Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (55 page)

Brian chose to take the statement as a question rather than an accusation. “I believed it prudent to keep your identity from them less that they discover that Valraven still lives and rules the  Vampires after having deceived the Chosen as Lady Katherine’s right hand man.”

Sucking at his upper lip, Corbie leaned back in his chair, the anger gone and nodded his appreciation. “Smart. Did the Chosen see anyone else?”

“They did not see Rose and she did not see them. She was too busy dancing.” Brian uncrossed his arms, stuck his hands into his pockets and proceeded to detail the events that transpired between the Chosen and the Vampires, all the while carefully watching his master’s face for the tale tell signs of another outburst.

“Well done, Brian.” Corbie offered one of his rare tight lipped smiles. “I know you’ve been eyeing that pretty brunette. I give you my permission to change him.”

Brian inclined his head, grateful for the generosity. If the transformation took, then Jacob would make an excellent second before possibly taking control of a small city. Receiving what he had been hoping for Brian decided it was time to deliver the
piece de resistance
. “I have further information.”

“Oh?” Corbie leaned forward, arms resting on the desk.

A smile quirked Corbie’s second’s lips. “The Angel is on the roof across the street.”

“What?” Corbie’s black eyes snapped wide. “How long has he been there?”

“Since I went out to deal with the Chosen.”

A malicious smile broke the Dominus’s face. “Is everyone here?”

“All but Stephanie and Michael. They’re out hunting.”

“Call them back.”

“Sir?”

“It’s time.”

A true smile split Brian’s face, revealing white even teeth in boyish features.

H
e watched the activity at
Beyond The Veil
from his perch across the street, huddled in his black leather long coat in an attempt to escape the spring night’s chill. When he arrived he first contemplated going into the club, find the first Vampire he ran into and demand his sword. It was an ill-conceived plan based upon the premise
what would Fernando do in my place?
Instead he fell back into patterns of behaviour etched into his soul for over a thousand years.

The glamour of the Angel fit as comfortably as ever as he parked his Y2K motorcycle down a residential street near the club. At first, standing in front of the closed shop’s entrance across from
The Veil
seemed a wise idea. The burnt out bulb offered darkness but the indented entrance was still too visible from the sidewalk and street. The stares and ogling from those out for the night were inhibiting his reconnaissance of the club and its patrons. It was a chance but he left his observation to find an intact external fire escape behind the building. He climbed the rattling iron works, ever careful not to cut himself. His aching ribs screamed in protest as he pulled himself up to the gravel covered roof.

The view was perfect – a snipers paradise. Nothing obscured his line of sight. He stood, with arms crossed, as he watched the patrons, both Vampire and mortal, go in and out of the black building. It also provided a better view through the second floor windows. Lights flashed, silhouetting patrons enjoying the establishment.  

The wind whipped his long white locks but he ignored the strands except for when they crossed to obscure his eyes. Then he would raise his hand to brush the offending hair away without breaking his study of the club. He doubted he would be seen, and if so, only Vampiric sight would penetrate the rooftop darkness. He hoped to catch their attention. It was therefore a surprise when he saw two familiar figures step into the puddle of street lights as they exited the Beemer. Curiosity mixed with growing irritation as he watched Fernando and Bridget walk up to the two guards.
What are they doing here?
he seethed.

Stepping closer to the edge he watched the scene play out. When the Vampire who stole his sword and who posed for the security camera came out to meet the Chosen, did his breath caught and his heart sped up. There was no doubt that his sword lay somewhere in the building.

Worry wiggled its grip around his chest. If the Vampires attacked the Chosen, there was nothing he could do about it. The ramifications of such an act would be tantamount to a declaration of war – a war in which the Angel could not participate. It was, therefore, a relief when he witnessed the Master and Mistress of the Chosen turn and leave.

He stepped back from the edge and frowned. Though he was relieved no violence was done to his friends, he could not stop wondering what Bridget and Fernando were up to. The nagging concern stayed with him even after the Chosen drove away and he resumed his position to watch over
The Veil.

Time dragged out and he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. As the club returned to its normal activity he decided that he would approach the sword thieves toward the closing of the club. Hopefully there would be the least number of mortals to potentially end up in harm’s way. Then again chances were that there would be more Vampires. It was this that created solid doubt about the wisdom of going up against of Vampires just for a sword.

He knew he was probably irrational about his desire to get his sword back, but he could not deny his desperate attachment to it and what it represented. He had lost too much in his life, many because time and circumstance willed it so, but the recent losses were the most devastating. He needed his sword, his father’s sword, no matter the cost. It had never failed him.

The sound of someone climbing the fire escape pulled his attention from the club. It did not take long for a figure clad in black to reveal himself by standing before the metal ladder.   Stepping away from the edge of the roof, his body tensed at the sight of the blonde headed Vampire. He knew he should not be surprised, after all he had expected the Vampires to notice him.

Time eked by. The only evidence that the minutes flowed past was the wind whipping the clouds past a swollen moon. They stood, two predators, studying each other for any sign of offence until the Vampire took a cautious sideways step, his expensive shoes shushing over the stones.

“Here we are again,” called the Vampire. “I figured it would be better that I come to you since the events that occurred after your brief visit to my establishment. I guess I can assume that Ben and Mitchell’s disappearance can be laid at your feet?”

He continued to watch the Vampire through the shifting veil of his white hair, never letting his eyes flicker from the creature. The mention of the two other Vampires did not stir him. Either they were the two that Fernando dispatched or they were the ones he staked in the park. It did not matter except to allow the Vampires to believe he was still Chosen and thus the Angel.

“Do you have nothing to say?” The Vampire opened his arms, pale palms outstretched as if to placate the moonlight that streamed down.

“Where is my sword?” Quiet menace carried his soft spoken words.

The Vampire lowered his hands as the corners of his thin pale lips curled upwards. “Ah, the direct approach. I can appreciate that.” He took a step forward and paused when the Angel held his ground.

He allowed the pause to grow, not deigning to response to the creature until he received an answer to his query. Unmoving, he watched the smirk metamorphose into a scowl.

“Okay then,” remarked the Vampire. “You want to get to the point – fine. You want your sword back – even better. We’ll give it back to you.”

The declaration surprised him. It did not make any sense except for one thing. The question he had to ask himself was whether or not it was worth the risk. The answer clutched his heart. “When and where?”

It was the Vampire’s turn to be surprised and a smirk pulled his lips. “Do you not want to know what we want in exchange?”

“No,” he stated. “I already know.”

“Well then, this is a surprise. The Angel of Death expects death,” said the Vampire. “If it is ours, you do not get your sword back. If it is yours, why bother?”

The Angel lowered his gaze. Did he truly expect to die? And was the Vampire correct? Did it really matter? He tried to keep the frown from his face and failed. What was the worth of his life now that all he held dear was taken from him? He swallowed and brought his gaze up to stare at the Vampire through a veil of white strands. “I am not afraid of death, are you?”

 
The Vampire’s eyes went wide before tilting his head in a slight nod. “
Beyond The Veil
closes at three. I’ll need about an hour or so to clear out the mortals. Meet me at the back of the club. There’s a small parking area that the staff uses. Say four-thirty?”

“Fine.” His eyes never left the Vampire as the creature moved towards the ladder.

“One other thing,” the Vampire turned back from the ladder. “If you even dare to call those damned creatures, if I see one misty swirl, I will not hesitate to shatter your precious sword into pieces. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” he replied, angered by the threat.

Satisfied, the Vampire disappeared over the side.

Alone once more he pulled a white strand away from his mouth and turned back to observe the club.

Death. Was that what he was truly seeking? Was regaining his sword just an excuse? He slowly released a tension filled breath, ignoring the twinge of his broken ribs. He was no longer the Angel as either the Chosen or the Vampires knew him. Centuries of identity was blasted away in an instant leaving the same scared boy that had expected to live his life alone in a cave. Notus had called it existing, not living. The reality was that he never truly lived, except with Jeanie, and that was gone.

It was several hours before the meeting was to take place and the question of what to do in the interim gnawed at him. Taking off the leather coat, he rested it on the gravel to lean against the roofing’s bricked edge, removed the two Japanese blades from their hiding places within the fabric, and came to stand in the centre of the roof. The wind plucked at his white linen shirt and hair as if to tell him that this was no place for the Angel. His right hand gently touched his healing ribs. It was going to be uncomfortable, even painful, but it had been too long. He settled into the starting position and began the martial forms that focused his mind and prepared his body.

“Sir, what do you want to do?” Godfrey stifled a yawn as he drove the limousine. “We’ve been driving all over in hopes of spotting the Angel. We’ve even gone to
Beyond The Veil
to see if he was there. Nothing.”

Thanatos, sitting in the back leather seat, sighed and glanced at his gold Gucci watch. “What time does Corvus’ club close?”

“Three, sir.”  Godfrey turned the limo south.

“From what you’ve stated, Godfrey, the Angel has been in or about
Beyond The Veil
at least twice.

“Yes, sir, but we were already there tonight.”

Thanatos pursed his lips in contemplation. “Go back, Godfrey.”

“Sir?” Godfrey glanced at his Master in the rear view mirror.

“A hunch, Godfrey,” said the God of Death. “Drive us back to Corvus Valerius’ club.”

“Yes, sir.” With a firm destination in mind Godfrey returned his focus on driving and turned onto Queen Street.

His side stabbed him as he panted from the exertion and the pain three cycles of forms had pulled from his broken ribs. The wind turned the sweat down his chest and back into icy rivers under the cotton shirt, yet another new and unwelcome sensation. Bent over, arm around his chest; his long hair brushed the gravel roof when the wind did not play with it. Carefully straightening to stand, he walked over on burning legs to pick up his jacket, sheathing the swords in the hidden pockets.