Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (61 page)

“They’ll be time after,” stated the Angel, noticing Fernando’s growing anger. Glancing over to Jeanie, she huddled against the chill night air with her hands in her coat pockets. He knew she too was hungry; Jeanie had refused to stop for a quick bite. Not to make sure they got back on track with their investigation, but because she was afraid to eat anything with the spice. It was a fear he understood now all too well.

Turning the brass doorknob, the loud crunching click of the door lock being busted resonated into the quiet night, making Jeanie jump. It was the tinkling of the chimes as the door swung open that sent Fernando swearing under his breath.

“You could have mentioned those,” hissed the Noble.

“I forgot,” replied Jeanie, hotly. “In any case, what could ye hae done about it?”

Scowling, Fernando shook his head.

Ignoring them both, the Angel stepped into the small front office. A single oil lamp burned brightly on the desk sitting in the centre, illuminating stacked papers against the litter of individual sheets lining the wood. An elaborately decorated silver fountain pen lay on its side over top a single white sheet. It was clear that someone was staying late to finish some work.

Fernando entered, followed closely by Jeanie. The door closed with another jostling of chimes, sending Fernando’s eyes rolling in exasperation. Jeanie flashed him an angry look to which the Angel sighed and shook his head. A sound from behind the inner office door caught his attention and he raised his hand to quiet any voice from his partners. They stood silently awaiting the entrance of the office worker.

“I thought I had locked that door,” came the aggravated French from behind the door. The handle turned and the bald headed manager halted in mid-step to stare at the three intruders to his solitude. “We are closed for the day, come back tomorrow,” he said, tersely.

Stepping forward, Fernando flourished a bow that seemed both insulting yet respectful. “I do apologize for our late arrival, but my colleagues and I have some questions about your business that must be answered. We cannot brook any more delays.”

Closing the door behind him, the middle-aged man straightened his tie and buttoned his jacket. “I’m sorry, sir, but we are closed.”

He walked around the desk, wary of the tall, cloaked figure on the other side and halted to stare at Jeanie. An angry frown pulled at his lips as he went to open the door to let his unwelcomed guests out. “Now if you please.”

He stumbled back as the cloaked figure seemed to magically appear before him. Fear widened his grey eyes and he crossed himself.

Slipping back the hood with a pale hand, the Angel stared down at the little man, anger and hunger vying for supremacy. “You have information that we require.”

The scent of the mortal’s fear laced blood exploded into the room and he opened his mouth to savour it.

“Wha – what information do you need?” stammered the man. Beads of nervous sweat appeared on his forehead. He backed up until the sound of the thump proved he had gone as far back against the desk as possible.

Stepping into the mortal’s line of sight, the Noble’s smile widened. “You took a piece of paper from Miss Stuart three days ago. I’m sure you recall its contents.” Fernando was rewarded with a quick nod. “Good. Then you can tell us who is issuing the orders for these barrels of herbs to be sent to England.”

“I cannot tell you that, sir,” stated the manager, finding strength in meeting normal looking brown eyes rather than the terrifying red of the tall creature blocking the exit.

“I don’t think that you understand the predicament that you are in,” advanced the Noble. “You have a choice in this matter. You can either tell us by your free will or we can take it from you.” A silver flash emanated from Fernando’s hand and a dagger hung casually.

The mortal began to tremble in fright, his eyes wide and fixated on the blade.

Having not understood a word transpired, Jeanie stepped forward, appalled at Fernando’s threatening position.

“Stop it,” she cried, “yer scarin’ him.”

“Of course I’m scaring him,” snapped the Noble, refusing to take his hungry eyes off the middle-aged man. “How else am I going to get what we need?”

“Ye can ask him nicely.” She met the man’s pleading gaze.

“Did it work for you?”

Fernando’s snide comment brought her back at how she was treated by this same self-styled gentleman only three days ago.

“No,” she frowned.

“Shut up and let me do it my way.” Victorious, he stepped forward revelling in the terror he was evoking in the man. “So what is it going to be?”

“I – I can’t.” The man shook his head. “If I tell you they’ll kill me.”

“Tch tch tch, and who is to say that I won’t kill you if you don’t tell me.” Fernando spun the blade between his two hands, the point drilling into the tip of his index finger.

At the man’s moan of despair, Fernando swooped over, blade pressed against the man’s straining neck. A rivulet of blood seeped along the steel to drip liquid rubies onto his white collar.

Disgusted with Fernando’s incessant need to torture his victims, the Angel stepped forward as his hunger broke its leash with the shedding of mortal blood.

Standing over the Noble, his whisper strained against his flooding desire. “He’s mine.”

“Gladly,” smirked the Noble, removing the blade from the mortal’s throat. Methodically he ran his finger along the side of the dagger, transferring the stain of blood. Breathing in its fear-tinged aroma he licked the jewels, cleaning his finger. Surprised to find the blood untainted, he smiled.

Taking note of the Noble’s reaction to the blood, the Angel turned his attention to the man. The red beads welled alluringly along the cut. He could not wait much longer to satiate his hunger. It seemed to have a life of its own, pressing him into action. He knew Jeanie was there in the room watching, this time knowing what he was and what he needed. He could only hope she would forgive him for what he was about to do.

He locked onto grey eyes, driving his gaze into the man’s. Catching the staggered rhythm of the mortal’s breathing, he waited until the man’s pupils dilated and his posture relaxed.

“You will tell us who is ordering the herbs that are poisoning the Chosen.” He spoke in harmony with the manager’s beating heart. “You will tell us where we can find this person. You will tell us the truth for any lie will cause you agony.”

A whimper escaped the mortal’s throat.

Surprised at the man’s resistance, he felt his anger rise. His eyes bore into grey.

“Tell me,” he pressed.

The man’s opposition shattered.

“Madam Fleur de la Montagne,” he sputtered under the effect of the Angel’s powers. “She has a villa outside of Balinghem.”

“I know the area,” responded the Angel. He ignored Fernando’s raised brow. “What is the name of the villa?”

The manager slowly shook his head without breaking eye contact, his breath coming more rapidly. “Please, please,” his voice whined, “they’ll kill me.”

The Angel drove his gaze into mortal eyes, speaking to the man’s soul. “Do you know what I am called?”

The mortal’s head shook vigorously.

“I am called
l'Ange
.”

The scent of hot urine filled the small office. It was clear that the manager had heard of him. Behind him he heard Fernando’s offended expletive as he got wind of the released bladder. He did not want to see Jeanie’s reaction. Returning his attention to the man, he could see tears streaming down the shaved face to drip into the puddle on the floor. It was only through his will that the mortal remained standing.

“
Le Jardin
,” muttered the man. “The villa is called
Le Jardin
.”

Satisfied with the answers the hunger finally broke free. Swooping down on the manager, he barely registered the scream as he sank his teeth through the slightly stubbled skin, piercing the jugular. The salt of sweat mingled momentarily with the rushing hot metallic taste that quickly filled his mouth. Spurred on by the lack of taint in the blood, he euphorically swallowed, basking in the adrenalin heightened flavour.

It felt so long since the last time he had allowed himself to feed unrestrained.

Holding the mortal in a fierce embrace he pulled on the wound, seeking only to fill his mouth and his being with the living essence. Again and again he suckled, drawing out more of the life giving fluid, its thick sweetness filling his mouth, enlivening his centre. Time existed within the expanse of the slowing heart; each chamber struggled to fill and then to push. It was when it fluttered that told the Angel his meal would soon be over. Choosing to take his time to savour the richness of the blood, he allowed the failing heart to push its fluids into him until it faltered into a stumbling rhythm. He so wanted to drain the manager to the quick but knew the consequences if he did. Forcibly pulling himself out, he caught his breath in a great sigh.

It would not be long before the manager expired from extreme blood loss and he laid the man down, watching as the four puncture marks began to close. Grey eyes glazed over. The sound of the heart fluttered once, and then stopped. A release of breath escaped dead lips.

Stepping back from the corpse he felt the usual shame mixed with the elation the blood gave him. Any remnant of pain in his body magically vanished with the fulfillment of his hunger. A figure off to his right caught his attention and he looked up to see the Noble, a knowing smile on his face, pointing to the corner of his own mouth. Frowning at first by the strange gesture, he quickly realized that Fernando was indicating something else. He touched his mouth and drew back the last remains of the manager’s blood. Red tipped pale fingers. It was tempting to lick the delicious red liquid off his fingers but instead hastily he wiped them on his cloak.

“Do you know where
Le Jardin
is?” asked Fernando, breaking the silence, having more than enjoyed witnessing the Angel in action and could now guess with certainty which Angel the mortals believed him to be.

“I have a good idea,” answered the Angel. He turned away from the Noble’s disparaging smile and found Jeanie huddled in the corner. The sense of enjoyment from feeding fled, leaving a hollow satiation in its stead.

He took a step towards Jeanie in the hopes to comfort and halted as she retreated further into the corner. He did not know what to say to take away the memory of what she had witnessed. When he fed off of her it was not only about the blood. There was love and trust, given and received. He knew that this was the first time she had seen him truly feed in the manner the penny presses described. The shame intensified and he lowered his gaze to the wooden floor.

“Why? Why did ye have to kill him?” Jeanie’s voice sounded small.

Taking a steadying breath he met Jeanie’s imploring gaze, fully aware of Fernando’s intense presence. “I am Chosen, Jeanie. I could have let him live, but at what cost to us?”

He watched her eyes go round. The manager would have most likely gone to those they were seeking. The manager was part of the conspiracy to kill the Chosen, though it was strange that he was not tainted. “I have never lied to you about what I am, what I have done.”

Jeanie’s breath came in quick gasps. “But when I saw you with the old man -”

Realization dawned on him and he groaned, finishing her thought. “And with you. But it is not always that way. This…this is usually the way. Feeding off those mortals who delve in cruelty to others. This man was part of those killing off the Chosen. I could not let him live even if I wanted to.”

Jeanie trembled, hating the fact that he was right. “What do we do now?”

“We rifle through this place to see if the information can be corroborated and then set this place alight,” replied the Noble. Moving around the room he began with the filing cabinets along the wall, throwing inconsequential papers onto the floor.