Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (47 page)

“It was a bear.”

Jeanie squeaked and jumped at the sound of his gravely sleep filled voice. She pulled her hand away. Heart hammering between her ears she saw a single eye open, the other still buried in the pillow.

Gathering himself, he lifted and turned onto his side, brushing his hair from his face as he stared sleepily at her. “It was a bear,” he repeated, his voice more awake. “I believe that is what you wanted to know.”

Green eyes wide, Jeanie could only stare in astonishment. He was lucky to have survived.

“I - I’m sorry. I dinna mean to wake ye,” she said, recovering from her shock and feeling more than a little abashed.

Hiding a yawn with the back of his hand, he waved the apology away. “What time is it?”

“Just after three in the afternoon,” she replied, surprised at how normal and human his reactions were. So unlike the fictions she read. But maybe that was because he was half asleep.

A disgusted groan escaped from his full lips and he rolled back onto his stomach, hugging the pillow and closing his eyes.

“Did you find a ship to take us to Calais?” he muttered.

She nodded and then realized he could not see her answer. “Aye. Captain Richardson of the
Sea Witch
will take us. He expects us at half past nine so we can sail with the tide. It’s at pier seven.”

“Good,” he mumbled. “Did you find something nice to wear?” He popped an eye open with a smile.

Jeanie returned the grin. It was so like him to think of her in these small ways. “Aye. I hope ye dinna mind, but I bought some other things the fire took with it.”

“What’s money for if you can’t spend it on the people you care about?” he said softly, the return of sleep filling his voice. “Now come to bed, I missed you.”

Eyes blurring with tears at the sentiment, Jeanie reached down to the foot of the bed for the coverlet and pulled it up. Slipping out of her shift, Jeanie blew out the candle and carefully made her way around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. She felt a shift on the mattress as he turned over, his arm encircling her around the chest. Tucking them both under the quilt, Jeanie could tell he was already fast asleep, his mellifluous breath tickling her neck.

T
he wooden planks of the pier creaked and groaned under his feet as the black water beneath rode in and out. Steadying himself, he placed a hand on the metal rim of the wooden cask next to him. He did not know
where he was or why he was here. All he knew was that the sense of disconnection made his stomach roil and he tightened his grasp.

Before him a tri-mast ship rose and dipped with the swells. Its tightly bound sails black against the star filled night. It had been a long time since he had seen stars that bright. No moon illuminated the velvet canopy overhead. It did not hinder his ability to watch in nauseating awe the majesty of the ship.

A bell sounded, resonating painfully in his head and he clutched his hands to his ears, instantly missing the solidity of the cask. The pier swelled under him causing him to stumble before catching himself again on the cask, its rim cool and comforting against his burning hand.

The sound dissipated into the night, leaving only the wash of water against wooden posts and shore to sing with the sounds of stressed old wood. He brought his attention back to the ship before him and was surprised to see countless butterflies creating a kaleidoscope of brilliant colours along the masts and deck. They fluttered and floated as blackened shapes silently moved down the gangboard.

He could not distinguish any features of the dark figures floating down towards him. Only a rush of panic and the fear of being caught brought him into a crouch beside the wooden cask. It was then he noticed the yellowed piece of paper attached to the wood. He tried to read the sprawling letters and found all he could see was an autumn field covered with a cloth of gold. It made no sense.

Looking up, all the rainbow butterflies took flight in a swarm as one by one the dark shadows trudged casks up the gangboard and onto the ship. The bell rang louder than before and a skull crushing pain shattered through his being.

He floated.

All the stars winked out of existence. Only pitch darkness encapsulated him, buoying him. Was he in the water? He did not remember.

He felt no cold, no heat and surprisingly no pain. Drifting with unseen currents, nothingness touched him, caressed him, and flicked its unseen tongue over him until he shuddered.

Until he remembered.

Fear sparked within, pounding and throbbing in his ears. The rushing of his blood through his veins was the only sound surging his fear into terror. Clambering to obtain a purchase in the void he found he could not move. His heart hammered violently.

No! It was not possible.

The sound of a thousand flies buzzed around him, muffling out the silence. “Open your eyessssssssss.”

He whimpered. This could not be happening.

“Open your eyesssssssss.”

The command pulled a response from his body that his mind tried to deny.

It hovered before him. Putrescence dripped from its form. Red glowing eyes stood stark against the whiteness of its being. Its mouth turned upwards in a grotesque mockery of a smile. Razor sharp teeth glinted in non-existent light.

A hand made of bone and dust and flakes of rot brushed against his face. He tried to flinch away, but the hand grasped him hard, pinioning him until all he could view were the angry red eyes. A shudder ran through his body.

“Itsssss been a longggg time.” Its voice rustled through the darkness, slithering and licking across his body.

“Wha–what d-do you want?” he stammered, surprised at his own courage.

The smile widened, sending tremors through him. “Sssso brave. Time hasssss made you brave, but you ssssstill fear. Delicioussssss.”
Its black rotting tongue flicked in and out
.

His breath came faster, threatening to cause him to pass out.

“You are mine. Do not forget.” Anger mixed with something else, something he never heard before. Could it be fear?

“Never fear. Never that.” Its eyes blazed and then dulled. What passed for its fingers dug deeper into his cheek. “You made your cccchoissssse. I will never let them have you.”

Them? Confusion sprinkled into the mix of terror and pain. All he wanted to do was run. To fly. To flee.

“I will kill you before they can have you.” Its rasping voice rose in rage.

Head impotently held back, he sobbed in the knowledge of what was to come. Searing pain electrified him as the demon’s mouth ripped into the soft flesh of his neck.

Bolting up in the bed, heart painfully pounding in his ears, he looked down beside him to see if his cry woke Jeanie. A vague sense of relief flickered over him at her curled form. The coverlet was tucked over her shoulder, her eyes closed in sleep. She had not stirred at his brutal awakening and he turned his head away from the peaceful visage that mocked his torment.

Trembling, he opened his hand and stared at the healing cut. It should not have been enough, but the truth was undeniable.

They were back.

Dear Gods They were back.

Shoulders hunched and head lowered, he clenched his hand in a tight grip as a sob wracked his body.

Jeanie murmured in her sleep at the sound and rolled over onto her back, splashing russet and cinnamon curls onto the pillows. He could not allow her to wake. He could not let her see him this way. She would want to know and even Notus did not know about the white-faced demons that have haunted and pursued him since childhood. None of them could ever know.

Silently, he slipped his shivering form from the bed. He had to get out. Seeing Jeanie sleeping so peaceful made a mockery of the horror gripping him. He wanted to be able to stay with her, to curl up and find comfort at her side, but his neck throbbed in pain and the threat turned his joy to ashes.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, he hugged himself in a vain attempt to get his trembling under control and walked to the fireplace. He had to get warm. He had to get clean. His mind still reeled that They were back and It had sunk Its putrid mouth onto him. The scent of diseased and decaying flesh clung to him, soiling him from the violation. A new round of tremors racked his body.

It had been so long since the last time he was in their clutches. Most of the months he spent with them he could not recall, but what he did remember sickened him. The idea that it was starting again stole all the heat and breath from his body in a wrenching sob. He knew he would never be able to endure such torture again and hearing that It would kill him sent icefire down his spine.

Kneeling before the fireplace he built a fire as fast as his preternatural abilities would allow and felt a very small measure of relief as the flames roared into life, washing him in golden heat. It was something, but he needed more and he hoped that the hot water tank set on top of the bend in the flue would heat quickly.

He rose from the roaring hearth, his tremors slowly dissipated with the comforting heat and walked to the bathroom door. The sight he was met with slumped his shoulders and he groaned in tired frustration. He did not need this. Not now. Not when all he wanted to do was slip into a steaming bath and let the waters slough off the tensions and relax his mind.

Over taps, sink and bathtub lips, over toilet and towel rods, damp wrinkled clothing hung above small pools of grey water. Fernando’s Thames dunked clothing littered the room having long since ceased their discordant dripping. Closing the door with a heavy sigh, he scooped up the near dry apparel and dropped them in a pile on the floor next to the door before turning the hot water tap of the bathtub onto full.

The thunder of water exploded from the faucet filling the small room. Near boiling temperatures sent steam billowing to the ceiling. The moist heat tantalized and teased him until he cautiously stepped into the tub. Scalding temperatures ran through his feet and up into his legs, forcing the chill of the dream into retreat.

He sat down in the rising water, sighing as the warmth invaded his body, driving out the tremors. The steam in the room clung to his exposed cool skin, beading in a mockery of sweat that ran down the sides of his face. He let a shuddering sigh release the physical tension as the waters slowly rose until it was time to halt the water’s progress.

Reaching for the scrub brush and the cake of soap sitting on a ledge over the taps, he began to scrub away the repugnant scent he knew could not be there, but one he could still smell. The bristles made his skin tingle in the heat, but it did not seem enough to drive away the sensation of the demon touching him. He needed to get clean and he scrubbed harder.

The smell of soap did not seem to overpower the putridity of the dreamscent. Grabbing the little bucket from the floor, he doused himself with the hot water and began to lather his hair. Over and over he drenched himself, desperately trying to get clean until there was nothing left of the soap.

The bucket dropped to the tiled floor with a clatter and he gazed at his palms under the water. Drops from his face created ripples over his hands. It was not from the steam anymore. Balling up his fists, he scrubbed the tears from his face and let his hands fall back into the water with a splash. Staring at the wall before him another sob escaped and he closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to regain control.

It was indisputable, They were back and this time the threat of It killing him was more promise. He was completely powerless to stop Them as he was so many centuries ago when they played Their torturous games with him before the monks healed him. He knew he could not go through that again. He was not strong enough. Threatened from within and without he knew his nights were numbered. What infuriated him was that in the midst of it all he had found some measure of happiness and acceptance in Jeanie after so many long centuries of being alone. That They would take him away from her terrified and broke his heart.