Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (98 page)

Whenever he felt the monk’s concern, he shut if out. Whenever he heard his Chooser approach his door, he silently screamed for Notus to leave him alone until the monk’s presence retreated. He knew Notus was anxious, but could not care and he buried himself in Jeanie’s pillow in an effort to escape into his memories.

It was the sweet touch filled memories he desired to flee into. Instead, when he found himself dozing, images of Jeanie underneath him or on top of him would turn into a nightmare where she turned into a blood drained corpse, where it had been he, and not a Vampire, who had bled her dry. When these images swarmed his mind, he would bolt awake, gasping, to renew his weeping. Now he just sat there, staring blankly into the dark, inhaling Jeanie’s sweetness and refused to sleep.

Beyond his bedroom door he sensed, rather than heard, Fernando and Bridget’s presence outside the flat and then listened as they entered. He tried to close off the conversation between the new Mistress and Master with his Chooser, but hearing their stunned expressions upon finding about Jeanie only tightened the band around his heart.

He had expected Fernando to shout gleefully and was surprised at the Noble’s dumbfounded feelings. It was Bridget’s gasp of shock coupled with sadness and worry that pulled a small whimper from him. They had known what Jeanie was to him. Even Fernando had grudgingly begun to respect Jeanie after she had saved the Noble from Violet and the Vampires. Now they were here in his home, talking to Notus and he still wanted to be left alone with his memories of Jeanie.

It should not have come as a surprise when he felt Bridget’s questing emotions, as if she were testing whether or not she should approach him. There was a moment’s pause when he could feel Fernando’s frustration at Bridget, but it dissipated into acquiescence. He knew he could try and stop her from entering his room, but he also knew that if he did, it would get her back up and Bridget would barge into his room in a huff of indignation. Strangely enough a large part of him wanted her to come in.

Clutching his legs to his chest he waited for Bridget to enter.

The door creaked open allowing for a slight draft to stir the darkness and mix it with the diffuse light from the main room. The clicks of Bridget’s shoes followed by a click from the door told him that she had entered and shut it behind her. Despite having allowed her in, he recoiled at her presence and hunkered further into the pillow at his knees.

He attempted to shut out Bridget’s shock at the devastation but found he could not. Another quickstep into his room and Bridget found a used candle lying beside the shattered ceramic holder and a box of matches. It did not take long for the Mistress of London to shed light upon the ruins, setting the nub with its flickering wick down on a piece of broken wood. He felt the bed dip under her weight, but dared not open his eyes to see the pity on her face.

“Oh Gwyn,” sighed Bridget. “I am so sorry.”

He clutched the pillow tighter to his body, squeezing his eyes in an effort to push back the tears. He felt her cool hand alight on his burning arm. The pain of the knife wounds on his forearm exploded at the touch, forcing a hiss.

He felt Bridget stand and move closer until her cool hand rested on his forehead.

“You’re burning up.” Bridget dropped her hand. “If Fernando hadn’t shared with me his knowledge I would never have believed it possible.”

Bridget sat down beside him on the bed, her hip touching his stocking feet. Maybe he was ill again. It seemed likely considering the damage Katherine’s blade had done.

“Let me take a look at this.”

He felt Bridget’s hand take his in an effort to straighten his arm so as to examine the wounds, but he snapped his arm back.

“No,” he whispered, hoarsely. He did not want to relinquish his grip on the pillow.

The cool hand found its way back on his. “Then at least let me look at it this way, alright?”

He knew Bridget was pushing out of deep concern for him and he nodded. She was right that it needed tending, but he did not care. It was not that wound he nursed.

Gently, Bridget rolled back the sliced shirt, exposing the blackened and glistening wounds gaping wide enough that she could observe the whiteness of bone beneath the deeper of the gashes.

“The wounds need stitching,” stated Bridget. “I can do this for you, but I’m not very good at it. Maybe I can ask the Good Father.”

The mention of his Chooser snapped his head up and opened his eyes.

“No.” He could not let Notus see him like this. The monk would be horrified and guilt ridden, and then when he calmed down enough Notus would return to being accusatory for Jeanie’s death. “Notus can never know.”

Bridget calmly cocked her head in disbelief. “Know that you were hurt in the attempt to free him? I believe Notus would want to know the sacrifices you have made for him.”

Her words stole his breath away and stung his eyes. Lowering his gaze, he pressed his face against the pillow and inhaled. The sacrifices were made for Jeanie and were all for naught.

“I know you are hurting,” whispered Bridget. “I don’t need to feel it to see it written on your face and on your body. But to push the man who has cared for you all these centuries away, at this time when he too is mourning Jeanie’s death, will do nothing but create an irreparable rift between the two of you. I will not believe it for one minute that you went through everything that you did to get your Chooser back only to push him away when you need each other the most.

“Let me go and get him. Fernando is telling him everything so you don’t have to,” continued Bridget, disappointment colouring her nurturing tones. “I know it is really not his prerogative and that you should be the one telling the Good Father, but if you can’t or won’t, then Notus has the right to hear it from someone. What do you want to do?”

They sat there in silence and he knew that Bridget was right, but he could not bring himself to say so. Even Fernando’s accounting would not give credence to his own isolated mourning because Fernando did not know either. The only one who could possibly guess was sitting beside him.

After an indeterminable period of time he felt Bridget’s weight leave the bed. “If you cannot choose, then I will.” She walked to the door, her steps clicking loudly.

“I cannot believe you to be Chosen if you cannot choose,” she said harshly.

Stunned at the multilevel implications, he dropped his legs, allowing the pillow to fall. Painfully, he turned his stiffened body so that his legs dangled over the side.

“Wait. Please, Bridget. Wait.”

She turned, her hand on the knob. Raising her blonde brows, the rest of her face did not relinquish its stony expression.

He lowered his gaze to the broken pieces of wood and clothing littered on the floor and felt ashamed. He made his decision.

Gradually, he told of how he and Notus had found Jeanie laying beneath the lamppost after leaving the theatre. Through his tears he spoke of how he had held her lifeless form and found the vampire marks upon her neck, proving his failure to keep her safe. In a breaking voice he told of Notus’ accusation and that it had been his fault she was now dead. Weeping, he told of his last visage of Jeanie being carried away by his Chooser as Bridget’s strong arms closed around him.

“I did what you suggested,” he cried against her shoulder. Bridget’s gentle stroking of the back of his head halted. “She said yes. We wanted to wait until after Notus came home. She wanted his blessing. I know as I always have know, he would never have given it.” It was the final truth lay bare and it shattered him. Clutching at Bridget, he held on as he sobbed.

It was always going to be either Jeanie or Notus. Fate had decreed which would be taken away, but Jeanie’s loss left him unable to reconnect with Notus, thus leaving him with no one.

When he finally regained control of himself, Bridget relinquished their embrace and gazed into his teary eyes.

“You should have told Notus all this, not me.” She wiped his tears from his cheeks with her thumbs, while ignoring her own.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I think you underestimate the capacity of love he has for you.”

Eyes opening, he stared into Bridget’s sky blue eyes, his heart aching at the compassion he found there. How Fernando ever managed to deserve such a Chooser was beyond his comprehension and now knew how lucky the Noble truly was. He nodded.

“Let me go and get him,” offered Bridget, breaking from their embrace. “You two need to talk.”

He watched her take two steps before he made his decision. “Bridget?”

“Yes.”

“Before I talk with Notus, could you…?” He glanced down at the wounds on his arm.

Bridget smiled and nodded. “Just tell me where I can find a needle and thread.”

He told her and watched as she exited, nervousness vying for prominence over the despondency he had felt for the last few days.

Notus sat quietly in his chair, listening to the unbelievable tale the Master of London spun. At first the whole notion of the boy teaming up with this incorrigible young Chosen in effort to free him seemed completely incongruous to what he knew the boy. The lad would have gone on his own, as he always had, to discover what he needed to, but to realize that the boy had agreed upon a partnership with this Chosen made him wonder how much, or how little, he truly knew of the young man he had spent nearly a millennium and a half with.

The story grew even more unbelievable with Fernando’s inclusion of Jeanie into the mix and how the Angel had insisted upon it. The Master spoke of the phial found and Tom and Alice’s establishment burnt, which brought a gasp from Notus. Fernando was quick to add that the Angel had sent Alice and her family into safe keeping, which the Master still thought was strange. Notus was happy enough to hear that his boy had done the right thing by these kind and generous people, and nodded as Fernando continued with the discovery of Jeanie’s capture in the free kitchen and the trap. Notus could tell the young man was omitting some items but let the matter slide until Fernando told of Yong Zheng Ru’s death and Jeanie’s discovery of the Chosen.

“Jeanie found out?” sputtered the monk.

Fernando inclined his head. “Naturally, I couldn’t allow her to continue with us, restraining us from acting in ways that are normal for us just because she was mortal. In the end I did a favour to both the Angel and Jeanie.”

“How so?” stammered Notus, incredulously. Jeanie was never meant to know about the Chosen. It would have been disastrous for her. It had been disastrous for her.

Brown eyes boring into the monks, Fernando’s jaw tightened momentarily. “Very simply put, if Jeanie hadn’t accepted the truth, she would have been released from the mad quest. Instead she proved her bravery in more than one way.”

Notus shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” sniffed the Master. “You’re a monk. The Angel is not. When I arrived with more information before sunrise that same night, the Angel and Jeanie had firmly solidified their relationship. What is the saying you priestly sorts have? ‘The truth shall set you free?’ It did that for the two of them.”

It suddenly made perfect sense as to his boy’s reaction to Jeanie’s corpse. If they had fallen in love… He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. The evasions, the questing looks, the tensions that made his son flee into the night, it was perfectly understandable and Notus damned himself a fool for not having noticed it before. The boy had been in love with Jeanie from the beginning and she had returned it, but neither had acted upon it because the Angel would never let anyone get that close to him ever again since that time so long ago.

Jeanie had been a formidable young woman. Realizing their secrets she would press forward. The lad, starved for love and affection, would have readily accepted it from her because he too desired it. Notus remembered how the boy was after Tarian’s granddaughter was taken from him, but Jeanie’s death was worse. Notus buried his face in his hands and groaned.