Misguided Angel (4 page)

Jack can't die. He can't die, but he can be harmed. He was immortal, but if it was too late to revive his physical shel , she would have to keep his blood for the next cycle. By the time he was reborn she would be at the end of hers. Who knew if he would love her then? If he would even remember her?

In any event, where would she even take his blood? They were fugitives from the vampire community.

She leaned down and grasped his hand, pul ing it gently from the branch. The hand was practical y frozen in place, but it returned her grasp and squeezed. He was alive. With al her strength she pul ed Jack out of the water in one quick motion and positioned him behind her on the Jet Ski.

He fel against her, his body as cold as an iceberg, and she could feel the weight of his exhaustion against her back. He was barely able to keep his arms around her waist as she pushed off into the darkness.

If she had been just a minute later, who knows what would have become of him. . . . Who knew what would have happened. . . . Who knew what . . .

Stop your doubting, my love. I knew you would find me.

Schuyler maneuvered the Jet Ski between two fishing boats and harnessed her craft next to the one that smel ed marginal y better than the other. The boats were empty, as fishing season was over. The owners would not return until next year. She helped Jack onto the deck of the boat and into its smal cabin, which held a ratty couch. How ironic that they had started their day planning to escape from a boat, only to end up in another one.

She helped Jack out of his wet clothes, stripping him of his shirt, pants, socks, and shoes, and covered him with one of the thin ragged bath towels she'd found in the hold. "Sorry. I know it's not great, but it's al we got."

She rummaged around for supplies, finding a smal kerosene lamp in the gal ey kitchen. She lit the lamp, wishing it would give out more light, or at least more heat. Inside, the boat was almost as cold as it was outside.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked.

He nodded, stil unable to speak, either in words or in her mind.

She turned her back and peeled off her own wet things, feeling shy around him, and wrapped herself in a towel as wel . The nautical shower was working, probably left with a few gal ons of water from its last trip, and she was glad for the opportunity to wash after such a long day. She was also thankful the boat contained a few dry clothes for them to change into: sailor shirts, swim shorts. They would have to do.

After she showered and dressed, Schuyler then helped Jack walk down the few steps into the smal bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. It would rain again soon. The wind howled, lashing against the portholes. Schuyler made sure the latch on the cabin door was secure.

When Jack limped out of the shower, Schuyler was glad to see that he looked a little better. The color had returned to his cheeks. He picked up a blanket from the couch and threw it over his shoulders. "Come here," he whispered, opening his arms so that she could huddle against him, her back against his chest. She could feel his body begin to thaw, and she pul ed his arms around her tightly, massaging his hands until they were warm again.

In a soft voice, Jack told her what had happened to him. He had stayed a beat longer on the boat to give Schuyler a head start, and had guided it straight at the Jet Skis. But the Venators had taken that as an opportunity to jump on board, and he had fought them off. One of them had gotten away--the woman who had come after Schuyler. The other one had been a fight to the death.

"What do you mean?" Schuyler asked.

"He had a black sword with him," Jack said slowly, raising a hand to the fire and making the flame leap. "I had to use it. It was him or me." He looked so anguished, Schuyler put a protective hand on his shoulder. Jack bowed his head. "Tabris. I knew him. He was a friend of mine. A long time ago."

Jack had cal ed the Venator by his angel name. Schuyler sucked in her breath. She felt guilty for everything--al this kil ing--it was al her fault. She had been the one who convinced Jack they should seek refuge with the Countess. She was the one who had brought them to Europe. This quest was her legacy, not his--her responsibility she'd latched on his shoulders. She was the one who had planned their escape--no one was supposed to be hurt. She hadn't realized that the Countess would take it so far--the black sword--dear God. If Jack had not bested the Venator, then he would be the one whose immortal life was finished.

He drew her closer to him and whispered fiercely in her ear. "It had to be done. I gave him a choice. He chose death. Death wil come to al , sooner or later." Jack pressed his head against hers, and she could feel the veins throbbing below his skin.

Death wil come to al ? Jack of al people should know that wasn't true. The Blue Bloods had survived for centuries. Schuyler wondered if he was thinking of Mimi--Azrael--just then.
Death will come to all.
Would it come to Jack? Would Mimi exercise her right to a burning and extinguish Jack's spirit forever?

Schuyler wasn't as concerned about her own mortality as she was for his. If he died, there would be no life for her. Please, God, no. Not yet. Give us this time stil . This smal sliver of time that we have together, let it last as long as it can.

FIVE

Breaking Bread

Schuyler had falen asleep in Jack's arms, but she woke up, blinking her eyes, when she heard a rustling noise. The fire in the lamp was stil flickering, but the rain had stopped. The only sound was the lapping of waves against the hul . Jack placed a finger to his lips.
Quiet. Someone's here.

"
Signorina
?" A dark figure hovered by the doorway.

Before Schuyler could answer, Jack had sprung from his seat and held Ghedi by the throat.

"Jack! Wait, what are you doing? It's Ghedi--he helped me! He was the one who got me out of the water, Jack! Let him go!"

Ghedi's dark face had turned several shades of gray. He was holding a basket in his hands, which was now shaking slightly.

"Bossing . . ." he protested. "I bring food. Bread. Dinner."

"You serve us wel , human," Jack said coldly. "Maybe too wel . Tel us, who do you truly serve?"

Schuyler felt indignation burn her cheeks. "Jack, please! You're being ridiculous!"

"Only if he tel s me who he real y is and who he's working for. A Somali pirate wouldn't give a rat's ass about two American kids, especial y once he was paid. Why did you fol ow us? Are you a servant of the Countess?"

Ghedi shook his head, and looked them straight in the eye. "Have no fear, my friends, for I am a friend of the professor."

Schuyler was surprised to hear the Somali speaking perfect English, and no longer with the African intonations he'd affected before.

"The professor?" Jack asked, relaxing his grip slightly.

"Professor Lawrence Van Alen, of course."

"You knew my grandfather?" Schuyler asked. "Why didn't you mention it earlier? At the market?"

Ghedi did not reply. Instead, he reached into the basket and brought out sacks of flour, salt, and a smal jar of sardines. "First we must eat. I know you do not need it for sustenance, but please, for the sake of companionship, let us share a meal before we discuss."

"Hold on," Jack said. "You speak the names of our friends, yet how do we know you are truly a friend to us? Lawrence Van Alen had as many enemies as al ies."

"Al you say is true. Yet there is nothing I can show or say that wil prove I am who I say I am. You wil have to decide for yourself whether I am tel ing the truth. I have no mark, no papers, nothing that may attest to my story. You have only my word. You must trust your own judgment."

Jack looked at Schuyler.
What do you think?

I don't know. You're right to be cautious. But I feel in my heart he is a friend. But that is all I have. A feeling.

Instincts are all we have in the end. Instincts and luck
, Jack sent.

Jack said, "We wil trust you tonight, Ghedi. You're right, you must eat, as must she. Please . . ." He released his hold and motioned to the fire.

Ghedi whistled while he pounded out the injera dough into smal circles in the smal gal ey kitchen. He found a metal skil et and fired up one of the gas burners. With the other, he gril ed a few sardines on an open flame. In a few minutes, the bread began to rise, puffing with smal indentations. The fish began to smoke. When it was ready, Ghedi prepared three plates.

The bread was a bit sour and spongy, but Schuyler thought it was the best thing she had ever eaten. She didn't even realize until she smel ed the fresh, delicious aroma fil ing the room that she was hungry. Starving even. The fish was excel ent, and along with a few fresh tomatoes Ghedi had unearthed, it made a satisfying meal. Jack had a piece or two, to be polite. But Schuyler and Ghedi ate as if it was their last meal.

So it wasn't a coincidence, then, their meeting Ghedi at the market, Schuyler thought, appraising their new companion as she dipped a piece of bread into the smal pool of ghee on her plate. When she thought about it a little more, she remembered that it was the pirate who had approached them.

And now, on further recol ection, it seemed that he was waiting for them. He had practical y ambushed them when they had walked past his stal , asking if there was any way he could be of service. He had been quite persuasive, and somehow Schuyler had managed to communicate the specifics of their confinement, and they had final y agreed to trust him with getting them a motorboat.

But who
was
Ghedi after al ? How did he know Lawrence?

"I know you have many questions," the Somali said. "But it is late. And we must al rest. Tomorrow, I wil return and tel you what I know."

SIX

Motherless Boys

I was six years old when they took my mother," Ghedi told them the folowing morning with their breakfasts--cups of espresso and fresh bread in a brown paper bag.

Schuyler raised her eyebrows while Jack looked grim. They sipped their coffee and listened. Outside, the seagul s were greeting the dawn with their mournful screeching. Fishing season was over, so there was no worry of the boat's owner finding them, but they wanted to move on as early as possible.

"The raiders had never come so close to the coast before, but we had heard about them from neighboring vil ages. They always took the womenfolk--

young girls, usual y." Ghedi shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize. "I was told my mother was getting water by the creek when they took her. She was very beautiful, my mother. When she came back, she was different." Ghedi shook his head, a hard light in his eyes. "She was . . . changed. And her bel y, swol en."

"She had been raped, then?" Schuyler asked gently.

"Yes and no . . . She did not remember any violence. She did not remember anything, real y. My father had died in the wars, a year before, and when the baby came, it took her life with his. Neither survived. I was the only one left. My uncle took me to the missionaries. They ran an orphanage in Berbera. It was ful of lost boys like me--war orphans, motherless boys.

"One day Father Baldessarre came."

"Baldessarre, did you say?" Schuyler asked, looking startled. "How did you know him? We are looking for him as wel ." When she had left New York she'd taken Lawrence's notes with her. The papers that she carried from his files named a Father Baldessarre in conjunction with the Gate of Promise, and finding the priest seemed a good place to start their own journey.

Ghedi explained. "Father Baldessarre was the head of the Petruvian mission. He was very kind, and he chose several boys to take back to Italy, to send to their school in Florence. I was one of them. At first I did not want to leave. I was scared. But I liked going to school. And I liked Father B. He taught us to speak English and sent most of the boys to new lives in America. I thought that was where I would end up as wel . Somewhere in Kansas. Going to community col ege." He smiled rueful y and rubbed his shaved head.

"One day after class, Father B. pul ed me aside. I was eleven years old--old enough, he decided, to help them with their true mission. He told me he was entrusted with a powerful secret. The Petruvian Order was not an ordinary brotherhood; they were guardians of a sacred space.

"Two years ago, when I had formal y joined the order and was ordained as a priest, Father B. received a letter from a Professor Lawrence Van Alen, requesting a visit. The professor seemed to know many things about our work, and Father B. believed the professor would be able to help with our mission. Certain things had begun to happen that could not be explained, dark omens that worried him. We prepared for this meeting, but the professor never arrived, and Father B. began to get agitated. He began to worry. He was il , Father B.; he had been diagnosed with cancer the year before and he knew he didn't have much time. And then last year, out of the blue, Christopher Anderson came to visit us.

"He told us the Professor was dead, but his legacy lived on in his granddaughter, and that she would help us with our task. He showed us your photograph, Schuyler. He told us to keep an eye out for you, to help you when you came into our region. We have been waiting for you since, especial y when we heard you had left New York. Of course, we had no idea that you were in the custody of the Countess. That we did not count on."

Ghedi wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "Father B. could not wait any longer. The wrongness was growing, he said. He told me to come find you instead, and to bring you back to our monastery. I apologize for not identifying myself sooner, but I was wary of approaching you as a Petruvian until you were safely away from your imprisonment."

"Where is Father B. now?" Schuyler asked.

At this, Ghedi's face changed again. Now it looked weary. "I am sorry to tel you, Father has passed away."

"When?" Schuyler looked stricken. So close, but always a dead end--literal y--when they got there. Jack continued to look at Ghedi keenly, never taking his eyes away from their new friend's face.