Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (39 page)

Withdrawing the ash-covered poker, he glanced closely at the flakes. It was hard to conceive that such beauty could be created from such destruction. Unbalanced at the movement, a few of the ashes floated free, descending onto his lap. The ash’s beauty faded against the blackness of the fabric, leaving ugliness in its wake. Disgust registered for no reason and in a fury he flung the poker away, sending the ash flying.

It was too much. It was all too much. He cradled his face in his hands, his hair sweeping forward, shrouding him. All that remained was emptiness and for the first time in his existence he felt the oppression of silence. Not even the word of another rang in his mind. Without Notus he was lost. And now… he had seen similar expressions of horror on many people through the ages.

He had learned long ago to bury the emotions the stares evoked, but this time it was different. Every time he tried to push the feelings away they just bubbled back to the surface. He had never wanted to have Jeanie look at him that way. Never. Now it was too late. He hung his head and stared at the flecks of ash on his pants wishing the pain would go away.

The sound of the front door opening brought his attention to the source. Still seated before the dormant hearth, he twisted around and gazed over the back of the couch, his arms resting on the cushions for support. Time stood still. He could not believe what he was seeing. Not daring to utter a word, lest the situation evaporate as fantasy, he could only stare, slack-jawed in fearful apprehension.

Jeanie stood, her arms hugging herself, face streaked with tears. She looked around the dark room. She did not know why she had come back here. After fleeing the horrific revelations at the opium den, she had walked aimlessly through the dampened streets. The image of the man she loved feeding off the living blood of another wrenched her insides, as did Fernando’s proclamation that vampires did exist and that they were such creatures in the world. Her eyes witnessed the truth, her mind denied what she saw, and her heart was crushed by it.

On she had wandered not realizing that she was closing on the only home she had felt truly welcomed and loved since her mother died. It was the Angel’s expression of desolation at seeing her fixated in horror that sped her through the streets.

She knew everything now, or so she thought, and could finally understand why he was afraid of himself with her, why he pulled back at every instance, why he did not want her involved. It was because he was a vampire and he cared about her. But did she still love him? Her confusion over the truth of his nature and the stories of vampires she had read in novels and the penny presses made her head swim.

Jeanie did not realize where she was until she stood in front of the door to his home. Testing the handle, she had turned it and entered, her heart pounding in fear.

At first she had not see him in the darkness illuminated by the solitary candle on the tea table, and then he stood up from behind the couch, despair etched on his fine pale features. She took an involuntary step backwards and caught herself. Her racing heart slowed with the realization that he had not come near her. In fact he would not even look at her. Despite the terror she felt, her need to hear the truth from the lips she had tasted from won out.

“Is it true?” she whispered into the darkness. “Is what I saw and what Fernando told me true? That ye are a –” She could barely bring herself to say the word, “a vampire?”

He could not believe his eyes. She was here, standing in front of the threshold. Every fibre in his being told him that it could not be true, that it was impossible, but there she stood, fear and sadness commingling on a face that should never know those feelings. Part of him wanted to rush over to her, to comfort her, but at her retreating step he knew she saw him as a monster. And then she spoke the question that confirmed his worse fears.

Unable to stand any longer, the weight of his anguish pulled him to sit down on the couch, his back to Jeanie. He could not bear to see the horror in her summer green eyes. Instead he stared at the shattered, splintered piece of wood in the fireplace.

Surprisingly, the squeak of the floorboards came closer until he could feel her warm presence behind him, her dim shadow darkening the hearth.

She did not know what possessed her to come so close to the man she thought she knew. She was finding it hard to see him as a monster from a fairy tale, but it made so much sense. She had never seen him eat. He slept all day. And his reaction to the sunlight! Not to mention why would the Good Father have a vampire around?
Unless…Oh dear God! I’m the housekeeper for vampires! But they canna be, could they?

She caught her breath in shock. It was not possible. The Good Father was so kind; so generous. He made the most delicious meals for her, and then she realized he never partook of them himself. It was impossible to think he would live with a vampire, let alone be one.

And the Angel, his explanations seemed reasonable and she trusted, even loved him, but the vision of him over the old Chinese man and Fernando’s admission plagued her. She needed the Angel – no, she needed Gwyn – to tell her the truth.

“Please, Gwyn,” she implored. “Tell me.”

The use of the name sent him reeling and he groaned, hiding his face in his hands supported by elbows resting on his knees. Only Notus used it, and only sparingly. Notus usually used it when he wanted to press a point, knowing where the name came from and why. He knew that Jeanie had heard it, but never before had she used it. To hear that name issued from her lips wrenched his heart.

“What do you want me to say?” he implored. He could not face her and see what the truth would do to her beautiful face.

“Anythin’. Everythin’. Tell me what I saw was a lie.” She stood trembling, watching his hunched over form. Terrified, but drawn nonetheless, Jeanie moved around to the end of couch. He still would not look at her.

“I –” He shook his head, sending alabaster locks flowing. “I cannot.”

“What?” she gasped.
He couldna possibly mean…

There was nothing left between them but to tell her the truth before her imagination could make this nightmarish situation worse. He was stunned that she had come to him. He knew Jeanie to have remarkable courage, but doubted she could handle what was next. The truth would certainly send her fleeing. He sat up and dropped his hands limply into his lamp, gazing at the fireplace. He spoke so softly in an attempt to hide his own pain that she had to strain to listen.

“What you saw is true. Some of us call ourselves the Chosen, but a new word has come to be used to describe us…Vampire.”

Terror stripped away Jeanie’s ability to breathe, her eyes wide. Every instinct screamed that she should run away lest this horror story character come after her, but her legs refused to move until they gave way and she sat down on the couch as far away as possible. All she could do was stare at him. Even in the dark she could make out the soft lines of his face, so youthful as to be almost androgynous. She had believed him older than her, but now he appeared so much younger and so incredibly sad.

They sat in silence, Jeanie gazing at him as he stared at nothing. Slowly, the initial shock wore down enough for her to ask, “And…and the Good Father is a … vampire as well?”

He nodded. “He is the Chosen who Made me.” He could not understand why she was still there and he turned his face to meet hers. Fear was reflected in her emerald eyes, as well as something he had never seen before – curiosity.

“Oh my dear God,” she gasped. She had been working for vampires! Then a new thought came unbidden to her lips. “Were ye and the Good Father usin’ me so that one day…” She instantly regretted her words.

Revolted at the implication, he rose to his feet and glared down at her in disgust. Unable to form a reply to such a horrible notion, he just shook his head in disbelief. Of all the questions she could have asked, of all the generosity his Chooser had shown her, how could she even think such a question? Without another word he left her and strode angrily across the room to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, causing the frame and door to crack.

Kicking off his shoes, he picked them up and threw them against the wall, causing the painted plaster to shatter at the impact. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he rubbed his face with his hands, scrubbing away some of the anger. After all that he had done for her in just the past couple of nights. After the promises he made. The audacity to even ask such a question wounded him and demeaned Notus.

A soft rapping on the door brought his attention and before he could order Jeanie to go away, she opened it enough to poke her head into the room.

Jeanie did not know what moved her to ask such a question, but seeing his reaction and the resonating sound of the door crashing closed, followed by two other loud thuds, and made her realize how badly she hurt him. She never wanted that. She just wanted him to be happy and be hers. That alone propelled her forward.

“I’m so sorry,” she pleaded. She stepped into his bedroom, candle in hand, still nervous, but now more out of the fear of the secret she harboured within that drove her to seek him out. She knew his truth, and though it terrified her, Jeanie knew she had to tell him hers. “I –“

“Why are you still here?” he cut her off, turning to face his unwanted guest. She knew what he was. She knew what Notus was. And still she pursued him. What more could she possibly want?

The question caught Jeanie off guard and she blinked a few times before she could answer. “Because I need to know the truth.”

“You have your truth,” he stated, harshly. He gazed straight ahead at the dresser in an attempt to ignore the girl.

“Aye, I guess I do.” She sullenly nodded her head. She felt that she should leave and go on with her life, but seeing him there, hurt and angry, Jeanie could not see him as the monster the stories portrayed. He was the same person, made vulnerable by the truth, and she spoke hers, fear evaporating as her voice grew stronger with conviction. “I ken the truth verra well. The Good Father is well named for all the kind works he has done. He saved me from a fate worse than death. He gave me a job, gave me a home, gave me a life without askin’ for none in return. I’ve ne’er seen him harm another. He hasna an evil bone in his body, yet ye say he’s a vampire, a thing of evil that feeds off blood to live, but he isna so. And…and ye are his Angel – the Angel who hides from men’s eyes lest they see ye, yet ye always assist the Good Father in his good deeds. I’ve seen ye brave dangers for me. And I ken in my soul ye wouldn’ hae done so if ye were such an evil creature. Ye are that, but no evil. I saw ye no wantin’ to do what ye did to the old man, but ye did it because he wished it. I canna believe the man I love to be evil.”

He gasped in astonishment as Jeanie spoke. It was inconceivable that she was so easily accepting of the truth, but what floored him were her final words.

“What?” he exclaimed, disbelieving his own ears.

Bravely taking the few steps to sit on the bed, Jeanie placed the candle on the bedside table and turned to face him, a shy smile on her full lips as if she were suddenly embarrassed by her proclamation.

“I love ye,” she slowly stated, testing the words again in her speech. “I’ve loved ye since I first laid eyes on ye and I believe no matter what ye are, that wilna change.”

Disbelieving his own ears he stood, desiring to get away from her but wanting to be so close. He could not stop his shaking or the surge of confusing emotions as Jeanie gazed up at him, worry washing over her perfect face as he paced.

“You can not mean that,” he said, finally coming to a stop. “It’s not possible.”

“What? For me to love ye?” Jeanie rose, distinctly aware of the creature before her. Of all the reactions to her admission she could not have anticipated this one.

“Yes,” he cried. He was finding it difficult to get enough breath to speak and he turned away. It hurt him too much to see her in the soft candlelight. He felt her warm hand tentatively settle on his arm.

“My God, yer tremblin’.” She so wanted to take him into her arms and comfort him, even knowing the fearful truth that he could kill her with just a kiss. “Why? Why canna ye believe it possible that I can love ye. I’ve known ye for four long years –”

“But you don’t know me,” he stated, abruptly cutting her off and spun around to face the second woman in his life to cause him so much confusion, so much pain. “You just found out what I am – what Notus is. I have existed for nearly fourteen hundred years off the lives of countless thousands. Those I did not kill in the need for sustenance I killed in self preservation and my Chooser’s preservation, and in some cases, to fund our travels.”