Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (18 page)

“
Building or not, it is hideous,
”
growled Notus. He folded his arms across his chest, more indignant about how his outburst must appear to Dr. Bowen than the disfigurement of the
Royal Ontario Museum
.

They drove in silence. The Angel glanced at Dr. Bowen and noticed a small frown marring her full lips. Not one to pry he returned his attention to the road ahead of them.

It did not take long before Dr. Bowen pulled into the condominium
’
s circular drive. Shutting down the engine, she leaned over to press the lever that popped the trunk open.
“
We
’
re here,
”
she announced.

“
Thank you, my dear,
”
replied Notus as he opened his door.

Following suit, the Angel gratefully exited the cramped confines of the small vehicle and went around back to retrieve their belongings.

Dr. Bowen opened her door and stood to lean against her car, watching Mr. Nathaniel and his travelling companion.
“
I
’
ll pick you up tomorrow night, say around eight.
”

Startled, Notus peeked around the lifted trunk.
“
Whatever for?
”

The Angel settled the wooden case across his back and closed the trunk with a clunk. A sense of foreboding tightened his gut.

“
For the press conference, of course.
”
Dr. Bowen smiled.
“
You do remember, Mr. Nathaniel, do you not?
”

 
It was not often to catch his Chooser off guard, but this woman had done it. Lowering his head, the Angel hid his smile. The sharp look Notus sent him was felt rather than seen.

“
Of course,
”
replied Notus, searching his memory and looking for words.
“
But will it be night here at that time?
”

It was Dr. Bowen
’
s turn to look confused as she nodded.

“
Then it
’
s set,
”
declared the monk as he pressed the button that extended his suitcase
’
s handle.
“
Eight o
’
clock. You have our
information. I look forward to beginning our working relationship. Good night, my dear.
”

Turning towards the glass doors, the Angel held one open for Notus to enter first. They did not glance back when Dr. Bowen drove away.

Didn
’
t you remember about meeting the press?
sent the Angel.

No,
pouted Notus. He pressed the button to call the elevator.
I packed the file that holds the itinerary in the suitcase.

So what are you going to do?
The Angel stepped into the elevator and pressed the button that would send them to the eighteenth floor.

I guess I
’
m going to have to grin and bear it.

We had better hope that the Vampires here don
’
t read the newspapers.

Notus paled as he glanced up at his son
’
s serious expression.
I hadn
’
t thought of that.

The elevator door closed and began its ascent. The Angel did not know whether the sudden fall of his stomach was due to the speed they travelled or to the fact that in about fourty-eight hours the Vampires of Toronto may possibly know that the Angel of Death was in their territory.

Elizabeth frowned as she made her way back home following Kingston Road. The encounter with Paul and his tall pale companion rattled her. She could not put her finger on it, but certain things between them raised red flags with her intuition despite how likable Mr. Nathaniel appeared to be. It was Gwyn, who sat quietly, nary saying a word throughout the whole evening except for his introduction, which drew her attention. Shaking her head, she turned right into the residential area that would lead her home.

S
omewhere in the back of his dreamscape he heard a knocking, but since it did not bear any relevance to the nightmare he was having he disregarded the interruption. Floating into a lucid state, the dream of Jeanie with his sword in her raised hand dissipated until all he was left was the darkness of the back of his eyelids and his fear driven heart. Burying his face into the pillow he attempted to slip into a peaceful slumber he knew was out of reach. Arms clutching the down feathers encased in cotton, it was the sound of the condo door opening and closing that made him realize that sleep eluded him.

Pushing himself up, he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his sleep dishevelled white locks from his face, glanced around at his new bedroom and sighed. The tapestry drapes hung from ceiling to floor cutting off all views of the large pane of glass and its picturesque landscape of this young city. Even without any light he could see the details of the master bedroom quite clearly.  The black stained oak dresser, night tables and wardrobe stood dark against the white of the walls. His king sized bed, dressed in white, stood in stark relief. Reaching over to the digital clock radio on the night table, he turned the glowing red numbers towards him.

Eight o
’
clock
he grimaced. Notus and he had stayed up until dawn setting up the condo. Notus called it nesting. The monk could not abide in a new home until he had taken out all his paints, inks and tools of his trade, setting up a corner where he could work in peace.

Rising to his feet, he found his black denim pants where he had left them on the dark hardwood floor and pulled them on, leaving the top button undone. A quick glance around and he found the white dress shirt hanging crumpled on the edge of the laundry hamper in the opened closet. The undershirt was not to be seen and he figured that he had had better aim with that when  undressing that morning. With a shrug he slipped into the shirt, buttons undone, and walked out of his room and into the living room.

He halted dead in his tracks.

Dr. Elizabeth Bowen stood with her back to him as she studied something on the dining table. Completely oblivious of him, he was instantly aware of her beauty. Dressed in a black business skirt suit, Dr. Bowen now towered over six feet in her black leather heels. Her dark brown bob swept forward exposing the back of her pale neck, sparking a hunger he immediately squashed. It was when Dr. Bowen lifted his sword, chandelier light reflecting off of the ancient steel, that his breath caught and his heart hammered in his ears.

“
Put. It. Down,
”
ordered the Angel, teeth clenched as he strode towards the mortal.

Elizabeth stared in awe at the object laying securely in its case. She could not believe what her eyes beheld and she reached out to touch a sword that should be crumbling from age. Her fingers came to rest on a dragon
’
s face that made up the tip of the guard. The details were smooth. Only slight indents and dark tarnish where cleaners could not reach delineated the creature
’
s features.  Caressing her fingers along the dragon
’
s back to wrap around the black grip, Elizabeth lifted a blade that was witness to numerous nicks but still retained an edge. The blade was well taken care of.

The details, weight and even the texture and appearance of the metal revealed its origins. There was no doubt in Elizabeth
’
s mind that what she held was the most perfect example of a sixth century British nobleman
’
s sword she had ever seen. Jaw slack and eyes wide, excitement shuddered through her.
Such a find should be in a museum!

“
Put. It. Down.
”

The venom filled voice spun her around.

Elizabeth realized she still held the sword when its point floated an inch away from a muscular pale chest. Lifting her head, Elizabeth
’
s eyes widened at the sight of blood red eyes menacing down upon her. There, before her, the sword pointed at his chest, was Paul
’
s companion appearing as if he just climbed out of bed, beautiful as an angel with demon red eyes.

She noticed his jaw clenched and his eyes harden a fraction of a moment before he lifted his arm. Catching the flat of the blade with his forearm he swept the deadly point from his chest. His other hand clasped around her grip on the sword, his icy fingers forcing hers to relinquish the blade. Stepping out from between this strangely alluring young man and the table behind her,   Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a thick white silver scar slicing diagonally across his right breast before the white cotton shirt obscured the view.

Following his fluid movements with her eyes, Elizabeth noticed his fingers trembled as he placed nearly five feet of sword to rest in its wooden case. It was the thick band of scar tissue around his wrist that caught her breath.

Lowering the gold velvet lined lid, the Angel gently secured the sword into its resting place with the sound of the clicks of the latches. Witnessing the woman handling his precious belonging startled him, but it was seeing its point so close to his chest the rattled him. It was too much like his recurrent nightmares.

He rested both hands flat on the wooden case, its texture smooth despite the visual grains.
Simple in its construction, the maple had been carefully sanded down to belie the fact that it was made of wood and not of silk. His hair swooped forward, obscuring his face, as he bent his head and closed his eyes in an attempt to push down the surging emotions that her act had evoked in him.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he stood back and swept his hair from his face, letting his eyes rest on Dr. Bowen. He did not care if she grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny of the Angel upon her.

“
What are you doing here?
”
he demanded. His arms crossed his chest as he glowered into her ice blue eyes.

His gaze penetrated and caused Elizabeth this shift in her stance. She did not like how this young man made her felt. Not one to back down, she lifted her chin and met his eyes. He was the first man to truly force her to look up at him.
“
To pick up Paul and take him to the press conference, as I explained last night.
”

“
That does not explain why you felt the need to pry into an individual
’
s private property.
”
His eyes narrowed as he spoke through a clenched jaw.