Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (36 page)

Jeanie’s face was flush, her eyes fluttered open to see the Angel staring at her with fear and revulsion.

“What is it?” she implored. She had dreamed so long for this moment and now she was unprepared for his unexpected reaction.

He swallowed audibly and in a voice husky with desire, said, “You had best get dressed.” He turned towards the door and stopped when he felt her hand upon his back.

“What is it that yer afraid of?” Her voice was soft despite her worry.

“Jeanie, please,” he pleaded, not turning around to face her. He knew that if he did, he would loose all constraint.

She could not let it go. She had come too far to do that. “Yer afraid of me?”

“No, I’m afraid of myself,” he stated before fleeing the room, leaving Jeanie to stare in amazement at the door.

The door clicked shut behind him and he collapsed against the hard wood, his head resting against the lintel and his hands pressing against his eyes. Jeanie’s intoxicating taste and scent filled his mind with thoughts he could not bear. Pulling his hands from his face, he gazed at his shaking fingers and immediately crossed his arms against his chest in an attempt to still his trembling. He never imagined that anyone could have such a profound effect on him. He had witnessed spells Chosen wove to capture mortals under the precepts of love, but he had never done so himself, and now he felt as entangled as a fly in a web.

Gods, I could have killed her.
The realization terrified him. She could not find out the truth of his nature, and yet she had learned enough that could very well cause his downfall. Only once before had the blood been so irresistible – Tarian. The thought of the long dead girl and his encounter with her set him trembling anew. She had wanted him; not because she loved him, but because she believed he was something he was not.

Even with Tarian’s granddaughter, his first and only love, he had never felt so scared. With Jeanie it was different, and plainly so. She had never shirked from him and this fact ignited a much deeper desire.
She can never discover the truth.
The thought of seeing revulsion and horror in her eyes if she found out would be too much for him to bear. He could not have Jeanie view him as others have.

Still hugging himself, he absently followed the hall runner down the stairs. So absorbed in his own thoughts he did not see Fernando rise from the couch in the parlour and nearly jumped out of his skin when the Noble demanded something from him. He stared at Fernando, his mind a swirl with thoughts of Jeanie and the image of the Noble five hundred years past superimposed on a Fernando of the present wearing a dark blue three piece suit and his hair pulled back in a tail.

“I demand to know what happened,” barked de Sagres, oblivious to the Angel’s obvious distress.

He stood silent, trying to comprehend the meaning and shook his head. “I did not tell her.” He settled himself on the opposite couch, leaving his host standing.

“Not that.” Fernando cut the air with a sweep of his hand and glared at his guest. “1386. London. The celebration for the English King’s cousin,” he stated shortly.

“What?” Crimson eyes stared up in confusion.

Fernando leaned over, levelling his eyes with the Angel’s “I want to know what happened. You were there. I remember.”

Had reality shifted? He could not get a grasp of the situation and he blinked blankly up at the Noble. Slowly, the dream came back and with it the understanding of what was asked of him. “You do not know?”

Straightening in indignation, Fernando glared down his nose at the Angel. “No, I do not. I was quite drunk if you would be so kind as to remember. After all it was the
Angel
who put me to bed,” sneered the Noble.

The Angel stared in silence. Flashes of memory and the dream came to mind, allowing him time to compose himself from all the shocks he had received so early this evening.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, cautiously.

Fernando sat stiffly. “I want to know two things. First, what did I do and say before you put me to bed, and secondly, why the hell have you pretended not to know me. Is it to have some way to control me by bribing me with the information of my exile?”

It was suddenly obvious that he had some knowledge that Fernando lacked, giving him an imagined upper hand over the Noble, but at the mention of the exile, his white brows furrowed.

“I did not know you were exiled,” he replied, sympathetically. “I did not remember you until this evening, and even if I had remembered earlier I would never have held that against you. What occurred happened life times ago and I am no man’s judge.”

Suspicion flared in brown eyes and instantly faded. Fernando was learning enough about the Angel to know that, strange as it may seem, he did not lie.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” de Sagres stated tersely.

He could see through the tension held in the Noble’s body to see the fear the presence of the truth caused him. Lowering his gaze to the table between them, he searched for the words. “You came into the hall in a terrible state of disarray and thoroughly drunk,” he began in soft tones. “You made your way through the crowd to stand before the throne, attempted a bow and said something before you nearly vomited on King Richard and the Ambassador for Portugal.”

“What did I say?” asked Fernando, his eyes taking on the glint of a man faced with a horrifying truth.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“You must remember what I said,” pressed Fernando. “The memory of a Chosen…”

“I know, but that was five hundred years ago.”

“Try.”

He pursed his lips. Fernando’s need was so much like his own; to find the truth of himself. He thought back to that night and closed his eyes.

“Esta e a puta Ingleza que vai polluir a sange Real!”
he said, unsure if he remembered correctly until he opened his eyes.

Fernando had taken on the look of a man surprised at being mortally wounded.

The Angel was not about to inquire what it meant, he knew. Instead he asked, “Does that sound right?”

After a long silent moment, Fernando slowly nodded. “Now I understand,” he said calmly and stood up.

He watched de Sagres move about the parlour, oblivious to all except his own thoughts. Without warning a low growl of rage boiled up in the Noble until he exploded, smashing an end table into splinters.

“
Raio esta parte da minha vida!”
he roared. And as suddenly as the explosion occurred Fernando calmed down to a smouldering fury. “I guess I should be grateful that I was allowed my life,” he chuckled, darkly.

He said nothing, calmly watching the Noble, wondering what was next in store.

Soft footfalls on the stairs caught both Chosen’s attention and they turned in time to see Jeanie descend the remaining stairs carrying the Angel’s cloak and shoes into the parlour.

“Ye left these in the room,” she explained, laying the items down beside him, without looking at him.

“You look ravishing, my dear,” stated the Noble. His rage set aside and sat down on the opposite couch to watch a blush darken her face.

The Angel silently agreed. He did not know where she had found the forest green dress with white embroidery and lace that accentuated every gracious curve and made her eyes shine like emeralds, but the sight of her in it ignited his desire for her anew and he painfully squashed it.

“It was the least fancy I found in the closet,” apologized Jeanie. “I dinna want t’ wear filthy clothes. If ye think yer lady will mind I can go and change.” She turned to go back up the stairs.

“No, that’s alright. Bridget won’t mind, even if she notices it missing,” explained Fernando. “If you’re hungry, go help yourself in the pantry.”

Jeanie gave her thanks and disappeared into the back with a quick glance at the Angel.

“You didn’t tell her, yet you slept with her?” stated Fernando, after Jeanie was out of earshot. “You do like courting disaster.”

He drew his gaze from the dark hall to the Noble’s smiling face. “I did not sleep with her,” he explained. The doubtful look on his hosts face forced him to continue. “She slept in the bed, and I on the chaise. I would never sleep with her.” By God he wanted to. To have her be so wholly his, but it could not happen - ever. The kiss was dangerous enough.

“For some strange reason, I don’t believe you,” stated Fernando, “and frankly I’ve decided I don’t care. What I do care about is that you keep your trap shut in regards to that night so long ago. I do not want that to become public knowledge, understand?”

“I do not know why you are so worried. I have no interest in any entanglements with you except in so far as we conclude this mystery.”

“Fine.” Fernando did not sound convinced. “Then onto my second point. Now that the sun’s gone down we can go to the harbour and find out who is ordering these herbs. Once we have that then we can tell Katherine and go our separate ways. Agreed?”

“What about the Kitchen?” he replied, slipping on his shoes. “We were carefully led into a trap there so that they could dispose of us as they had Sebastian.”

Fernando sat quietly. He had not thought about that. A grimace tugged at his face. “They know what we are.”

The Angel nodded. He did not like the thought at all and worse yet was that their captors were mortals. “If we go back to the Kitchen we are dealing with just one of many in London, let alone Britain. We don’t know how big this really is.”

“I don’t think Katherine knows.” Fernando drummed his fingers on his thighs. “I think we’re in trouble.”

Silence crashed down between the two Chosen. The only sounds came from Jeanie’s puttering in the kitchen.

He stared at the table between he and Fernando. They were indeed in trouble. They could go back to the kitchen, but what would that yield? Lackies doing the grunt work while those who issued the orders ran the show. It was them they had to stop and the only way was to follow the paper trail of the herbs. Once they found out who was trying to kill the Chosen, they could hopefully put a stop to it. Since the poisoners were mortals then it could very well be the spark of a long feared war between mortals and Chosen, and that could not be tolerated. The only disturbing thought was the young lady in the alley who had sent them there was at the kitchen as he escaped. If only he could remember who she was, maybe that would help, but memory of the Chosen or no, he could not place her face.

“We need to follow the herbs,” he stated, resolutely. They had no other recourse.

Fernando huffed and nodded in agreement. “To the docks, then.” He stood, walking to the front door.

He stood as Jeanie entered, daintily sucking sweet marmalade from her fingers.

She stopped inside of the door, noticing that the Angel was about to swing his cloak onto his broad shoulders.

“Are we goin’ now?” she asked.

Unable to handle the Angel’s apparent turn around, Jeanie had decided to eat in the kitchen. Looking at him now that she had seen him without his cool exterior mask, Jeanie realized the truth of his words.
Why is he so afraid?

“Yes.” Fernando turned around. “I suppose that even after what I did this morning you are still planning on joining us?”

“Aye,” she replied, coolly. She did not like Fernando, especially after his assault on her. Her wrist still burned, but it appeared that if she wanted to help the Good Father and the Angel she would have to put up with the Noble.

“For better and for worse?” pressed de Sagres.

“Aye.”
I doubt it could get any worse,
she silently added.

“Then let’s get going.” Fernando moved to the entrance of his home, retrieving his dark cloak and setting the lengthy fabric onto his shoulders. He picked up a long woman’s coat and threw it at her. “Don’t want to chill the blood, do you?”