Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (6 page)

“That’s what I get paid for.” Her smile widened.

He nodded at her logic and then after glancing around the room once again he asked, “Where did you put my cloak?”

“I hung it in the closet.”

He found it exactly where she said it would be and draped the heavy black fabric over his shoulders after putting on the black suit jacket. Out of a pocket he pulled out a very old cloak clasp and secured the cloak on his shoulders.

Grabbing her coat and huddling into it, Jeanie gazed up at the Angel in his resplendence. He turned away from her gaze and went to the front door. “I will walk you to your inn,” he stated. “I don’t know if Notus will need you tomorrow night. If he does, he will send someone.” He opened the door onto a new night.

“I’m no going home,” said Jeanie, a little nervously.

He turned on his heel and gazed curiously down at her. “Then where are you going? If it is not out of my way…”

“I’m going with ye.” She locked onto his ruby eyes and a shudder of fear ran through her as she saw his eyes flash in anger.

Her admission surprised and irritated him into silence.

“I’m going with ye to help the Good Father,” replied Jeanie, at bit more firmly. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she knew what she had to do, and this time she would not be dissuaded.

“No, you are not,” he stated, controlling the anger that threatened to seethe through. He could not allow her to come with him. It was too dangerous for a mortal. It was too dangerous for her to find out about their true nature.

“Aye, I am.” Her green eyes darkened over.

“I said ‘no’,” matching her glare.

The vehemence in his voice was something she had never heard before, but it was the words that made her angry. “I’m goin’ with ye and that’s that.” She opened the door and was shocked to have it forcibly slammed shut before it was even half opened. Spinning around she looked up into furious eyes. She pressed her back against the door in an unconscious attempt to move away from him.

“Listen to me very closely.” He was not going to use the Push on her. He learned long ago that for some strange reason he could not make it work on her. Notus had no difficulties, but he could not. But despite that, he had to knock some sense into her. “Where I am going is very dangerous. And so are these people. I am the only one that can help Notus.”

“No ye are not,” she spat. Jeanie did not like the way he was treating her as if she could not take care of herself. Nor did she like that he was trying to tell her what she could or could not do. He was not her employer, the Good Father was. “I’m capable and hae gotten myself outta worse messes. I can help and I
will
help. It’s the least I can do for all the good he’s done for me.”

He shook his head and let out a breath allowing his own frustration to dissipate enough to get his thoughts under control. She just did not get it. “It’s not a matter of capability, it’s a matter—”

“So ye dinna think I’m capable?” she stormed.

“I didn’t say that,” he spat back. Why was it that she was so able to keep him completely turned around? “It’s just that—”

“What? Because I’m a girl?” she shouted. “You’re no much older than me!”

“No, just let me finish!” He put up his hand to halt her reply. He could see her chest heaving. He never met anyone so infuriating. He could not fathom how Notus could have even considered bringing Jeanie into their lives. “It’s just that I’m the one who takes care of him and he takes care of me.”

“And what am I? Dog spittle?” she retorted. Jeanie resented his remark after all it was she who took care of the place and spent the most time with the monk who had become a better father to her than her own. She was the one who was there when the Good Father was taken. She did her best to fight against their assailants while the Angel was wherever the Angel happened to be. He was not there when the Good Father needed him. The Angel was either always out or in the process of leaving.

He opened his mouth to reply and then thought better of it. He could not remember the last time he was so furious. Through a clenched jaw he replied coldly, “You are the housekeeper, nothing more.” And knew that she was much more than that.

She glared up at him. “So, that’s all I am, am I? A servant to yer every whim—” She took a step forward, making him take a retreating step back. She could not believe what she was hearing. It was not the truth that she wanted to hear and wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting her.

“You’re twisting my words.” He glanced up at the ceiling in hopes to reform his position before the next attack came. Fighting with hands, swords and knives he could easily do. It was combat with words that he was perilously ill equip to handle.

Jeanie took another step forward, pressing her advantage, “—but I’m no’ yer servant. I work for the Good Father. No’ ye! I dinna take orders from ye!”

Quietly, he forced the words out, “You are not coming with me.”

“How dare ye! After all the good the Good Father has done for me, and now ye tell me that I canna help?” She matched his venom.

“That’s correct.”

She wanted to scream at him, and then thought better of it. Any thoughts of wanting him were dashed. “What right do ye hae to tell me what I can or canna do? That God fearin’ man has done more for me than he you. Yer never around. Ye fly outta here as if somethin’ is gonna bite ye. I’m the one who helps the Father. What have ye done? Ye weren't even here to help fight against those who took the Good Father. I hae more right to be helpin’ him than ye!”

Whatever Jeanie was expecting from the Angel was not what she received. Hurt flashed over his features to be replaced by a cold clear anger she had never seen in him before. She instantly regretted her words. She knew nothing about the strange relationship between the monk and the tall pale man, and she realized that she just crossed over an invisible line. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

The force and truth of her words staggered him, forcing his guilt to the surface. She could not know how much Notus had done for him. It has always been Notus who made the money so they could live, except for the years he worked as an assassin. Those days were long past, but the reasons were tied up with the truth of their nature. Whatever he had started to feel for her evaporated, her apology did not erase the sting of her words. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket he pulled out some money.

“Take it. Get something to eat and go home.” He pressed the bills into her hand and left, lifting his hood over his head, before she could reinitiate the argument.

Jeanie held the sterling notes and watched him go, a dark winged figure in the black of night. She knew she had hurt him, but he had hurt her too. She needed to help Father Paul. If there was ever a time to pay him back for all the caring generosity and help he provided her, it was now. She would not abandon him no matter what the Angel demanded of her. Resolved in her determination to help the Good Father Jeanie stuffed the money into her coat pocket and left the flat to follow at a discrete distance.

Keeping him in sight was difficult. Had he been of average height Jeanie would have quickly lost him, but she managed. The constant sounds of shoes clicking against cobblestones and the monotony of the chase gave her mind time to wander to when she awoke this evening. Angrily, she brushed away tears threatening to spill over.
Oh how could I hae been so wrong about his feelings towards me?

After she helped to get the Good Father back she would resign her housekeeping position. She could not work in a place where she was unwelcome.

Ignoring the burning of Jeanie’s hatred on his back, he focused only on traversing the streets to get to the Theatre that was now the central hub of the Chosen in the United Kingdom. People passed him by, leaving him alone in the crowd. Only on the occasion did someone notice him due to his unusual height. These he ignored knowing that the night and the cloak obscured how different he truly was.

This night it was easier for him to ignore the strangers and their looks as his mind shifted from the argument he left to the confrontation he was heading towards.

Tumultuous emotions roiled within him, blocking out the undercurrents of his rising hunger. He understood Jeanie’s desire to help Notus. She was right that his Chooser had done much to help so many people. Notus deserved and received the love and respect of those he helped – even Jeanie’s love. She was also right that he did not help Notus, especially when he needed it the most.

The Good Father.
That was what everyone called Notus. A prodigious title for a simple man of God who was nearly as ancient as the Christ himself, who earned money through his illuminations and scribe work, only to give it to those in need.
And me,
he sighed;
I
am the Angel – the one who takes.
A disturbing accuracy even Jeanie easily figured out.

Crossing the street, he absently shook his head. He knew that he had, again, become too dependent upon his Chooser, but Notus never seemed to mind. They had a strange symbiotic relationship that was formed in an age of violence. Now it was no longer necessary. People no longer came out of the wood to accost them. No longer were there villages fighting villages and clan feuds that resulted in bloodshed. It was in those brutal days where his warrior skills were needed by the monk, and honed by centuries of practice.

Now, in these days of peace, the warder had once again become the ward and had neglected his responsibility of protecting his Chooser.
Because of my lassitude Notus is gone.
He prayed that he could remember how to be the protector and not just the Angel. He had to get Notus back.

He needed and missed the monk more than anyone in his life. Not discounting the rare few that Notus had introduced him to, who, accepting his strangeness, had become friendly and even a fewer still became teachers. Nor could he ever forget Auntie and Geraint.

A special few knew their secret and accepted them still, marking them more precious in their immortal hearts. Only Father Colwyn knew in this time and place. Not even Jeanie could find out. Too many times they were forced to flee because someone either figured out their secret or broke their trust in exchange for money from the Witch Finders.

Sure, the girl was trusted with everything pertaining to their home. Her loyalty in trying to defend Notus and her insistence on helping to get him back was proof, but she also was very young and liked to gossip with her friends at the Inn. It had gotten so bad at one point that one night, when he walked Jeanie home; he was accosted by one of her girlfriends, forcing him to make a hasty retreat from Jeanie’s company.

He rounded another corner; the old Theatre that now served as the Court was only a few blocks away, down through some back streets. He could not fathom the reason why they would abduct Notus, nor why they wished that he attended the Mistress. It was well known within the Community that he and Notus preferred to be left alone. He agreed with Notus that the changes overcoming the Chosen were vile; threatening to expose them to the mortals they had remained hidden from for centuries.

The new Chosen, the Vampires as they liked to be called, were sadistic, living only for the next rush the blood gave them. They killed indiscriminately and revelled in a new hedonistic lifestyle. None of the older Chosen, who tried to distance themselves from their younger’s, could understand or fathom the reason for this gradual decline of such a noble race to one of degenerates.

Notus had prophesied this decline during the Plague. Somehow his Chooser had seen it, but it still did not ease the pain of having Notus ripped from him. Nor did it justify the abduction. Then again nothing could justify such an act. Never before had he heard of any Mistress or Master, of any country, kidnapping one of their own to get the attention of another. Had respect and common decency between them been tossed out? It appeared so.

H
e halted at the base of a short set of concrete stairs. At the
top large black double doors served as the entrance to the new Court in the disused old theatre. On either side of the massive doors two huddled forms sat wrapped in torn and threadbare blankets. At first glance one would take them for nothing more than two unfortunates forced to live on the street. They did not move. If not for the slight rise and fall of their chests and the occasional blink they would have easily been passed over as statues. He knew otherwise. They were two mortals kept under the power of the Mistress to do her bidding. They were nothing more than automatons. It was another piece of evidence of how far the Chosen had fallen.