Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  “It’s almost half past nine,” growled the Noble. “If you want this partnership to end sooner rather than latter, we’d best get moving.”

  Shaking his head at the audacity of the Noble, the Angel picked up the two suitcases and followed with Jeanie beside him.

  “I dinna like him,” she hissed, staring at the fluttering cape before her.

  “He can hear you, Jeanie.” He did not bother to lower his voice.

  “I dinna care.” She looked up at her lover and then at the Noble, their footpads ringing in the clear night. “I dinna like how he treats me, or ye for that matter.”

  He let out a slow breath. “I don’t like it either, but for now we have to put up with each other.”

  “Yes we do.” Fernando halted and spun around to face them. “And if you don’t mind, if you have something to say to me, say it to my face rather than my back.” Answered only by stone silence, he turned around and took the steps down to the harbour that he had left not twenty-four hours earlier.

  Picking up the pace, they followed him down the stone steps.

  “Arse,” said Jeanie under her breath and then squeaked in surprise when the Noble was suddenly before her, his hand on her throat, squeezing.

  “Let her go, Fernando.” Menace filled the Angel’s voice.

  The Noble realized the metallic ring echoing in the night belonged to the sword under his chin ready to decapitate him with any wrong utterance. He felt the Angel’s strong presence behind him and swallowed his shock. He had moved with vampiric speed, but even he had not seen the Angel move. Opening his hand, Fernando released Jeanie who stumbled and coughed before she caught herself.

  Furious, the Angel removed the sword from the Noble’s neck and sheathed it as fast as he had drawn it.

  “Don’t ever touch her, Fernando.” The promise of what would happen did not need to be uttered and Fernando backed away under the red glare.

  Turning his attention to Jeanie, the Angel’s face was taught with cold fury. He did not like being placed in the position of referee.

  “Jeanie, if you have something to say to Fernando, you say it to his face.” Her shocked expression at him seemingly taking the Noble’s side pushed him to add, “You’d expect the same courtesy from anyone.

  “I’m not a peacemaker. That’s Notus’ talent. I am sick of this fighting. It’s this attitude that will see us fail.” Ignoring the two of them, he picked up the luggage and continued down to the water’s edge hoping that Fernando and Jeanie would not kill each other.

  “I’m no gonna apologize,” he heard Jeanie say to Fernando. “And I’m no afraid of ye.”

  “And I am certainly not going to apologize to a mortal, one that should be very much afraid,” pronounced Fernando.

  Hearing no bloodshed or further name-calling, he was relieved to watch Fernando walk right by him onto the wooden planks over the languid waves. It seemed that the Noble knew which way to go.

  Staring at the slowly rotting wood ahead of him, he swallowed. A knot in the pit of his stomach started to form, accentuated by the soughing of the surf. He had not put much speculation into what he was about to endure tonight. The whole concept made his blood run cold.

  When he agreed to come back to England, Notus promised him they would stay for at least a century before he would have to endure another crossing. Now, having been on the island for only five years, he was going to undergo the torturous voyage again.

  “I hate that man,” he heard Jeanie proclaim. She stood at his side watching the fluttering cloak grow smaller.

  Breaking his gaze from the boardwalk and what was underneath, he quietly said, “You and he have made it abundantly clear of your dislike of each other.”

  “Ye dinna like him either.” Jeanie stepped onto the wooden planks and pivoted to gaze up at him.

  He could not answer knowing that his next steps would take him over the water and bring that gut wrenching sense of vertigo he always experienced. Only this time it would get worse once aboard the Sea Witch.

  Sensing his disquiet, Jeanie frowned. “What’s wrong?” She did not believe it had anything to do with her statement.

  He took a shuddering breath and released it.

  “Do you remember what I said about me becoming sick when crossing water?” he whispered, praying that Fernando was far enough that he could not hear.

  Jeanie nodded. Fear sparked in her eyes, reflecting his concerns.

  “I’m going to be – how can I say this?” He let out another nervous breath. “You’re going to have to deal with the Captain and make sure Fernando leaves us alone in the cabin.” He set down the baggage and pulled out his wallet. Counting out what Captain Richardson was expecting for his payment, he handed the notes to Jeanie.

  “What’s this for?” Her eyes grew wide at the amount in her hand.

  “To pay the Captain.” He stared at the water dancing between the planks. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company until we land in Calais.”

  Blinking in confusion, Jeanie stuffed the notes into her coat pocket and waited for him to pick up the suitcases before she resumed her journey to the ship. With her back momentarily to him, Jeanie did not see the Angel stumble as he stepped onto the planks.

  The Sea Witch bobbed on the surf as Jeanie and the Noble stared up at the Tern Schooner’s three masts. The sails fluttered in the light breeze as the crew made ready to leave port. One future passenger stood behind the two, his hands clutching the handles of the suitcases in a grip threatening to crush the hard wood as he kept his eyes closed in every attempt not to see world spin around him. Every part of his being tensed in the attempt to keep his trembling at bay, he did not want to open his eyes and see the gang board leading to the deck.

  “Ahoy!” came the cry from the ship. “I see that you and your companions are ready to depart, Miss Stuart.”

  “Aye, Captain Richardson,” called Jeanie. “May we come aboard?”

  “Please. And I take it that you have my payment?”

  “Aye, half now and half upon reaching port.”

  “The gang board is yours.”

  Jeanie took the lead up the inclined ridged plank. Her shoes clicked as she steadied herself with the rope railing. It was her first time aboard such a vessel and despite the Angel’s reaction to the adventure she could not keep her excitement in check.

  Upon reaching the deck, Captain Richardson held out his hand and smiled. When she first met him, she thought him a letch. Now he seemed to carry himself with the decorum of a naval officer. His blonde waves cut close under his hat; his smile lit blue eyes in a rugged square face when her hand shook his. She figured him to be in age with her father.

  Fernando’s sudden presence onboard wiped the smile from the Captain’s face. “Miss Stuart said she would be bringing others,” his accented voice slid lower. “And you are?”

  “I am Fernando de Sagres, the last heir to the Fidalgo de Sagres,” stated the Noble matter-of-factly as he took in the appearance of the Sea Witch and it’s Captain. “And I take it, sir, that you are the Captain of this ship.”

  “Yes, I am,” replied Richardson. His tone quavered under the Noble’s intense glare.

  “I don’t recognise the accent, sir.”

  Blue eyes narrowed. “American, sir.”

  An amused smile alighted Fernando’s face. “A man from the colonies – interesting. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  A murderous expression ran fleetingly across Captain Richardson’s face before smoothing to a more cordial one. “The United States has been separate from England for a long time.”

  Fernando waved off the correction and walked away as if finding more interest in the grain of wood in the decking.

  The Captain scowled and turned back to speak to the lady when he witnessed the tall, cloaked figure slowly making his way up onto the deck. Mouth slack as the last of the passengers finally boarded, Richardson found he could only stare and did not hear Miss Jeanie when she spoke.


  Clearing his head with a quick shake, Richardson tore his gaze away from the grim figure before him to the beauteous one. “I’m sorry ma’am, what did you say?”

  Jeanie frowned and held out the bills. “I believe this is the agreed upon amount?”

  Captain Richardson flicked his gaze to the money and took it out of her hand, reality snapping back at the firmness of the paper. Licking his thumb he counted out the notes and smiled, pocketing the large amount. “Jones will show you to your cabins.”

  A lithe young man with new sprouts of dark brown facial hair dropped down to the deck from the rigging and took a lantern from the hook on the rail. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am,” he said trying his utmost to ignore the grim figure standing beside the pretty lady.

  Jeanie could not see the Angel’s face beneath the hood, but she knew he had fallen into one of his silences. He had said that he was going to be ill on the voyage, but so far she had not seen anything to indicate his unease in crossing water. Walking up to him, she gazed up and noticed his eyes tightly shut. A touch on his arm startled him, snapping his eyes open before he sighed heavily, shoulders slumping.

  Turning to face the crew hand, Jeanie followed the young man down under the deck. Thankfully Jones remained respectfully quiet as the walked the small halls below deck.

  The height below decks caused the Angel to duck under the planks. It was hard to keep his balance as he felt the ship rise and fall under the simple swells. Leaning against the walls for support as his feet moved leadenly, he knew it was going to be worse once away from port and then the nightmare would begin. Thankfully, Fernando had chosen to stay above deck. He knew it would impossible to hide from the Noble his discomfort and weakness and was immensely grateful when the young seaman opened the door to their berth in the aft of the schooner.

  Jones smiled at Jeanie, ignoring the tall figure with her. The room consisted of a bunk bed, a simple wooden table and two stools. A single porthole looked out onto the waters. For a ship this size, the aft berth was quite generous. It was clear that Captain Richardson was well versed in carrying passengers as well as cargo. Hanging the lantern on the hook above the table, Jones nodded his head and scurried out of the cabin.

  With the sound of the door closing, the Angel dropped the suitcases and tore away the restrictive cloak pin. The heavy wool fell and he leaned forward, laying shaking hands on the table. Everything was spinning and the earth seemed very far below. He opened his eyes at the touch of Jeanie’s warm hand on his arm and saw only deep concern.

  “Get some sleep,” he said, thickly. “I’ll be fine.”

  Jeanie made a deep throat noise of disapproval. “I’ll no sleep while yer like this. Ye need to get t’bed.”

  A smile quirked his lips, “The bed’s too small. I’ll take the floor.” He tried to stand straight and found the ceiling much too low. A cry from above decks and a lurch sent him grasping the bolted down table. They were under way.

  “Let go.” He heard Jeanie whisper. “Yer crushing the wood.”

  He did not know if he could. He was afraid that if he let go the ship would start spinning around him even more. Gentle hands unclasped his sword belt and he felt the weight lifted off his hips. He dared not open his eyes to see where Jeanie placed it. Again her warm hands found his and coached them to release the table. It was enough for him to risk opening his eyes. The world spun, but not too fast before he found the aft wall and sank to the floor, hugging his raised knees as his head leaned against the wall.

  Seeing him weakened and sick frightened Jeanie. He was always strong, even in his silence and now she did not know what to do. He had said he would be ill during the trip, but she could not fathom how that was possible being that he was a vampire. Removing her gloves, Jeanie pulled the hatpin out and placed it and the hat on the table, and turned to latch the door before kneeling at his side. He did not seem to notice her until she placed a hand on his forehead. It seemed the most logical thing to do when someone was ill. What surprised her was that he actually felt hot.

  Languidly, he opened his eyes and smiled wryly at her. Jeanie looked so beautiful with her hair up, allowing for wayward strands to curl in floating ringlets around her ears. Even her eyes sparkled despite her concern. He felt the ship move up and then, as quickly, back down, bottoming out his senses and tearing a pained groan from his lips. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the wooden wall.

  Removing her hand from his head, Jeanie worried her lower lip. She had nursed her dying mother when she was younger. Back then she had help. She had known what to do and what she could not do. But this was different. How does one help a sick vampire? Before she had known his true nature she had wanted to care for him. Now that the time had come and she was bereft of knowledge.

  “What can I do?” she pleaded.

  Without opening his eyes, he responded, his voice a bare whisper. “There’s nothing you can do, Jeanie.”

  “There must be somethin’.” She smoothed white stray hairs away and touched the side of his pale face. “Ye look like death.”

  His crimson eyes popped open and his face darkened at the comment.

  Realizing what she had said, Jeanie pulled back her hand over her mouth in a silent “Oh.”

  Releasing a deep shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes again. He knew that Jeanie had not meant it the way he took the comment and that she was just reacting to how he appeared.

  “Go get some rest, Jeanie.”

  She shook her head. She was not about to leave his side and was about to tell him so again when the rattle of the door followed by a knocking shocked her attention away.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Who do you think? Now let me in! We’ve got to talk.” Fernando’s insistent voice rang through the wooden door.

  Eyes going wide, Jeanie glanced to the Angel whose fear laded gaze outmatched hers. She had never seen such alarm in his features and she knew she needed to protect him from Fernando’s prying nature. Rising to her feet, she smoothed down her dress in an attempt to compose herself by dismissing her own worry and evoking the loathing she felt for the Noble.

  “Go away, Fernando,” she ordered in a firm voice.

  “I’ll do not such thing,” came the tempered reply. “The Angel and I have matters to discuss and I’ll not let this door, nor you, stand in the way.”

  Jeanie glanced back at the Angel seated on the floor beside the bunk, under the porthole. Terror glittered his eyes and he shook his head before closing them again with a groan as the ship lifted up and then back down, even causing Jeanie to stumble. She had to do something and quickly. The latch would not hold for a normal person and would most definitely give in Fernando’s hand.

  An idea popped into her mind and she smiled at the door.

  “I dinna think ye want to come in right about now,” she called.

  “And why’s that, li’l miss?” Fernando hissed.

  “Because if ye didn’t like what ye saw above the harbour, I doubt ye’d like what ye’d see here.” She lowered her voice to a whisper knowing the Noble would still hear her and added, “Stop that luv, he’s on the other side. Oh!”

  A disgusted sound came from the hallway followed the sound of the Noble's shoes on wood.

  “Don’t they ever stop,” was the last she heard before the steps took Fernando above deck.

  Releasing her tension with an explosion of air, Jeanie wiped away the beads of nervous sweat from her forehead with her hands, smoothed her hair and then turned back to the Angel. Her skirts rustled as she lifted them and lowered to kneel beside him.

  “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  Unable to speak the extent of his gratitude for the sake of the increasing swells beneath the ship's hull, he only managed a slight nod. Even that motion sent his head spinning and he groaned. Everything felt hot and closed in and he knew that this was just the beginning. Once they left the Thames for the sea it would grow worse.

  Having felt useful i
n dealing with Fernando, Jeanie stared at the Angel’s tortured expression. He had suffered this crossing before, he must have, she reasoned, and he would have done so with the Good Father. It was a question, a glimmer of hope of how she could help, but she had to ask. “What does the Good Father do for ye in times like these?”

  The question surprised him and he dared to pop open an eye. Jeanie’s features spun around. “Why?” he swallowed.

  “Just answer the question,” she pushed.

  “He’d try to get me to talk.” He licked his lips and let his eyelid enclose him in darkness. “He thought it would distract me.”

  “And would it?” She felt a stirring of excitement at the idea that there was something she could do to help him and then it was swept away at the shake of his head. “What else would he do?”

  Silence fell between them, making Jeanie wonder at first if he had fallen asleep, but the increasing rise and fall of the vessel only made his face screw up in discomfort. When the ship suddenly pitched upwards and then crashed down, causing her to catch herself with a grip on the sturdy table, she heard him groan as he toppled onto his side, hugging himself.

  The swinging lantern sent flickering yellow light across the small cabin. Jeanie could see him shivering as he lay curled on his side. Panic swarmed up and gripped her in an attempt to cut off her airflow. Half crawling, half walking under the weight of her skirts, she managed to sit beside his head.

  Turning, she rested his head in her lap, his long white hair splayed messily against the green of her dress. Smoothing the strands, she felt his forehead again and was stunned at the burning heat radiating off. A fever this severe would kill and she fearfully wondered if it would do so to him. The idea that the Angel would be taken from her after having waited so long to be with him filled Jeanie with dread. It was too much like the final days of her mother’s disease. Knowing naught else to do, Jeanie softly began to sing the songs she sang to her mother, all the while petting his face and forehead as he trembled in the wake of the illness.