Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (5 page)

“
Before the kids go to bed,
”
interjected Gerry, matching his smile.

Standing, he lifted the box as he turned towards the front door.
“
I promise.
”

Gerry followed him, mug in hand, and handed the leather coat from the coat rack to him.
“
Rory and Jenna will miss your stories.
”

Slipping into the coat, careful not to get the black braces on his wrists stuck in the sleeves, he shrugged into its weight. A century ago he would not have endured the pressure against his back for even a minute. It is said that time heals all wounds. That was mostly right.

 
“
I will miss them too.
”
He had not expected to fall in love with Rory and Jenna, but their childish wonder and acceptance drew him into their trusting world. For the short hour between his arrivals to their bed time he had unwittingly became part of their night time routine and thus their lives. He had never been called Uncle before and knew he would miss it when he left.
“
I
wi
ll send letters.
”

Gerry lifted the long wooden box by its leather strap and handed it to him.
“
We
’
d all love to hear them.
”

Slinging it over a shoulder, the sword case settled against his back and he smiled.
“
Thank you for everything, Gerry.
”

Dismissing the appreciation with another wave of his hand, Gerry blew through his pursed lips and shook his head.
“
Thank you.
It
’
s been a long time since I had such a talented or enthusiastic apprentice.
And since I still have to be Santa Claus and get the rest of the presents from the back of the closet before the kids wake, I suggest you
’
d get going.
”

He opened the front door and both of them stared in surprise at the winter storm.

“
Or maybe not,
”
added Gerry as they both watched coagulated snowflakes fall in tiny balls with nary any space between them.

Spotting his motorcycle, his shoulders slumped at the sight of it buried in half a foot of white fluff. There was no possibility of driving it through this weather. Even with his Chosen sight it was difficult to see across the street.

“
I guess the kids are going to get their wish,
”
smiled Gerry.

“
What was that?
”
he replied in sincere curiosity.

Gerry looked up at him, his grin broadening to show his perfect white teeth.
“
A white Christmas.
”

Turning back to the storm, his lips quirked into a smile, he could imagine Rory and Jenna in their snowsuits building snow forts and throwing snowballs at each other. It was a sight he would never see.

“
I guess I had best get going.
”
He took the couple of steps, white flakes swirling about him and halted at Gerry
’
s voice.

“
You could stay until the streets are clear.
”

He turned and looked at his friend standing in pyjamas, mug in hand, with a red glow spilling from the warm interior.
“
I appreciate the offer. I truly do. But I should get back.
”

“
Okay,
”
nodded Gerry.
“
But how are you going to get back?
”

He would use his Chosen abilities to move faster than a mortal, but he could not tell his friend that, and then he remembered.
“
The train station is not far from here. Hopefully it will still be running.
”

Gerry sipped at his mug.
“
Alright. But if you get stuck there, come back. The kids and Donna would love having you for Christmas too. If you don
’
t return, I
’
ll put your bike in the shed once I can see where I
’
m going. Call us tomorrow to let us know you got home safely or Donna will skin my hide for letting you out in this.
”

Though it was a saying, having lived through such barbaric torture, it was difficult to repress a shudder as he turned to follow the dip of the walk where it met the street.
“
I will.
” 

“
Merry Christmas, Gwyn,
”
called Gerry, closing the door.

He turned the corner, knowing that even had Gerry stood on his porch, his friend would not have seen him speed up his pace. Even for a Chosen it was difficult to tromp through half a foot of snow while it continued to accumulate. Blinking away large flakes of snow, he put his hand up to shade his eyes. If it were not for the street lamps he would not be able to see the station ahead of him. Tonight, being Chosen would not help him except to ensure he did not freeze to death.

Hoisting the box higher on his back, he approached the station, finding it deserted and locked. Alone in the middle of the night with the silence of the snowstorm he debated going back to Gerry and Donna
’
s. He had inadvertently spent the day with them when he had intended to leave before dawn, but the work on the sword was incomplete and by the time it was done the sun was rising, making his skin prickle and forcing him to make a mad dash from the forge to the home.

Gratefully, he accepted the hospitality of a hot shower and a bed, but sleep eluded him in the forms of two young children. Rory and Jenna, thrilled that he was staying, had jumped on him while sleep slipped its arms around him, jerking him awake to their laughter. He did not remember the last time he spent the whole day awake, but Gerry
’
s kids made it fly by.

He had to get home. He knew he would not be able to survive Christmas Day without collapsing from exhaustion or having his hunger flare up.

Resolved, he followed the chain-linked fence and glanced up at the ice-covered barbs. He had to be careful not to get caught on them. He was scarred enough from the damage that iron weapons and torture devices had wrought upon him. He did not know what more he could take. With that, he made sure that his feet would not slip and gracefully jumped over the barbed fence, landing in a puff of snow that cratered around him. Glancing around to see if anyone saw him, he settled the box on his back and found the train tracks.

The snow
’
s consistency changed from loosely packed globs to smaller, ice laced ones as the wind picked up, swirling the top layers of snow into devils that danced around him. Blinking into the growing storm, he brushed his long hair from his face to no avail. The wind whipped up strands, entangling them in ice. Every time he tried to move preternaturally fast, the snowfall would become a wall, forcing him to slow down. His pace was still faster than a mortal
’
s but nowhere near what he could have managed if the weather had co-operated. At this rate it would be well after midnight when he returned.

Flipping up the collar of his leather coat, he began the journey to the two-story flat he and Notus rented in Westminster.

The wind whipped around him, stinging exposed pale flesh with needles of ice, forcing him to keep his head down. The train tracks, buried beneath the snow, were hardly discernible and he would have walked off of them several times had there not been guiding posts and the fences to either side. Lone iridescent lights heading poles offered scant illumination as the buzzing of       millions of snowflakes flittered around them before descending to add their small worth to the increasing girth of the white blanket.

Each step was fraught with the potential of slipping and falling. One misplaced heel, one overzealous push off could send him into the white fluff. No matter the powers of a Chosen, they were nothing when pressed against the ravages Mother Nature presented. Still he kept going; the plodding pace in a world a-swirl in white pulled him towards the lassitude of trance. No sound abounded except what wind and snow plucked at the immobile harp of a land asleep. Despite the storm and the attention it demanded, he found his mind slipping to other things.

Two decades had passed since the Mistress and Master recalled him back to Britain, his work complete, with the profound gratitude of the Grand Council that was formed to settle the issue of the Vampires. Settle it they did, by using him as their weapon. He was as much at fault as they, for he had given them no choice that night nearly one hundred and thirty years ago.

Bridget and Fernando had set the stage and he and Notus had worked out the finer details. It was no longer an issue of his Destruction, it was now a matter of the survival of the Chosen, and Bridget was right, only he could tell for certain who were Chosen and who were not.

His mind slipped to the past through a trance of snow and ice.

H
e stood outside the old abandoned theatre, wearing only a cotton shirt and black trousers in the cold wind. He refused to glance in the direction of the puddle of light spilling from the lamppost where he had discovered Jeanie
’
s corpse. Even within its proximity, the memories of finding her supine form, her hair a copper halo giving the illusion of spilled blood and a Vampire
’
s mark upon her neck, threatened to fell him. Instead he stood in an attempt to still his tremors before it was time to re-enter the world of the Chosen.

Notus
’
hand alighted on his crossed arms and he opened his eyes to look down on concerned hazel staring back at him. He tried to offer a smile of reassurance, but failed, his crimson eyes filling. His Chooser knew what this cost him and what payment that could still be demanded. Taking a shuddering breath, he swallowed. He did not need to open himself further to Notus. It was hard enough seeing the monk so concerned.

Soon they would enter the building that had held Notus hostage, exsanguinated and crucified. Where Bastia, Mistress of Vampires, had fooled the Chosen into complacency as Katherine, Mistress of the Chosen of Britain, all the while exacting genocide on those she ruled. It was the place that had started the quest that had bound Fernando and he into discovering the deadly spice and the truth that Vampires did exist as a separate species from the Chosen – that Vampires sought the death of every Chosen.
It was this circumstance that thrust Jeanie further into his life, uncovering his true nature, yet still accepting him enough so that love finally took roo
t. It was here that sparked nightmares of his own torture at the hands of Violet, and worse the despair of Jeanie
’
s murder by a Vampire.

Staring up at the theatre that was now the Courthouse of the Chosen of Britain, he tried to collect the tattered remains of what he was
–
the Angel. He squared his shoulders as best as his ruined back could allow and nodded to Notus.