Shadow of Death: Book Two of the Chosen Chronicles (16 page)

The Angel watched the metallic conveyor belt slowly move luggage around the baggage collection as more decorative and drab suitcases slid down the chute to land unceremoniously next to the ones waiting for someone to claim them. He already had his suitcase but he was still waiting for the most precious item he possessed
–
Geraint
’
s sword. Nervous butterflies flitted in his stomach at the thought that the airline had lost it.

No matter Notus
’
excitement of their first transatlantic flight, it was one the Angel was not looking forward to repeating, even if it would take him home. In some ways he would rather spend a couple months on a ship. There at least the sensations would remain the same. But no, that was not the case with flying. Over land he was fine and thrilled at the sights of city lights beneath him lighting up the earth more spectacularly than all the stars in the sky. Witnessing clouds floating nonchalantly beside and below excited him. It had been so incredibly long since he had such a new experience move him. It was when the plane abruptly left land to fly over water that everything plummeted downwards to misery.

It was not long after takeoff from Heathrow that the bottom fell out of his stomach, sending his head spinning. When he thought he was going to pass out the sensations abruptly ceased. At first he and Notus thought he was growing accustomed to flight when, without warning, he passed out. It was only when they flew over Greenland that he woke, feeling fine, realizing that his sudden reaction was due to the fact that they had left Ireland for the deep waters of the Atlantic.

Watching the digital image of the plane inch forward on the GPS monitor hanging from the ceiling of the plane, his fingers made dents into his armrest. A groan escaped him as he passed out again. The last image was of the plane once again heading for open water.

That had not been the worst. It was when they reached Canada that the torment truly began. Who would have thought that land could hold so many bodies of water? It had given the Angel a deep appreciation of what it would be like to ride a roller coaster for hours at a time. Never was there a body of water they flew over that was big enough or deep enough to cause him to pass out, but there was enough to keep his stomach roiling and his head spinning.

It was only when they landed at
Toronto Pearson International Airport
did he finally breathe a sigh of relie
f. Their steward was happy to see his flight sick attendee pull himself off the plane. Notus
’
face, pinched with worry, had eased into a grateful smile. Never before had the Angel wanted to kiss the ground when they exited the plane for the boarding ramp.

His eyes widened as the long black case slid down to join the increasingly empty baggage conveyor. He stepped around a couple of backpackers as they hoisted their burdens, and ignoring their gasps at his sudden appearance he grabbed the strap of his case. It swung high, narrowly missing the girl before he settled it on his shoulder.

Her mouth dropped in indignation, ready to rip a strip off of him, but then she noticed his height and his looks and closed her jaw with a click. Barking an order at her male travelling partner they turned to leave.

The Angel sighed before a small smile lifted his lips. He knew he was an intimidating sight dressed in black jeans and his favourite motorcycle boots. The white dress shirt open at the top to show the white t-shirt underneath was innocuous enough, but add that to the black leather vest and leather vambraces that covered his hands in an imitation to the braces he usually wore, he knew that he appeared menacing. He was also grateful for the dark wraparound sunglasses he wore. Had they seen his true eye colour the situation could have been worse.

Returning to Notus he shrugged nonchalantly as his Chooser just shook his head with a smile. He too wore dark sunglasses. They both needed them in this overly lit place. Having shucked off the trappings of a cloistered monk, Notus wore dark beige cargo pants and a blue and white striped dress shirt. He also wore his most comfortable shoes
–
a pair of brown loafers that had seen better days. Modern times meant it was difficult for Notus to continue as a Priest when such things could be easily checked upon.

Turning from the conveyor belt and the people still waiting to retrieve their personal
belongings two Chosen headed towards the exit
’
s sliding doors all the while ignoring the stares and comments from mortals around the
m. No matter where they went the Angel always attracted undue attention.

The Chosen had come to Canada.

Dr. Elizabeth Bowen stood nervously outside the exit for the international flights in Terminal 1 of
Toronto Pearson International Airport
, waiting for the man renowned for medieval religious art history and restoration to meet her for the first time. Soft light fell from fluorescents anchored in the ceiling two stories above. The open concept of the airport, with its art deco designs of spirals hanging from the same ceiling set a welcoming tone. People, even at this late hour, went from one destination to the next ignoring her as she stood in front of the cafe offering late night java to those who still had further legs of their journey.

Taking a last sip of tea from the brown paper cup, she walked over to the recycling bin and tossed it out, all the while keeping her eyes on the large sliding frosted doors that would open for each traveller as they entered Canada. When she was informed that Dr. Preston had an accident, making it impossible for him to join the collection Elizabeth was heartbroken. After all their emails and telephone conversations Elizabeth felt sure that they would work well together and to throw a new person into the mix this late in the arrangements would only make things worse. It was when she heard that Paul Nathaniel would be accompanying the collection that all her worries fled. She had heard of Mr. Nathaniel and seen his astounding works on the reproduction and restorations of ancient manuscripts and paintings. When the
British Museum
informed her that it was he who was taking Dr. Preston
’
s place with the project Elizabeth did not know whether to jump for joy or become nervously giddy like a teen expecting a celebrity to visit.

Glancing at her watch she stifled a yawn. It was late. Mr. Nathaniel
’
s flight landed fourty-five minutes ago and she was wondering what was taking so long. Normally she was tucked in her bed, fast asleep at one in the morning, not cavorting around the Greater Toronto Area. She contemplated calling home to see if her daughter, Vivianne, was fine, but dismissed the idea. She did not want to wake her sixteen year old, if in fact the girl was in bed and not watching horror movies.

The sound of the sliding doors snapped her attention back to excitement, but at the sight of two backpackers walking out and down the left ramp Elizabeth
’
s shoulders slumped. She was   starting to wonder if he had made the flight.

The doors opened again, admitting two men walking side by side. They were as different as night to day in their appearance. The older gentleman, who appeared to be about her age, had a relaxed and peaceful air about him. His dark brown hair was peppered with silver and pulled back into a short tail, and his smile softened his smooth features. Handsome in a classical way Elizabeth had to note that he was short, probably not standing more than five and a half feet, but up against his partner he appeared tiny.

Her eyes widened at the man
’
s travelling partner. She had never seen anyone like him before. Tall, even taller than her own five foot ten, she was sure that he was at least a head taller than her, but it was not just his height that pulled her attention, it was his perfectly beautiful pale face and his long white hair, also pulled back into a tail. If she had been up on her runway models Elizabeth would probably recognize the man, as it was, even with the sunglasses and his obvious youth, he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Completely enraptured by the way he moved, Elizabeth startled when the shorter man beamed a smile and made a beeline down the right side of the ramp straight towards her, the taller man following.

“
Dr. Bowen I presume?
”

Elizabeth pulled her focus from the young man to the gentleman before her.
His hand outstretched in expectation to meet with hers.  Slipping her hand into his she was surprised at the coldness of his firm touch.
“
Mr. Nathaniel.
”

They shook briefly before he let go of her hand to settle the strap on his shoulder that had slipped. His smile never left his face. Elizabeth wondered what colour his eyes were beneath the sunglasses and whether they were as kind and soft as his voice.

“
It is wonderful to finally meet you,
”
beamed Mr. Nathaniel.
“
I do apologize for being a bit tardy, but it took forever for the baggage handlers to relinquish their treasures.
”

Elizabeth blinked realizing she could sit and listen to this man talk about books and art all day long, to be held captive by his British accent.
“
That
’
s alright, Mr. Nathaniel.
”

“
Paul,
”
he interrupted.
“
Please call me Paul. All my friends do.
”

She matched his smile, his happiness infecting her and she nodded.
“
Paul it is.
”
She turned her attention to Paul
’
s travelling companion who watched the introductions without exhibiting any emotions. It was like watching a live statue stand witness to the world around it and she immediately wondered what would cause a person, especially one so young as he, to have created such a mask to keep everyone at bay.

“
Oh, I
’
m being rude,
”
piped Paul, noticing where Dr. Bowen
’
s attention landed.
 
“
Dr. Bowen, may I please introduce to you my dear, dear friend and ward...
”
Hesitation halted his melodious voice.

Elizabeth watched as a momentary frown washed away Paul
’
s smile as his travelling companion
’
s jaw momentarily tightened in obvious anger. Elizabeth wondered at the reaction.

“
You can call me Gwyn.
”

If she had thought Paul
’
s voice was delightful to listen to, hearing the tall young man speak stunned her; soft yet firm, the sound plucked through Elizabeth, sending a shiver down her back.  He had a voice that matched his physical beauty.

“
It
’
s Welsh for white or blessed, isn
’
t it?
”
said Elizabeth, congenially. She offered her hand and looked up at the young man.

A flitter of disconcertment passed across his pale features before he propped his black suitcase to stand without support and released the handle. He slipped his hand into hers for a brief shake before he pulled away.

It was enough contact for Elizabeth to note that his hand was as cold as Paul
’
s but that he had the long graceful fingers one would find on a master pianist; strong, alluring. A momentary vision of how those fingers would feel in a caress caught her breath before she realized that their palms had not touched at all. It was then she noticed the leather bracers fitted snugly on both his arms, coming down to cover his palms and held in place by an opening for his thumb and two middle fingers. She had seen similar garb before, in her time during the
Society for Creative Anachronism
, when archers practiced their craft. It was odd to see someone wearing something so out of time as if it were a normal piece of clothing.