Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (22 page)

Outside the rods that formed the cage, barrels of unknown contents littered the floor. Inside, sitting on a bundle of straw, Jeanie sat contemplating the tray of tantalizing smelling food that her captor had sent. She was famished from a long day behind bars, but her stubbornness about her situation refused her even the luxury of contemplating the food. It did look good, piles of meat with peas and potatoes steamed in the cool air. It was a much better sight than what hung on the southern wall.

She did not remember much of the night before, nor how or why she was brought to this place. One moment she was hopeful for a good night sleep in her own bed and the next she woke with a headache worse than any hangover. Dirty straw had clung to her face and stuck out of her disarrayed locks so that she had to spit, brush and yank the itching plant matter from bothering her any further.

The bright light from the autumn sun had made her eyes water in pain, and yet let her see clearly her unknown whereabouts. At the sight of the dismembered arm and two legs still chained to the wall she let out a shrill scream that even threatened to burst her own oversensitive ears. Nowhere was there to be found the torso or the head of the corpse. Judging by what was left of the clothing, he must have been some nobleman.

Her scream had not brought anyone to her aid so she had shouted her throat raw and rattled her cage door, demanding to be let out. When that failed, she yelled to her nonexistent captor to at least show himself until the strip of sunlight turned orange and lengthened, casting the remains of the last tenant into dark shadow. Jeanie finally resolved herself to the fact that she was left forgotten and sat in a heap of straw, waiting.

It did not take long for the dungeon to be cast into the pitch black of early night. Crying in frustration, she thought back to the Angel. Soon he would be expecting her at his home, but she would not be there. Would he care? She doubted it. He would probably be pleased, one less person to get in his way. Still she wished that he would come and rescue her from wherever she was. But if she did not know, how was he to? It seemed unlikely that he could come, being so focused on getting the Good Father back.

Alice is wrong,
she thought sullenly,
he dinna care.

At the sound of footfalls above, Jeanie had gotten to her feet and yelled for someone, anyone, to get her out, or at least bring her something to drink. She was actually surprised to hear a door open and see a nervous young girl bring the tray of food and a wineskin. Jeanie had tried to get the girl of about eight to tell her where she was, if she could not let her out. The girl ignored Jeanie’s attempts at conversation as she slid the tray under the barred door, but she did leave the candle as Jeanie requested.

The water in the leather skin tasted strange, and despite her great thirst she spat out the mouthful and refused to drink, or to eat. She would not give her captors the pleasure of her co-operation.

Resolved to the fact that she was most probably here for quite a while, Jeanie just sat and waited, watching the food cool and the candle melt shorter and shorter.

Thoughts of the Angel rose in her mind and no matter what she did to try and think of something else, his beautiful face returned to haunt her. To her mind she was unnoticeable to the strangely coloured young man the Good Father called son. Forgotten and ignored, she cursed herself a fool for the stunt of the day before. Showing up in his bed uninvited! Her face burned hotly.

Why could he not see she cared for him? Brushing her cheeks, she was surprised that they were wet. She so desperately wanted to know what was wrong with her that the Angel would want nothing to do with her.

A sound of clinking keys made her look up. Someone was coming down the steps. It was a solitary man with short dark hair and a fierce expression that forced Jeanie to her feet and back against the stone of the far wall. He looked ready to kill. Absently, she felt along the rough brick hoping to find one loose enough to use as a weapon.

“I see that our food was not to your liking,” he remarked after a quick glance at the tray. “That snivelling girl will be punished for that.” His dark brown eyes bored into Jeanie.

Terror and disgust filled her. That shy little girl was to be punished for her not eating. “Why?”

A malicious smile formed on the man’s face, but did not touch his eyes. “Why what, my dear?”

“Why are ye gonna punish her?” she stammered.

“Oh that. I thought you would have asked a more poignant question.” He hitched a broad shoulder. “Because it will be fun.” He ignored her gasp and began to pace before the gaol cell. “I am here to answer some of the questions I am sure you have, but first I will answer the standard questions all my captives ask. It will save time.

“You are in the basement of a soup kitchen in the south of London. There is no point telling you where exactly, just know that it does not matter. You are here for my amusement and to keep you from ruining our plans. My name is inconsequential, though I know yours, Jean Anne Stuart, daughter of Heather and Charles Stuart – a poor joke on your father’s parents in naming him that. Do not look so surprised. I have my sources.”

“Ye’re the ones who kidnapped the Good Father,” blurted Jeanie. She glanced at the remains even though she knew them not to be him.

Her reply was a deep chuckle. “I would never be so bold as that. I am not at all fond of holy men nor their trinkets.”

“Then why are ye holdin’ me captive? I’ve ne’er been a threat t’ anyone.” She felt her courage returning so long as he remained outside the cage.

He halted before the door and peered into Jeanie’s eyes, into her soul. “No, you are not a threat. In fact you are inconsequential, and that is why you are here.” With that he turned around to walk back up the stairs.

“Wait!” she called out, and he halted halfway up. “If I’m so inconsequential why kill me?”

Pivoting on the stair, Jeanie’s captor grinned manically. “Because it too will be fun.”

Jeanie watched in dumb horror as he disappeared up the steps, and only when she heard the door close with a click and a tumble of a lock did she collapse onto the straw, crying her fear and desperation.

Their heels clicked loudly against the stone walk as they wove their way around and through groups of people out for the evening. Most of the passers-by did not notice the two who hurried down the streets. Those that did saw two men, one unusually tall, and his features obscured under a black hood, and the other, short yet stocky and of obvious foreign origin. The shorter of the two looked angry and it was his expression that forced many from their path.

They walked in silence for the last several blocks. The number of mortals in their midst roused Fernando’s hunger and his anger. He could not believe the Angel to be so naïve as to believe that beautiful stranger. Who cared whether or not Jeanie was alive? Fernando surely did not, and even after the Angel’s short sermon, it seemed ridiculous to sidetrack their quest for one simple mortal girl.

There were more important things than she – even the Angel more or less stated so by declaring over and over that he would have his sire back. But actions spoke louder than words, and the Angel acted as if she were important. How important and in what way, Fernando wanted to know, especially since she had become a liability if she was indeed alive.

Winding their way closer to Southwark Bridge, they left the company of mortals for a more quiet, deserted lane, one in which not too many would risk taking without being accosted by some of London‘s lowlifes. The Angel walked in silence, vaguely aware of the Noble’s presence. Hope carried his steps. Hope that Jeanie was alive even if she were in some type of trouble. He prayed that the girl in the shawl was telling him the truth. She knew him to be the Angel, yet he vaguely remembered her, from where he could not recall. His reverie was broken when Fernando cleared his throat.

“Tell me again why we are doing this,” remarked Fernando, without looking up.

“I did not say,” he replied after a moment of silence. He did not want another confrontation with the Noble.

“They why don’t you?” Fernando huffed in exasperation. “If I’m going to risk my neck for a mortal girl, I damn well want to know why. And I remind you –
if
. It may well be that that so-called maid was lying. After all, I don’t know about you but I don’t know many women, maids or whores, who would walk about at night in only a shift and a shawl.”

“I know.” It did not seem right, or more to the point everything seemed too easy.

“You know what?” fumed Fernando. “That she was lying? Or do you know what the hell is going on, because if you do pray tell.”

“It was obvious that she was not who she said she was,” he explained, keeping his attention on where they were heading.

“I know that,” spat Fernando. “Then why believe what she said?”

“Because I would rather believe in a half truth than a lie.”

“Huh?” Now he was confused.

“She said two men took Jeanie to a soup kitchen. Lily said two men started the fire because a sale of
special spices
did not go through. We have a bottle of some strange powder that was left at your feet by two men, one driving the carriage and one in the cabin. We are very carefully being led into a trap.”

“
Santo Cristo Foda do Deus!
” exclaimed the Noble. “Then why the bloody hell are we going?”

He stared intently into the night. “Because the only way to find out who laid the trap is to spring it.”

“That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard! We should turn around and –“

“And what?” he inquired. Cold blood red eyes narrowed at the Noble. “Leave the possibility that Jeanie may indeed be alive and a captive? Leave the possibility of quickly solving this case and being quit of each other?” He came to an abrupt halt, black cloak fluttering against his calves, and stared down at Fernando. “I do not like having my life turned upside down. I want this over, all of it.”

“I’m hurt,” feigned Fernando. “And after all that we’ve been through. I was beginning to like you,” he mocked and his brown eyes narrowed in anger. “I want this over as well, but, as I told you, I am not going to risk my neck for some mortal girl that you so obviously care about.”

Taken aback at the Noble’s accusation, he just blinked, allowing the other to continue.

“Oh don’t give me that. I’ve seen the way you look at her and she, you, and the way you worry over her.” Fernando turned to continue walking, but not before saying in a disgusted tone under his breath, “A vampire in love with a mortal,
rai esta parte da minha vida!”

It took him a moment to register Fernando’s words before he followed.
Love?
He could not believe it and he shook his head in denial. Fernando was just being Fernando – an antagonist trying to rile him up again. Catching up to the Noble, he walked at the slower pace with eyes focused on the path ahead and frowned.

It had been so long since he allowed himself to feel those feelings, having locked that part of himself away after being so cruelly denied. It was an ancient wound, one long healed over, one in which he would not even scratch at by saying her name – Tarian’s granddaughter.

She had returned the love and his passion, and even when her father forced her to marry another they still found solace in each other’s arms and bodies. He had done everything for her, except the one thing she needed, for him to live in the day with her.

Notus had repudiated the existence of his son’s love for Tarian’s granddaughter until it was almost too late. When the Angel had stolen her away to his cave in Wales, intent on Choosing her, he did not count on her husband and his liege following, demanding her return.

It was too horrible to bear. He could not give up the meaning of his life. She would not go. She did not want to.

And then in came Notus, who talked of rationalities. Of what it would do to take her out of the sun, to take her from her family, to take her from her husband, to Choose her for his own passions and desires. Notus refused to understand.

He had wept and so had she. They had wanted to be together, they loved each other and then Notus told him to listen, to truly listen to her heart, to her body. And he did. He heard her beating heart pounding in vibrant emotion and then the smaller, faster one and he knew. Notus was right. He could not take her from the light when she carried the unborn child to her husband.