Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (77 page)

Groaning as she stood from her crouched position, Jeanie paced the room discovering what item would be best to shatter the glass when she heard voices outside her door.

Frozen with renewed fear, Jeanie placed the tall silver trifurcated candlestick back down on the night table. It was when she heard Violet’s voice that all thought fled her mind and she felt herself being drawn to the door. A sudden desire to hear her friend speak again welled within as she touched the dark oak.

A tremor passed through her with Violet’s soft tones.

Stunned at the sudden craving to do the Mistress’ desires, Jeanie’s eyes widened and dropped her hand from the wound on her neck.

Her breath came in short gasps and Jeanie tried to school her feelings. She knew something was wrong and shook her head. Thinking was becoming hard to accomplish. All she could do was to stand there, pressed against the door, listening intently.

“Here is the letter, Gustav. Please make sure that Mr. Vale receives it before he sails tonight.”

A rustle of paper, and then silence.

“Yes, my lady. What should I inform my Lord in regards to the Chosen?”

Violets laugh weakened Jeanie’s legs, sending her sliding down the door. “Tell Mr. Vale that de Sagres has been dispatched with the dawn. As for the Angel,” stated Violet, possessively, “he is mine and he will continue to be mine until I bore of him.”

Jeanie’s eyes popped open at the sudden realization that he was still alive and pressed her ear against the wood.

“Of course, my lady,” replied Gustav. “Do you desire to keep the Angel in the entertainment room? Or shall I make alternative arrangements?”

“The entertainment room is just fine, Gustav,” smiled Violet as she walked down the hall.

“Master Vale will not like that, my lady,” replied Gustav.

“I know that,” snapped Violet. “France is mine. She said so. While Mr. Vale is here, he is under my authority.”

“Yes, my lady,” cowed the servant.

“Good,” said Violet, brusquely. “I want that letter sent so that Mr. Vale has it upon awakening at sunset; a copy is to be sent by telegraph to my Lady. Return with Mr. Vale's reply.”

Jeanie pressed harder against the wood as their voices faded.

“Prepare my crypt, Gustav, The sun is near to rising.”

Gustav’s reply descended down the stairs and out of Jeanie’s hearing.

Pushing herself away from the door, Jeanie stood, elated with the knowledge that the Angel was still alive. The news changed everything. If she could get out and find some help she could come back and rescue him. It would be difficult. Her reaction to Violet’s presence unnerved her, but Violet would be asleep with the dawn and Jeanie was relieved that the Vampire would not be sleeping here.

Strengthened with renewed purpose, Jeanie picked up the candlestick and went to the window. It was now or never. Crouching down, with the drapery cloaking her presence, Jeanie waited for the first hints of dawn and the realization that with it, Fernando de Sagres would be dead. Closing her eyes, she was surprised to feel sadness at the Chosen’s passing.

The night turned to a dull grey and then to the return of colour. The sun still had not peeked over the horizon but there was enough light for Jeanie to see how far up she truly was. It did not matter; she had to make the attempt. Turning her face away, she smashed the glass with the candlestick.

Shards flew across her hand, lacerating it. Ignoring the stinging pain, Jeanie smashed again and again until the opening was large enough to squeeze through.

Dropping the bloodied candlestick onto the floor beside her, Jeanie took a deep breath, prayed that the rest of the window would not slide down on top of her, and pushed her head through.

The descent was precarious, but she found what she had not expected to find, a trellis buried beneath rose stalks. Ducking her head back in, Jeanie knew going out head first would not give her the purchase needed to climb down and she turned around. Carefully, she stuck her legs out and hissed as her stockings caught on the glass shards, ripping the fabric and scraping her skin. Disregarding the pain, Jeanie pushed herself backwards, her skirts snagging. She knew she must look ridiculous but she pressed on until she was balancing precariously on her stomach. Floundering with legs dangling and feet slipping, Jeanie managed to find purchase on the trellis, and with a sigh began the descent.

It was slow going, her hands and knees punctured over and over by vicious thorns. Jeanie sighed in relief when she finally came to stand amongst a monstrous garden. Shadowed from the first rays of dawn, she watched the colours return. She knew she was at the back of the villa and to find her way to the monastery she would have to go around to the front.

Sucking at one of the scrapes in her hand, Jeanie stepped out of the sleeping garden only to jump back with a squeak at the sound of shattering glass.

Gingerly, she peered up at the window that had not fallen and wondered what had made the sound. A streak of movement flashed in the corner of her eye and she turned towards it in expectation of being caught.

Trails of smoke leading directly to a smaller building on the south end of the property confounded her. Heart hammering in her chest, Jeanie followed in desperate hope, constantly alert for any pursuers.

The seam between the two wall length mirrors was firm and unyielding to Fernando’s prying fingers. Since awaking, he cursed his throbbing head and surveyed the room. There was no furniture to cast shadows, no candles to create light, only the ambient illumination from the external world showed the bleak future of what would happen come the rising of the sun.

Turning his back on the glass, Fernando leaned heavily against it with a hiss. All three external walls were glass, and though the floor was of white marble streaked with black, the walls and ceilings were solidly mirrored. Once the sun rose there would be absolutely no place where the sun would not shine.

If he could find the hidden door, Fernando might have a chance of escape. Returning to his search, he began to feel the first changes that would herald the sun’s rebirth and moved his hands along the seams in desperate hope to find the one that would lead to darkness.

Completing the circuit around the room, anger swelled at his failure, sending his fist to shatter the mirror in front of him. The tinkling sound as glass hit marble did not relieve his anger, nor did the wainscoting directly behind the shattered mirror.

Fear born hate seethed within him and he stomped over to the southern facing window trying in vain to ignore the rising prickling feeling along his skin. He was in time to watch a rider remove his mount from the stables and gallop out to the road.

There was no comfort in the knowledge that he had been right about the mortal girl. Jeanie had proved to be the liability Fernando had expected her to be, but he did not know whom he should be angrier with, she or the Angel. Instead he chose both equally.

Gazing over the southern yard, he could see the stables and their blissful darkness within. It would not be long before the sun kissed the sky and set his flesh aflame. Jaw clenched, Fernando knew there was only one option left and threw a punch to break the glass. Instead he was only rewarded with a spider web of cracks. Somehow the glass was reinforced.

Swallowing down his rising panic, Fernando tried again, stumbling when his fist got stuck in the hole he had made. Thick glass sliced into his skin as he freed his hand, to heal instantaneously.

Fernando peered through the hole and tested the glass with a finger. He had never seen such glass before and then he realized why the two inch thick window portrayed the world differently than it should. Expelling a shaking huff, he glanced to the east, through the leaded pane, to the rays sneaking into the sky. If he did not act soon, he would add to the streaks of black on the marble tile.

Stepping as far back as possible from the hole he had made, his back touching mirror, Fernando took a deep shaking breath and did something he had not done since he was a child - he crossed himself. If God was listening then maybe there was hope, but Fernando doubted it in any case.

A roar rumbled deep in his throat and he pushed off from the mirror accelerating with preternatural speed to the hole in the window. Sunlight flooded into the room the instant his shoulder made contact with the glass. A rain of shards sliced into him, his blood igniting as his skin smouldered, and then he was falling.

Blinded, burning agony ripped through Fernando, his body combusting as the full power of the sun poured over him. The impact onto the dewy grass expelled all his breath, leaving him unable to scream. Skin charring, eyes blinded, Fernando stumbled as fast as his roasting muscles could carry him towards the scent of horse and the promise of bloody healing.

It was a blessed relief when darkness embraced him, extinguishing the flames as he stumbled into the stables. Only the burning pain and the violent hunger filled his being.

Reduced to a mindless hungering beast, Fernando blindly grasped the mane of the horse in the closest stall. He acknowledged the bite of the terrified beast with a grunt, his sole attention on the blood scent.

Trapped in its cubicle the horse reared. Fernando stepped close, ignoring the stabbing hooves, yanked the horse’s head down and found the fount. A victorious growl shook him as he sunk his teeth into the struggling beast. Life giving blood exploded into his mouth, filling him faster than he could manage. Drops of blood welled in the corners of his mouth to drip down his chin and onto his bloodstained shirt.

A shudder stabbed through him as he suckled the wound, holding the horse still in an iron embrace, driving his teeth deeper when he felt the flow begin to slow. He felt the horse stumble to its knees and still Fernando held on, nursing the rejuvenating fluid until the heart began the stutter. The horse whinnied in terror and then convulsed, its body going slack.

Fernando lifted his head from the velvet neck with a gasp and closed his eyes. Energy pulsated through him, heralding the beginnings of his body’s reparations. Eyes opening, he found he still could not see. There was only one thing he could do. Standing up, his joints creaking, Fernando laughed and turned to go down the stable intent on feasting on each of the panicked beasts.

A new scent caught his attention halting him, its bouquet far superior to that of the horses. Following instinct and his olfactory senses, Fernando lunged at the intruder.

Jeanie screamed as the crisped and blackened figure, smelling of charred meat in tattered bloodied clothing, threw itself at her. Pink teeth in a fearsome growl missed her neck as she jumped sideways to escape the deadly jaws. Landing in a pile of hay, it took only a moment to realize what was standing before her, stalking her with a feral grin.

“Fernando,” she cried as he grasped at her, trying not to gag at the scent. His burnt body fell on top of hers. “It’s me!” Impacting on the threshed flooring, all air left her lungs in a whoosh.

Shocked at hearing the familiar voice, renewed hatred bubbled to the surface and broke, masking the agony of his tortured flesh. She was the one who allowed this travesty to occur. She was the mortal who should have been killed long ago. She was the one who did not deserve the protection of a Chosen.

Bearing down, frustration snapped at him as he felt Jeanie squirm out of his mouth’s reach.

Realizing that what was left of the Noble mindlessly hungered for her blood, Jeanie knew that if bitten again she would die. She did not have much in reserve to keep him at bay, but she had to do something to survive this attack. She remembered her meal laced with the deadly herbs.

“I’m tainted,” she yelled. “Fernando, no!”

Jeanie’s words slapped him back to cogency and Fernando ceased his attack. With teeth clenched, he hoisted himself off the girl, every muscle protesting a meal denied. He had so wanted to rip her throat out with his teeth, to feast on her hot blood as it poured into him, to savour the taste of his revenge. Instead, he stood trembling and gazed down at the black blob lying in the hay that was the Angel’s love.

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed, his jaw burning with the movement. Pain enervated through him and he stumbled backwards until the wall propped him up. “I should kill you for what you‘ve done.”