Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (45 page)

Though the depletion of precious blood and the healing of his battered skull had taken its toll on the Noble, he decidedly felt much better and was looking forward to nightfall when he would be able to replenish his loss. He did not imagine that the Angel would appreciate it if he had a bit of a snack off the girl.

Definitely not.
The thought of being tossed out into the day was a great deterrent. He would have to behave.

It had been a surprise to find the girl with the Angel, and more surprising at what had obviously transpired between the two.
That whore has guts. I’ll give her that.
Not too many mortals could reconcile the fact that vampires were real, let alone actually know one. Maybe he underestimated the girl, or was it that he underestimated the Angel? There was something irritating about his partner, something not quite right.

He thought back to Bridget’s reactions to the Angel’s presence. For someone so reticent and cool, there was obviously something deeper going on within the Angel that he was not privy to, but somehow seemed to be unconsciously picked up by the women they encountered.

What had that crone said when she saw the Angel when her livelihood blazed? She said that he was beautiful. Fernando shook his head.
 
That would not be the word he would use. Elegant, yes. Graceful, in a predatory way. Men were not beautiful. That term was reserved for women, and the Angel, he decided, was not handsome. Long white hair, disturbing red eyes, facial features so androgynous that on any other person, male or female would be deemed pretty, angelic – or demonic.

Damn! Fernando threw a rung dry sock back into the tub and glanced at the door. A chill ran up his spine.
What in hell are you?

“Why don’t ye go t’bed?” Jeanie sat beside him on the couch, watching as he tried to fight the weariness in his soul.

He felt the full weight of his fatigue as he swept his hair from his eyes as he sat. The candles on the mantle flared and flickered. “I cannot. Not now. I need to know what Fernando found out.”

Jeanie sighed. “Can’t ye wait ‘till night?” She snuggled up against him. “Then ye’ll be able t’ think clearly.”

“I’m fine.”
Gods, she felt wonderful
. He recognised the doubt and worry in Jeanie’s eyes. “Jeanie, I am all right. I do not make staying in bed most of the night a habit.”

“True, but ye never had a reason before and ye dinna get much sleep if I recall.” She grinned mischievously.

“How could I with all that ruckus going on?” he stated in all seriousness.

For a moment Jeanie could only glare at him in astonishment then noticed the glint in his eyes and the slight grin, and let him have it. Grabbing a cushion she whacked him hard on the chest. “Why ye –“

Grabbing the pillow before another blow fell, he tossed it across the room, ignoring Jeanie’s cry of protest, and kissed her full on the mouth. So soft, so warm, he did not want to stop. “If I ha’ known how ye Scots lasses were I wouldna hae waited so long t’ find one,” he purred, desire deepening his voice.

Jeanie froze and blinked a few times, absorbing not the words, but how he said them. It was a perfect mimic. “How?”

“Scotland is quite nice to winter in. Nice long nights,” he grinned. “Needless to say I am now fully awake, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” beamed Jeanie.

“Mine, too.” He pulled her back to his side. After a long moment he whispered, “I have never been as open as I have been with you.”

“Not even with the Good Father?” inquired Jeanie, incredulously.

He shook his head, sending long pale hair into her face that she scooped and tucked behind his ear. “There have always been certain…topics that did not seem appropriate. He does not deal well with
things
he cannot fully understand. I am not sure I blame him. I do not deal well with it either.” He gazed down on her, green eyes reflecting his own pain, and turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I did not mean to scare you.” He closed his eyes, shielding his embarrassment. “I have never lost control like that before.”

“’Tis alright,” she whispered. “It made me love ye even more.”

He opened his eyes and gazed upon her candlelit face. So perfect. So terrifying. So his.

Heavy water logged sleeves clung annoyingly to Fernando’s forearms. He should not have attempted washing his garments while wearing the cassock as it was extremely unlikely that the Angel would lend him another of the priest’s habits. He would just have to endure the discomfort.

How long does wool take to dry?

Pleased at the disaster he had made of the bathroom, Fernando left, leaving his clothes hanging and draped over any and every possible fixture to drip discordantly upon the tiled floor. It was a small measure of revenge, especially against Jeanie, who would probably have to deal with the mess.

That’s for the cold water.

After all, she was the housekeeper.

Vacating the small bathroom, Fernando came upon an unexpected sight: the girl snuggled against the Angel on the couch with candles lit on the mantle and other flat surfaces. It was not so much the fact that they were together, but rather the compassion mirrored in an alabaster face, making the Angel appear almost…human. It was only in the context of the girl did the Angel let others catch a glimpse beneath his finely crafted mask.
Don’t forget, with the priest as well.
Otherwise the Angel was impossible to read.

Damn. That knock on the head sure did something.

Clearing his throat, the Noble approached the two, reflecting on how quickly the Angel assumed his façade.

“Sorry to interrupt such a heart warming scene, but since my heart is not warm. I suggest we get down to business. I for one would like to get a good day’s sleep.” He pulled a chair out from under the writing desk, noticing the journals were still there, and sat down. How tempting it was to be so close to those secrets and not be able to read them. Returning his attention to the situation at hand, he asked, “By the way, where am I going to sleep?”

The girl looked up at the Angel, her annoyed expression did not get past the Noble and he looked at his host, trying to hide the sudden unease he felt from the sight of those blood red eyes.

“You have a choice,” stated the Angel. “This couch or Notus’ cot.”

“No chance for a bed warmer?” Fernando was impressed by the venomous glare the girl shot him and smiled sweetly in return. “I didn’t think so.” He glanced back at the Angel. “I’ll take the cot.

“Now that’s decided,” continued the Noble, “we’d better get started.” He paused, waiting for an interjection, but received none. They watched him, waiting for him to volunteer the information and it suddenly irked him that while he was out risking his neck, or rather his head, they had played at being bedfellows. Not a very fair trade at that. But now he was here, the only safe place closest to the waterfront that provided the sanctuary against the sun, and he was going to take the Angel’s threat seriously.

Pursing his lips and taking a deep breath, he began. The Angel and the girl sat patiently as he told them about what he discovered at the harbourmasters office and what he witnessed before being cudgelled.

“I think that our next logical move is to go to Calais,” concluded Fernando. He did not go into how he, a Chosen, was snuck up upon. It was something he could not fathom. “There, I’m sure, we’ll find out who the hell is commissioning the transportation of the spices, and once we do, we’ll find the person or persons behind the whole damned bloody mess and stop it.”

Did he see the Angel’s pale lips tighten? He could not tell. The girl seemed worried. By what exactly, Fernando could not comprehend. Story done, he leaned back, waiting for some verbal response. Damn, his head hurt.

At length the Angel quietly said, “I think you are right. Going to Calais may provide the answers we need. If they do not then we will have to go back to the soup kitchens and start all over.”

Fernando smiled. “Well, I’m glad we’re in agreement on that.”

“I have a question.” The girl leaned forward, frowning. “How are we goin’ to get there and when will we be leavin’?”

“That’s two questions,” sneered Fernando, annoyed at having her even contemplate participating in the conversation. “
You
are not coming. And
we
,” he indicated to the Angel and himself, “will leave tonight. There is always some fool captain willing to make quick money.”

Jeanie glanced up at the Angel, her eyes a mixture of anger and appeal. The look was quickly noted and then the Angel’s gaze fell uncomfortably on Fernando.

“Jeanie is coming with us. I hope I do not have to remind you of our agreement over the issue.”

The finality of the statement made Fernando’s hackles rise. “No. You do not.”

The Angel nodded, cold eyes fixed on him.

Unable to withstand the glare, Fernando looked away, fuming at such arrogance, such presumption, and the blatant need to be in control. It was humiliating, and in that instance he realized his hatred of the Angel. Before it was sheer annoyance and maybe a little intrigue at the notion of being partnered with the Angel, the most elusive and unknowable member of the Chosen. But now, after seeing the compassion directed at mortals –
at mortals!
Fernando shook his head. If the Angel had to make a choice between the girl’s life and the Noble’s, Fernando knew which choice the Angel would make, and that angered him even more. A Chosen’s life was worth more than chattel.

Biting back all the comments he would love to make, he managed, “What can she do to help? I presume you told her everything.”

 
The Angel nodded again. “She can move about during the day, doing what we need done in a way that hopefully our enemies will not discover. If you will help us.” The last was directed at the girl, his tone softer but still brittle.

Taken aback by the return of the Angel, Jeanie mutely nodded.

“Aye, I’ll help in any way ye need me,” she replied. “What d’ye want me t’do?”

Standing, an act both graceful and predatory, the Angel walked to the writing desk, forcing the Noble to swivel in his seat. On the shelf with the books sat an intricately carved wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Fernando whistled his astonishment at the sight of the contents and could not decide whether to label the Angel a fool or overly trusting.

In the box lay notes of large denominations. From the bundle held in the pale hand, his long slender fingers barely enclosing it, Fernando roughly estimated a worth well over five thousand pounds. He watched the Angel leaf through the collection of notes, pulling out smaller denominations until he had a second pile worth several hundred pounds. The rest he placed back in the box.

“What I need you to do,” explained the Angel, turning to face the girl, “is to hire a coach for the day and go to the wharf. Find a captain willing to take us to Calais, no questions asked, two hours after sunset. Make sure that we are the only passengers, and more importantly, that we have separate private cabins.”

Fernando did not like the fact that the girl’s confused expression matched his own. What did it matter if they did not have a cabin? The trip should only take several hours, arriving at the port before dawn.

“Give the captain a deposit and tell him that he will receive half upon boarding and the rest upon docking. Agree to whatever price he says.”

“Are you out of your mind?” interjected Fernando.

“Just do it,” continued the Angel, ignoring the interruption.

Jeanie blinked in confusion, trying to take in the directions. “And then what?”

The Angel’s expression softened, allowing the luxury of a small smile. “Go buy yourself some new clothes. You cannot wear that all the time. Buy something nice. Make a day of it. Maybe stop at Reverend Iefan’s to let Tom and Alice know that you are all right.”