Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (20 page)

To make this clear, more so to himself than to the Noble, he directed the conversation. He did not need to be told how foreboding he appeared. He already knew.

“Tell me about Sebastian,” he asked.

“What do you want to know?” The change of subject was not a surprise to Fernando, he was almost expecting it, but the subject itself caused him to raise a brow. “You already know everything,” he lied. “Sebastian is … was Bridget’s sire and died on the same search we are now on, if I hit my mark – which I usually do.”

“Then does it not bother you how we came upon the bottle and its contents?” he asked coolly.

Noticing where the Angel was possibly leading the conversation, Fernando worried the inside of his cheek. He had not realized it before, but having the instance placed before him as speculation, bothered him. “What are you implying?”

“Who left us with this clue, if it is a clue?” he replied and shook his head. “Something about this does not seem congruous. Think about it. Not even a few hours of being sent on this mad hunt we are tossed Sebastian’s dismembered arm with the possible culprit to the poisoning clutched in his dead fingers. It seems too easy. Much too easy.”

“What are you saying? That this is a set up?” He did not like the possibility at all. “Katherine may be a bitch and the Mistress of London, but she is one of us. Sebastian hated any type of responsibility, and I don’t think you’re the type to have people bow and scrape for you.”

He shot Fernando a glance and nodded. No, he would never want to be Master of London. There would be too many prying eyes, especially when one pair was more than enough. “I do not know,” he said.

They needed more, thought Fernando. “It is possible that those who threw Sebastian’s arm did not know that we are on the case but threw it at me because they know who Sebastian associated with.”

“If you’re correct,” he countered, “then how did they know where to find you?”

“Damn it, I wish I knew who
they
are,” exploded the Noble, realizing the Angel was right.

Surprised at the Noble’s outburst, the Angel glanced down. He too wanted to know who
they
were, for it was very possible that
they
were the one’s poisoning the humans. The other issue he chose not to mention was who could have found out about the Chosen to issue such an attack? Other Chosen would not do such a thing. A group of humans might if they had found out about the Chosen, and with all the publications about vampires lately that made this seem most likely.

“We will find out,” he said. Fernando glanced up wonderingly. “I will have Notus back.”

“If that is the case, why then are we going to check on your housekeeper? We should be trying to follow this lead.”

“And how do we do that? All we have is the powder and the numbers on the bottle.” The worry he felt over Jeanie’s absence bothered him more than it should.

“We also have Sebastian,” added Fernando, very aware of the Angel’s evasion of the Jeanie question.

“What about him?”

“That whoever was able to do that to an eight hundred year old vampire means to see us and every other vampire dead. And
they
will,” explained the Noble. “As to the powder, we need to get it analyzed. Maybe then we will find out whether our theory is correct. The numbers themselves are going to be a problem.”

The Angel nodded. “But where do we take it? Most places close when we wake. And I do not know of any scientists. Then again maybe we do not need to get it analyzed. If we run on the assumption that the powder is the source, then we can follow that line back.”

“Which line,” eyed Fernando, suspiciously.

“Where would one get herbs to make this powder?” His question was more statement than query. “Or more to the point, where do they come from?”

A smile formed on the Noble’s face, brightening a dower look. “An apothecary,” he stated victoriously. The Angel nodded, encouraging Fernando to continue. “They are usually open later and could tell us about the powder itself. The problem is that unless you know of one that remains open after dark we’ll have a hard time finding one.”

“I know of one; the one where Notus buys his herbs. Their stock is quite complete.”

“What would a vampire need with herbs?” inquired Fernando.

Ignoring the Noble’s gaze, he stated, “He helps those who cannot afford a physician.”

Blinking at the shocking revelation, Fernando tried to contemplate the motives of a vampire to help heal lowly mortals. He gave up, shaking his head in disgusted disbelief. “Why?”

A quick glance reported what he expected; Fernando could not understand. Then again all Chosen seemed to either misunderstand the motives or gave up speculation because no reason could be reasonable enough. He had to try anyway. “Because they are –“

The words died on his pale lips as he turned the last corner and halted. Fernando came to a stop beside him.

The
Rose and Thorn
was engulfed in manic orange flames that flickered and licked, its clawing tendrils reaching out to consume the shops to either side, hunting for more to devour.

People lined the street, watching in obscene fascination as the remains of the roof collapsed, forcing the charred timber frames of the front wall to come crashing down into the street, dashing dangerously glowing sparks into the cool night air. Shocked and fearful screams from the onlookers melded into the cacophony of destruction that was accentuated by the alarm bells of approaching fire trucks. It was too late for the Inn and maybe for the buildings on either side.

Only one clustered group of people did not watch the spectacle as a source of entertainment. Huddled together in their blackened clothing they stared in dumb shock as their home and livelihood slowly disintegrated before their eyes. He barely recognized the plump proprietress for all the soot. Quickly scanning the small group, he recognized them all as employees and guests. Nowhere amongst them could he sight Jeanie. Worry turned to dread that tightened the knot in his gut and with a quick glance back at the blaze he rushed over to the group, Fernando hurrying to keep up.

“Mistress Reiley?” He could not keep the worried tones out of his voice as he reached the group.

All eyes turned upward, away from the fire, and some widened in surprise as others gasped their shock. Only Mistress Reiley reacted by breaking into more tears, staining her already wet chubby cheeks. One of the serving girls he could not name had to support the larger woman.

“What happened?” he implored. “Where’s Miss Stuart?” Orange light cast an ominous glow on the group and he pulled his hood lower to shade his eyes.

At the mention of Jeanie’s name the once strong Alice Reiley collapsed into a sobbing mass on the paving stone. The woman whose name he could not recall remained standing beside the older woman. Unshed tears threatened to spill yet her voice remained rock steady. He then remembered the woman to be Lily, Tom and Alice’s daughter.

“Some men I’ve never seen before came to talk business with my father just after dusk,” explained Lily in a hardened voice, anger accentuating her words. “I only heard parts of the conversation, but I heard them threaten that if we did not agree to use their special spice in our food they would shut us down. My father, being a man not to cave into threats or pressure, ordered them to leave. They did not take the demand well and left, but not before crashing a couple of bottles onto the floor and starting the fire. It spread so fast. My son tried to get the guests out, even with the smoke so thick, until it overwhelmed him. My father had to take him to the hospital.”

“What about Jeanie?” he demanded, staring into Lily’s hazel eyes that now overflowed.
Oh Gods, no.
The realization took his breath away. This was not happening. It could not.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard through his rising panic and found he could not get a breath to reply. He spun around to face the fire, its glow painfully bright in his eyes. Lily’s words floated to disbelieving ears. “Tommy could not reach her door before the smoke and heat consumed him. He was only able to get Mr. Wilkes and the Abernathy’s out. He could not alert Mr. Simmons or Miss Flowers, either. I’m so sorry.”

His mind raced. It was not possible. Jeanie must be alive. She could not be dead. She could not.

Firefighters rushed with hoses and pumps, pouring gallons and gallons of water on a fire that seemed to feed on the cold liquid. The two buildings to either side were now fully ablaze and more bells signified the advance of reinforcements in the war against the blaze.

A high pitched wail, coming from within the wreckage of the Inn, crescendoed. To his ears, and to those around him, it sounded like a woman screaming, but to his mind he heard Jeanie. She was still in there, somehow alive, and he had to get her out.

Fernando watched the whole spectacle with a wry grin. The blaze was quite beautiful, and the mention of the housekeeper’s death in the blaze sparked his imagination. He could imagine how the fire would slowly, like a lovers caress, work its destructive powers upon such a beautiful girl. He had seen others burn to death; even his own kind that fell into inquisitors’ hands. In the eye of the fire immortals and humans were equal, so it was a bit of a surprise to find the Angel approaching the screaming blaze.

Recovering himself, Fernando rushed up to the pale man and grabbed the cloak to stop him as the scream reached its pinnacle with a deafening blast that nearly knocked them both off their feet.

Clothes slightly singed, Fernando whirled to face his partner. “What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?” he raged, ignoring the pained defeated look in the Angel’s eyes.

Refusing to meet the Noble’s baleful glare, he continued to stare at the blaze. All he could think of was that somewhere amongst the flames was Jeanie, and that thought left a hollowness he never imagined could be there. He had known and witnessed the deaths of people in his very long life. Some were gruesome and horrible to bear, others were by his hands, but never before, in his life as a Chosen, did he feel the desolate hole that Jeanie’s death rendered in him and it terrified him.
Jeanie’s death.
He still did not want to believe it, but no one could survive such a disaster.

Closing his eyes, shutting out the horror, he only opened them after turning to face Fernando. He had heard the Noble say something and from the furious expression on the man’s dark face, he knew that Fernando was expecting an answer. But what could he say? With a sigh and a shake of his head, he looked back at the survivors of the
Rose and Thorn
to find them gawking.

“Your hood,” muttered the Noble, anger still tightened his speech. He did not like the answer, or more to the point, the non-answer. Nor did he appreciate the Angel’s lack of recognition that it was he who pulled him from foolishly throwing himself into the fire.

Hood down around his shoulders from the impact of the blast, he raised his hand to pull it back up, only to let it drop instead. It was too late; they could see him. Shock mixed with either fear or horror filled their faces, all except Mistress Reiley who did not lift her head to gaze up at him and her destroyed life.

Unable to feel anything of Notus, he still knew what needed to be done. Straightening himself to his full height, he walked over to the group, aware of Fernando’s inquisitive stare and the increasing wariness of the group. A couple of them even took retreating steps. He could not blame them. He had come to expect such reactions and the hurt he felt at it. He even admired Lily’s protective stance beside her mother. Alice and Tom had raised a strong daughter.

With a quick saddened glance at the young woman, he knelt on one knee before the owner of the Inn. “Mistress Reiley,” he ventured and watched as she lifted her heavy head.

She no longer cried, but defeat played its mask across her features. At first she gazed through unseeing eyes. Slowly recognition alighted. “You are an angel,” muttered Alice through soot-covered fingers. “She was right. She was right.”

A frown tugged at his pale lips. He knew who
she
was but did not understand what Jeanie was right about, he so wanted to know, yet did not know why. Bringing his gaze back to the suddenly old woman, he spoke, “I am so sorry, Mistress Reiley. I wish I could have…” He trailed off. What could he say?