Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (19 page)

Surprise washed over Dr. Bowen
’
s features.
“
The sword is yours?
”
incredulity coloured her intonation.
“
I don
’
t believe it.
”

“
Believe what you will, I care not.
”
He brushed past her in an attempt to go back to his bedroom. With his sword secure, he could try and catch up on some sleep.

Elizabeth was taken aback by the young man and shook her head.
Nobody talks like that anymore, and no one owns a sword a millennium and a half old.
Emboldened by her own rising irritation at this strange young man a thought exploded into her mind, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smir
k.
“
Then you wouldn
’
t mind if I borrow it for the museum exhibition.
”

Almost to the hallway that led to his door, he spun around, shocked at what Dr. Bowen was asking.

“
It would be a perfect addition to the exhibition,
”
continued Elizabeth, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she came to stand before the stunned young man.
“
I could guarantee its security and it would return to you at the end of the exhibit, if in fact the sword does belong to you.
”

“
I think that is a marvellous idea, my dear.
”
Notus walked out of the other hall, fumbling with the adjustment of his green and yellow striped tie.

You cannot be serious,
sent the Angel to his Chooser. He could not believe what he was hearing. Notus understood, more than any other being on the planet, what that sword meant to him. He could not let it go to be an object for people to stare at.

Why not?
 Notus tucked the gaudy tie into the waistband of his brown wool slacks and then buttoned the single breasted matching jacket.
You carry it from place to place. You cannot use it any more. I
’
m sorry, my son, but I think that for our duration here in a land populated by hidden Vampires, having the blade securely ensconced in a high security venue such as the ROM is an excellent way to keep it safe. Elizabeth, without knowing it, may have solved this dilemma.

Dilemma to you, maybe. I disagree.

Chooser and Chosen stared at each other, one calm and patient while the other stood with folded arms, clearly not willing to acquiesce.

Elizabeth stared from her co-worker to his travelling companion. She knew something was going on between the two. It almost felt as though it were a contest of wills.

Notus lifted a brown brow and tilted his head.
And what would you do? This flat is not nearly as secure as the museum. What would you do if a Vampire came here and tried to take away what they believe holds your power to destroy them? You can
’
t carry a sword around with you everywhere you go. Not anymore.

The Angel broke eye contact with his Chooser and glared at a nondescript spot on the floor. He hated to admit that Notus was right. Carrying a sword around wherever he went would invite more trouble than negate it, and leaving it here unprotected on occasion would be nerve-wracking.
He should have left Geraint
’
s sword in Fernando
’
s safekeeping just as Notus originally suggested. He knew that as he had always known it, but he had never gone anywhere without it before.
It was too much a part of him.

Raking his hair back with both hands, he let out a huff.
“
Fine.
”
He turned around to head back into his room.
“
But I am going with you tonight.
”

Notus smiled warmly up at Dr. Bowen, triumph written over his gentle features.
“
I wouldn
’
t have it any other way.
”

Confused, Elizabeth shook her head.
“
What just happened?
”

“
You won the battle without having to lift a finger, my dear.
”
Paul turned around to walk into the living room and sat down on the brown leather sofa.

T
he soft cushions of the chocolate leather sofa sighed as it accommodated his weight. Leaning back, eyes closed, he released the breath he held and inhaled the luxuriant scent of leather polish that helped keep the cow hide newborn soft. It was his daily ritual, a way to begin in calm serenity before delving into the chaos of death and wrought emotions that was the nature of his business. He sat there, meditating upon the silence of peace, waiting.

A new scent floated to his sensitive nostrils, sparking his hunger. He opened his dark brown eyes to see Godfrey walking towards him, a delicate China tea cup and saucer, decorated in hand painted roses and gold filigree, carefully held between his large hands. The contents wafted translucent steam and he knew that his servant had heated the contents to perfection. He waited until Godfrey
’
s bulk stood in front of him before he outstretched his hand to take the drink.

“
Thank you, Godfrey,
”
he said, sipping the contents and leaning back against the cool leather.

The young man solemnly nodded his short cropped blonde head and backed up.
“
Did you wish to see the paper, sir?
”

Tilting his head to gaze up at Godfrey
’
s impeccably tidy appearance, he nodded.
“
Why not? It has been a while since I peeked into the goings-on around me. Maybe there will be some good news for a change.
”

“
Yes, sir.
”
Godfrey backed up to the doorway before turning to leave the parlour.

He relaxed into the sofa
’
s comfort and sighed. When returning home he would repeat the ritual before turning in.
Taking another sip of the dark liquid, he surveyed his surroundings.

Cathedral ceilings played in shadows with the decorative plaster swirls and mouldings. Books in ceiling high mahogany shelves lined the opposite wall where a small fire flickered in the grand hearth; its orange gloaming married with the soft electronic lights ensconced between the ceilings patterns. Dark cherry stained the ornate wainscoting that blanketed the walls, lending the room its sweet warmth.

It did not take long for Godfrey to return with the newspaper.

Placing the teacup and saucer onto the mahogany side table, he took the paper and shook it out to its full length. He ignored Godfrey
’
s departure as he thumbed through the news print. It was much of the same, he noted, skimming past article after article. Politics, murder and mayhem ranked top, pushing uplifting stories of simple folk to lines of text that were lucky to be inked. He sighed and pulled out another section of the paper, this time taking pleasure in reading articles that lay black against the white. Science was a love he caressed as often as he could and reading about new discoveries and inventions always uplifted his heart. He sipped away at the teacup
’
s contents until the dregs lay thick and cold at the bottom, enraptured at what visions the print opened to him.

Finished the section, he placed it back onto his lap and pulled out another section. The one that was local to the city, explaining the intimate goings on for individuals in search of culture and entertainment. It was this that caught his attention.

Ignoring the placement of the saucer, he clunked down the cup, unaware that it toppled onto its side. A small pool of dark fluid dribbled out of the now chipped China, marking the tea cup
’
s demise. He was unaware of the mess, his eyes widening at the sight of the photo on the front page and he laid it on his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles until the image was as clear as the newsprint could allow.

Staring at it, through black and grey rasterization stood Father Paul Notus and the Angel beside a tall smiling woman in the
Garfield Weston Exhibition Hall
of the
Royal Ontario Museum
. His jaw dropped in reading the bi-line and he carefully looked at the photo. There, on the table, was the Angel
’
s sword laying securely in an open case. Scanning the image to the Angel he could see that the Chosen was none too pleased even with the sunglasses obscuring his eyes.
The monk seemed happy yet there was a disturbance in his features. It was the woman, the curator of the event, who was unaware of their discomfort and was positively beaming.

“
I
–
I can
’
t believe it,
”
he exclaimed as he quickly read through the article. No matter the names the Chosen used, he knew them upon sight.

Lifting his gaze from the paper to land upon an empty room, he had thought that not much could surprise him or elicit a response that electrified through him, but this had proven his assumptions wrong.

Another look at the photo and he shook his head.

“
Are they crazy?
”

T
he music pounded through her body, its rhythm vibrating through every cell as the volume made it nearly impossible for anyone to speak to each other.
Then again, this was not a place for conversation. Flashing strobe lights of black, green and purple tainted the darkness. Each danced to the beat, changing and modulating as the music flowed, catching individuals unaware in sudden illumination before plunging them back into darkness, never knowing when next they would be thrust into the light. It was a place where one lost oneself to the throbbing pleasure the trance provided. It was her place and she revelled in it.

She kept her eyes closed as she moved her body on the dance floor, allowing the beats to lead her body as the scents around pressed and caressed. So many mortals came to this place, to her place in hopes that she would join them for just one dance. If they were lucky she would invite them for a second and then they would be begging for the joy of pressing themselves up against her as she undulated to the nightclub
’
s heartbeat. Men and women flocked to her, some brought by others she had kissed so that they too would understand the rapture she bestowed. Little did they know with each sip of their blood they became more and more hers, and she revelled in it.

Hot hands pressed against her belly, drawing her closer until a mortal
’
s heat fired along the length of her back. For any other she would have turned and sent the offender fleeing into the night. No mortal touched her without her permission save one. She leaned her head against his shoulder, their bodies moving together in time with the music.