Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles

by Karen Dales

He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” Anger heightened Elizabeth’s tones. “So explain it to me.”

  “I can’t.” He reached out to play with the coffee mug; his long white fingers a slight shade’s difference from the porcelain.

  “Bullshit.” Elizabeth’s chair scratched backwards as she stood and came to stand across the table from him. He refused to meet her gaze. “I’ve been very accommodating and understanding, even forgiving you and letting it slide that for whatever reason my daughter had to catch a ride home with a friend while you were out getting the shit kicked out of you.”

  He snapped his attention up at her and attempted to form a defence but she barrelled along.

  “After what we shared the night before and early this morning I would have thought you would be more open with me, but you’ve shut down again.”

  She was right. She had the right to know. It was not just a matter of stolen items; it was about keeping Vee from a Vampire infested nightclub. Yet he could not tell Elizabeth the truth. The last mortal he had allowed knowledge of their world was dead because of it and he was not going to let that happen to either of the Bowens. Resting his chin in his hand, his eyes fell to the photograph. “I didn’t lie when I said I recognized the man in the photo. My run in last night after going to The Veil made me realized that these people – if you can call them that – are part of the same group that murdered Jeanie and …” He could not bring himself to say the rest, the pain choking off the words.

  Elizabeth audibly sucked in a breath. The words left unsaid were written in the scars across his body. She pulled out the chair and sat, the anger blown away. “Mafia? They’re Mafia?”

  He met her startled sky coloured eyes. “Organized, yes. Criminal, most definitely. Mafia, no.”

  “How dangerous are they?”

  “They make the Yakusa look like boy scouts,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to the abandoned dishes on the table.

  “Who are they?” Fear filled Elizabeth’s voice. “And why steal the objects from the ROM?”

  He shook his head, his long white locks brushing the table. “I won’t tell you. It’s safer that way, but they attacked the museum and stole my sword to get my attention and send me a message. It was not because of the relics.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, sending a wash of white swinging.

  “What message?”

  “That I’m not supposed to be here, that I broke an armistice by coming to North America.”

  “But why?” she cried. “That makes no sense.”

  “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t,” he sighed. “But I will say that there is a long standing feud between them and me, and no I won’t tell you about that either. Suffice it to say you already know too much.”

  Elizabeth leaned across the table and took his injured hand in both of hers. “If they’re so dangerous why not let the police do their job? Why go there?”

  He pointed to the man in the photograph. “He knew he was being caught on film. He knew the police would bring it to me. It’s a challenge, and one I have to accept because if the police go into the club none of them will come out alive.”

  “That’s ludicrous! How can they—”

  “They did it in France,” he said quietly. He remembered how Hugo, the Master of France, would not allow him to route the Vampires at first. Instead Hugo made an anonymous tip to the constabulary. The resulting massacre left Hugo deeply shaken and immediately called for the Angel.

  “Jesus Christ,” swore Elizabeth. She pulled back, releasing his hand. “And what’s to stop them from killing you?”

  He stood up, suddenly weary of all the white lies and explanations and offered a sad smile. “I’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at me. That alone makes them fear me.”

  “Or want to kill you,” stated Elizabeth, bluntly, her eyes wide in horror.

  “That too,” he remarked sadly.

  He felt Elizabeth’s eyes on his back as he exited the kitchen for his room upstairs. There was a lot to do before he faced Vampires as a mortal.

  Chapter XXXIII

  Thanatos awoke with a start, something that never happened, his heart filled with dread. Throwing off the down filled duvet and pulling the bed curtains apart he frowned at the ornately decorated room. Something was wrong. Godfrey should be there waiting to attend him, instead he was nowhere to be seen. Stepping down, Thanatos found his robe where he had left it over the footboard and put it on. He thought to call for his manservant but doubted that shouting would work. Slippers ensconced on his feet, Thanatos left his suite for the quiet dark halls of his mansion.

  Everything was still, adding to Thanatos’ growing anxiety. Normally his home felt warm and full of life. It was one of many reasons that he kept Godfrey and others like him over the ages. It also lightened up Thanatos’ dreary existence, but not today. Frowning, he followed the hall runner down the stairs, sliding his hand along the dark polished wooden banister. He left it as he came to a rest at the base of the staircase. All was still and quiet.

  His frown deepened, pulling dark brown brows together as he walked across the heated marble tiles to the large oak double front doors. Placing a hand on the ornamental wrought iron he pushed the handle down to find it would not budge. The door was locked. Unfortunately it did not answer the question as to Godfrey’s disappearance.

  Thanatos dismissed the notion of going room to room and instead thought to search areas that were solely Godfrey’s domain. If Godfrey was not where he was supposed to be, then he would not be in areas of the house he had no need to be in.

  A horrible thought halted Thanatos in his tracks. What if Godfrey ran away?

  He shook his head at the preposterous idea and continued on to the kitchen. If Godfrey was not there then the next place to look would be Godfrey’s quarters. Thanatos was formulating his next step when he opened the swinging doors and found his servant sitting at the small mahogany kitchen set, staring sadly into a mug. His wrinkled and haggard appearance, not to mention the short growth of new beard, indicated that his major-domo had not slept.

  “Godfrey?” queried Thanatos, gently.

  At the sound of his name Godfrey’s head snapped up in surprise. “Oh sir, I’m so sorry—” He managed to stand, weaving on unsteady legs as Thanatos cut off his apology with a wave of his hand.

  Pulling out the opposite chair, Thanatos sat and indicated Godfrey should resume his place. How many years has it been since we sat like this? mused Thanatos. An image of a blonde headed youth pouring over textbooks while Thanatos stood over and assisted Godfrey in the study of his university finals filled his mind. The boy he had taken off the street had grown into a brilliant young man who graduated University at the age when most were just entering.

  “You need not apologize, Godfrey,” said Thanatos. “You are forgiven. After all, you are only human. The only thing I require is an explanation, but be mindful that an explanation is not an excuse.”

  “Yes, sir.” Abashed, Godfrey sat down, hanging his head, unwilling to look at his employer.

  Over the next hour and a half Godfrey did exactly as ordered, going over every detail and answering every question until Thanatos nodded. “Thank you, Godfrey. I know this was difficult to do – to admit your failure in convincing the Angel to leave. Believe it or not I would have done the same as you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” sighed Godfrey, his shoulders slumping in relief. “What do you wish me to do now, sir?”

  Thanatos stood and gently tucked his chair back into place. “Firstly, I expect you to clean yourself up – a day’s growth of beard does not suit – and, if you have not done so yet, I want you to eat something. Coffee is a beverage, not a meal, contrary to what most people believe. When you have properly composed yourself I wish you to meet me in the Parlour.”

  “Yes, sir.” Godfrey stood, receiving his orders. “But what of yourself, sir?”

  The kitchen door halted its open swingi
ng motion, Thanatos’ hand holding it still as he turned back to his manservant. “I have taken care of myself long before we met, Godfrey. I’m sure I can manage for one night.” He turned and took a step out of the kitchen and realized what he had done and called back, “Before you jump into the shower I need you to call into the office and inform them I will not be coming in tonight. Make whatever excuses you deem fit.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Godfrey, enthusiastically as he followed his master into the foyer. “What is the plan for tonight, sir?”

  Thanatos halted his first step to take him back to his suite and turned around. “I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place – I’m going to talk to the Angel.”

  “No one’s answering.” Fernando placed the cordless phone back into its charging station and turned to face Bridget and Notus. “Are you sure that’s the right number?”

  Notus closed his eyes and nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Unable to sleep the day away in Fernando and Bridget’s guest room, in the same bed that the boy had been in, with the boy’s scent still permeating the bed clothes, Notus was exhausted. It was not so much the lack of sleep put rather the swirling thoughts mingling with guilt and anxiety that had him tossing and turning. He knew he had completely severed his relationship with the boy. It was necessary. What had been unexpected was the boy being awake to hear Notus break millennia old confidences. To be on the receiving end of the boy’s unleashed rage was heartbreaking, but understandable. What terrified the monk the most was hearing Fernando’s description of the mist the boy had unconsciously summoned.

  It was always apparent that the boy was different. All one had to do was look, but Notus had never known the boy before his accidental Choosing. The evidences over the centuries only enhanced what he tried to ignore – the differences that marked the boy for Destruction by the Chosen also singled him out by mortals. Now to find out that these differences were still part of the boy shook the monk. Long buried questions of the boy’s true nature filtered up. Notus knew that both Fernando and Bridget were asking the same questions, expecting answers that Notus could not give.

  “That is Elizabeth’s telephone number,” stated Notus, quietly. He did not understand why the Master and Mistress of England could not let the boy go.

  “And you’re sure that he’s staying there?” asked Bridget. She sat on the couch beside him.

  He was sure of nothing. His life was no longer the same. He shrugged.

  “Well that’s a great help!” Fernando walked over to the dinette where a sleek laptop lay open, its screen glowed brightly in the sparsely lit room. “Do you know where she lives?”

  Notus frowned. He did not want Elizabeth or her daughter brought into the world of the Chosen. The risk to their lives would be too great.

  “Paul, please, we need to talk to him,” implored Bridget. “Hopefully he’s cooled down.”

  He shook his head. “He won’t talk with me.”

  Fernando glanced up from his computer and stared at Notus as if the monk had said the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “I don’t want you going near the Angel. You incinerated that bridge quite nicely. I don’t want you to blow up our chances to possibly regain a valuable asset.” He went back to his computer, typing and swivelling the wireless mouse.

  “I don’t understand,” queried Notus.

  Fernando sighed and looked over the monitor. “Bridget, you explain it. If I have to be reminded one more time that it is because of Notus that we’re in this predicament, I swear, I’m going to strangle him until his head pops off.”

  Notus’ eyes went wide. No doubt remained. The Master of the British Chosen was still furious at him.

  “It’s clear that the Angel still has the abilities that make him what he is regardless of whether or not he’s Chosen,” explained Bridget, in a business like tone. “The severing of your ties to him in the callous and hurtful way—”

  “Don’t forget selfish,” interrupted the Noble without looking up from his screen.

  “Do you want me to do this or not?” snapped Bridget.

  They’re both furious with me, thought Notus, sadly. He had not ever been on the receiving end of her whip like anger, but having witnessed others cower under her lash Notus did not relish the prospect that he was next.

  Fernando raised his hands. “He’s all yours.”

  Bridget gave a terse nod and redirected her flashing eyes back to the monk. It took what was left of Notus’ nerve not to cringe under her imperious glare.

  “Yes, well, because of you the Chosen have either lost their greatest protector or have turned that weapon against the Chosen. Fernando and I hope that we can convince the Angel to return to us and not rise against us. It is our deeply held hope that we can, at least, try to repair some of the damage you created. If we can get the Angel back we’ll be thrilled. The least we can hope for is that he won’t turn on us.”

  “And you think he would do that?” asked Notus, horrified. “Turn on the Chosen?” Because of me? This last thought he smartly kept to himself.

  Bridget sighed. “I pray not, but he’s been used and abused, and he has every right to be angry.”

  Notus dropped his gaze to his hands that rested on his thighs. “And if he’s turned against the Chosen?”

  Bridget’s jaw locked, unable to respond. She glanced to Fernando who penetrated the monk’s eyes with a gaze that bespoke death.

  “There is no way in hell that I’ll let a weapon of such destructive capabilities be turned against the Chosen,” said the Noble, icily. “If it comes to it I will kill the Angel.”

  The Master and Mistress ignored Notus’ sudden intake of air.

  “I found it,” stated Fernando looking at the monitor. He quickly scribbled something down on the hotel pad of paper as he stood. Bridget followed suit, leaving the couch for the front door.

  Fernando met Bridget there and gave her the paper before turning to face his unwanted guest. “You will stay here. If you are not here by the time we come back I will hunt you down myself and toss you in front of a Grand Council, am I understood?”

  The Nobel’s imperious tone chilled Notus and he slowly nodded. He watched the two leave without another word. All that was left behind was their anger permeating the suite. Notus closed his eyes and buried his face into his hands.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  Chapter XXXIV

  “Do you think there will be any problem with Dr. Bowen remembering us,” asked Bridget as she smoothed out the navy blue skirt over her knees.

  Fernando shifted the car into greater speed and wished that he had the top down. Unfortunately Bridget insisted it stay up less the wind mess her hair. He shook his head. “I’m just glad that she was home when we arrived.” He sifted down again, slowing the BMW as they fell into heavier traffic. The Global Positioning System calmly spoke the next set of directions. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The worst case scenario is that the Angel isn’t at the club she said he was going to and he heads back to Dr. Bowen’s.”

  “I still don’t like it,” frowned Bridget. “He’s never been one for crowds. Hell, it’s like pulling teeth to get him to come over to the house. Now he’s off to some nightclub alone. I don’t understand and Dr. Bowen seemed relieved that we were going after him.”

  Shaking his head Fernando followed the GPS’ instructions and turned right. “I don’t get it either. I could have if I Pushed.”

  “And have the Angel more furious at us for doing so? I think not.” Bridget watched Fernando’s dark features tighten with an impending outburst. “You know he’d figure out that one of us Pushed her. It’s better that she believes that we’re friends who, after finding out what happened between he and Paul, flew over to help mend things between the two.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “Yes, you do,” snapped Bridget. “That’s always been your problem. Don’t think to fool me. I’ve known you far too long. You care too much.”

  “Bridget,�
� growled the Noble, not liking the shift in the conversation.

  “Fine.” Bridget crossed her arms and stared out the passenger window to watch the flowing scene of lit up buildings and passers-by. “Do you have a plan what we’re going to say when we find him?”

  “Nope. I thought I would leave that to you.” He turned onto Queen Street West and slowed the two-seater so they could count the numbers as the GPS counted down the metres. Fernando pulled into a parking spot before the SUV could parallel park into it. He expected to have the driver get out of his car to start something and was surprised to hear some nasty names directed at him before the SUV pulled slowly away in search of another space.

  Exiting the BMW, Fernando walked around, opened the passenger door and offered Bridget a hand as she rose from the low riding vehicle. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt as Fernando closed the door and locked the car with the key fob.

  “Do you want to guess which the nightclub is?” smirked Bridget.

  “Fuck,” swore the Noble. “Is he insane?”

  The two Chosen stood outside Beyond The Veil watching Gothically dressed individuals move in and out the propped open black doors. Two guards stood to either side of the entrance, crossed arms bulging, threatening to rip the tight t-shirts, as they kept a watchful eye. Music pounded out the doors and onto the street, mingling with conversing patrons seeking fresh air or to pollute their lungs with cigarettes. All ignored the security, though on the occasion, someone would find the courage to glance their way. Despite the plethora of mortals pretending to be Vampires it was clear to the Master and Mistress of the Chosen what sort of place this was.

  “Why would he come here, of all places?” concern tightened Bridget’s voice, sending it higher.

  “A death wish perhaps.” Fernando walked towards the guards.

  Bridget rushed up to her Chosen and grabbed his forearm, stopping the Noble and turning him to face her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, fear widening her eyes.