Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (73 page)

With the Noble further up the stairs, he continued downwards and then halted when the runner covered step creaked under his weight. He crouched, straining to hear if his presence was detected and so he could manage a preliminary view of what was beyond the banister. Thankfully, nothing presented itself. The noises from below continued, yet it seemed that a few more voices had added to the mix.

Almost at the second floor landing he froze. Voices were coming closer to the top of the first flight of stairs. Quickly taking account of the doors closest to their position, he swept across the hallway, placing his back against a doorjamb. Before the Noble could follow, he held up a pale hand and waved him back against the stairs.

The voices were approaching. They needed to hide. Placing his ear against the door and his hand on the knob, he turned it once no sound issued forth.

Gratefully, the door opened inwards on well-oiled hinges to a dark broom closet. It would be a tight fit. Holding the door slightly ajar, he peered out, and watched the shadows of the individuals ascend at the other end of the hall. Fernando would have to move fast and he waved the Noble over. It was snugger than either would have liked. Fernando grimaced at having his face nearly pressed against the Angel's chest.

"As I have explained, sir," came a nervous nasal voice from the other end of the hall, "Madam Fleur is still dressing and doesn't wish to be disturbed."

"I understand that, Gustav," replied a gruff familiar voice, "but this is important and I cannot give you the message."

"She will be greatly displeased, sir." Fear emanated from Gustav's voice.

"That's for me to worry about," snapped the man.

"But - but, I wish to see the dawn, sir." Fear turned to terror.

"It's over rated. Now tell Madam that I am here and have a message from Mr. Vale for her."

The gulp was auditory in the broom closet without the aid of Chosen hearing.

"Yes, sir."

A knock reverberated down the hall and a door opened with a whisper.

"Gustav, Madam wishes not to be disturbed," came a young female voice. "You know that - Oh! It's you!"

The sound of the door swinging open to bounce off the wall reached their ears as well as the surprised squeak before the door slammed shut.

"What do you think is going on?" The Noble's susurrant voice stirred the air.

He shook his head and closed his eyes in concentration. Nothing but soft incoherent mutterings alighted his sensitive hearing. The house had been well made for the rooms to be all but sound proof.

Long minutes passed pressed in the closet before his crimson eyes snapped open at the sound of the distant door opening and a new, yet familiar, voice added to the mix.

"Robert, darling," drawled a seductive feminine voice. "Would you please go ahead and make the necessary preparations."

"Yes, ma'am." Heavy footfalls fell further down the hall.

"Oh, and Robert."

"Yes, ma'am?" He halted at the other end of the corridor.

"Thank you for bringing these matters to my attention. You will be greatly rewarded. Please inform Gregory of that fact as well. In the meantime, feel free to take Marie Terese."

A female gasp of terror mixed with Robert's happy reply. A scuffle and then a sobbing plea filled the air. "Please Madam! I want you! Please! You promised me!"

"Serve me better and then maybe next time," came the haughty reply.

A squeal and then the footfalls resumed to descend out of hearing.

"Gustav?" The squeak and the soft sound the two remaining, moved towards the stairs. "Please prepare my entertainment room, and lay out my writing desk. Mr. Vale wishes me to reply and so I will." The menacing smile was evident in her tone.

"As you desire, ma’am," replied Gustav with a hint of awe as they descended down the stair.

Silence followed, punctuated only by the occasional voice floating up from the first floor. Bequeathed the second story, the Angel turned the handle and opened the door a crack to see if they were truly alone. No sound of life, or any person appeared to be awaiting them, and he cautiously opened the door and stepped out, slipping the
shuriken
back into their hiding place.

Fernando followed, relieved to be free of the small confining space, smoothing down the front of his suit with both hands.

"What now?" he whispered, his brown brows pulling together.

It was clear that the Madam was the lady they sought and most likely the head of the conspiracy to eradicate the Chosen. Frowning, the Angel cautiously walked the length of the hall to the door of the Madam's room and entered. Here was an opportunity to learn something about their adversary. If they were lucky she would return alone to the room, but after her statement about going somewhere else, it was highly unlikely they would be able to ambush her here.

Stepping in close behind the Angel, Fernando quietly shut the door and turned. The room was grander than the one they had initially breached.

A large oak bed, stained a rich dark brown, pressed against one wall. The gold coverlets and pillows were pristine with nary a wrinkle, appearing as if no one ever slept in the grand bed. The wardrobe, dressers and washstand were of the same dark wood. Silver candelabras decorated the flat surfaces, some still flickering brightly with lit beeswax candles. The dressing table and the small padded chair were the only real evidence that someone used this room on a regular basis. Silver backed brushes and combs were littered among jewellery and cosmetic jars and brushes. The truly strange aspect from the seemingly normal appearing room was the heavy red velvet drapes covering the windows.

Across the red and gold Persian rug, the Angel nudged one of the drapes away from the window in the hopes to peek if the bodies had been discovered. What he found was a boarded up window. Surprised, he moved to the next one farthest away from the bed and found a board covering only half of the window, leaving the bottom half to a black painted glass.

Allowing the drape to fall back into place, he turned to the Noble, loath to inform him of what they must do if they were to be successful and be back at the monastery before dawn. Slaughtering every last mortal in the home just to take down Madam Fleur de la Montagne and thus end the threat against the Chosen was a necessary evil. He had done such actions in the past as a matter of course and employment, but to see the Noble's face alight with sadistic pleasure decreased his ability to emotionally detach himself from the task at hand.

"Just remember, kill with your blades and do not feed on them," concluded the Angel, quietly. "We can guarantee they are tainted."

"That's obvious," snorted Fernando. Reaching to the sheaths hidden at the small of his back, he pulled out Yin and Yang and held them loosely. With a lopsided malicious grin, he followed the Angel out of the room.

The slither of steel against wood whispered as the Angel unsheathed his weapon. Grasping the worn hilt in his left, the blade flashed close to his face in expectation of discovery.

Quietly, they followed the distant voices down stairs that widened out to a grand foyer of white, red and black tiles arranged in large geometric designs. The sconces above the dark stained wainscoting glittered brightly between paintings framed in elaborate gold.

Alighting from the last step he felt the wrongness of the situation tightening his shoulders. He rolled them, releasing most of the tension, but not the concern. Suddenly, the distant voices cut out and left them in silence. It took all his effort to squash the rising dread at the realization they had most likely walked into a trap. Straining to hear, the sound of anticipatory heart beats and breathing confirmed the fact and he knew they were surrounded. The only recourse was to gain the high ground and he turned to ascend the stairs, halting at the sound of approach.

Over half a dozen men appeared, armed with rapiers and knives, to stand threateningly at the top of the stairs. Finding the route cut off, the Angel turned to find more men with naked steel filing in from the front door at the same time that others moved in from the south and north wings of the main floor.

Fernando's exclamatory oath caused several of the men to chuckle in anticipation.

"I do hope that you have a plan to get us out of this," sneered the Noble, his back pressed against the Angel's, Yin and Yang poised for defence. It had seemed such a simple plan at first - gain entry, find Fleur, kill her, go home. Though he had no doubt he would survive this battle, Fernando disliked the notion that the tables had turned and the playing field was now controlled by outside sources.

Disinclined to reply, the Angel watched as a slight figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Her thick black hair fell in luxuriant waves over slim shoulders. The claret coloured gown lit up and intensified her piercing blue eyes. Surprise caught him off guard for a fraction of the moment. It was the same woman who had led them into the trap at the soup kitchen. Anger flashed through him at the realization that he and Fernando had been carefully controlled and manipulated with every step by this woman.

"Ah, how wonderful to finally have you in my home." Her voice purred in pleasure as she descended down a step. "I want the Angel alive," she ordered, coldly. "Kill the other one."

"Yes ma'am," came the enthusiastic reply of the man to her left.

Shock showed on both the Chosen’s face, eliciting a pleasurable smirk from the man. Descending down the stairs, sword in hand, was the driver that the Angel had killed.

"Surprised?" Holding the high ground three steps up, Bob levelled the blade in preparation for an offensive strike. "Good."

The stance on the stairs and the grip on the blade spoke volumes of the dead man's lack of knowledge, but the Angel never relinquished his cold gaze on those dreary green eyes.

"You are not Chosen." It was a statement rather than a question. The Angel shifted his position, feeling Fernando do the same at his back.

"You're quite correct, my dear," replied Violet Flowers. She descended one more step, caressing her flowing locks. "We're oh so much better."

Robert’s blade came down in a blur of deadly speed, surpassing that of mere mortals, and crashed against the Angel's broadsword in a shower of sparks. Momentarily caught off guard by the swiftness of the attack, the Angel moved, accelerating to flowing preternatural speed.

Light and sound protracted as his body set into the movements of centuries of practice. Flowing only slightly slower than himself, he caught Fernando peripherally, sweeping and slashing at those who pressed their attack. Some of the men seemed to stand still in the face of severed life. Those he recognized as mortals were easy to cut down. It was those who moved in equal measure to the Noble that were the real threat.

Feinting a downward slice, he shifted the long blade to deliver a horizontal cut across Robert's exposed abdomen. Blood spewed forth, adding to the increasingly slippery and treacherous footing of downed mortals, and then dried up as the wound closed, sealing itself as if it had never been.

Wide eyed at the sight, he felt the burning sting of metal against his rib cage as someone else's blade got through his momentarily downed defences. Forced back to the task at hand, he knew he was fighting for his life against the unknown.

Without any further thought, he abandoned all rationality to the muscle and sensory memory of centuries of battle. He and Fernando would escape or they would die having taken as many of their enemy with them as they could.

S
houlders hunched to her ears and arms across her chest, Jeanie struggled to keep the cool night air from swiping her precious body heat
despite the effectiveness of her green wool coat. A blast of wind whipped her hair around her face, taunting her until she pulled her hand from her underarm and brushed the offending locks from her eyes.

The sun had set some time ago, taking with it the Angel and Fernando. She knew she was defying him in following, but she had to help, no matter the cost, even if it meant that he would stop loving her. Her feet tread loudly along the empty gravel road that would take her to the entrance of the villa - a lonesome sound against the creak and groan of trees and shrubs bending to the power of the playful wind.