Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Fernando awoke to find that he sat in a large bed. Everything seemed alien until he realized that he was in his home near Hyde Park. Running his hand through his hair, he remembered the date and that the Angel and the housekeeper were his guests. He had no understanding why he had dreamt of that time so long ago. Fernando was used to not remembering his dreams, but this was so accurate, so disturbing, bringing back with it all the emotions of that time.

  Getting out of bed, he knew that the sun was still up but he could not go back to sleep. Maybe the Angel would wake in a little while so that they could get an early start as soon as the sun set.

  He stood in front of the mirror, gazing at his reflection and gasped in shock. Spinning around to face the door, he realized that the red eyes of the devil so long ago had belonged to the Angel. The Angel was at that disastrous wedding feast. It was the Angel who his father had mentioned. It was the Angel who knew of the disgraceful behaviour that Fernando could not remember.

  Oh dear God, he knows.

  Chapter XV

  The dark haired man stood at the top of the stairs, glaring down at the richly carpeted steps that would take him to Bastia. He despised the notion of standing before her explaining how he had captured and then lost the Chosen he was charged to dispose of. Never mind that it was Violet’s obsession with the Angel that ruined his plans. He knew that Bastia would punish him. Violet was his underling, as he was Bastia‘s.

  His shoes barely made a dent in the plush carpeting as he took to the stairs, his back rigid, head held high. He would tell her and accept what would come, but he would have his revenge on Violet, if he were allowed.

  The carpet runner ended where a marble tiled floor began. Red and black veins ran through the white stone lending an air of an ostentatious hecatomb and he smiled. His shoes staccato filled and echoed along the hallway that led him to his Lady. He knew she would be there. She was always there at this time of day and most times she was happy to see him and hear his reports on the systematic genocide of the Chosen. Tonight she would be displeased.

  Laying a broad hand on the fine-grained door, he knocked and turned the knob, entering into her sanctuary. Candles brilliantly lit the room. He knew how many there were, he counted them himself when he restocked them every night – one hundred and forty-six. He would light each one before she woke, and by the time she retired only one would remain lit to light his Lady back to her bed. Now there were less than a third aflame, but their light did not diminish the richness of the room.

  Gold and red themed the chamber as he stepped onto lush red carpeting that stretched from one end to the other. A candelabrum hung from a vaulted ceiling, gently cradling the guttering remains of the beeswax candles. In the hearth, a fire glowed brightly, its smoke staining the white mantle. Along the walls, sconces, some still alive with light, many others dead in darkness ran the room, leaving only enough space for astounding masterpieces of artwork framed in lavish gold. She would not be here, but in the room off to the right.

  He went to the door, making a mental note of how many candles he would have to order for the next week’s supply, and listened to the splashing of water mixed with musical humming. With a nock, he entered into his Lady’s bathroom tiled with the same white, black and red, from the hall. In the centre of the room stood a black claw footed tub filled with steaming water, bubbles and his Lady.

  She turned at his entrance, a magnificent smile stretching her heart shaped face. Dark eyes met his and he could do nothing but return her infectious grin. Her long wavy hair was pulled straight with the weight of the water while the bubbles covered modestly. Languidly she lifted a supple leg out of the water and ran her hands down the length from ankle to knee, luxuriating in the feel of the water washing off her soft skin. Her smile broadened.

  “It is good to see you, my little bird,” she chimed, lowering the leg to cause the bubbles to stir. “What is your report for today?”

  “My Lady,” he began and then caught himself. Now was the moment and he was loath to turn her good humour into naught. “The plan went well -”

  “Then the Angel is dead?” She perked up, sitting straight in the tub, causing the water to splash onto the tiled floor. The tops of her breasts floated high in the soapy bubbles.

  He shook his head. “No, my Lady, it appears that the Angel and de Sagres have teamed up.”

  “That is unfortunate news, very unfortunate.” She stared into the water, her arms rested on the sides, lazily swirling the bubbles with her fingers. “But you say the plan went well, but the Angel is not dead. Explain yourself.”

  “Violet sent them too early. I wasn’t given enough time,” he stated emotionlessly.

  Anger swelled her features. “She did what?”

  “She sent them to the kitchen a day early.”

  Dark eyes grew black. “Did she say why?”

  “No, my Lady, she didn’t have to. She has been obsessed with the Angel for years. Something must have happened. She wants to possess the Angel for her own amusement.” He could not hide the disgust from his voice.

  “I had thought Sebastian would have been enough to satiate her.”

  “She moved too fast with him. I was going to give her de Sagres to play with, but it seems her heart is set on the Angel.”

  The Lady in the water angrily pouted. “And you say that the Angel and de Sagres are working together.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” He stood still waiting for her inevitable reaction. When it did not come, a frown pulled at his face. “My Lady?”

  “Let her have the Angel, and de Sagres too.” Her dark piercing eyes bore into him and he recognized the inner spark of her unique genius.

  “I don’t understand, my Lady. By giving Violet such responsibility, considering her new found obsession, it may end with our discovery.”

  She shook her head, her long hair stirring the water causing bubbles to burst, exposing more of the Lady’s nudity. “I doubt it. One thing I can count on with Violet is her hunger to get what she wants and I would be a fool not to use that to our advantage.”

  “She told me you gave her the next assignment.” Anger broiled within him. Something had changed for the Lady to elevate Violet, especially without telling him.

  “Yes, my little bird,” she cooed, “She is going to lead them on a merry chase off of this God forsaken island, and you are going to help her.”

  Stunned surprise turned immediately to exploding anger. “I will not.”

  “You will!” Her hand came crashing down into the water, causing bubbles to fly out of the tub to mingle with the sparkling colours of the marble tiled floor. “Once the Chosen are on the Continent, and distracted, you will be able to proceed to the next step – the continued genocide of the Chosen by completing the distribution network for my lovely spice.”

  The light of her logic touched the dark haired man, and he smiled. His Lady was right, as she always was, and this meant that they would be able to accelerate the process here and abroad. More eateries would be forced into using their herbal mixture and as word spread out more and more families would be fighting to buy the concoction to put in their own bland tasting food. More than three quarters of the population, rich and poor, would be poison to the Chosen of the British Islands. If Violet could keep the Chosen distracted, then the timetable would be cut in half, bringing the termination of all Chosen much closer to fruition.

  “Are the letters written?” asked the Lady, leaning back against the side of the tub, relaxing at the plans coming to fruition.

  “Yes, my Lady. I finished them tonight.” He stood watching her face relax into a smile.

  “Wonderful, then this is what I want you to do,” she purred, reaching her arms upwards to stretch out the tension in her shoulders. “I want the herbs loaded and shipped tomorrow night with the appropriate letters going to our compatriots on the Continent. Spain, Portugal and Italy are quite eager to get started since they’ve seen our wonderful results here and in Germany, the Netherlands and Bel
gium. I’ve had missives from Austria and surprisingly, Russia, and now France wishes to join us since we have perfected the herbal mixture. I want Violet in charge of France.”

  “What?” he spluttered, disbelieving his ears. How could the Lady do such a thing? Violet has done nothing but get in their way with her insatiable hunger for playing with the Chosen.

  “I want Violet out of my sight,” explained the Lady. “She can prove herself by going to France and setting things in motion there, while making sure that de Sagres and the Angel follow. She has been a hindrance here. If she can prove herself there, then maybe I will reward her once the Chosen are exterminated. As for you, my little bird, you are my eyes and ears. You are to oversee the operations here and keep an eye on Violet, but more importantly I need you to make contact with the others in the eastern countries and follow up with the ones we have yet to hear from.”

  The dark haired man smiled, his own position elevated. He did not mind the extra responsibilities, but relished in how he could effectively step up the one sided genocidal war against the Chosen.

  “I will write the letters, my Lady, and send them the packages to experiment with,” he bowed his head, a smile on his face.

  “And that’s not all, my little bird,” she fixed on him her darkly hooded glare. “You are to go with Violet. Make sure she understands with whom she is dealing and teach her to hold the reigns properly. If my little flower does not bear fruit by harvest time, then it will be time to prune her.”

  His smile brightened. Violet would have to fall back into line. Oh how she would hate it, but she would.

  “Oh, and my little bird,” his Lady’s voice grew menacing. “If she fails, and France falls a step behind the rest, feel free to pluck her petals one by one. I’m sure you would enjoy that.”

  “Yes, my Lady, I most certainly would.”

  Chapter XVI

  Lifting from the binding threads of sleep and the bizarre dream of the past, the Angel woke but kept his eyes closed, sensing that the sun was still up. It was quiet in the room. The only sound was Jeanie’s steady breathing and the external noises of the day penetrating into the room. It was Jeanie’s presence, her sweet hot scent and the gentle soughing of her breath that filled him. He was content and did not wish to break the sense of unwarranted peace that filled him.

  Relaxing as much as the cramped space on the chaise would allow, the memory of the dream drifted back. It was not surprising that he should finally remember Fernando from so long ago. What was surprising was how it all came back to him, and in such incredible detail. The revelation did not change his opinion of the Noble, but rather it enhanced it and explained many issues, even Fernando’s enjoyment of tormenting and prodding into his life. He could sympathise with Fernando, but knew that such feelings would not be accepted by one such as he and he buried the feeling. After all Fernando brought it down upon himself.

  Only one thought lingered, Did Fernando remember? He doubted it, but somehow the possibility agitated him. Unable to fall back asleep he opened his eyes and all thoughts of his host fled.

  Standing unaware by the heavy green velvet drapes, Jeanie peered outside through a thin gap between the fabrics that also allowed a strip of deadly late afternoon sunlight to cross the bed. Her long elegant fingers absently caressed the velvet, running up and down, changing the subtle patterns of the weave.

  She was breathtaking standing only in her cotton shift, her hair aflame where the sunlight dared to touch. The light behind cast her firm young body in silhouette and he found he could not take his eyes off her long shapely legs, smooth flat abdomen, full rounded hips and large round breasts that slowly rose and fell with each breath. He had seen many a woman clad in less, but this time it was different, her whole being captivated and enthralled him. He wanted to watch, protect, devour and flee from her. Jeanie was, by far, the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

  Entranced, he watched with heightened senses as she pivoted on one perfect bare foot, her hand tightening on the drape. Her intention realized too late, he threw his arms to his face as intense white light splashed across the room, its deadly beam coming oh so dangerously close.

  A cry of pain came unbidden and he shouted, “Close it! For the love of Christ, close them!”

  The sound of the Angel’s cry startled Jeanie. She had believed him asleep and she spun to see him with his arms shielding his face. It took a moment for his words to register and hastily she drew the drapes, plunging them into near darkness.

  She had not heard him enter last night and had been surprised to find him curled on the too short chaise. She had thought to wake him, but as she drew close she could not bear to disturb him. He had looked so peaceful. The constant worry etched into his features had melted away leaving Jeanie wondering how someone so beautiful could be so sad. Now she all but ran to his side, knelt and placed her hands on his trembling arms.

  “They’re closed. Put yer arms down.” Her voice was soothing yet tinged with concern. She could not understand the Angel’s vehement reaction.

  Feeling her featherlike touch on his arms, he reluctantly lowered them, blinking rapidly as he opened his eyes only to see nothing except blackness ringed in white. His eyes burned and he felt tears on his cheeks. Even squinting did not help the large dark patches to diminish.

  “Dear Gods,” he whispered and sat up with the help of gentle unseen hands that came to rest on his own.

  He knew that Jeanie was before him, yet try as he might he could not see her for the darkness moved to everything he looked at.

  “What is it?” implored Jeanie. Something was dreadfully wrong. The tears on his face frightened her and he squinted at her without seeing.

  Shaking his hands free from her grasp, he rubbed his eyes and was rewarded a lessening of the black spots. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. The pressure helped to alleviate the stinging.

  “Did Notus never tell you why we keep such strange hours?” he admonished, instantly regretting his harsh tones.

  “Aye, he did explain why you sleep all day and wake only for the night.” She felt horrible, like a child who forgot a simple rule, but the Good Father’s reason never fully explained why the Angel chose the same way of life.

  “Tell me. What did he say?” The pain and the panic of losing his sight diminished with the slow shrinkage of the darkness.

  Jeanie gazed into pain filled crimson eyes and fear swept over her.

  “My God, what’ve I done?” she uttered weakly. “Ye canna see me.”

  Squinting, he barely made out a dark shape before him and took Jeanie’s hands roughly in his own, making her gasp in pain. Relaxing his accidental grip, he demanded. “Tell me.”

  “He only told me that ye do as he does because it suits you so that the two of you can bide together.” His whole reaction terrified her.

  The standard reason, proven effective over the centuries, had now lost its potency. Never before had either Chosen or Chooser ever imagined a reason to elaborate further and now he found himself explaining without thinking. “Look at me, Jeanie.” He grasped her shoulders and gazed at the dark area that was her head. The large blackness had broken into smaller spots when he blinked. “I have not been able to go out in the day ever since I was a boy.” He knew his tone was harsh and accusatory, but he could not stop. “The last time was before I was ten. I can never go out in the day. It will kill me.”

  Silence crashed between them. Only Jeanie’s muffled sobs filled the void and with it came the realization of what he had done to her, blaming her for a life in darkness and for nearly blinding him. Releasing his vice grip, Jeanie collapsed with her head in his lap. He did not need to see that she would have massive bruises where his fingers had dug into her flesh.

  “Oh Gods,” he floundered. Remorse filled him even more with the returning of his vision. Bright flashes and streaks mottled the red curls that covered Jeanie’s tear streaked face. Already he could see the blood marking her white skin with angry red spots.
He placed a tentative hand on her head and bushed the silky locks from her face. “Jeanie, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  Jeanie continued to weep.

  At a complete loss, he could only allow his returning vision to take in her beauty as he gently stroked her head in an attempt to quiet her and to smooth out his own guilt. He did not know how long they stayed like that, Jeanie on his lap while he pet her. Part of him wanted it to go on forever; to touch her without her pulling away in revulsion or fear; to feel the silky smoothness of her hair and breathe in her clean scent of lavender and rose. Gradually she came to a hiccoughing halt and he pulled his hand away as she lifted her head. Her emerald eyes were puffy and red yet still riveting.

  She sadly regarded him, evoking new worries. “Jeanie, are you all right?” he ventured, cautiously.

  Jeanie pursed her lips and gazed down, nodding.

  “I’m so sorry, Jeanie,” he apologized. “I did not mean to hurt you. I seem to be doing that a lot, lately. You did not deserve what I said.”

  “Aye, I did.” Her voice was gravely from crying. “Ye had every right. I shouldna opened the drapes, knowin’ better as I do. Can ye forgive me?”

  Dumbfounded that she would be asking for his forgiveness, he stared at her. “Of course, but I had no right to hurt you.”

  Jeanie followed his gaze to her bruising shoulders and shrugged. “Dinna fash yerself with that. My da used t’ do a lot worse t’ me.” She watched his face blanch at the revelation and allowed herself the luxury of a small smile. Bridging his knees with her arms, she rested her chin on them and gazed up into his eyes. For the first time the stoic mask was removed, revealing the sensitive and caring man she had expected was there but never thought to uncover.