Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (38 page)

“You brought us to an opium den?” exclaimed Fernando, disgusted at the sight of the pitiful mortals’ futile attempts to escape reality.

Jeanie’s gasp of surprise and the Noble’s question went unanswered. Winding his way through the throng, he ignored all except that of the door at the back of the den. A few, not so deep in the effects of the drug startled at the sight of the Angel and the two strangers with him. These too did he ignore.

The door opened into a brightly lit room finely decorated with oriental art. The smell of perfumed joss sticks floated into the air from a little shrine in the corner. Fresh fruit and burning candles sat beside a tiny figurine indicated that the shrine was in active use.

“Please, come in,” said the very beautiful Chinese woman. Dressed in blue silk, she sat before the shrine. Her thick black hair sharply contrasted her pale face and richly red painted lips. She stood with the grace to shame a Chosen and Yi Li went to stand by his mother’s side.

The three did as she bade, the door closing behind.

“You come not alone,” she stated, glancing from the Angel to the others and then back again. Her small, delicate hands were clasped in front.

It took a moment to figure whom Mei Li was talking about. “This is Fernando de Sagres and Jeanie Stuart.”

“The Angel said that you are a master herbalist,” interjected the Noble, already wanting to be on their way.

Mei Li raised a brow yet her face remained impassive. “Thank you for the compliment. Xiao Gui has always been kind to us.”

A snort escaped the Noble’s lips. The name Mei gave the Angel was one he was sure the Angel did not call himself. Fernando withdrew the tiny bottle, holding it out for Yi Li’s mother. “Do you think you could find out what this is and how it works?”

Mei Li took a step and the phial disappeared into her tiny grasp. “I will try. Is this why you come? Did Yi Li not tell you?”

“Yi said that your father needed the Angel,” replied the Angel. “And that your father has been injured.”

Mei Li nodded, a frown matching the sadness in her liquid brown eyes. “Yesterday father went out for morning walk. Crossing the road, runaway horse knocked father down, trampling him. Doctor could do nothing. He say father is dying. Father knows. He’s in much pain. We send Yi Li to find you.” She bowed her head, turned around and opened the door next to the shrine before she left through another door with her son in tow.

Dim yellow light illuminated the sparse room. A dresser stood against one crumbling plastered wall. A pitcher and basin of chipped porcelain sat on top. The only other large piece of furniture was a bed with its cracked and peeling wooden headboard against the back wall. Immaculate white linen sheets covered the form of an ancient man. His white-filmed eyes stared into the room.

For a moment he believed Yong Zheng dead until he heard his laboured breathing. He took a step into the dimly lit room and remembered who was with him. “Jeanie you have to stay here,” he said, turning to face Notus’ lovely housekeeper.

Drawing her attention from the sickly old man, Jeanie stared into the darkness of his hood. “Why? I can help.” She did not know how, but she wanted to be with him and be there for him.

He shook his head. “Not this time.”

“But ye take Fernando, ye can take me.”

“I’m not taking either of you. Not for this.” He closed the door on the two of them, both agape at being left out for different reasons.

Fernando fumed at having the door closed on him. He wanted to see the Angel at work and he was not going to be stopped now, and if he played his cards right, so would the girl. Testing the door handle, he opened the door enough for him to spy. A smile played along his lips as Jeanie knelt to join him in his espionage.
Well, if he will not tell her… It will be interesting to see how she handles the truth.

The Angel stepped towards the bed. Pushing back his hood, he knelt beside his teacher, and gazed into Yong Zheng Ru’s milky eyes, praying that he would not have to do what he could already tell was necessary.

“I have come, Yong Zheng,” he said in perfect Cantonese. No matter how many times he had done this throughout the centuries it still pained him to see friends in need of deaths release. He had tried not to feel, or like so many of the Chosen, to relish in the deception and final kill, but it never worked. Now, with Yong Zheng, the grief of the losses welled within, threatening to break.

“Ahh,” sighed the old man, lifting his gnarled hand to be caught in the cool grip of the Angel’s. Cool familiar fingers brushed away wispy strands of grey hair from his forehead. “I knew you would come, Xiao Gui.” Yong Zheng halted, searching for breath. “I knew you were in danger, from within and without.”

“What are you saying?” he frowned. He could smell death consuming his friend.

“I taught you, Xiao Gui, the forms handed down to me and you have taught me the practices of the ancients, for this I am grateful, but they come soon.” He paused, his rasping voice threatening to break. “They came in the past. You forgot. They are coming again. They tell me to tell you.”

Dumbfounded, he could only ask, “Who?”

Yong Zheng shook his head, instigating a coughing fit. Gently lifting the old man to a sitting position helped east the violence of the fit and exposed the swollen purpled chest and abdomen where the scent of blood was the strongest. He did not need Notus’ medical knowledge to know that Yong Zheng was bleeding into his belly. He covered the old man and settled him against the headboard.

After a few harried moments Yong Zheng Ru spoke. “I know that you need chi of others to live, Xiao Gui.”

He swallowed, knowing without a doubt that his mentor in the newer martial arts knew his secret and waited.

“I cannot use it any longer. You need it more than I, Xiao Gui. I give it freely.”

This was what he dreaded. With Yong Zheng Ru’s strange talk he thought he would not be called to do the deed, but now he found he could not.

“I can’t,” he whispered, clutching Yong Zheng’s warm hand.

“You must.” Another fit took him and he continued once it was past. “They say you need it.”

“Please,” he pleaded. He did not want to do this. For the first time he did not want a mortals blood. He wanted Yong Zheng to live, to keep exchanging knowledge and stories.

The old man turned his sightless eyes onto the Angel who had become more a son than a student. “I am dying,” he explained softly. “Don’t let my chi go to waste, Xiao Gui.”

He nodded, his eyes brimming with tears and was shocked to feel a hand on his face. Looking at the old man, his eyes met ones that had once seen.

“Let me see you one last time,” whispered Yong Zheng Ru.

Slowly, gently, the old dry hands explored his face, this time, for the first and last time, he described what he looked like to his teacher and friend, all the while tears streamed down his pale face. He did not understand what was happening; all he knew was that Yong Zheng did not pull away in horror. When the old man finally withdrew his hands, he recognized the Cantonese word for beautiful.

The old man, fatigued by his explorations, his breath laboured, leaned his head against the board and the Angel knew it was time. Easing himself to sit on the edge of the bed facing Yong Zheng, he whispered, “Good-bye, dear friend.”

With the hope it would not be too painful he leaned over and sank his teeth into Yong Zheng’s neck. The taste of his tears mingled with that of his friend’s blood. At first he let the old man’s heart carry the blood to his mouth, but it did not take long for it to fail. There was no joy in the task and he despised his need for human blood even more. When he finally released his teacher, he wished only to leave the room.

Laying the body onto the bed he wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and turned to leave. He found Fernando standing in the doorway. The Noble grinned and pulled the door fully open, revealing a terrified Jeanie quickly gaining her feet.

The world bottomed out, sending his mind lurching. All he could think of, over and over, was that she knows.
She knows!

This was not what he wanted. Now he witnessed the undisguised horror of him in her face and before any could utter a word he pushed past them and fled into the night, his heart shattering.

It had gone so much better than Fernando had dared hope as he watched the Angel race into the night leaving Jeanie with him. Still smiling, he turned to the girl. “So now you know what you have involved yourself with.”

“What are ye?” Jeanie took a fearful step backwards.

“What do you think we are?” he asked nonchalantly, circling the terrified girl.

“Devils,” she whispered in horror.

Fernando chuckled in amusement. “No, not devils, something much better. Vampires, my dear. Vampires. You are helping vampires.”

“No,” she shook her head. “They dinna exist.” She tried to deny it but the image of the Angel draining the blood of that poor old man would not release its grip. Tears welled in her eyes.

“We do and now you have a choice to make.” He so enjoyed the undisguised terror in her face. “Either you choose to continue helping us, knowing what we are, or I kill you. I might warn you, though, that I haven’t fed tonight.”

Jeanie’s eyes went round in fright and she fled the opium den, the sound of Fernando’s laughter fading behind her.

He could not help himself. It had been so long since he had so much fun. It would be interesting to see what would happen next. Fernando halted his booming laughter as the beautiful Chinese woman came back into the room. She looked so lovely in her navy blue silk dress.

“Where is the Angel and the lady?” she asked, glancing around the room.

“Gone,” stated the Noble matter-of-factly. “What did you find out about the herbs?”
My God, it’s been a long time since I’ve had Oriental.

“It rare medicine.” She handed the phial back. “Swallowed, it locks chi in blood and body. Given when chi is floating to prolong life for the dying.”

“Locks the chi in the blood, eh?” repeated Fernando, staring at the little bottle with renewed respect. Making it vanish into a vest pocket, he took her hand and kissed it, sensing the blood beneath the skin. “Thank you.” His eyes made contact with hers and a moment later she lay deeply unconscious on the floor.

Patting a kerchief at the corners of his mouth, Fernando stepped lightly over her body. Already the puncture marks on her neck were fading. He left the building without a thought or care except to get to the docks before dawn.

H
e sat on the floor in front of the couch, knees raised and arms
creating a bridge for him to rest his chin as he stared into the cold dead fireplace. A delicate breeze drifted down the flue, minutely shifting ash, creating patterns only the imagination could define. A chunk of a half burnt log stood monolith to the desolation, mocking the totality of the dead fire’s destructive capabilities.

It was so tempting to use that lone piece of wood to create a new fire that would turn it to cinders. Instead he grabbed the handle of the iron poker and stabbed the log. A charred piece snapped off, landing in the ashes, setting free several flakes before they too settled down. It was enough of an encouragement. Hardening his grip, he smashed the poker down on the wood, sending a flurry of grey flying.

Again and again he slammed the iron rod into the charred mass, beating it until nothing remained except shredded kindling. Ash filled the fireplace. A storm that refused to follow the laws of gravity, until slowly, almost imperceptibly, the ash began to settle. A few of the multitude landed in perfect balance on the iron poker. The fury of the storm abated,
 
he was left with nothing but the purity of his own self loathing. All that was left to do was watch in awe of the beauty the flakes created. Greys, whites, silvers, and blacks flickered as they landed, creating new patterns until all was as still as before.