by Karen Dales
Slipping back the hood with a pale hand, the Angel stared down at the little man, anger and hunger vying for supremacy. “You have information that we require.”
The scent of the mortal’s fear laced blood exploded into the room and he opened his mouth to savour it.
“Wha – what information do you need?” stammered the man. Beads of nervous sweat appeared on his forehead. He backed up until the sound of the thump proved he had gone as far back against the desk as possible.
Stepping into the mortal’s line of sight, the Noble’s smile widened. “You took a piece of paper from Miss Stuart three days ago. I’m sure you recall its contents.” Fernando was rewarded with a quick nod. “Good. Then you can tell us who is issuing the orders for these barrels of herbs to be sent to England.”
“I cannot tell you that, sir,” stated the manager, finding strength in meeting normal looking brown eyes rather than the terrifying red of the tall creature blocking the exit.
“I don’t think that you understand the predicament that you are in,” advanced the Noble. “You have a choice in this matter. You can either tell us by your free will or we can take it from you.” A silver flash emanated from Fernando’s hand and a dagger hung casually.
The mortal began to tremble in fright, his eyes wide and fixated on the blade.
Having not understood a word transpired, Jeanie stepped forward, appalled at Fernando’s threatening position.
“Stop it,” she cried, “yer scarin’ him.”
“Of course I’m scaring him,” snapped the Noble, refusing to take his hungry eyes off the middle-aged man. “How else am I going to get what we need?”
“Ye can ask him nicely.” She met the man’s pleading gaze.
“Did it work for you?”
Fernando’s snide comment brought her back at how she was treated by this same self-styled gentleman only three days ago.
“No,” she frowned.
“Shut up and let me do it my way.” Victorious, he stepped forward revelling in the terror he was evoking in the man. “So what is it going to be?”
“I – I can’t.” The man shook his head. “If I tell you they’ll kill me.”
“Tch tch tch, and who is to say that I won’t kill you if you don’t tell me.” Fernando spun the blade between his two hands, the point drilling into the tip of his index finger.
At the man’s moan of despair, Fernando swooped over, blade pressed against the man’s straining neck. A rivulet of blood seeped along the steel to drip liquid rubies onto his white collar.
Disgusted with Fernando’s incessant need to torture his victims, the Angel stepped forward as his hunger broke its leash with the shedding of mortal blood.
Standing over the Noble, his whisper strained against his flooding desire. “He’s mine.”
“Gladly,” smirked the Noble, removing the blade from the mortal’s throat. Methodically he ran his finger along the side of the dagger, transferring the stain of blood. Breathing in its fear-tinged aroma he licked the jewels, cleaning his finger. Surprised to find the blood untainted, he smiled.
Taking note of the Noble’s reaction to the blood, the Angel turned his attention to the man. The red beads welled alluringly along the cut. He could not wait much longer to satiate his hunger. It seemed to have a life of its own, pressing him into action. He knew Jeanie was there in the room watching, this time knowing what he was and what he needed. He could only hope she would forgive him for what he was about to do.
He locked onto grey eyes, driving his gaze into the man’s. Catching the staggered rhythm of the mortal’s breathing, he waited until the man’s pupils dilated and his posture relaxed.
“You will tell us who is ordering the herbs that are poisoning the Chosen.” He spoke in harmony with the manager’s beating heart. “You will tell us where we can find this person. You will tell us the truth for any lie will cause you agony.”
A whimper escaped the mortal’s throat.
Surprised at the man’s resistance, he felt his anger rise. His eyes bore into grey.
“Tell me,” he pressed.
The man’s opposition shattered.
“Madam Fleur de la Montagne,” he sputtered under the effect of the Angel’s powers. “She has a villa outside of Balinghem.”
“I know the area,” responded the Angel. He ignored Fernando’s raised brow. “What is the name of the villa?”
The manager slowly shook his head without breaking eye contact, his breath coming more rapidly. “Please, please,” his voice whined, “they’ll kill me.”
The Angel drove his gaze into mortal eyes, speaking to the man’s soul. “Do you know what I am called?”
The mortal’s head shook vigorously.
“I am called l'Ange.”
The scent of hot urine filled the small office. It was clear that the manager had heard of him. Behind him he heard Fernando’s offended expletive as he got wind of the released bladder. He did not want to see Jeanie’s reaction. Returning his attention to the man, he could see tears streaming down the shaved face to drip into the puddle on the floor. It was only through his will that the mortal remained standing.
“Le Jardin,” muttered the man. “The villa is called Le Jardin.”
Satisfied with the answers the hunger finally broke free. Swooping down on the manager, he barely registered the scream as he sank his teeth through the slightly stubbled skin, piercing the jugular. The salt of sweat mingled momentarily with the rushing hot metallic taste that quickly filled his mouth. Spurred on by the lack of taint in the blood, he euphorically swallowed, basking in the adrenalin heightened flavour.
It felt so long since the last time he had allowed himself to feed unrestrained.
Holding the mortal in a fierce embrace he pulled on the wound, seeking only to fill his mouth and his being with the living essence. Again and again he suckled, drawing out more of the life giving fluid, its thick sweetness filling his mouth, enlivening his centre. Time existed within the expanse of the slowing heart; each chamber struggled to fill and then to push. It was when it fluttered that told the Angel his meal would soon be over. Choosing to take his time to savour the richness of the blood, he allowed the failing heart to push its fluids into him until it faltered into a stumbling rhythm. He so wanted to drain the manager to the quick but knew the consequences if he did. Forcibly pulling himself out, he caught his breath in a great sigh.
It would not be long before the manager expired from extreme blood loss and he laid the man down, watching as the four puncture marks began to close. Grey eyes glazed over. The sound of the heart fluttered once, and then stopped. A release of breath escaped dead lips.
Stepping back from the corpse he felt the usual shame mixed with the elation the blood gave him. Any remnant of pain in his body magically vanished with the fulfillment of his hunger. A figure off to his right caught his attention and he looked up to see the Noble, a knowing smile on his face, pointing to the corner of his own mouth. Frowning at first by the strange gesture, he quickly realized that Fernando was indicating something else. He touched his mouth and drew back the last remains of the manager’s blood. Red tipped pale fingers. It was tempting to lick the delicious red liquid off his fingers but instead hastily he wiped them on his cloak.
“Do you know where Le Jardin is?” asked Fernando, breaking the silence, having more than enjoyed witnessing the Angel in action and could now guess with certainty which Angel the mortals believed him to be.
“I have a good idea,” answered the Angel. He turned away from the Noble’s disparaging smile and found Jeanie huddled in the corner. The sense of enjoyment from feeding fled, leaving a hollow satiation in its stead.
He took a step towards Jeanie in the hopes to comfort and halted as she retreated further into the corner. He did not know what to say to take away the memory of what she had witnessed. When he fed off of her it was not only about the blood. There was love and trust, given and received. He knew that this was the first time she had seen
him truly feed in the manner the penny presses described. The shame intensified and he lowered his gaze to the wooden floor.
“Why? Why did ye have to kill him?” Jeanie’s voice sounded small.
Taking a steadying breath he met Jeanie’s imploring gaze, fully aware of Fernando’s intense presence. “I am Chosen, Jeanie. I could have let him live, but at what cost to us?”
He watched her eyes go round. The manager would have most likely gone to those they were seeking. The manager was part of the conspiracy to kill the Chosen, though it was strange that he was not tainted. “I have never lied to you about what I am, what I have done.”
Jeanie’s breath came in quick gasps. “But when I saw you with the old man -”
Realization dawned on him and he groaned, finishing her thought. “And with you. But it is not always that way. This…this is usually the way. Feeding off those mortals who delve in cruelty to others. This man was part of those killing off the Chosen. I could not let him live even if I wanted to.”
Jeanie trembled, hating the fact that he was right. “What do we do now?”
“We rifle through this place to see if the information can be corroborated and then set this place alight,” replied the Noble. Moving around the room he began with the filing cabinets along the wall, throwing inconsequential papers onto the floor.
Knowing it was the only way to cover their tracks and to possibly sabotage any future shipments to Britain, the Angel turned from Jeanie to help the Noble in the search. Jeanie joined them, muttering in sad resignation.
It did not take long to find the file that held all the shipping orders from one “Madam Fleur de la Montagne of Le Jardin, Balinghem.”
What shocked and caused the Noble and the Angel to meet their eyes in fear were the numerous countries the spice was being sent to. The poisoning of the Chosen was not isolated to the British Isles. It was an all out attempt to exterminate the Chosen from every corner of the earth.
Closing the thick file, Fernando tucked it inside his vest for safe keeping and broke the side of the oil lamp reservoir against the corner of the desk. The Noble sprinkled the pungent liquid all over the floor, dousing the body as best he could with what he had left. Once done, using a soapstone paperweight, the Angel knocked the gas lamps from their copper hoses sending hissing vapours into the room.
“Everybody out,” ordered the Angel.
Fernando dropped the lit lamp wick onto the body. The fire caught with a whoosh as he walked out the door, the chimes ringing pleasantly.
Grabbing Jeanie by the arm, the Angel pulled her out into the cool night air, raising his hood against possible prying eyes.
“Keep walking,” he ordered, following the Noble as they left the block the warehouse resided on.
Jeanie did the best she could, but she was no match for their easy strides, and found herself huffing and puffing in the cold air. If it were not for the Angel’s grip on her upper arm she would have stopped long ago.
The explosion behind them shook doors, shattered windows, and caused them to stumble in mid-stride. Turning around, all three watched in as the yellow-orange glow of the conflagration lit up the sky. Knowing that there would be nothing left of the murder, the Angel viewed the destruction in resolute silence. The sound of the fire roared in his ears.
Glancing down at Jeanie’s shaken form, he turned around, ready to vacate the premises before the fire drew curious onlookers. Fernando caught his eye, smiling like a satisfied cat as he patted his chest where the file was lodged, and nodded. It was high time to be leaving.
The quick clicks of their shoes accompanied the snapping of fire eaten wood as it sparked hoards of fireflies high into the night air. Turning down a street, they saw the first of many men and machines of the fire brigade race down the cobbles, horses foaming at the quick pace they were forced to pull their heavy loads.
The three sped up their pace but kept it to a mortal one that Jeanie could keep with. Each turn took them farther away from the destruction until they were able to slow down, the fire naught but a silent orange illumination against a black backdrop. Assuming they were heading back to the hotel, the Angel caught up with the Noble, placing Jeanie between them, her breath puffing white clouds.
A flicker of movement down an alleyway caught his attention. It seemed that their tail was back. Noticing Fernando’s frown, he knew the Noble had seen it too.
“Do you not find it odd that the manager was untainted?” asked the Noble. His eyes glanced up and fell back down, fixated on the walkway ahead.
The Angel nodded. In a flash of insight he knew why. “They knew we were coming.” Barely audible footpads scurried far behind them.
“The trap is preparing to be sprung.” Fernando unsheathed his blades, concealing them under his cape.
“What trap? What are ye sayin’?” Jeanie’s voice rose in anxiety.
“Madam Fleur de le Montagne seems to want us to find her,” answered the Angel. Movement along the rooftop caught his attention and he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” stated Jeanie, oblivious to the goings on around her. “She’s the one tryin’ t’kill the Chosen, why no poison one or even both of ye if she knows yer commin’?”
Fernando turned down into a dark cul-de-sac of dormant warehouses and came to a halt. “You are absolutely right, and the only way to find the answers is to spring the trap.”
With a nod of agreement, the Angel saw that Jeanie stood confused at where they found themselves, and at the answer. She did not notice the silent figures standing in the darkened doorways and alleys, or the one perched on the rooftop of the warehouse in front of them.
A tense silence filled the night.
“I never expected to see you back so soon,” called the dark figure on top of the building. His rich French voice filled the oppressive quiet.
“What do you want, Hugo?” replied the Angel, throwing back his hood to have an unrestricted view of his surroundings.
“You know this vampire?” Fernando shot a dark gaze at the Angel.
The Angel nodded, refusing to move his eyes off of Hugo. He heard Jeanie’s gasp of surprise.
“Where is Le Bon Père?” said Hugo.
“In London,” retorted the Angel. “Answer my question.” He heard the shiftings of the Chosen around them coming closer and tightened his grip on his sword. Sensing Jeanie’s distress, he drew her to his right side and brought her inside his cloak. Her eyes went wide as he drew the ancient sword, still concealing it under the panels of heavy black fabric.
“You are without the amnesty of Le Bon Père’s presence, L’Ange,” answered Hugo, menacingly. “You were told by Le Maître that if you set foot on French soil without being under Le Bon Père’s protection you would be Destroyed.”
“Now what could you have done to have gotten the Master of Paris into such a knot?” Fernando’s whisper held a cocktail of amusement, fear, and simmering anger.
The Angel glanced sharply at the smirking Noble. “Since Aimeri became Master of the French Chosen, they’ve become quite irrational as to who is and who isn’t pure Chosen.”
Fernando’s eyes widened, feeling that he was on the brink of another discovery of the elusive Angel. “What are you saying?”
“They don’t like my looks,” stated the Angel, matter-of-factly.
Ignoring the Noble’s bark of laughter, the Angel brought his attention back to the Chosen on the roof, fully aware of the slow onset of the others around them. “Let Aimeri show himself.”
“You know that is not possible,” spat Hugo, “Le Maître is in Nice mourning his beloved Marie. While he decides whether or not to partake of the sun, I am in charge.”
“Merda,” swore the Noble, testing the grips on the daggers.
The Angel returned his attention back to Jeanie, knowing that no matter what happened in the next few moments he had to do everything in his power to protect her.
“Hold on,” he whispered,
wrapping his right arm around her chest. He felt her trembling arms encircle his waist. Her terrified eyes met his. “Whatever you do, do not let go.”
“What are ye going t’do?” asked Jeanie. Her eyes wide in fright, she gripped his belt.
“I’m going to fight with one hand tied behind my back.” He tried giving Jeanie a confident smile, but only the corner of his mouth lifted, belying his concern.
The sudden whoosh and subtle change in the air was the only warning of the attacking Chosen. With Jeanie tucked in one arm he spun with preternatural speed, brandished his weapon and cleanly cleaved through the waist of the male Chosen who flew at him. Blood dripped down the single, wide blood groove, stealing away its silver gleam. There was no time to think, only to react as others, having realised the Angel and his partner was armed, drew their own bladed weapons.
Fear lacerated through him as he realized how difficult it would be to overcome the odds while protecting Jeanie. Schooling his expression, he fixed his grip around Jeanie’s waist and slipped into the centuries of training and practice.
The French Chosen did not attack one at a time, but rushed he and Fernando. Back to back with the Noble he fought, easily deflecting knife and rapier attacks. None managed to touch him, but with his long reach and well-trained hand, he caused many to lose hold of their weapons.
A cry from his right drew his attention from the knife attack before him. Easily sidestepping the clumsy thrust, he brought his blade through the neck of the off balanced Chosen, decapitating in an easy fluid blow. Red rain sprayed. It did not slow him down as he used the momentum of the swing. Pivoting on one foot, he brought the ancient sword to shatter the rapier intended to stab him.
The Chosen holding the ruined blade stood dumbfounded before fear dissolved any gusto of the battle. The last thing he saw was the Angels furious red eyes before darkening cobbles stared back at him.
Out of the corner of his eye, the Angel saw that Fernando was more than capable with his two daggers. Defending against another foolhardy attack, he realized he had to end this before he decimated the French Chosen. Unhanding one female Chosen of her dirk, he ignored her screams and sought the one who could end this.
