons. I don’t want to lose my best tenant.” Alice flashed another toothy grin and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jeanie stood for a moment and sighed. She felt better, as she always did after talking with Alice. Images of the Angel waiting outside her window, making sure she was safe, warmed her. Turning, she hiked up her skirts and went up the stairs.

  Fernando languidly stretched under the shimmering red silk sheets. Its cool caress did not match the sheer pleasure he felt. Bridget’s sun yellow curls covered his chest as she slept content and safe, her head resting on him. Brushing some of her locks away from his face, he felt her tighten the hug, cool naked bodies pressed against one another, and he returned her embrace.

  The puncture marks on their necks were no longer visible, but the memory of their lustful undertakings made him smile. He kissed the crown of her head and gazed up at the black canopy. If this was going to be his last day on earth, Fernando was well pleased. Nothing could top what they had done to each other. Well, maybe not. He hoped for another try.

  If I’m still alive tomorrow night, he sighed.

  The single candle on the bedside table guttered, leaving him in darkness wondering about his new partner and the wisdom of that connection. Bridget did not have to say anything. It was obvious she was disappointed that the Angel chose to leave.

  Fernando, on the other hand, was pleased to see the tall pale vampire go. Was it jealousy? Fernando dismissed that notion, but he did not like they way she had stared into those red eyes. He shuddered. It was more than the Angel’s unnatural height and colouring that bothered the Noble. There was something about the Angel that terrified him.

  More rumours drifted to mind. One in particular jumped to the surface. One that originated with the mortals and had made it to the Vampires, something that had never happened before in his long life. The Saint’s Angel, that’s what they call him.

  Fernando chewed on his lower lip. Who the Saint was obvious – Notus, that strange member of the Chosen who continuously chose to actively participate in the lives of mortals as if he were a real priest. But which angel? Fernando knew of no real saints ever having angels to rule over. Then again, he never did well in catechism. His eyes widened as he realized that he did not even know the Angel’s name.

  The sudden movement of Bridget turning over, releasing her clutch, brought his attention back to his sire. Rolling onto his side he gazed at her back so beautifully pale, yet lined with silver marks. He petted her hair, feeling the soft silkiness of the waves. A nobleman’s disinherited daughter sold into prostitution because he had too many daughters. Secretly Fernando was glad that her father had given her up.

  The caress on her shoulders stirred her from sleep and rolling onto her back she gazed groggily into Fernando’s brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

  He smiled back. She looked so lovely. “I’m fine. Just thinking. Go back to sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep any longer.” Her smile widened and lowered her Chosen's face to hers.

  They kissed; savouring each other as his hand gently caressed a perfect breast. It seemed he would not have to wait until tomorrow, and his hand slipped lower. Katherine would never take this from him. Bridget would be his forever. Tonight he would see to it, but for now they were together.

  A perfect fit. He smiled and sank his teeth into her awaiting neck.

  Chapter IX

  He exited the steam filled bathroom, drying his long, thick hair with the white towel before wrapping it around his slender waist. Drops of water trickled down his front and back. He had hoped that a bath would have help to ease his mind after returning to an empty home. He found the only difference was that he felt cleaner.

  The smell of the powder residue had easily washed off. The phial now on the tea table beneath the painting of a sunrise, his watch and keys surrounded the little bottle as if to guard it from theft. He would not forget it there tonight, nor would he forget its occult numbering: “211233124.” For the umpteenth time he wondered at its meaning.

  Standing outside the bathroom, he stared into the emptiness that was his home and sighed. Notus should be seated at his large writing desk working on one of his numerous projects; either illumination or calligraphy, until he would come up to tell his Chooser that it was time for bed. Sometimes Notus would grudgingly give up his work for the day or interrupt himself long enough to let his Chosen know he would be working late, or that he wanted to work on a culinary experiment for Jeanie to try. Today the chair sat empty and broken, the books untouched.

  Entering into his darkened home had felt eerie, everything in the flat missed the monk, or that he was feeling the loss more than he could ever have imagined. He had never really been separated from his Chooser since that time so long ago, so far away. He took a deep steadying breath. This is not then, he reminded himself. Notus will be back.

  He did not want to step into the lonely room where only the gas lamps and blazing fire in the hearth signified life, but he did anyways.

  Visions of his Chooser being held by the Mistress weakened his knees and he collapsed to the ground feeling battered and drained. He knew that he was feeling his Chooser. Notus was alive and in pain. The pain diminished enough for an instant to allow a single focused thought through.

  I’m so sorry, my son. I must do this. My pain will only bring your downfall and I would die before that was to happen.

  As suddenly as the feelings appeared, they vanished, leaving him gasping on the hard wood of the floor. The severed connection left a vacuum of desolation. Notus had closed himself off. Chooser and Chosen were now separate for the first time in centuries. He was now alone.

  On shaking limbs he came to his feet wiping away the dampness on his cheeks he first thought was water, and stared at Notus’ desk, desolate and shaken. He understood why Notus had cut himself off. The feelings had come with the words. Feelings of desperation, concern, pain and above all the soul shattering fear for his only Chosen son.

  He would not accept it. He could not and resolved to remain open to whatever he could feel of his Chooser. Even pain was better than the absolute loneliness left to him. He cou
ld not bear that again. It was too much like being back in that cave so very long ago.

  His eyes fell onto the large leather bound tome standing prominently on the top shelf of the writing desk. It was old and it was Notus’ private journal. It called to him, drawing him to open the cover and discover its secrets; the secrets of Notus’ life. He had never broken into Notus’ book and was loath to even attempt it, but he had to do something to alleviate the loneliness. He could not sit there alone in their home disconnected. He needed Notus desperately. The monk had become more to him than any other in the world. Even more so than Auntie or Geraint, he admitted reluctantly. Decision made, he silently prayed that his Chooser would understand.

  The leather book felt heavy in his hand as he lifted it off the shelf and went to sit cross-legged before the roaring fireplace. Its flickering luminescence added to the warmth of the gas lamps. Placing the journal on the floor before him, he took off the protective grill of the hearth and carefully added a few more logs, watching as the heat instantly dried the water droplets off his arms.

  He left off the screen, watching the undulating flames as he slowly unravelled the knots in his hair until it lay gleaming and dry down his back. He wanted to make sure he was dry before he would dare to open the book, lest he ruin it with water. Notus would never forgive him that. Even though he felt no cold, the fire warmed him.

  Laying a hand on the book, its dark leather strongly contrasted his colouring, and again he wondered if he should open it. Never before had he invaded Notus’ privacy like he was about to do, but it was the only way he could feel close to his Chooser; to drive back the sense of despair.

  I will get you back, no matter the cost, he swore.

  He lifted the book to his lap, the towel now dry and hesitantly turned back the cover. Unbidden the thought of Jeanie and his acquiescence to let her help came to mind and he groaned. He would have to protect her as well, not only from those poisoning the Chosen, but also from finding out about the Chosen. Burying his face in his hands, he tried to push back the rising anxiety. The cost would be very high now that she was part of the equation. He knew he did not have the reserves within him if he had to pay.