Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (71 page)

Crouched beside his partner the Noble noted the soft matte black boots, the fine knit black turtle-neck sweater tucked into black cotton trousers, and how the worn black leather straps crossed in the middle of the Angel’s chest while securely holding the sword on his back. Even the Angel’s long white hair was given to contrast with the black suede headband holding stray white strands while the rest was interwoven in a single long braid.

“You’ve done this before,” stated Fernando in a quiet voice.

The question caught the Angel off guard and he pulled his gaze from the large villa to land briefly on the Noble who was ill attired for what they were about to do. It was clear to him that whatever knowledge Fernando may have had early on in his immortal life was no longer remembered after centuries of relative civilian comfort. Returning to his study of the sparsely illuminated building, he gave a curt nod.

Fernando followed the crimson gaze to the large estate wondering what the Angel was looking for. He was not surprised at the answer, but it begged another question. “You do this sort of thing a lot?”

He closed his eyes and huffed out his exasperation. Maybe there could have been a way to keep Fernando at the monastery. The image of a raging Fernando bound and gagged momentarily flitted a slight smile to his lips. There was only one way to get Fernando off his back, just for this evening.

“I will answer you, but only on one condition.” His voice slid into the night, mingling as if one of the natural nocturnal sounds.

It was not what Fernando was expecting for an answer. “What condition?” he drawled, squinting in suspicion.

His hard eyes fell onto the Noble. “It is clear that you have never done this before. I will answer your question if you will follow my orders. If not, then turn around and go back to the monastery. I will take care of this myself, unhindered.”

Rage broiled up in the Noble. He began to splutter indignantly when a white hand covered his mouth, stilling his immanent outburst. Fernando could feel the Angel behind him, tense and focused, and wondered at the swift silent movement that took him by surprise.

A whisper of warm air tickled his ear and he realized that the Angel was speaking so softly that he had to strain to listen.“For the last seven hundred years Notus has never once needed to earn a single penny. Do you understand my meaning?”

He hated being pressed against the Noble, breathing in his dark scent, but it was only when he felt realization sink in that he released his hold to gaze into shocked brown eyes.

“Shit,” swore Fernando. It explained so much. Irritation tickled the surface. Finally comprehending how truly dangerous his partner was needled him as pride and ego fell a notch. No longer could Fernando say he was the most knowledgeable in the killing arts.

Oh he had bested his skills with dagger, sword and western fighting forms with other Chosen who kept up their mortal practices, but it was plainly obvious that the Angel was his superior in this, and it rankled.

“Good,” stated the Angel matter-of-factly. He turned to peer over the hedge at the seventeenth century three-story manse.

Made of grey stone, each large block was carefully crafted. Around the arched front double oaken doors, sculpted stone flowers created a trellis of petrified foliage. Over the vaulted entrance a magnificent stone canopy hung upon Roman columns, promising refuge on the rainiest of days for carriages and visitors alike. On the southern facing wall to the left, from his vantage point, defoliated ivy climbed, promising the greening of life back into stone which tentatively reached out to begin the process along the front facing. At regular intervals, precisely spaced on either side of the door, eight large arched windows faced towards them. It was the large plate glass windows on the second floor south side that piqued his interest.

Flickering lights emanated from several windows on the main floor. Only two illuminated the second floor north wing. The third level was completely dark.

The distant sound of horses’ hooves crunched the loose gravel of the road, leather and wood creaked, and iron shod wheels shushed over stone alerted him of a new presence to the seemingly unpopulated estate. Signalling Fernando to hunker down, they carefully spread the branches to watch the canvas covered wagon, driven by two men and pulled by four horses, as it passed through the iron barred gates. Only the soft sounds of sleepy draught horses pulling their heavy load flitted to the Chosen’s ears.

A chuck of the reigns and the horses headed south of the great fountain in the centre of the circular drive. The cement goddess with stone flowers in her hair, cradling a large jug, stood bereft of water. Only brown and golden leaves filled the basin.

With a whuffle and a snort the horses came to a halt, giving leave for the two drivers to effortlessly leap off the cart and land heavily onto the drive.

“Oy,” called out the tall heavyset man who had held the reigns.

The shorter, yet broader man, stood languidly with his arm supported on the side of the bench. “D’ye think they heard?”

The tall man turned to his partner with a feral grin. “They had better or they won’t see dawn.”

“Lucky them,” chuckled the broad man. He turned to the sound of two pairs of feet running along the path that led off the drive to the south of the property.

Noting the distraction, the Angel sought to gain a closer approach. With a tap on the Noble’s shoulder he silently left the shelter of the shrub’s shadow. It was easy to keep to the shadows, but the time it took required patience. Each movement was timed with the wind whisking new veils around the moon, only to be blown away no matter how hard the lady tried to cling.

Methodically crossing open spaces with preternatural speed and uncanny silence, he found the vantage point he had hoped to reach undetected. In the darkness beneath a bush creatively styled to look like a nesting swan, he lay on the cold ground, the damp grass soaking his sweater. Near him, the gravel track to the stables led to the two men and the wagon.

“Well it's 'bout time the two of you showed up,” declared the driver in obvious irritation.

The Angel shot a glance over his shoulder to where Fernando waited beside a hedge and raised a hand indicating for him to stay where he was until the two pairs of legs ran past. He ignored the scowl and turned back to the action around the cart.

Two younger men, barely out of their teens, arrived and skidded to a halt, kicking up stones. One bent over huffing in an attempt to regain his breath. The other, hands on his hips and taking huge gulps of air managed to gasp, “I'm sorry, sir. We weren't expecting you back tonight. The Mistress told us it would be tomorrow evening.”

“Well, things change,” snapped the passenger, annoyed by the impertinence of one beneath him.

“I want these barrels taken inside.” The driver thumbed in the direction of the hidden contents of the wagon.

The two younger men's eyes went round as their jaws dropped. “But where, sir? The Mistress didn't say anything about you bringing it here.”

The driver, his ire up, took a threatening step towards the two who cowered and trembled.

“If the two of you wish to see the dawn,” snarled the driver, “you will take it down to the basement.”

With the four men distracted, the Angel waved the Noble over, hoping that the raised voices would mask any sound Fernando made.

Sliding onto his belly beside the Angel, the Noble firmly regretted the attire he had chosen. A fine Italian suit and the cape were proving more of a hindrance, and not to mention, Fernando fully doubted seeing this suit clean ever again. He was about to say something when the Angel shot him a cold glare.

Jaw clenched in anger, Fernando turned to watch the interplay between the carters and the haulers and nearly jumped out of his skin when the Angel's breathy voice tickled his ear.

“Did you bring your knives?” whispered the Angel. He knew they had to find out for certain if what he suspected was true, and that meant looking in those barrels before they were taken away.

“Always,” replied Fernando, wondering what the Angel had in mind.

“Do you think you can take out the two that just arrived, without them, or you, making a sound?”

Fernando's eyebrows shot up. “You mean kill them?” Maybe taking directions from the Angel would not be too hard to swallow.

The Angel nodded as he calculated the best way to take down the other two if Fernando managed to do what was expected of him. Killing the driver would be easy. It was his passenger, on the far side of the wagon that he would have to stop from running to the villa and that meant he would have to go down first. Rolling slightly onto his side, the Angel slipped his fingers between the wide leather baldric and his chest and pulled out three
shuriken
, their points glistening.

Eyes wide at the deadly metal disks, Fernando glanced at the Angel's cold eyes and shuddered inwardly.

In another time, in another place, the Angel would have enjoyed finally seeing fear on the Noble's face and knowing he was the cause. Now he had only the present and his immediate future required dispatching these four unsuspecting individuals. He could easily do it without Fernando's help, but the chance of one setting off an alert would be greater.

Sliding the
shuriken
over each other, careful not to slice himself with the sharpened poisoned tips, he nodded his head, indicating to Fernando to take out his blades.

Reaching to the hidden sheaths at the small of his back under his suit jacket, Fernando pulled out Yin and Yang and tested their balance as his elbows dug into the soft lawn. Over the silver and gold of the pommels, Fernando watched the younger men walk towards the back of the cart. It was now or never. Once they were in the confines of the canvas it would be near next to impossible to take them down silently. Timing was everything.

With a quick glance at each other, both the Angel and the Noble exploded into action. Bolting up from under the swan, Fernando let fly the two daggers with supernatural speed as the Angel snapped the
shuriken
into the air.

Time halted in the blur of preternatural movement. The slight breeze fell into nothingness allowing for the moon to finally be modestly dressed in wisps of veils without fear of having them ripped away. The steaming breaths of the horses smoked long and thickly like coal fired chimneys. Four men stood statuesque, movement frozen, unable to perceive or comprehend what flew at them.

Three darkly glittering shapes spun in slow motion, a mockery of the speed in which they cut the air. With deadly accuracy, the bladed disks caught the passenger unawares.

The first killed instantly as it deeply embedded itself through the frontal lobe, snapping the head back in a jerk. The other two, landed at precisely the same moment, lodging them in the exposed throat in a grim representation of a grin, cutting off any potential cry.

Without glancing over to see Fernando's blades successfully finding their own killing marks, the Angel followed the flight of the
shuriken.
It took less than a blink of an eye to grab the driver around the head, one arm around the throat and the other cradling the head. The only sound in the night came from the crunch as vertebrae spun and snapped before he dropped the surprised corpse to the gravel.

In what took less than a second, four men lay dead on the ground, blood trickling from wounds.

Time sped up and the wind tore away the gossamer veils the moon feebly clung to. The horses puffed and stomped at the strangers’ sudden appearance, their breath stolen by the breeze.

Gripping a limp hand, the Angel dragged the corpse of the driver to land beneath the shadow of the swan before turning to retrieve the other.

“It's too bad we couldn't kill them as Chosen,” stated Fernando as he retrieved his blades before depositing his two bodies to join with the first. “This is thirsty work.”

Surprised at the statement, the Angel hesitated over the dead passenger's body for a moment before bending and removing the
shuriken
. With a quick wipe on the body, he gingerly replaced the disks and hoisted the corpse over his shoulder. Though the blood always tantalised him, he never let himself kill in such a manner when working. It was a distraction that could prove deadly and so he squashed it, preferring to use the methods and skills he learned over the centuries, unless absolutely necessary.