Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Jeanie popped her head out from the hall, an ecstatic smile of wonder on her face.

  “Ye should see the bathroom!” she exclaimed, coming to stand beside the Angel next to the bed. “It’s huge! And there’s a closet that’s bigger than the Good Father’s room.”

  Her smile was infectious and he placed his hands on her shoulders, fingers brushing against the loose strands of hair. Oh how he loved to feel the softness of her cinnamon curls. He could understand her excitement at being housed in such luxury, as it was his first time as well. Notus tended to travel much more modestly. They would be most comfortable in the suite, though it appeared the bed was smaller than the one custom built for him back home.

  “Ye’ll be fine while I’m gone?” she asked, reaching up to caress his face when she saw the slight smile fall to a frown.

  Pulling away from her embrace, he stepped back towards the bed. A sly smile played on her face for a brief moment believing something more nefarious might occur before she left until she caught the worried look in his eyes.

  “Jeanie, you can’t go,” he stated matter-of-factly. He did not mean to make his tones harsh, but what was done was done.

  Incredulous green eyes widened and then narrowed. “What d’ye mean? Of course I’m goin’,” she blurted. “That’s why I’m here, aren’t I? T’help.”

  “Of course you’re here to help, Jeanie.” He took a step towards her, but she pulled back. “But it’s too dangerous.”

  “To find an office?” Jeanie could not believe what she was hearing. Her heart began to hammer in outrage. “Dinna ye trust me?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, his voice rising to match hers. “How can you ask that of me? I’ve trusted you more than anyone in my life. It’s them I don’t trust.” He shook his head, exasperated.

  “I’ll be fine, Gwyn.” Her voice took on a hard edge. “I’ve taken care of myself before, ye ken that.”

  “Like when you were captured?” He knew he should not have brought up the topic, but he had to hammer in the point. Going and finding a ship to sail is a world of difference than going to the lion’s den to find out who the tamer is.

  Jeanie’s mouth opened and closed in outrage before she found her voice. She could not believe he was using that as an excuse. “How dare ye? That wasna my fault if I recall correctly. Yer the one who brought me home. Yer the one who told me t’get some sleep.”

  The pit of his stomach froze in realization that Jeanie believed it was his fault she had been captured and maybe she was right. Jaw tight, he swallowed. “Yes, and I’m the one who should have been there to protect you. But I wasn’t. But now I can. You’re not going.”

  Green eyes flashed in fury and she strode towards him and jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. “I am and that’s final.” Turning, she stomped towards the door only to halt at finding him blocking her path. She had not seen him move. This time it did not surprise her. Crimson eyes glowed angrily.

  “For Gods sake, Jeanie.” He loomed over her. “You’re in a different country with a different language and I can’t be there to protect you. I can’t trust that you’ll come back safe.”

  “Och, that’s it, isn’t it?” She walked away towards the windows. “Even before I ken what ye were ye had me come along, but now ye think I canna do what is needed without ye protecting me?”

  “Stop twisting my words, Jeanie. You know that’s not what I’m saying.” He stood beside the bed watching her beautiful face fill with anger.

  “Then why am I here?” Her raised voice rang through the room. “Just to warm yer bed and take care of ye during the crossing?” She would not back down. This was of a deeper issue and she was going to root it out. “Yer problem is ye dinna trust no matter how much you say that ye do. Ye canna even trust that I‘ll come back. Hiding beneath yer cloak and the Good Father, yer more fearful of the world than anyone I’ve ever met,. Sure ye may hae good reason, I heard what those people said about ye at the restaurant, and them no knowin' ye. But ye hide only allowin' none but the Good Father and me t’see ye – to ken who ye really are. And then no’ fully. I’m sure that if it had been possible and Fernando hadn‘t shown me what he did ye’d still would hae hidden from me too.”

  The shots hit home and he took a step back as if slapped. Heart pounding, he shook his head.

  She knew she should not have said anything about what had happened in the ship once she saw his face fall and his ruby eyes widen. “I trust ye. I just wish ye allowed yerself to trust as much as those that love ye, trust ye. Trust me with this. Ye canna do this. I‘ll come back. I promise.” Pulling the drapes back flooded the room in sunlight. She had to make her second point and this was the only way.

  Not fast enough to recognize her unbelievable intent he leapt back into the shaded darkness of the draped canopy bed. Eyes shut tight against the burning light; he felt his ankles begin to heat as the sunlight spilled under the drapes. Sitting heavily on the bed, he hugged his knees. He had not been this close to burning alive since he was wounded during the Crusades. This time the woman he loved caused it. Crushed that she could do such a thing to him; his breath caught as anger vied with the pain of such betrayal. A warm hand touched his face and he started. Drawing back from her touch, he opened his eyes, blinking in the brightness to behold her saddened, yet firm, expression.

  She hated having to do this, knowing how much it would hurt him. Even with all his powers as a vampire he was so terribly limited by his inability to trust in himself, more so, without being able to go out during the day. That was why she was here. He needed to be reminded of it.

  “Gwyn,” she said softly gazing into his pain filled eyes as she touched his face. “This is why I’m here. Ye canna move around during the day – I can – and we need to get the Good Father back now, no’ later. Trust me, please?”

  Lowering his legs to a crossed position on the bed, he lifted her hand from his face and hid his eyes behind his cupped hands. His stomach clenched at the realization that she was right and no matter how timorous he felt at her solitary excursion he had to let her go. He felt her lips on his head.

  “I love ye.” She whispered, her head pressed against his. “I promise I’ll be back well before night fall.”

  He looked up at her, their faces almost touching. Concerned green eyes gazed into his and she leaned in to kiss him. It was not what he wanted, but he would take what he could get and before he knew it Jeanie pulled away to gasp for breath. A small smile lifted her face.

  Their hands lingered together as she stepped away until the sunlight captured her and forced him to drop his hand and his gaze. He heard her step across the Persian rug towards the door and knew if he did not say anything now he would regret it.

  Daring to peer across the brightly lit room he called, “Jeanie, please be careful.”

  The dark fuzzy image that was Jeanie turned. “I will.”

  The sound of the door closing left him trapped on the island of darkness. He did not know if she had done that on purpose, but surmised that most likely she did so as to keep him from stopping her. Apprehension filled him and he knew he could not sleep just yet. Horrific images of Jeanie being captured or worse flowed unwarranted. Unable to actively do anything about it, he pulled the heavy brocade drapery closed, cutting off as much of the sunlight as possible and damned himself for a fool. He should have asked her to close the window coverings. Now he was trapped on the island the canopied bed created.

  With a resolute sigh he shifted over to the centre, sat, raked his hair back with his fingers and closed his eyes. He had no choice. He had to trust that Jeanie would be alright without him. He needed to believe that she would come back to him. She was strong, smart and beautiful, and he prayed that it would be enough. Unfortunately it did not halt the smouldering anger of being imprisoned on a dark island in the middle of a sunlit sea. The implication of her trust of him fuelled that hurt.

  Taking several deep breaths, he relaxed enough to begin the meditative pra
ctices he so desperately needed. As he did so a thought blossomed in his mind, popping his eyes wide open. Oh dear Gods, Fernando must have heard everything.

  The clean cool white linen sheets felt absolutely wonderful. This was a better room than he had expected and he just loved the curtained canopy bed that now draped protectively around his supine form. Even the mattress supported him perfectly. Captain Richardson knew how to pick his hotels and Fernando promised that if ever he saw that American again he would thank him for the advice, and once all the craziness of the poisoning of the Chosen was over with he would have to bring Bridget here. Now that would be a nice well-deserved vacation.

  A smile lifted his lips until he heard a commotion outside of his room. Closing his eyes, cutting off the view of the intricately carved wood canopy, Fernando concentrated on the noise. Surprise pulled his eyes open with the realization that it was the Angel in a heated argument with the girl.

  The smile returned. It was the perfect opportunity to glean more hidden secrets, and the first he discovered was the Angel’s name. No Chosen knew the Angel’s name, and now he did. He closed his eyes in hungry anticipation to hear more confidential information.

  He had never expected to hear such emotion from the Angel, or Gwyn, as Jeanie called him. The intensity of the lovers spat drew him and he listened in rapt attention until he heard one door close and then the front door slam with the tumble of the lock turning. Whatever Jeanie had done, she had won the fight with the Angel and walked out, presumably unscathed. The seed of respect he found he carried for the mortal girl took root. Not many mortals who argued with a vampire lived to see the next moment.

  Shifting onto his side, Fernando smiled. He had learned more about the Angel than any other Chosen. Much of it still remained occluded in mystery. Why a Chosen would need to be taken care of during a Channel crossing made no sense to the Noble. It was the revelation of the name that could be used as currency with others of their kind.

  What Fernando would keep to himself, for now, was the disclosure of the Angel’s lack of trust towards, it seemed, everyone. The reasons, held in trust by Jeanie and the Angel’s sire, were yet to be discovered. This was a mystery he would deliciously glean and then he would have more pull amongst the Chosen. Even if he could not discover who was poisoning them, the knowledge of the Angel’s secrets would hopefully be enough to get Katherine to release his properties and holdings.

  Yes, this would do just nicely, he thought, closing his eyes in the anticipation of some truly wonderful dreams.

  Chapter XXV

  The sun descended in a shocking blue sky, basking the city in unusual warmth for the end of October. Bird calls from lonely standing trees and high reaching eaves mingled with the bustle of the busy city. Men and women alike hawked their wares, pulling or pushing small carts along the cobbled road only to be forced out of the way by grand coaches hurrying to unknown destinations on large rimmed wheels. Patrons moved from storefront to storefront carrying parcels of newly imported delectables. Others hurried by foot to appointments. It was so much like London that Jeanie could not wipe the grin from her face, but the reason was the self-satisfaction that she had discovered the whereabouts of the office of V. Corneilli & Sons.

  Despite the concerns the Angel and Fernando had about how long it would take, Jeanie had been pleasantly surprised to find the office was fairly easy. After leaving their hotel room she had found the concierge more than helpful. A few slowly spoken questions ended in her showing the grey haired gentleman the battered shipping note. Rising from his seat, he guided her to the restaurant and invited her to have breakfast while he personally looked into finding the address for la mademoiselle.

  Feeling quite conspicuous eating alone at a table in the centre of the restaurant, Jeanie graciously accepted the meal that most individuals seemed to be oohing and ahhing over. Soon her moans joined in the chorus as she bit into the sausage. When the waiter brought her tea at the end of the meal she knew she had to find out what it was that she was eating. With gestures and stilted English he walked away nodding, leaving Jeanie with the distinct impression that he was placating her inability to speak the language.

  It did not take long for Monsieur Legard to reappear, her shipping slip in hand. With a smile and a nod, he placed it on the table and she could see, written in a small precise hand, an address.

  Beaming at the elderly concierge, Jeanie had tried her best to express her gratitude and was relieved when he returned her smile. Then he explained that the sausage she had thoroughly enjoyed was imported from Germany and their restaurant was the only one in Calais that had them. He was thrilled she had delighted in the breakfast.

  Ear tips burning red, Jeanie had sipped the last of her tea as the waiter brought the bill. Not wishing to sign it to the room, she pulled out of her coat pocket the money that should have gone to Captain Richardson. Her eyes went wide at the amount and then looked at the bill. Biting her lip she realized she had to change the pound notes into francs and reluctantly signed the bill to the room with what she believed to be a sufficient tip. She hoped that Fernando would not begrudge her having a meal. If he did, then she knew the Angel would pay for her, again. It was a thought she did not relish despite her knowledge that he would not mind.

  Leaving the hotel to the bright crisp early morning, Jeanie had delighted in having the doorman hail a cab for her. She was starting to feel high born with all the attention and assistance from the hotel staff. So used to being the menial help, having the tables turned so dramatically and unexpectedly made her head spin as the coach shuddered and bumped along the road.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves clicking against stone mingled with the city’s awakening as its natives arose to greet the day. The rights of passage of their regular morning rituals brought them to the trials and tribulations of another day. Soon grandiose shop fronts and tenements gave way to the smell of salt and the decay of the sea front.

  Gazing out the window, low squat buildings lined up beside one another. Simple painted signs marked some of them as offices and warehouses. Others sat darkly with windows painted black or boarded up. Coaches moved past, while men on bicycles rattled into the business area on their way to work. The crescendo of industry filled the air and it took a moment for Jeanie to realize that she was no longer moving.

  Hand reaching to open the door, Jeanie sat back, shocked, when it opened of its own accord and a wooden step was placed down outside the lip of the door. Peering around, she saw the footman standing still and tall, his white gloved hand holding the door open. Gathering the skirt of her dress, she stepped down with the assistance of his steady hand. Heady with the royal treatment, Jeanie wondered if this was what Cinderella felt like and when would her coach turn back into a gourd and the horses into mice.

  In English and with much gesticulation, Jeanie managed to convey to the driver that she wanted him to wait for her. Paper in hand, she timorously walked to the warehouse front, its sign proudly proclaiming in white-rimmed red lettering on a black background;

  V. Corneilli & Sons

  Shipping & Receiving

  She was in the right place. This was the source of the spice that was killing the vampires in London. This is where they had to go to find the information to get the Good Father back.

  Standing before the office, she stared up at the striking sign. Fernando had told her to find the place and come right back. She had found it, but she wanted to do more despite the Angel’s fears. Uncertainty filled her as she realised she did not know what to expect on the other side of the door, let alone what she would do if things turned for the worse. Placing her hand on the weathered brass doorknob, she gave it a turn. A gasp of surprise escaped her slightly parted lips as the black painted wooden door easily swung outwards sending chimes ringing. Stepping into the dimly lit front room, the door closed behind her with a soft click.

  The small front office was unoccupied, in the centre stood a large oak desk with piles of papers stacked neatly along on
e side while the rest was strewn with writing utensils and scattered note paper. Gloaming gaslight lit up the space with a slight orange glow exuded from sconces irregularly situated along sidewalls made up of large chalkboards. Schedules, shipments and the names of the conveyances from port to port and country to country stood out whitely against the black contrast. Along the back wall filing cabinets stood row upon row only to be broken up by the single door leading to the warehouse.

  Suddenly the back door opened, admitting a middle-aged man in professional business attire of dark charcoal grey. His bald pate gleamed above the close cropped salt and pepper hair around his ears.

  “Est-ce que je peux vouz aider?” he asked, staring at her from across the room.

  Jeanie frowned, unable to understand the words but got the gist of the meaning. She had come this far and had no plan. Damning herself for a fool she was about to turn and leave when a glimmer of an idea popped to mind. Pointing to herself, she said as clearly as her accent would allow, “English?”

  Realization widened the man’s steel grey eyes as he stepped towards the desk and sat down. The chair squeaked against the wooden floor. “Oui, mademoiselle, I speak English.”

  Left standing in the middle of the room, Jeanie felt at a disadvantage and hoped that her quickly spun excuse for being here would be convincing.

  “Oh thank heavens,” she feigned, speaking slowly enough that hopefully he would understand. “My name is Jean Anne Stuart from the Aberdeen Stuarts. I have travelled from Scotland on behalf of my brother’s hotel, to make contact in the hopes to set up importation of certain spices that seem to be receiving rave reviews in England.”