Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (24 page)

The sudden change of subject brought Fernando’s gaze to linger on the corpses for a brief moment before saying, “Leave them. Someone will find them soon enough.”

He nodded. He did not like the idea of leaving the two bodies out like this. It seemed disrespectful to the dead, but they could not allow themselves to become more distracted than they were. Let someone else deal with the bodies, there was no place to hide them. They had more important things to worry about. Standing silently over the corpses, he mouthed a short prayer that he had heard Notus say many, many times through the ages and hoped that the intent, if not the words, would ease Rupert’s and the homeless man’s souls.

Ignoring the scrutinizing gaze of the Noble, he turned, determined to find out if Jeanie was indeed alive and if so, how did she fit into with the poisoning of the Chosen. It was extremely doubtful that she knew about the Chosen, and even more so regarding the poisoning, considering that if she were alive she would be a prisoner. But why? Why attack her? What caused her to be singled out, if indeed that was the case? The only reason he could fathom was her connection to him, and if all these theories were fact then he and Fernando were not only walking into a trap, they were being toyed with as well.

He regarded Southwark Bridge up ahead. Below the engineering masterpiece, the Thames undulated; a black eel, sleepy in the cool night. He did not want to even think of the water he would have to cross, or the effects the action would rend on him. Steeling himself from the unease of crossing the bridge, he focused upon the gas lamps illuminating Bankside.

The first few steps along the bridge were fine until they moved over the water. Then the familiar feelings of vertigo and nausea clutched at him, threatening to unbalance him. He could almost feel the bridge sway under his feet but knew that to be a falsehood. Swallowing down his gorge, he tried in vain to think of anything beside the unsteady movement far below his feet. The lines of lamps on the other against the city’s backdrop were his anchor, as well as the droning of a voice he knew was Fernando. He prayed that Fernando was not expecting conversation.

“You aren’t even listening to a word I said,” blasted the Noble. He had no clue why the Angel had shut down, and for that matter, he did not care. He did care that he was being ignored yet again.

The words filtered through and the Angel kept his sight on the other side of the river, knowing that if he turned to face the Noble he would lose the tenuous hold he had over his unease.

The silence of the response and the fact that Fernando was unused to being ignored began to irritate the Noble. Used to hearing himself speak, he also expected to be heard. If he opened the conversation to include another he damned well expected that person’s participation, but nothing came from the Angel.

Irritation built into anger, Fernando raised his voice. “Do you have nothing to add? Did you hear nothing I said, or was I just speaking to amuse myself.” He stepped out in front of the Angel and halted. “
Caralho!
You’re not listening to me even now!”

Focus on dry land shattered, the sudden rush of the depths of the river below washed over him and he placed a hand on the short protective wall in the hopes to hold his balance. He needed to get past the furious Noble and he took a tenuous step but was stopped once again.

“Get out of my way,” he said thickly.

“Now why should I do that?” inquired Fernando, sarcastically. “You haven’t heard a word I said. Why should I listen to you?”

Closing his eyes to help concentrate long enough to find the breath to answer, opened them and said in a rasping voice, “Please Fernando, tell me once on the other side.” This time he managed to push past.

Anger still unabated, and heightened by the brush off, Fernando stomped alongside the Angel’s graceful strides. “I am not going to repeat myself. Do you have any idea how much you irritate me?
Seu Fodidinho!
And now you are obviously hiding something. What is it?”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” he replied. Now if they could only get back onto solid earth he would not have to fear that the Noble would notice something wrong.

“Not bloody likely. You didn’t tell me what was on that card you took from that transient.”

Before he could respond four large men approached from the south side. Small clubs hefted in relaxed hands and one slapping his cupped palm invitingly.
Anywhere but here,
silently pleaded the Angel, his shoulders slumping under the cloak. Fernando seemed quite enthusiastic at the prospects of taking out his frustrations on someone, anyone, and placed his hands in easy reach of his blades.

“Oy, guv’nor, spare some for th’ missus and me, wot?” asked the one in the lead.

A smile lighted the Noble’s features as he responded, “My good sir, you would do better if you said please.”

The man’s brows shot up in surprise, obviously unused to receiving this type of response. Quickly recomposing himself to the jeers of his mates, he held up his club menacingly. “Th’ only please me an’ me mates need are these ‘ere clubs. Now give us yer money.”

Fernando’s smile turned malicious. “Shall we give these gentlemen what they desire,” he stated, glancing up at the Angel.

The ruffians chuckled at the prospect of new wealth received through violence.

Managing to hide the growing unease and nausea, he nodded. He disliked what he was about to do but there was no other choice. Who knew what they would do to another target if he and Fernando did not deal with them now. Pulling off his hood, he watched as the four tried to back away, fear filling their features, only to find the Noble suddenly blocking off their retreat.

Having moved passed the thugs too quickly for them to see, Fernando stood relaxed, a dagger in each hand. “I believe this is what you truly want,” he grinned, a sadistic smile plainly revealing the sharp pointed teeth of the Chosen. At last the Noble was going to have some fun. With a quick flick of his wrists the blades flew, embedding themselves in the shoulders of two of the ruffians. Screams escaped their mouths, shocked by the pain but more by the cruel turn of fate that now placed them on the defensive.

Taking the release of the daggers as cue, the Angel reached out and with the training of centuries past and years to hone his abilities, quickly and effectively punched the leader in the face so that he fell backwards, unconscious and with a broken, bleeding nose. The last unhurt man, too terrified to scream, attempted to bolt but the Angel was there. Grabbing the ruffian by the neck, he turned the face away and sank his teeth into the unwashed neck.

Blood exploded into his mouth and it took all his effort not to swallow at first, tasting for the taint. All he found was the intoxicating sweetness of fear and sucked on the wound, filling himself of the life sustaining nourishment, hoping that his nausea would not rise. It did not take long to still the man’s futile attempts to get free and just before death could claim the man; he released him to collapse onto the cobbles.

In shock of the sight of one of their own so brutally murdered, the two with the daggers in their shoulders found they could not scream for the hands that covered their mouths. Leaning between the two, Fernando still smiling wickedly, whispered, “Careful what you wish for, you might just get it. What? You don’t like Yin and Yang? That is a shame. After all the trouble you went through to get them from me. Tch tch tch. That is too bad. I guess I can have them back.”

He spun the two wounded men around like drunken tops and removed Yin from the larger man’s shoulder. Free of its impalement the blood flowed fiercely down the man’s chest, staining the already filthy shirt and coat. Yin did not remain bloodied for long as Fernando cautiously licked the blade clean to the horror of the men. Finding the blood untainted, the Noble raised a brow as if judging the quality of a fine wine and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck.

Once drained, Fernando turned his attention to the last man standing and smiled. Red blood stained his teeth. “I take it that you now wish to keep Yang?”

Terrorized, the ruffian could only nod mutely, holding his wounded shoulder as his legs gave out.

Fernando sadly shook his head at the unfortunate reply. “I’m terribly sorry, but they are a matched set. Killed a slant eyes for them. So you see, I must have it back. Sentimental reasons of course.”

Grabbing back Yang, he quickly dispatched the screaming man, and looked up at the Angel leaning against the bridge support with eyes closed, and then to the unconscious form of the leader.

“Is he tainted?” asked the Noble, bending over the only survivor, forgetting all about the two whom he just killed.

“I don’t know,” whispered the Angel. He kept his eyes closed in an attempt to keep his unease and nausea at bay. A light breeze pulled at his long white hair, causing the strands to fly in his face and he pulled up his hood.

“What do you mean?” demanded Fernando. “You took out one of them and you won’t do the same to this one. I don’t understand you. You feed off the one, yet not the other? By God, I took them both and now I won’t need to feed for a week or more. This happenstance was fortuitous and you look like you’ve just fed off your brother.”

Opening his eyes, he gazed at the unconscious body. “Then you take him.” He could not handle any more. Maybe if they were not on this blasted bridge he would not have a problem, but right now even one was too much.

Face screwed up in disbelief, Fernando shook his head, knelt and finished off the last one. Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, he stood, dismay still played on his features.

Lifting the corpse, the Noble said, “Are you going to help me, or what?”

Shoulders slumped; he sighed and easily picked up another of the bodies. It was an easy task throwing the corpses over the guard to land with a distant splash. No one would find them and if they did it would not be for quite some time. He knew he should feel some sort of remorse, he usually did, but his need to quit the bridge was pervasive in his being.

The sight of the black water below swallowing the last two bodies, forced him to back away from the edge, fighting to push down his rising nausea. “Can we go now?” he asked, wishing that the bridge would stop spinning.

“Sure,” replied Fernando, mystified by the Angel’s strange behaviour.

They quickly crossed the bridge in silence and without any further hindrance. Fernando occasionally glanced at his partner’s intense features focused on nothing. Something had disturbed the pale man, and to Fernando’s mind it was doubtful that the Angel would be this affected by the scene with the ruffians. No, there was something more, something that Fernando was missing.

Pursing his lips once they were off the bridge and seeing the Angel relax, he ventured, “You don’t supposed that those men on the bridge were some sort of diversion.” He knew the answer but he still wanted to hear the Angel’s reply.

Finally back on solid land, he felt the shift and the evaporation of the nausea and vertigo. “I doubt it. If they were, they probably would have been tainted. No, they were just looking for trouble on their own.”

“And found it they did,” chuckled the Noble, dryly. “You’re probably right. I just wanted to confirm my own thoughts on the event. Now where is the soup kitchen that fair maid told us of?”

There did not seem to be much around. A few people dressed in average attire walked the street. Occasionally a carriage would roll by, drawn by tired horses. Not a block away, on the east side of the street, a large low square building, obviously converted from a warehouse, stood with its window’s alight and its double doors thrown open.

Two men stood on either side of the old wide wooden staircase, batons hanging by leather strings from well-muscled wrists. These men were large and definitely not unintelligent. No one ventured in, but grubby people stumbled out in little clusters happily talking with one another or just beaming in delight. The sign above the double doors, roughly painted in bright red, declared
London Free Kitchen.

The name rang a bell and the Angel pulled out the business card. On it, it too, said
London Free Kitchen. How many were there?
He mused.

“I believe this is the place.” He handed the card to the Noble. “I retrieved this from the old man that happened to be Rupert’s last meal.”