Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (11 page)

He was tired, but he was not all that hungry. It had been a very long time since he last fed from a mortal in the manner of a Chosen, but he could smell death creeping up the homeless man
’
s limbs and that was what drew him. Months could pass before the stirrings of hunger made itself present. The times between feedings could be even longer depending upon his interaction with the white-faced demons. During his century of Vampire slaughters using the demons he had not needed to feed once. He only did so to keep up the pretence with Notus and the other   Chosen they encountered.

Now, without the need of the white-faced demons, the hunger slowly blossomed and he sighed.

“
Wha
–
what are you?
”
stammered the man. He tried to bring the bottle in his left hand to his mouth but failed, the cold seeping his strength.

Recognizing the man
’
s need, the Angel helped him drink from the neck. The pungent smell of whiskey permeated the snow swept air.

“
Ye
’
ve come to take me, eh?
”
coughed the man.
“
I thought so.
”

“
Who do you think I am?
”
asked the Angel. He knew he did not need to. No matter how much time had passed between inhabitations of a particular place, the locals, especially on their dying beds, would know him. It still disturbed him.

“
The Angel of Death,
”
stated the man, matter-of-factly.

“
And you wish to die?
”
he asked in all curiosity.

“
No.
”
The man sighed.
“
But it
’
s now a toss up between cancer, the beating those two sons of a whore gave me or the cold. Which would you take?
”

The Angel inhaled sharply through his nose and then slowly let it go. No puff of warm air condensed about his face. The man had made his choice. Taking the man
’
s hand in his own, he could feel the calluses of someone who had worked hard all his life. It was always a shame when people were felled low by circumstances beyond their control. Resting his eyes once more on the man
’
s bloodshot brown eyes, he spoke with the rhythm of the man
’
s heart.

The man sighed and closed his eyes. He would feel nothing except peace.

Lifting the hand to his mouth, the Angel gently bit into the vessel deep within the wrist. Cool sluggish blood flowed.

I
t was not the blast of wind that halted the Angel in his tracks and nor was it the pelting of snow and ice, it was the sudden awareness of another Chosen nearby.
Normally this sensation would not hinder him from climbing the steps to the flat he shared with Notus, but he had forgotten that there would be two other Chosen awaiting him.

He grimaced at the realization that the Master and the Mistress of the Chosen of Britain were sitting in his home waiting for him to join in the Christmas celebrations.

It had been Notus
’
idea to invite them over since he and the monk were leaving in a couple of months. The Angel had acquiesced after Notus had threatened to accept Bridget
’
s annual invitation for Christmas at the House. He had done that once. Only once. It had been enough to send him fleeing back to the quiet confines of his flat. Who knew that so many Chosen could be so rowdy when given the opportunity to party? But it had not been that. It had been the     bombardment of so many Chosen
’
s feelings that sent him back into the night with a throbbing headache. Of course Bridget understood, Notus placated and Fernando, well, Fernando complained.
Since then quiet Christmas get-togethers were fine, but this time he had forgotten.

Taking a deep breath of cold air, the Angel closed his eyes before allowing his breath to slowly steam from him. It had taken several decades before he was able to master this newfound empathy with the Chosen. Gradually the sensations flowing from the flat decreased until there was nothing. He hated to do this with Notus because it also meant that they could not communicate as Chosen and Chooser aught, but he knew how Fernando disliked the emotional connection between him and others. Bridget would not go into details, but left it to say that the Noble preferred, for his own valid reasons, to keep disconnected, and though she hated it, she let her Chosen have as much privacy as their connection allowed.

Calm, grounded and centred, the Angel opened his eyes and climbed the half dozen stone steps. Fishing the keys from his pocket by way of the chain attached to his belt loop, the Angel opened the outer door of the walk-up. Yellow and brown tiled floor stained with grey melt water proved that other tenants had made their way to their flats. Water dripped down the stairs in the middle of the lobby.

With a sigh he turned and placed his key into the lock. The action was automatic and unnecessary; Notus had left the door open for him. On well oiled hinges the fibreboard white door opened and he stepped from a cold winter wonderland to the warmth of Christmas lights and music. He could not have stifled the small smile even if he tried. Closing the door and throwing the latch, he met Bridget
’
s sparkling blue eyes as she peered over the couch.

“
Well, it
’
s about time you showed up,
”
complained the Master of Britain as he came to his feet, a smile belying his own irritation.

The Angel placed the wooden box down to lean against the wall as he began to remove his long black coat.

Rising from the green chair, Notus
’
expression did not match with his guests.
“
Don
’
t move!
”

Surprised at his Choosers reaction, the Angel complied and watched as Notus moved preternaturally fast into the bathroom and brought out a large white towel. It took but a moment for the monk to stand by his side offering the large swatch of terrycloth to him.

“
You
’
re soaked,
”
stated Notus.
“
I don
’
t want you dripping all over the floor.
”

Surprised at what his Chooser seemed to be insinuating, his eyes widened at the sound of Bridget failing to hide her laughter.

“
Oh good grief,
”
sighed the Monk.
“
Just dry off and come join us. We
’
ve been waiting hours for you. What took you so long, boy?
”

The Angel hid his smile as he took off his coat and hung it up on the hook beside the door. Notus
’
irritation at his lateness coupled with him calling him
“
boy
”
made it even more heart warming. Turning around, he kicked off his shoes and grimaced; his socks were soaked. They too came off, leaving his feet cold against the laminate floor and he accepted the towel.

Realizing how soaked his Chosen was, Notus
’
eyes widened.
“
What did you do? Fall into a pond?
”

Fernando snickered as he sat on the back of the couch watching the spectacle.
A sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded in the room coupled with his bark of surprise made it all too clear that it was Bridget who smacked him.
“
What did you do that for?
”

“
Because you
’
re enjoying his too much.
”
Bridget slid off the couch and came around to kiss Fernando
’
s cheek.

Removing the black braces from his wrists, the Angel placed them down on the tea table that sat beneath the draped window and began to dry his long white locks. The edges of his shirt and his trousers would have to dry in their own time.

     
The silence in the room was broken only with the static analog of an ancient Christmas carol. Pulling the towel down around his neck, the Angel ran his hand through his tousled locks, away from his face. The motion was not as effective as he would have liked, the tangles twisted his hair into non-compliance but he could still see that the three Chosen awaited his explanation.

“
I would have been here earlier,
”
his soft melodious voice filled the flat,
“
but I had difficulty getting through the snowstorm.
”

“
Snowstorm? What snowstorm?
”
countered the Noble as he made his way over to the window.
“
There was no snowstorm when Bridget and I…” His protestation slid away as he took in the sight of the now uncovered window. White and green brocade creaked in his bronze grip. 
“
Where
’
s my car?
”

“
Dear heaven on earth,
”
gasped Notus, his hand slapping his forehead as he stared at the blustery weather just inches from his face.

Bridget pressed her slim body against Fernando
’
s back, her head peeking around his shoulder. The expression of her face matched that of the monks.

Notus placed his hand against the snow dotted windowpane and drew it back, leaving a faint condensation impression behind.

“
When did this start?
”
Notus turned to his son who only shrugged.

“
What I want to know is
where is my Ferrari
?
”

The Angel stepped over to stand behind his friends. His height made it easy for him to have a clear view of the storm. Scanning the street below he pointed at a large blob of snow sitting near the wind battered stop sign.
“
Is that it?
”

Fernando groaned, his shoulders slumping.
“
Tell me I didn
’
t leave the roof down?
”

“
You left the roof down,
”
stated Bridget matter-of-factly.
“
I told you to put it up, but no, you said it was a nice night despite the fact people were staring at us driving like we were crazy.
”