Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

  Chapter XXVII

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and dared not close his eyes lest he succumb to Orpheus’ call. Yawning wide and long, years of educated manners automatically raised the back of his hand to cover his mouth. Normally a yawn would be met with a closed mouth. Decorum was his livelihood and how he presented himself to the world directly affected his master – or so he had been taught from a young age.

  Leaning his head against the head rest of the driver’s seat, Godfrey relaxed but did not sleep while he waited outside the coroners building. It was two hours before dawn and Thanatos would be out shortly, expecting to go home to his mansion on the Bridle Path. If traffic was amenable Godfrey would be fast asleep before sunrise. Oh how he looked forward to lengthening days and shorter nights. It was only during the summer months that he saw the sun, sleeping the hottest part of the day before waking to enjoy several hours before sunset. Many times he would sleep outside, allowing the sun to bronze his skin before the shade from the manse cloaked him. Summer was a time when he had more time to himself. There were some advantages to working for the God of Death.

  Stifling another yawn he sensed his master’s approach. A quick check of his attire, straightening his black tie and driver’s cap, Godfrey stepped out of the stretch limo and walked around to open the passenger side back door.

  “Good morning, Godfrey.” Thanatos stepped past and settled into the black leather seat.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said, closing the door.

  Quickly, so as not to make his master wait, Godfrey settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. In the back Thanatos settled in with a sigh. Without further instruction Godfrey began the journey home in silence, a blessed change from the racket he had endured earlier.

  “Did you find out anything, Godfrey?” asked Thanatos, his dark brown eyes closed.

  Godfrey knew his master was listening for more than his verbal response. It was not that he would ever lie to the God of Death but Thanatos sometimes could read his answers more truthfully by the way his body responded. That was one thing that Godfrey had taken the longest to become accustomed to. “It seems, sir, that your concerns about the Vampire Dominus are well founded.” Godfrey turned the limo onto Bloor Street.

  “He’s the one behind the Angel’s transformation?”

  “I do not believe he knows the true status of the Angel. The Vampires patronizing The Veil were very open in their communications with one another.”

  “Oh?” Thanatos opened his eyes in surprise and waited for his servant to continue.

  “Yes, sir,” nodded Godfrey, driving them across the Bloor-Danforth Bridge. “It appears that the Angel made a brief visit at the club earlier tonight and enticed two young Vampires into a fight in an alley close to The Veil.”

  “Go on.”

  “A couple of Mr. Haskell’s coterie found the staked bodies. I don’t know what became of the Vampire corpses but I did find out that they were of Orchid’s coterie.”

  “New York’s Domina sent some of her coterie here?” Surprise filled the God’s voice.

  “No, sir. Orchid is here too,” replied Godfrey. He dared a glance in the rear-view mirror at Thanatos’ erect posture. A sense of foreboding filled him. He knew Thanatos would never shoot the messenger but the news he had to give could change that.

  “What is it, Godfrey?” asked Thanatos, his voice abrupt at the pause of information.

  “Stephanie and Michael are also here,” replied Godfrey, his shoulders taught. His hands clutched at the steering wheel as he descended the vehicle down the on-ramp to the Don Valley Parkway. He did not need to peer into the mirror to know of his master’s shock. “Others are due to arrive, sir.”

  “He’s calling in all his Dominus and Domina?” whispered Thanatos.

  “It appears that way, sir.” Godfrey slowed down the speeding limo as they passed one of the well known sections where Metro’s Finest lay in wait for unsuspecting law breakers.

  “Corvus is consolidating his power,” stated Thanatos before he gasped, “Oh no!”

  “Sir?” queried Godfrey, worried.

  “He’s not heeding my warning. Damn!” Thanatos smacked the leather, the sound a large explosion that made Godfrey jump. “I’m sorry to do this to you, Godfrey, but I need you to find the Angel and convince him to return to Britain immediately.”

  The idea of confronting the Angel dried Godfrey’s mouth to ashes. He would have to do it surreptitiously so as not to disclose his master and that may be near next to impossible. A new thought spilled from him. “Sir, is the Angel under that much of a threat?”

  “Without the Chosen around him, yes,” stated Thanatos succinctly.

  “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking,” cautiously approached Godfrey. When he heard his passenger’s grunt of assent he continued, “Would it not be in the Angel’s best interest to take the opportunity to finally eradicate the threat?”

  Thanatos sighed and shook his head as Godfrey took the Lawrence West exit. “He’s too young.”

  “But sir, he’s approximately fifteen hundred years old, surely–”

  “At fifteen hundred years old, the Angel is only now just coming into his power,” interrupted the God of Death. “Also, now that he is no longer feeding on human blood and without having Chosen of his own to feed on he is…well…Let’s just say that any confrontation between the Angel and the Vampires would destroy my only hope.”

  Godfrey chewed on his lower lip as he navigated the roads that led to the mansion. “I will find him, sir, and will encourage him to return home.”

  “Good, Godfrey, very good.” Thanatos relaxed into the leather upholstery, eyes closing in relief.

  Frowning at his dubious assignment, Godfrey rolled the limo up the long drive, ending at the large two story mansion that was built in the latter half of the last century. Without waiting for him, Thanatos stepped out, closed the door and disappeared into the house leaving Godfrey alone once more. Shifting gears, Godfrey returned down the drive, his pillow’s call unheeded. Stifling another yawn he went in search of an open coffee shop before beginning his quest to find the Angel of Death.

  The ground was damp and littered with the crumbling remains of last autumn’s fall. In the centre of the maple grove freshly turned earth darkened the silver illuminated place. High above diaphanous clouds languidly moved across a diamond studded sky. Far in the west a gibbous waning moon reached for the blanket of cold earth in an attempted to retreat from a sun that would soon rise from the other end of the blanket in an endless game of peek-a-boo.

  Rising from her seat at the base of a large maple, Rose stretched her arms and hands to brush against quickening limbs and reborn foliage. Nobody had told her that this would be so boring. The first part had been thrilling. It had been so easy to convince Terry to follow her into the dark woods of the Don Valley. Easier was it to have him remove his clothing, his erection tight against his belly in anticipation of his lady’s touch. She gave him his release, but not how he expected. His seed pumped from him one last time as she gulped hot red fluids from the deep wound of his femoral artery. Rose’s eyes lit up as he arched his back in ecstasy, his beauty becoming increasingly paler under the watching moon until the last shudder of his release matched the one of his last exhalation.

  Licking her lips, Rose had wiped her chin with the back of her hand as she stood up from the lovely corpse. It was before she had taken shovel to earth that she noticed his pale beauty, his body askew from the ecstasy of death. His long blond locks splayed around his head, the moon bleaching the strands to silver as its rays milked his skin to white. Rose had gasped at the sight. Never had Terry appeared so beautiful. She wanted to touch him and hear his melodious accent whisper his love as he touched her where she would allow no other man.

  A shudder had run through Rose. Terry did not have an accent. The voice she had wished to hear did not belong to him. It was not his touch she craved. A pit opened in her gut. Vampires did not desire fl
eshly contact the same way as mortals. What was wrong with her? Shaking her head, she had dismissed the rising anxiety and dug Terry’s grave with ferocity. She had placed him, his seed cold and dry still on him, into the grave, the black of the earth having bleached his pale beauty further beneath the moonlight before Rose dashed dark loam to cover him.

  No mortal, save a few disturbed homeless, roamed these parts. This viaduct of thriving nature ran the vertical length of the city, allowing woodland creatures’ access to its stony heart. It was not unheard of for a deer or a coyote to make its way down to the core of the city.

  Silently, Rose walked the several feet to the disturbed earth and stared at the shallow mound. Nothing moved save for what the gentle breeze played with. Releasing a disgruntled huff, she nudged the earth with the tip of her black leather boot. Corbie had given her permission to turn Terry, but with a warning that not all will be born a Vampire. Sometimes their internment was permanent. Rose hoped it would not be the case with her beloved pet. She had already waited two nights. She had even picked out his new name, for once Terry rose reborn he would become Thorn.

  Rose shivered at her own recollections of scrapping and scrabbling through silk, wood and dark earth to finally taste the blood scented air. It was the all pervading effervescence rising from the child that had eradicated the driving reason to liberate herself from an eternity of darkness.

  A groggy moan filled the grove and she abruptly turned to the unconscious old bag lady tied to a tree. In a blink of an eye Rose crouched beside the crazy lady. “Shut up,” she sneered as she banged the homeless woman’s head against the bark.

  A blossom of blood scent filled Rose’s nostrils, exciting her hunger and lifting her lips in a ferocious smile. A scraping sound returned Rose’s attention to the grave. Holding her breath, her vine green eyes widened in anticipation as pale worm-like creatures broke the surface of the dark loam. The unconscious hag forgotten, Rose found herself crouched a few feet away from the grave.

  Time slowed. Fingers became long artists’ hands. Dirt tumbled down to reveal dust coated paleness. Then a great heave, creating a mountain that fell away from Thorn’s pale head and torso, causing Rose to gasp. Elation shivered through her as Thorn lifted his glorious nude body from the abandoned grave. Earth flowed down smooth pale skin, augmenting his toned muscles. Rose licked her lips, the remnant taste of Terry’s blood a memory. No longer would she feed from him. Now they would hunt together for eternity.

  His fine straight nose scented the breeze, new instincts asserting themselves. Rose smiled as Thorn found his prey and pounced on the bound woman. No screams pierced the grove, only the sound of suckling and slurping as Thorn’s drank.

  Walking over to her newly made Vampire, Rose knelt beside his feeding form and ran her hand through his dusted corn silk hair. “Pierce deep, Thorn, and drink immortality.”

  Chapter XXVIII

  Notus sat on the couch, head in his hands and dreaded to answer Bridget and Fernando’s question. Even to look at their furious expressions sent him into despair. He should not have agreed to go with the Noble, but he had no doubt that the Master of Britain would have trussed him up like a Christmas goose and hauled him away like one. Now he sat in the hot seat of their suite. Their burning glares cooked him in an effort to reveal the truth as to why he would not make the Angel Chosen once more.

  “You’re not making any sense,” exploded Bridget. She stepped around the opposite seat and sat down, her eyes boring into the Monk.

  “I told you why,” implored Notus, refusing to glance at Bridget’s angry blue eyes.

  “An Oath! An Oath!” Fernando swore as he paced, hands gesticulating as if strangling someone. He halted beside Notus and stared down at him. “You swore some fucking oath not to Choose another.”

  Bridget laid a hand over her Chosen’s tight fist as if to hold him back from pummelling the Priest. “We get it. We understand that.”

  “You might, but I don’t,” snapped the Noble.

  Ignoring Fernando, Bridget continued. “But why? Do you not know what you’ve condemned him to?”

  Notus flinched and pressed his hands firmly to his face. He knew. He had seen the boy’s battered and bruised body lying on the bed in Bridget and Fernando’s guest room. Hands grabbed his and pulled them away from his face. He could not hide the tears or the pain his decision created. Bridget sat back from what she revealed by taking his hands into hers. The anger melted away, leaving pity in its wake.

  “Why, Paul? He was your Chosen – No, it doesn’t matter if it was an accident or not – the two of you have been closer than any Chooser and Chosen in as long as anyone can remember. It’s clear you love him still, so why not Choose him anew? What is your Oath in comparison with that?”

  Bridget’s words tore at him. It was the same question he fought against since the accident that left his boy mortal. He woefully shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “Cannot or will not,” sneered the Noble.

  Notus eyes widened at the unspoken threat and then lowered them in defeat. “Will not,” he sighed.

  “But why?” implored Bridget. “Just answer that one question. Make us understand, because right now we don’t.”

  Meeting her concerned gaze Notus sighed and resolved to do what he never believed he would have to do – to cut into a long healed wound and let it bleed out once again. He leaned back in defeat. “What I am about to tell you I’ve not told anyone.”

  “Not even the Angel?” asked Fernando in disbelief.

  “Not even him.” Notus glanced up at the Noble and then at Bridget, searching their surprised visages for their judgement. Receiving none, he continued, “What I will tell you I pray you will understand, for I believe only a Chosen can. To explain, I have to go back to my beginnings.”

  Fernando and Bridget shared a look of surprise before the Noble sat on the end of the couch, both Master and Mistress waiting patiently as two children for a story to begin.

  “I was eight years old when my father, a Bard, took me to the Holy Isle to begin my training,” began the monk, his cadence turning to one well practiced in the art of storytelling. “I had an exceptional memory and a propensity for the retelling of stories I had heard even once. There on the magical island I learned first to become a Bard like my father. With my aptitude it did not take long. I was one of the youngest ever to be initiated to that grade, but it wasn’t good enough. I needed to learn more.

  “My voracious appetite for knowledge fuelled my studies up and through the grades until I was given the last initiation that made what came to be called a Druid. Don’t appear so shocked. Yes, I’ve always been a priest, but I came to Christianity as it was born. I was already Chosen, but I digress.

  “During my years on the Isle I married a beautiful and exceptionally gifted Priestess. Our children, two boys and a girl were the holders of our hearts. All three were dedicated to the Old Ways…I have not spoken of them before.” Notus voice choked with emotion. Wiping away an errant tear he cleared his voice. “I still think of them often. My memories of them are their immortality.”

  Notus cleared his voice of the strangling emotions that threatened to steal the story from being told.

  “I was studying with our chief astrologer when the war came to our shores. I, like all the others, did not think it strange or unthinkable that the Astrologer kept to himself and only appeared hooded and cloaked when around others, and only at night.”

  “He was Chosen,” stated Fernando, bluntly. Bridget shushed him and encouraged the continuation of the tale. Notus offered a flicker of a smile.

  “He was a great and learned man, and not just upon the topic of the stars. He would have been High Druid, the leader of us all, but for his humility and insistence upon his station. No one remembered when he had arrived, only that he seemed to have been there forever.

  “During my years under him I never once saw his face. Of course I wondered at his appearance for his voice belied youth. His reasoning fo
r the darkness and his appearance were, at the time, logical. After all, his study was portends of the heavenly bodies and he needed to keep his night vision pure. No one suspected the truth and neither did I. I did find his predictions fantastical and incredible.”

  “Like what?” asked Fernando, completely drawn into the tale.

  Notus glanced at the Noble and let out a small chuckle. “He was looking for a portent that would herald the Old Gods return to earth.”

  “Did he ever receive it?” asked Bridget, her eyes bright with wonder.

  “I don’t know,” replied the monk. “He had been concerned about something that ate at his soul and tossed him into despair. It must have been serious as he went to the High Council with it. The night before the attack that destroyed the sanctity of our peace he had whooped and hollered in glee. I had never seen him so happy.

  “It was just before dawn when Rome breeched our island. With shining metal and glistening steel they slaughtered. I tried to find my wife and protect my children, having spent the whole night with my mentor. To this day I am not sure exactly what occurred. One minute I was running, the Astrologer yelling after me and then waking up in dark woods, my body on fire.

  “I could not move. I tried to call out, only to have a cold hand clamp my mouth shut. I did not know who it was or where I was but once I heard my mentors soothing voice I relaxed. In the light of a small fire I took my first sight of the ancient man. I was stunned. He appeared no older than I! Younger in fact! He spoke to me then. He informed me that I was dying, that my wounds were too grievous. I could not comprehend what he spoke of. All I knew was I was cold and I couldn’t feel parts of my body. It was then that he gave me the Choice. I did not believe I was fully cognizant of what he was offering me. Had I known then what I knew later I would have begged for death, but life demands living and I agreed.

  “My teacher put me through a rite the kind of which I had never experienced. He cleaned me and prepared my body, shaving my beard and leaving my face naked as it had been when I was a boy. I tried to protest but he assured me that it was better this way, after all he too was clean of facial hairs.