Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (72 page)

Four corpses lay like elongated dark eggs under a nesting skinned mother swan. Fernando smiled at the handiwork before turning to join the Angel at the back of the wagon.

“Age before beauty,” he offered, gesturing towards the inner darkness of the canopy.

“You go. I'll cover you,” replied the Angel, stepping to the side and into the wagon's shadow.

Grabbing the wooden edge of the wagon, Fernando effortlessly hoisted himself up and over into the darkness. There was little room to move or to stand and he understood the Angel's preference in him making the assay. Nearly stumbling on top of a barrel in the effort to remain erect, he took out Yang and jimmied the top open. He did not need to open any of the others. They were the spices.

Jaw set, Fernando turned and jumped down, the gravel hissing under his feet. It seemed that despite burning down the warehouse, the poisonous herbs were still making the rounds. Fernando wondered how effective it would be to assassinate the lady of the manor.

“It's the herbs.”

Suspicion confirmed, the Angel stepped out of the dark cover of the wagon, his senses stretched for any possibility of discovery. It was strange that no one had noticed the sudden disappearance of the four men. The only sound that reached his sensitive ears was the Noble's expensive black leather shoes on the gravel and what the wind vibrated through bush and hedge.

He did not like the fact that everything appeared dead quiet, as if waiting for some hammer to fall to shatter the still night. Turning to face the villa, he crouched in the wagon's shadow and studied the light emanating from the large picture windows. Nebulous shapes passed across the yellow gloaming. The diffuse quality of the light meant only one thing - candlelight was used conservatively. The shadows proved someone was home, but was it whom they hunted for?

The limited perceived activity on the ground floor was enough of a deterrent. They would have to find a more covert means of entrance. It was only a matter of time before someone would realize that a wagon with harnessed horses stood in the drive with no one around.

He let out an irritated huff. If he had more time to study the villa and the occupants within he would have come up with a feasible plan. He did not like making it up as he went. It grated against every grain of training he received.

A shift in the translucent drapery brought a darkened form into sharper focus. Someone had noticed the deserted wagon. Grabbing Fernando by the top of his vest, he yanked the surprised Noble down into a crouch and lifted his hand, forestalling an indignant outburst.

Without taking his eyes off the occupied window, he pointed and was gratified to hear Fernando's jaw clicking shut. They needed to leave the front of the estate now.

Grasping the Noble by the wrist, he turned and brought a single finger over his pale lips. Without receiving a word of protest, he turned away from the wagon and sped into the night without a sound. He could not say the same for Fernando.

Keeping solely to the darkness despite the flirting moon, he made his way around the estate to view the back. Gardens dried up and covered foretold the existence of a summer paradise in hibernation. Resting conifers outlined a grand concrete patio decorated with stone benches. A murky man made pond the size of a swimming pool and statuary standing alone or in small clumps would make the groundskeepers of Versailles jealous. It was the negritude of the trees that he appreciated the most as he set to study the back half of the villa. He ignored Fernando's breathless swearing as the Noble came to squat next to him, brushing pine needles from his suit jacket.

“Well?” complained Fernando. He was starting to wonder if agreeing to follow the Angel in this was a good idea.

The windows on the first level were dimly lit, paralleling the gloaming of the front. Dim figures moved back and forth. On the second floor, lights shone from two unclothed windows while the others remained dark. What was surprising was the plate glass walls from the front south side seemed to continue around the south facing to open up to the west. Whatever the room held would be exposed from sun up to sundown. Again the third story was dark.

Studying the top floor, the Angel knew this was where they would gain entry. The question was how. Each window held iron bars at the base, making admittance noisy and difficult. Eyes grazing over to the north, he caught what he first dismissed, a set of French doors stood darkly recessed behind a small balcony of waist high, stone topped, balustrade. It would have to do.

Without forewarning the Angel left the succour of the trees. He ran and then leapt, catching himself on the balustrade. It was higher than he had anticipated, but managed to swing over the wide stone rail to land effortlessly.

There was very little space as clearly the balcony was made for one. Turning to gaze down, he watched Fernando's blur of preternatural motion and caught the Noble by the arm when he missed the height, dark fingers grazing the stone between the pillars.

The Angel helped Fernando up and over.

Ignoring the Noble's soft cursing and preening, the Angel turned and peered through the small square window on the door.

"You could have warned me that you were going to do that," grumbled the Noble. It was not the Angel's saving catch that he took issue with, but rather the whole leap without warning. Fernando could not recall the last time he had done something like that, ever.

Darkness and the dim outline of abandoned furniture filtered to the Angel's sensitive eyes as he placed a hand on the doorknob. With a gentle turn, he felt the simple mechanism grate, and with a soft crunching sound and a click, the door opened.

It was not the pain in the neck that woke him, but rather the weight that pressed down upon him. When he opened his eyes, he discovered he could not see what was on top of him. The only sight offered was the grass that tickled his nose. With painful effort he forced the muscles in his neck to pull and release in tandem until the shuddering force of the crack and pop settled his head properly upon his shoulders. It was then he realized he was under a pile of cooling flesh.

It was not panic that took him, but rather the unsettling memory of his first night climbing out of a paupers grave, smelling and dusted with lye, and with a terrible hunger. With a heave, he pushed the dead weights off, watching in fascination as two flopped bonelessly to the grass. The figure of his partner, shifted and groaned, lifting his pale hand to his forehead and then throat before fluttering his eyes open.

Almost too quickly they helped each other to their feet and glanced down in wry wonder at the corpses that would never get up.

“Well, I guess they didn’t live to see the dawn,” chuckled the one who had sat shotgun, and then coughed.

“Nope,” tested the driver as he rubbed his neck.

“Who do you think nailed us, Bob?”

Bob glanced around into the darkness and frowned before a fiendish smile split his face. “Who else but the Angel?”

The passenger's face paled. “D'ye think it was him?”

Noticing his partner's apprehension, Bob turned on him. “Get a grip, Greg. Who else d'ya think would come here? Sheesh.” Bob rolled his eyes, appreciating the absence of pain. “She wants him here. Granted he's a bit early, but I don't think she'll mind that.”

Greg took a breath and let it out in a huff. “Fine, but you heard what Mr. Vale said when we met him on the road back.”

Almost envying the corpses, Bob glanced back to the house. They were here. Mr. Vale was on his way to Spain or some such country to continue the supply chain. They bore the message to Mr. Vale of the warehouse's destruction and almost believed themselves slaughtered by the raging expression on their master's face. Now they had another message to give to her. He had no doubt she would kill the messenger, but now, maybe, just maybe, he would not have to give it to her just yet. The fact that the Angel was on the grounds and had taken down the four of them with no sound and no warning thrilled Bob. Yes, she would be more than pleased to hear that the Angel had discovered her whereabouts.

Smiling in self-satisfaction, Bob lifted a dark bushy brow. “C'mon, Greg. The night is still young and we have a message to bring to the Mistress.”

Greg's eyes widened and then caught on to his partner's meaning. Falling into step beside Bob, they headed towards the front door, eager to give their news.

It was a mausoleum set for a princess. A large white four poster bed with swooping flourishes detailed in gold embossing made the headboard a visage of protective angel wings over a dusty grey mattress that had not had the company of a warm body in years, if not centuries. The large armoire, dressing table and wardrobe were similarly fashioned in a gaudy combination of fuzzy grey-coated white and dulled gold. The washing stand of white flaking wood still held its white and gold enamelled pitcher and basin. Everything, including the plush rug was covered in a heavy coating of grey dust that had not been disturbed in years. Even the air itself cloyed at their lungs, threatening to suffocate them had they not been immune to such threats.

Removing a handkerchief from his vest pocket, Fernando held it to his face and ran his finger along the dresser before shaking off the accumulated dust.

"Don't they have servants?" he grimaced. He hated how each step burst a plume of ancient detritus into the air and onto his increasingly ravaged suit.

The brass and crystal door handle to the rest of the house was unlocked, but the Angel kept the door closed. Glancing back at his journey across the abandoned room he could see his and Fernando's footprints as clearly as if they had stepped through freshly fallen snow. Pursing his lips at the sight, a flicker of worry was instantly overridden by the knowledge that no person had been up here in years and therefore it was highly unlikely that anyone would discover their presence.

It was the proceeding journey down into the unknown architecture that concerned him. Not knowing the floor plans, let alone how many people occupied each level and room, left him wary about taking the next step, if only he knew for certain where he could find Madam Fleur de la Montagne.

Closing his eyes, he cocked his head to the side, straining to listen for any living soul outside the door or even down the halls. The only sounds that flitted to his preternatural hearing were distant and of several people on the lower levels. It was now or never, and releasing a quiet huff of held breath, he carefully opened the door, mindful of the possibility that it would treacherously give their position away.

The hall was dark, faintly illuminated by the flickering yellow glow ascending the stairs casting dark and elongated shadows. It appeared that the whole third level of the manse had been abandoned at the same time as the grand bedroom. The hall runner was thick with dust, dulling the red and masking any finer details. Waving Fernando to follow him, he raised a pale finger to his lips to silence the Noble from uttering another derogatory remark.

Fernando clicked his jaw shut at the cold commanding glare. He was finding it difficult to keep silent and let the Angel lead the way down the hall. What surprised Fernando was the complete absence of sound his partner made. There was no shadow of doubt in Fernando's mind that the Angel had skills and abilities that confounded most Chosen.

They stood at the top of the stairs, close to the side most cloaked in darkness. The easy part was over. Now they were to descend into light and possible discovery before completing what they had come to do.

"You follow my lead," whispered the Angel as he started down the steps. Oh how he wished that someone would blow out the lights. He would have to do it as he went along.

Keeping his back to the yellow painted wall, he knew exposure was imminent once the banister on the other side opened to the second floor. Slipping his fingers between his chest and the straps, he came away with four
shuriken
and held them casually. Anyone seeing them would die instantly.

With senses strained to the maximum, he descended sideways, mindful not to knock any of the paintings above the dark stained wainscoting. One step, and then two. No sound emanated from the second story. Only the candles aflame in the brass sconces indicated that there could be a presence. After a brief moment's consideration he ruled out extinguishing the flames, realising that if he did, it would indicate to those below that something was amiss. He would have to move fast to take down any potential threat of discovery if necessary.