Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (14 page)

Blue eyes smouldered and she barked, “
Vas t’en!
”

At first the Angel thought she meant he and Fernando, but the girls jumped at her order and quickly vacated the parlour, their bare feet whispering up the stairs. Little Juliet needed no further encouragement to sprint after them, her feet thumping loudly.

“I’ve told you before, don’t ever call me that!” shouted Bridget, spinning around to face the Noble. Her silk shift swirled around her body as she turned towards the couches and sat down.

“Fine,” stated Fernando. “As long as you drop that phoney accent. We’re not customers, Bridget.” He landed heavily in a plush burgundy chair set across from her, leaving the Angel standing.

Shifting in her seat, Bridget spoke to him, her accent gone. “You must excuse my fledgling” – Fernando scowled – “please sit.” She patted the brocade beside her.

 
Bridget was Fernando’s Chooser? He blinked at the revelation. It seemed they did not even like each other. Shaking his head to clear it, he moved to sit nervously beside the nearly naked Chosen. The pale curve of her breast plainly evident under the plunging neckline made it difficult for him to tear his gaze away.

Despite his hesitancy, Bridget smiled at the way he moved, like a predator, lean with sinewy strength. She laid her small delicate hand on his. “Now, tell me why the Angel has deigned to appear at my humble abode. And it is not because Fernando thought you would like to sample my wares. Though how you and he know one another still eludes me.” Her eyes locked onto his large expressive crimson eyes and smiled. No one had ever told her that the Angel was beautiful.

Disgusted at the spectacle, Fernando stood up. “That’s enough!” he stomped up before her like a petulant child.

Languidly, she turned her head to stare up at him.

“You want to know why we’re here? Here!” Fernando fumbled with the ring on his finger and dropped it into her lap.

The ring was heavy yet Bridget twirled it around a slim finger. The recognition of the signet made her gasp.

“Where did you get this?” she exclaimed, standing up. Even though she was shorter than the Noble she was still able to stare him down.

“We found it.” His dark brown eyes shadowed over. “Or more to the point, it found us.”

“Where? Sebastian would never take this ring off.” Her voice rose in volume and power.

“He didn’t,” taunted Fernando, obviously enjoying his Chooser’s growing anxiety.

“What are you talking about, Fernando?”

He just smiled, his eyes alighting with something more sinister.

“Stop playing with me,” ordered Bridget.

“I took it off his finger after his dismembered arm was dumped at my feet.” Fernando ignored the accusatory glare. “Such genius is now lost, the likes of which we’ll never see again.”

“He…he’s dead?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

Fernando hitched a shoulder.

Staring down at the ring hanging heavily around her finger, she murmured, “He would never take this ring off. He said he would rather die first.” She shot her head up to glare at the Noble. “You’re lying. This is all some elaborate hoax. Some disgusting trick to—”

“No it is not.” The Angel’s voice was soft, yet penetrated the tension. He recognized the fear in Bridget’s eyes as she shifted to face him, and understood it. Anger mixed with fear and sadness. Loss. He could not allow Fernando to play with her any longer. “Fernando does not lie.” He stood, towering over both of them. “It is as he stated. Only you know for certain if Sebastian is dead.”

She stared up into strangely sympathetic eyes; her own shimmered with unshed tears. She had heard of the Angel and shared in whispering the stories, but none had revealed what she saw in his eyes.

With a nod she closed her eyes and opened herself to connect with her Chooser. It had been so long since they were intimate this way, but the connection had always been there for her to follow the threads back to him if necessary. This time there was nothing. No hint of his presence. No sense of his feelings. No words of his thoughts. There was nothing. He no longer existed.

Gasping at the disconnection, Bridget opened her eyes. Ignoring Fernando’s bemused expression she hastily wiped her eyes with a trembling hand. “I guess I should have expected as much,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d feel this way about him. Will you feel this way when I’m gone, Fernando? I think not. Oh, don’t look so hurt. Remember, I know how you feel about our relationship.”

“And you never let me forget it,” snorted the Noble. He began to pace, uncomfortable with her reminder.

“How did Sebastian die?” she asked, refusing to be diverted into Fernando’s semantic games and brought her attention to the Angel who stood strangely still.

“I thought you might know,” snapped Fernando. “After all, you’re Sebastian’s whelp.”

Her eyes froze over. “Just because he is…was… my Chooser, does not mean I know everything about him, and just because I’m yours does not mean you know everything about me. Now, if this was the reason why you came, you can leave.”

“No, we’re not done. I want to know what Sebastian was into that got him killed.”

“What do you care, Fernando?” exploded Bridget. “You only care about yourself.”

“True,” smiled the Noble. “And it is for that reason that you are going to answer my question. What was Sebastian up to?”

“Alright,” she sighed. “You might as well sit. I don’t want to get a kink in my neck.”

“I knew you cared about me,” gloated Fernando as he retook the chair, leaving a surprised and confused Angel to sit on the couch with Bridget.

Shooting a scowl at her Chosen, Bridget began, “Several months ago Sebastian came over. I thought it extremely strange that he didn’t want to go with one of the girls and instead wanted to sit and talk with me, something he had never done. He seemed edgy, very worried, definitely not himself. I would have thought him scared to death if I hadn’t known him better. Can you imagine it, Fernando? Sebastian afraid?” The Noble shook his head. “So I opened myself up to him – something I do not like to do – and found a terrifying fear. I asked what was wrong. He wouldn’t say because he didn’t want to endanger my life. My life. I was astounded. He actually displayed genuine affection, something I had never experienced from him. All he said was that if others came after him I should dissuade them. Then he left, saying he had to go. When I asked him where, he mumbled sadly, ‘I miss fish,’ and left.” She glanced from Fernando to the Angel. “Do you know what he meant?”

The Angel shook his head, frowning at her words.

“Did Katherine summon Sebastian to her?” asked Fernando.

Staring at the ring held in her lap, Bridget pouted in thought. After a moment she lifted her head. “Why yes, come to think of it, he was summoned.”

“When?” pressed the Noble.

“I believe it was about a week or two before he last came to me. Why?”

Staring at the rug, refusing to meet Bridget or Fernando’s eyes, the Angel sighed.
Because if he was summoned for the same reasons as us, then she was telling the truth and someone is killing the Chosen, and we are probably their next targets.

Dismissing her question with a wave of his hand, Fernando continued. “Did Sebastian tell you Katherine’s reasons?”

Bridget shook her head, confused as to where this was leading.

Taking the phial out of his vest pocket, Fernando tossed it to his sire. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Bridget frowned at the little glass bottle and its askew label and opened it, taking a whiff before the Angel could stop her. The smell exploded into the room, causing Bridget to swoon.

Trying not to breathe, the Angel quickly stoppered the bottle.

Bridget came to with a choked gasp. “What is that stuff?” she coughed.

“I had hoped you would have been able to tell us,” said Fernando, unconcerned with his sire’s collapse.

“I’ve never smelled anything so horrible. Why do you ask?” She waved a hand at the phial now in the Angel’s possession.

“It was in Sebastian’s grip.”

Bridget shook her head in dismay. “He must have gotten it after he left me. Why would anyone do this to Sebastian? Oh, don’t tell me. I know how he could be. But to kill a vampire of his age? What is going on Fernando?”

With closed eyes, the Noble sighed and told her about the poisoning of the blood supply and how he and the Angel were forced into finding out the culprits of the caper.

When he finished there was a long moment of silence, broken only with Bridget’s soft whisper, “Fernando, would you stay the day? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

A gentle smile softened the Noble’s features and he nodded.

Realizing that the end of the night was approaching, the Angel stood. “I should be going.”

“You don’t have to,” offered Bridget. “You could stay here.”

The offer and her generosity took him off guard and he glanced from Chosen to Chooser. “No. I should go home.” He walked towards the door, found his cloak and put it on.

“In that case,” she followed, “please let me call you a cab. I’ll have my personal driver take you home.”

Bridget pulled on the bell-pull next to the front door and turned to face the Angel. “You are most welcome here anytime.”

He made to leave, but her hand caught his and he noticed her sad smile. “Take care of yourself, and take care of your Chooser. What the two of you have is rare among our kind.”

He returned her smile with a nod and opened the door. As he exited he heard Fernando call out, “Half seven. Your place.”

T
he door closed behind Jeanie, cutting her off from the strangeness of the nights events, and the Angel. The other – Fernando – she was pleased to be rid of. He was what her father would have called an arse, and rightly so. She could not believe the way he acted, as if he were superior to the Angel. He had some nerve.

 
Standing before the door, she felt safe taking in the quiet of the inn. This late in the evening, only a handful of patrons sat in chairs and benches in groups numbering no more than two or three. In the huge hearth along the west wall a fire blazed, warming the large open room with its gloaming heat. Quiet conversation drifted incoherently, punctuated with the occasional boisterous laugh.

Pounce, the mouser, was, as usual, passed out in front of the fire, purring contently, ignoring the goings on in his home. The large orange cat always knew the best places to be. Smiling at the curled form, Jeanie found an empty table beside Pounce as Tom came out of the kitchen.

“Been worried about you,” stated the innkeeper with a smile. “Alice was edgy all day and night – your bed not even slept in. I’ll have something brought over.”

“Aye, that'd be wonderful,” beamed Jeanie. Exhaustion and starvation vied for attention as she sat down on the chair and watched the plump balding man nod and turn back to the kitchen. Staring at her folded hands, she sighed, secretly glad that the Angel had insisted she come back here.

Tomorrow night she would meet up with him –
too bad Fernando will probably be there –
and she would help in…in what? She frowned. To get the Good Father back? That was surely part of it, but it did not explain the severed arm. God, that was horrible. Nor did it explain what was in that phial that turned her disgust into ravenous hunger. Her frown deepened.
Why did it revolt the Angel, yet the arm dinna?
She shook her head. There were so many questions and no answers to satisfy her. The Angel made it clear he would reveal nothing.

The smell of hot beef stew drew Jeanie away from her ponderings to find Alice carrying a tray with a large steaming bowl, bread and a mug, walking towards her. Placing the food down before Jeanie, she settled her round form onto the chair across from the girl. The chair groaned under Alice’s weight and Jeanie feared, as she always did, that the chair would collapse. It did not. The angry frown on the cooks face increased Jeanie’s apprehension.