Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Many of the books were untitled; some had gold leaf lettering in different languages, and along one wall was a row of cubbyholes filled with scrolls. Curiosity winning out, he pulled one of the smaller scrolls out. By its feel the vellum was old and he was careful to open it. The writing and illumination was elaborate, the words in a language that looked like English but was impossible to read until he read why. At the bottom of the page, written so small and fine that he had to squint, was a date and an initial, “1087 N.”

  This work by Notus predated him by centuries! Rolling it up, he placed it back into its cubby hole, wondering what was in all these manuscripts.

  Lying down on the cot, he found it a little lumpy, but it did not take Fernando long to find a comfortable position. Staring up at the dark ceiling, he shook his head, amazed at his current situation.

  It cannot get any stranger than this, he thought before allowing sweet oblivion to overtake him.

  Chapter XX

  The door locked behind Jeanie with a click and a jingle of keys. Releasing a yawn, she dropped the key ring onto the tea table under the sunrise painting with a clatter of metal hitting wood and considered the boxes littering the floor around her feet. The coachman was serviceable in bringing in her shopping, but his placement of the boxes left much to be desired. Finding the matchbox on the table, Jeanie struck a match and lit the lone candle on the stand. Yellow light spilled into a room deeply shadowed in grey, the only natural light slipping around the door.

  Behind the two bedroom doors slept two very different vampires. The thought ran a shudder up Jeanie’s spine. It all still seemed so surreal. The idea of vampires existing and that she had made love to one, feeling his sharp teeth extract a pleasure filled pain, made her head spin. Or was that the blood loss. Jeanie put a hand to her head. She had always thought that the Angel was different, but now that she knew how different he truly was, she realized how little she truly knew of the man she loved.

  It was a thought that carried her through the morning and into the early afternoon. She was in love with a vampire. No matter what he called himself, the Angel – Gwyn – was a vampire, and it explained so much and evoked more questions. The thought terrified her and thrilled her, and she touched the bruising on her neck. The puncture marks were already completely healed.

  Jeanie had not been aware of how noticeable they were until she went over to Reverend Iefan’s after stopping at a nearby café for a quick breakfast. She did not think that Gwyn would mind her using the money for that. It was still strange to be using that name for him after all these years of calling him the Angel.

  Witnessing Alice and Tom’s eyes light up with tears of happiness and surviving their bear hugs, Alice, the ever dotting mother of wayward daughters, had noticed the bruising and commented on what she rightfully believed were love marks. Reverend Iefan took that as a cue to leave the three of them alone. Jeanie blushed furiously, turning her face completely red before having Alice encapsulate her in another, even stronger, hug.

  “He loves you,” whispered Alice into her ear. “He’s always loved you, sweetheart.”

  Stumbling at the sudden release, Jeanie had nodded. A smile finally lighting her face at the truth confirmed.

  Left out of the loop, Tom had just stood grinning madly until there was pause enough for him to take centre stage and begin his monologue about how the Angel’s generosity was already in the works to rebuild the Rose and Thorn. Jeanie had listened to Tom as they sat in Reverend Iefan’s parlour drinking tea and nibbling pasties that Alice had made. Jeanie had to force herself not to eat so fast. Even after a filling breakfast she was still starved. Alice interjected only to bring her husband’s enthusiasm down to earth and the reality that they could not spend all of the Angel’s money.

  Jeanie had left, elated that her surrogate parents were ecstatic that she had survived the fire and that they were rebuilding. The question of how much money the Angel had floated to mind. The fact that he could afford to rebuild the Inn astounded her. Then again she had seen the wad of notes in the box and his almost cavalier attitude about her spending his money had swirled her mind.

  The Good Father lived so simply, yet the Angel had such expensive clothing. The dichotomy astounded her. The only blemish to the wonderful reunion had been finding out that her friend Violet had not survived the fire. Jeanie silently assumed their drinking had caused Violet to fall into a drunken stupor, which incapacitated her ability to wake in time to escape the blaze, for that alone Jeanie felt mournfully responsible for her friend’s death.

  From the rectory, Jeanie had taken the cab to the wharf. Her mind spun between the loss of her friend and the happiness of being loved, while trying to keep focused on what she still needed to do. After many queries, she found Captain Richardson of the Sea Witch and after much cajoling convinced him to sail to Calais that night with three passengers.

  The fee he quoted had made her blanch and she was about to argue when she remembered to pay any price offered. Again the question of how much money the Angel actually had swam silently in her mind. She did have the wherewithal to ask why so much. The Captain stated gruffly that sailing the Channel at night, late in October was suicide, but for the right amount he would do almost anything. Jeanie could not suppress her shudder of disgust at his innuendo and left, giving the man half her of bundle of money as deposit. She wondered how Captain Richardson would laugh when he saw that it was the Angel he would be ferrying.

  Duty done, Jeanie had left the docks to the finer shops of London to follow the Angel’s final order. It was time for something fun and for the first time in her life she had more money than she knew what to do with. She knew Violet would have been proud of her.

  Now the boxes lay strewn on the floor and Jeanie was exhausted. It was only half past two in the afternoon.

  Stacking the boxes next to the table, Jeanie stretched her back; hands reaching to the ceiling before crumbling back down and noticed the single candle was the only one left in the room. If she was going to have any light in the room when they all woke later, it was either going to be gaslight or candle flame. The Angel seemed to prefer candles. With a sigh, Jeanie pulled the box from under the tea table and began the arduous process of cleaning candleholders of old wax and placing in new candles.

  Bone weary and eyes watering as another yawn stretched her face, Jeanie stood in the middle of the room holding the lit candle, its wax dripping slowly down into the holder. She surveyed her work, eyeing each cleaned and restocked candlestick along the mantle, the end tables, the candelabra on the Good Father’s desk and the tea table. When all the candles were lit, the flat would glow with a warm yellow light that even Jeanie could read by.

  Job well done, she decided it was way past time for her to get some deserved sleep. Knowing that this time she would be welcome in his bed made her smile. No one had come out as she walked back and forth between the living room and the kitchen, shoes clicking against wood as she cleaned and set the new candles, but she did not want to risk waking the Angel as she entered the bedroom. He had been so tired earlier.

  Jeanie placed the candle down on the tea table and unlaced her shoes. Releasing her sore hot feet from the confines of the black leather, she sighed as she wiggled her toes in their wool stockings. The cool hardwood felt refreshing on her soles. Padding to the bedroom door, candle in hand, she halted with her hand on the knob. A thrill of nervous expectation filled her with the realization that she was welcome to enter and join her lover in bed. It was with that thought that she opened the door as quietly as she could and slipped into the dark room, closing the door behind with a click that made her jump. Turning around to see if the sound had awoken the Angel, her breath caught at the sight the single luminescence presented.

  On the bed, laying face down, his head nestled onto a pillow, the Angel faced towards her. He slept naked except for the tangle of sheets around his long lean legs. His right arm hug limply over the side of the bed, his fingers curling as they brushed the
rug under them. Long strands of alabaster hair splayed across his back and over his face to hang over the large bed. Jeanie had never seen him look so beautiful, so human, or so youthful.

  The thought snapped her breath back into her body and she realized that even though she knew how old he was as a vampire, he had never told her how old he was when he was – what did he say it was called? – Chosen. His height always made her believe he was older, well into his twenties, but seeing him like this made her doubt her earlier estimations, reaffirming how little she knew about him even after all that he had told her.

  Tentatively, she made her way across the room to gaze down on his sleeping form. The light from the candle caused him to squint in his sleep. He uttered a small discomfited sound before turning his face away to bury himself further into the pillow.

  Realizing her error, Jeanie placed the candlestick next to the burned down one on the side table and stood back to undo the clasps of the green dress. Difficult as it was, she managed to get enough of them undone to shimmy out of the heavy fabric before taking off her stockings.

  Standing only in her shift, shivering in the cool air of the room, Jeanie halted a moment at the sight of the silver lines on his pale back playing hide and seek with hair equally as fair. Curiosity piqued, having only ever seen the hints of the scars, Jeanie remembered what he had said about how he received them before he was Chosen.

  Gently, she lowered herself to sit beside on the bed, her hip touching his side. A soft throat sound emanated from him and he turned his head back to face her, eyes closed in sleep. With trembling fingers, Jeanie slowly swept soft thick locks from his face, careful not to wake him, and pushed the heavy hair off his neck and back, exposing the wide parallel scars across each side of his back.

  The silver lines stretched across strong lean muscle, making Jeanie wonder what sort of occupant could do this to a person. Hesitantly, she touched his back, tracing around the scarring, the skin soft to the touch. Whatever had done this to him had been huge. Cocking her head to the side, Jeanie could almost believe that wings had been torn off his back, adding to the mysterious air of the Angel.

  “It was a bear.”

  Jeanie squeaked and jumped at the sound of his gravely sleep filled voice. She pulled her hand away. Heart hammering between her ears she saw a single eye open, the other still buried in the pillow.

  Gathering himself, he lifted and turned onto his side, brushing his hair from his face as he stared sleepily at her. “It was a bear,” he repeated, his voice more awake. “I believe that is what you wanted to know.”

  Green eyes wide, Jeanie could only stare in astonishment. He was lucky to have survived.

  “I - I’m sorry. I dinna mean to wake ye,” she said, recovering from her shock and feeling more than a little abashed.

  Hiding a yawn with the back of his hand, he waved the apology away. “What time is it?”

  “Just after three in the afternoon,” she replied, surprised at how normal and human his reactions were. So unlike the fictions she read. But maybe that was because he was half asleep.

  A disgusted groan escaped from his full lips and he rolled back onto his stomach, hugging the pillow and closing his eyes.

  “Did you find a ship to take us to Calais?” he muttered.

  She nodded and then realized he could not see her answer. “Aye. Captain Richardson of the Sea Witch will take us. He expects us at half past nine so we can sail with the tide. It’s at pier seven.”

  “Good,” he mumbled. “Did you find something nice to wear?” He popped an eye open with a smile.

  Jeanie returned the grin. It was so like him to think of her in these small ways. “Aye. I hope ye dinna mind, but I bought some other things the fire took with it.”

  “What’s money for if you can’t spend it on the people you care about?” he said softly, the return of sleep filling his voice. “Now come to bed, I missed you.”

  Eyes blurring with tears at the sentiment, Jeanie reached down to the foot of the bed for the coverlet and pulled it up. Slipping out of her shift, Jeanie blew out the candle and carefully made her way around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. She felt a shift on the mattress as he turned over, his arm encircling her around the chest. Tucking them both under the quilt, Jeanie could tell he was already fast asleep, his mellifluous breath tickling her neck.

  Chapter XXI

  The wooden planks of the pier creaked and groaned under his feet as the black water beneath rode in and out. Steadying himself, he placed a hand on the metal rim of the wooden cask next to him. He did not know where he was or why he was here. All he knew was that the sense of disconnection made his stomach roil and he tightened his grasp.

  Before him a tri-mast ship rose and dipped with the swells. Its tightly bound sails black against the star filled night. It had been a long time since he had seen stars that bright. No moon illuminated the velvet canopy overhead. It did not hinder his ability to watch in nauseating awe the majesty of the ship.

  A bell sounded, resonating painfully in his head and he clutched his hands to his ears, instantly missing the solidity of the cask. The pier swelled under him causing him to stumble before catching himself again on the cask, its rim cool and comforting against his burning hand.

  The sound dissipated into the night, leaving only the wash of water against wooden posts and shore to sing with the sounds of stressed old wood. He brought his attention back to the ship before him and was surprised to see countless butterflies creating a kaleidoscope of brilliant colours along the masts and deck. They fluttered and floated as blackened shapes silently moved down the gangboard.

  He could not distinguish any features of the dark figures floating down towards him. Only a rush of panic and the fear of being caught brought him into a crouch beside the wooden cask. It was then he noticed the yellowed piece of paper attached to the wood. He tried to read the sprawling letters and found all he could see was an autumn field covered with a cloth of gold. It made no sense.

  Looking up, all the rainbow butterflies took flight in a swarm as one by one the dark shadows trudged casks up the gangboard and onto the ship. The bell rang louder than before and a skull crushing pain shattered through his being.

  He floated.

  All the stars winked out of existence. Only pitch darkness encapsulated him, buoying him. Was he in the water? He did not remember.

  He felt no cold, no heat and surprisingly no pain. Drifting with unseen currents, nothingness touched him, caressed him, and flicked its unseen tongue over him until he shuddered.

  Until he remembered.

  Fear sparked within, pounding and throbbing in his ears. The rushing of his blood through his veins was the only sound surging his fear into terror. Clambering to obtain a purchase in the void he found he could not move. His heart hammered violently.

  No! It was not possible.

  The sound of a thousand flies buzzed around him, muffling out the silence. “Open your eyessssssssss.”

  He whimpered. This could not be happening.

  “Open your eyesssssssss.”

  The command pulled a response from his body that his mind tried to deny.

  It hovered before him. Putrescence dripped from its form. Red glowing eyes stood stark against the whiteness of its being. Its mouth turned upwards in a grotesque mockery of a smile. Razor sharp teeth glinted in non-existent light.

  A hand made of bone and dust and flakes of rot brushed against his face. He tried to flinch away, but the hand grasped him hard, pinioning him until all he could view were the angry red eyes. A shudder ran through his body.

  “Itsssss been a longggg time.” Its voice rustled through the darkness, slithering and licking across his body.

  “Wha–what d-do you want?” he stammered, surprised at his own courage.

  The smile widened, sending tremors through him. “Sssso brave. Time hasssss made you brave, but you ssssstill fear. Delicioussssss.” Its black rotting tongue flicked in and out.

&nbs
p; His breath came faster, threatening to cause him to pass out.

  “You are mine. Do not forget.” Anger mixed with something else, something he never heard before. Could it be fear?

  “Never fear. Never that.” Its eyes blazed and then dulled. What passed for its fingers dug deeper into his cheek. “You made your cccchoissssse. I will never let them have you.”

  Them? Confusion sprinkled into the mix of terror and pain. All he wanted to do was run. To fly. To flee.

  “I will kill you before they can have you.” Its rasping voice rose in rage.

  Head impotently held back, he sobbed in the knowledge of what was to come. Searing pain electrified him as the demon’s mouth ripped into the soft flesh of his neck.

  Bolting up in the bed, heart painfully pounding in his ears, he looked down beside him to see if his cry woke Jeanie. A vague sense of relief flickered over him at her curled form. The coverlet was tucked over her shoulder, her eyes closed in sleep. She had not stirred at his brutal awakening and he turned his head away from the peaceful visage that mocked his torment.

  Trembling, he opened his hand and stared at the healing cut. It should not have been enough, but the truth was undeniable.

  They were back.

  Dear Gods They were back.

  Shoulders hunched and head lowered, he clenched his hand in a tight grip as a sob wracked his body.

  Jeanie murmured in her sleep at the sound and rolled over onto her back, splashing russet and cinnamon curls onto the pillows. He could not allow her to wake. He could not let her see him this way. She would want to know and even Notus did not know about the white-faced demons that have haunted and pursued him since childhood. None of them could ever know.

  Silently, he slipped his shivering form from the bed. He had to get out. Seeing Jeanie sleeping so peaceful made a mockery of the horror gripping him. He wanted to be able to stay with her, to curl up and find comfort at her side, but his neck throbbed in pain and the threat turned his joy to ashes.