Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (91 page)

The Angel listened intently to Fernando’s tale while trying not to wince every time Jeanie pulled the brush through his tangled hair. He would have preferred to do it himself, with his fingers, but that seemed impossible now. He hated how he now relied upon others to help him even with the simplest of tasks. Jeanie relished in the caring of him and he felt even more embarrassed that Bridget and Fernando were in the room to witness his frailties.

Since having napped after his long discussion with Jeanie, his awareness of the other Chosen had come back. At first it overwhelmed him, causing a pounding headache. Jeanie had been concerned, rolling onto her side beside him, as he tried to catch his breath. He could not answer her. Gaining a sitting position had nearly caused him to tremble as if another fit would take him. It was when he tried to only focus upon his breathing that he found that the emotions of the other Chosen seemed to distance themselves. As he moved deeper into the meditation he found he was able to turn it into just an annoying buzzing sensation. Now that both Fernando and Bridget were in the room with him, he could feel every emotion they haphazardly threw out. It was distracting from the conversation.

“So you threatened and cajoled the man,” stated Bridget, flatly. Finished with her hair she opened up a box of cosmetics and brushes and began to expertly apply them.

“I did not.” Fernando feigned hurt, placing a bronze hand over his heart. “I would never do that to another Chosen.”

The Angel watched Bridget snort in disgust and shake her head. He knew, as well as Bridget, how Fernando would use whatever tactic necessary to get what he wanted, for the most part. He could feel the Noble’s satisfaction and a hint of childish glee at such behaviour. “Yes, you would,” he whispered. He felt Jeanie’s careful strokes halt and Fernando’s displeasure. “You did with me,” he said before he knew what he was saying.

“And look where it has all got us,” accused Bridget, turning around. “Oh don’t look at me like that Fernando.” Before the Noble could counter with a harsh word or two, Bridget raised her voice, cutting him off to sit and glower. “What did you do to make Maurice contact Katherine for another court?”

“Us?”

“Stop sulking,” demanded Bridget as she turned back to her mirror, “and tell us what you mean.”

Fernando picked the walking stick up off his knees and weighted the finely tooled wood in his hands. “I told Maurice that he would have the answers to Katherine’s demands and the evidence would be myself and the Angel.”

Bridget placed her lipstick brush down very precisely onto the table, straightened her back and turned around. The Angel did not need his new awareness to sense how angry she was. The room was thick with her disapproval and his head pounded anew.

“Did you not stop and think, Fernando?” she demanded.

The Angel winced at the sudden wave of raw emotion.

“The Angel is no state to stand before Katherine and the rest of the Chosen. You’re condemning him to be Destroyed. He hasn‘t had enough time to recover.”

Another wave from the other side of the room swelled and crashed into the Angel. “He’s had almost three fucking weeks. Katherine believes we are dead. Hell, Maurice nearly died of freight, if that’s at all possible, when I showed up at his home. He thought I was a ghost! The meeting is set for tonight. What was I supposed to tell him? Wait until the Angel is healed? That would be just brilliant.”

The fury that Chosen and Chooser sent outwards pounded into his head and he groaned, thankful that Jeanie had halted her brushing. He tried to focus on his breathing, but the pounding was too intense and every breath made him nauseous.

“The two of ye stop it right now,” shouted Jeanie from behind him. She had watched the whole tirade in shock, and worse yet, how it affected the Angel. “What is it with ye Chosen that ye act like children? One would think that after living as long as ye have ye’d have grown up a tad.”

The Angel would have turned and kissed her right then and there had it been physically possible to do so. Instead he felt a surge of pride for Jeanie, as the anger the two other Chosen held suddenly collapsed into surprise, taking with it the pounding headache.

Bridget’s eyes went round before her whole face lit up in a smile. “You are quite right, my dear.” She turned to face her Chosen. Fernando glowered at the mortal. “Has she always been like this?”

“Yes. Unfortunately,” replied the Noble, gruffly, his arms crossed over his chest and the stick across the arms of the chair.

“How delightful that someone, especially a mortal, can put you in your place.”

“Both of your places,” quietly remarked the Angel and quickly regretted his words.

It was not like him to speak out of turn like this and he stared down at his bandaged wrists. Initially there had been some concern about what would happen if someone saw them beneath the cuffs of his shirt. It could draw undue attention. Instead he would wear an out of date shirt with frills on the cuffs that would cover most of his hands. He was just waiting for Anna and Beth to quickly make the shirt and wondered how Bridget had found two seamstresses willing to become Chosen prostitutes. At least the two were not brought into his deadly secret.

“Yes, well,” dismissed Bridget and turned the conversation back onto track. “So what are the arrangements that you made with Maurice?”

Fernando sat straighter and glared at each one in turn before continuing, lingering longer on Jeanie than the Angel liked. “He’s going to meet us outside of the building at a quarter to and then go in by himself. His audience is on the hour. He’s going to tell Katherine he’s made the discoveries that she wanted him to and then we’re to enter.”

“That sounds all well and good, Fernando,” chastised Bridget. “But what are you planning on telling the Mistress of London?”

“What about me?” Jeanie piped in as she began to cinch off the Angel’s hair into a tail with a black leather thong.
She enjoyed working her fingers through his soft straight hair

“You aren’t coming inside.” Fernando scowled. “You can come with us, but you’re not entering that building. I believe we already agreed upon that.”

Jeanie let out a huff of resignation. She knew after the last time she followed them what her actions had caused. Little did either Fernando or the Angel know that she had left the monastery to pursue them and thus caused them the harm that befell them. Guilt and shame would forever plague her soul every time she saw the marks left on her lover’s body. She would be content that this time she would go with them, even if not into the building itself. She would wait outside, under the light post, where she had first met the Noble and had began such a perilous quest to release the Good Father. Jeanie brought her focus back to brushing the long tail of white hair.

Fernando smiled victoriously, pleased that the mortal girl finally learned to listen to her betters. It had been the Angel’s suggestion that she come along, but not go in. It seemed the most reasonable solution to the hellcat’s desire to follow them everywhere. He returned his attention back to Bridget, noticing how much the lady she appeared in her blue dress, make-up and stylized hair. If the Angel and Jeanie had not been in the room, Bridget’s clothing would not have remained on her for long.

“I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” sighed the Noble. “We do have to tell her about the spices, how they are being transported and that England isn’t the only country being affected, but we also have to tell them about the existence of Vampires.”

“That’s the hardest one that even I find difficult to believe.” Bridget rose gracefully and glided to the door to her bedroom, opened it, muttered a thank you and closed it, holding the finished shirt for the Angel. “If you hadn’t agreed to open our bond again, Fernando, allowing us to share as a Chooser and Chosen should, I wouldn’t believe your story, even with Miss Stuart as proof.” She offered the white material to the girl before returning to her seat by the dressing mirror. “The whole concept that there are other immortals out there that drink blood, yet are well defined in mortal literature as Vampires is unbelievable. The Chosen had always believed themselves to be named so by mortals, only that their facts were mostly skewed. How are you going to make Katherine believe that there are Vampires, and that they are not just Chosen choosing to use that mortal term? Neither you nor the Angel can link to her and pass on your memories as you did with me.”

Silence plunged into the room, leaving only the sound of the licking flames in the hearth and Jeanie’s steady brushing of the Angel’s hair to fill the void.

Closing his eyes against the luxuriant feeling of having his hair brushed, the Angel knew the answer. Jeanie’s knowledge from reading the penny presses and Violet’s admissions during his torture gave him the ammunition he needed to gain Notus back and set the Chosen into a war of survival. He sighed heavily and spoke quietly. “Katherine does not matter. It is the Chosen that matter and we need to have as many of them there as possible.”

“What, to see you limp down the carpet?” sniped Fernando, sitting up straight.

He met the Noble’s brown eyes. “If they must – yes.” He heard Jeanie’s gasp and watched Bridget turn to face him as if recognizing that he was actually in the room with them. “But I hope that is not what they will be focused upon.”

“What do you have in mind?” Bridget stood up and went to stand next to Fernando, her small dainty hand coming to rest protectively on the Noble’s shoulder.

Waving Jeanie’s brushing away he welcomed her help in clothing himself in the long elegant shirt. He winced as he twisted his back and pulled the stitching in his chest until the light cotton rested on his body, hiding the blackened wounds.

He pushed down his embarrassment as he watched Jeanie carefully clothe him. When his wounds were all concealed under the uncomfortable fabrics he attempted to stand beside the bed. His thigh pulsated with the promise of increased pain if used and his back twitched as if readying for a spasm, but he managed to stay standing.

Breathing back the pain, he met Fernando’s glare and then Bridget’s eyes, slowly pulling the full countenance of the Angel over him like comfortable armour. He watched Chooser and Chosen as their eyes went round at the transformation.

He stood, wounded and damaged, and wondered how long he could affect this glamour when it was the Angel that brought such destruction to his life. He made his face a mask of non-emotion despite the desire to grimace with the realization that the Angel was always an affectation to keep people away from him. It had horribly backfired and now he stood, feeling a fake behind the mask, and wondered who he truly was.

After a lengthy period of time, the Angel whispered darkly, “We declare war.”

Bridget and Jeanie’s gasp met with Fernando’s beam of approval.

He wanted to lean against the light post outside the deserted theatre that served as the court for the Chosen of London, and thus all of Britain. Instead he remained erect beside it. The circle of gas light cascaded about him, Jeanie and the two other Chosen. They had arrived early. The cab they took had made good progress across the sleepy city. It had been a dreadful ride; one he knew would have been enjoyable had he not been jostled into pain at every bump or sway. It was as if the driver purposely rode over every pothole the road manifested just for this trip. The Angel suspected it was punishment for going uncloaked and therefore terrifying the old man with his appearance.

It was Bridget’s first experience travelling with the Angel but her remonstration of the driver to accept his riders despite their appearances shocked him. No one in his long life had ever stepped up for him in this way and it made him re-evaluate Bridget’s offer of friendship as possibly being sincere. It was a strange feeling because with her fury at the driver came a strong protective and caring feeling towards him.

Jeanie came over to stand beside him and slipped her warm hand into his. Her strong fingers curled up to grasp his and he wished he could return the gesture, but his own fingers could only twitch painfully at the attempt.

Fernando and Bridget stood quietly. The Noble tapped his walking stick against the top of his black leather shoe while Bridget leaned her head against his shoulder as if to rest a moment. The Angel watched the two Chosen so at ease and comfortable with one another and felt a pang of jealousy.

It felt oddly comforting to finally be fully accepted for who and what he was, yet it did not override the years of isolation and loneliness placed upon him by others throughout his very long life. A large part of him could not trust Bridget and Fernando’s offers of friendship despite how he found himself desiring to be finally included. It itched his skin as if waiting the sun to appear, proving the rule of his life; that due to his differences he would always be feared and thus threatened.