Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (51 page)

“Only when I’m attacked.” So this was about the Vampires he had killed. He kept his voice dispassionate, hoping that the mask of the Angel would still be effective now that he was no longer Chosen.

“And why would anyone want to attack you?” It was clear that Detective Donaldson did not believe him.

Relaxing back into the country style wooden chair he glared down upon her midnight skin and hair, her dark chocolate brown eyes pinched in study. The silence between them stretched       uncomfortably until he could sense Elizabeth’s growing concern. Placing his forearms on the table, the plate between them, he was pleased the detective lowered her gaze but was unhappy as her study resumed on his scarred arms.

“Detective Donaldson.” His voice snapped her attention back to him. Did she appear shaken? He could not tell but pressed forward nonetheless. “You are of a racial group where, at one time, just because of what you looked like you would be attacked, thought inhuman and enslaved. Luckily for you this level of bigotry is mostly gone, at least in civilized areas. For me this is not the case. My differences make me stand out no matter where I am. They make me a convenient target. Crying bigotry, though logically applicable, is not something that can be done when all individuals, regardless of their race, view me as different – as other.”

The tension in the kitchen evaporated, transforming into uncomfortable embarrassment that sent Detective Donaldson to hastily pull out a manila folder from her black satchel. In his    peripheral vision he noticed Elizabeth’s posture and turned to look at her. She smiled sadly at him as she blew the steam rising from her coffee before taking a sip and returning her gaze to the detective.

A slight frown pulled at his lips and he picked up his own mug. Staring momentarily at the black contents he followed Elizabeth’s motions and blew on the liquid before taking a      cautious sip. Heat and bitterness exploded across his palette and he stared at the coffee. It was hotter than blood but it was the taste that threw him. Placing the mug back onto the table he became aware that the two women were watching him.

“Never had coffee before?” queried Elizabeth.

He shook his head.

“There are a lot of things you’ve never had,” she mumbled, as if she had not realized she said the words.

Frowning at the truth, but unable to explain why, he picked up half of the sandwich. He recognized the lettuce and tomato but it was the rest he did not know, probably because he had never eaten a sandwich before.

“Do you want something else?” Annoyed, Elizabeth placed her mug down with a thunk.

It was then he realized he was staring at the sandwich as if it was going to bite him. He bit first, slowly chewing and was surprised at the tastes and textures. Though his mind bucked at the concept of eating, his treacherous stomach joyfully accepted the offering. He turned his attention to what Detective Donaldson was doing, his frown growing.

“As I was telling Dr. Bowen, we’ve had some success in the recovery of some of the stolen items.” Detective Donaldson placed several eight and a half by eleven coloured photos face up on the table.

Elizabeth picked up one portraying a large gold cross with
jewels of ruby, amethyst and emeralds encrusted on it. Excitement
flowed from her and it was clear that the cross had been part of the exhibit that had been pilfered. “Where was it found?”

“That’s partly why I came here,” stated the detective. “I have more photos for you to identify. You see, the items turned up in a pawn shop. Luckily the owner recognized the items from the  
photos we circulated, thanks to you, and he called us. We have officers contacting other shops in case more items can be recovered.
”

Hope sparked as he swallowed the last half of the sandwich. “My sword?”

“Unfortunately that hasn’t surfaced yet.” She pulled out another folder containing more photos. These were black and white and she placed them beside his plate. “I was hoping that you’d be able to identify the individuals in these photos.”

Both he and Elizabeth picked up the photographs to take a better look.

“I don’t recognize them.” Elizabeth shook her head and placed the photo down.

He frowned and felt flush with anger. He recognized the man, if one could call him that, in the black and white still so obviously taken from a security camera that pointed towards the pawnshop’s front door. Dressed in dark slacks and button down shirt, the Vampire who had eluded him and stolen his sword smiled maliciously for the sake of the camera. The woman in the short miniskirt and striped blouse could not be identified for the mass of flowing dark curls that obscured her bowed face. It was clear she did not want to be known.

“Do you know who he is?” inquired the detective.

“I don’t know
who
he is.” He met Detective Donaldson’s hungry eyes. “I do know that he is the one who stole my sword.”

“And the girl?”

He shook his head. “Her I don’t recognize.” He placed the photo back down before picking up the cooling mug, taking a sip of the awful tasting liquid.

Detective Donaldson began gathering up the photos. “Thank you very much. That helps us tremendously.” She placed the   coloured photos into one file folder and the black and whites into another. “Would you be willing to view a line-up?”

“If it will get my sword back, yes.” He doubted that he would ever get called. A Vampire in a police line-up would never happen.

“Perfect.” Detective Donaldson slipped the files into her satchel and straightened up, holding a photocopy of the photo he identified. “If anything else sparks your memory please call me.”

He took her business card and the paper with a nod. He studied the photograph as Elizabeth showed the detective to the door, their voices floating down the hall. There was no need to follow the discussion; he knew they conversed about him. Instead his concentration was drawn to the mysterious woman beside the Vampire. There was no doubt that he did not recognize her, but something about her awakened a sense that he should.

The door to the basement opened the same instant that Elizabeth re-emerged into the kitchen, allowing Vee and another girl to enter.

“And this is the reason why I was lucky to run into you last night,” explained Vee, shooting a nasty glare at him before proceeding to the fridge.

Vee’s friend halted in her tracks, her eyes wide and mouth open as she saw him. Familiar with such attention he still could not escape the embarrassment and anger that such looks evoked. The taste of the bitter coffee was preferable and a welcomed distraction.

“Karsha, want do you want to eat?” called Vee as she rummaged through the fridge.

He could sense the girl’s trepidation as she stepped into the kitchen. He continued to gaze at his coffee. It was better not to see the expression on her face. No matter if it was disgust, fear or even desire, he knew well what emotions his appearance caused in others. He was about to take another sip when the girl halted near him, her hand reaching out to pick up the photo. He followed the upward rise of the paper until he saw her blue-grey eyes studying the image.

She swept her straight brown hair behind her right ear. “Where did you get this photo of Brian and Rose?”

His stomach lurched and his heart raced. Vee’s friend knew the culprits. Elizabeth left the washing of the dishes at the same time Vee approached her friend until all were staring at the photo or at Karsha.

“You know who these two are?” asked Elizabeth, incredulously.

Karsha nodded and pointed to the male. That’s Brian. Don’t you remember him from last night?” The last she directed at Vee.

Vee shook her head. “That’s the Brian Shell was going on about?”

“I don’t know about that, but that’s Brian. I’m sure of it.”

His mouth went dry as he asked, “Where do you know him from?”

Karsha jumped at the sound of his voice and quickly met his eyes before sliding them back to the paper. “He’s the manager of
Beyond the Veil
.”

“And the girl?” he pressed.

“That has to be Rose.” Karsha’s voice diminished under his scrutiny. “Rumour has it that the owner built the club for her.”

His eyes met Elizabeth’s and witnessed the worried flicker towards Vee. He did not need Elizabeth to voice the question. He nodded once – yes, that was the man who had threatened Vee’s life. Elizabeth paled and turned to lean on the counter. The saving grace was that Vee did not recognize her hostage taker, having never gotten a good look at him.

“Do you know who the owner is?” he asked, bringing his attention back to the girl.

Karsha shook her head. “No one knows, except, I guess, Brian and Rose.” She placed the paper down and blushed when she met his gaze.

“C’mon Karsha, there’s nothing here for lunch. Let’s go over to Mickey D’s.” Vee grabbed her friend’s elbow and steered her out of the kitchen.

“I know he’s hot,” he overheard Vee say to Karsha. “But he’s still an ass!”

He sighed and took another sip as Elizabeth sat beside him, a topped up coffee mug clunking against the wood table top. “Whatever it is, she’ll get over it,” said Elizabeth.

He frowned and pushed his plate and mug away. “That’s not it. You’re going to call Detective Donaldson and let her know what Karsha said.”

“I will once I speak to Karsha and talk with her parents. Hopefully Vee and Karsha won’t be gone too long. The sooner this information gets into police hands the faster the exhibit pieces can be returned to the ROM. And, of course, you get your sword back.”

He released a breath he did not know he was holding and stared at the remains of his meal. He knew that Elizabeth was right but the plan he held last night about going to the club to find out where his sword was crystallized. He had recognized the place for what it was but little did he realize at the time that his sword may be there. Having police go in would ruin his chances of recovering the sword. Despite the recent discovery that Geraint had been his father, the sword was his only link to the past, to a time before he was Chosen, to a time when he was cared for    before it because the scythe of the Angel of Death. Though he no longer wielded it, the sword was as much part of him as his flesh and blood.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Elizabeth’s concerned frown caught his attention.

He was not sure if she would go along with what he had in mind, but nevertheless he had to ask. Cocking his head so as to look at her, he asked with a frown, “Can you hold off calling   Detective Donaldson for at least twenty-four hours?”

“What? Why?” She placed her mug down, her blue eyes wide in surprise. “I would have thought that you of all people would want to get your sword back.”

“I do,” he sighed, dropping his gaze from her crystal blue eyes. He chewed on his lower lip, doubting she would agree to his request. “I want to try and get it back from them myself,” he added in a whisper.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Let the police do their job. They’ll get your sword and all the other stolen items.”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Anger heightened Elizabeth’s tones. “So explain it to me.”

“I can’t.” He reached out to play with the coffee mug; his long white fingers a slight shade’s difference from the porcelain.

“Bullshit.” Elizabeth’s chair scratched backwards as she stood and came to stand across the table from him. He refused to meet her gaze. “I’ve been very accommodating and understanding, even forgiving you and letting it slide that for whatever reason my daughter had to catch a ride home with a friend while you were out getting the shit kicked out of you.”

He snapped his attention up at her and attempted to form a defence but she barrelled along.

“After what we shared the night before and early this morning I would have thought you would be more open with me, but you’ve shut down again.”