Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) (31 page)

The Eleventh Dimension

Corin left Angelique sleeping
in the crypt and slipped upstairs to look in on Tomes, glad to find him resting peacefully. Deciding to check the safety of the house, there was no indication of trouble, but he couldn’t shake a nagging feeling of being watched. Not able to sense Boldor agitated him. The nightwalker’s ability to conceal his presence posed a continual threat to them all.

Satisfied there was no danger, he
drifted to the lanai and took a seat in the darkness, gazing out at the silvery landscape. Wolves howled in the near distance, a curious occurrence. In recent years, he was accustomed to hearing one from time to time, but never so many.

His thoughts trailed to his late wife. Tears filled his eyes, that old hurt piercing
his heart. She had been his friend and consort, and since her, there had been no one else. Until now, with Angelique.

Corin had met Miralanya when he
’d lived as Nevin von Vadim. He’d shared her lifespan with her, loving her for nearly fifty years, using his power to give himself the appearance of aging. Allowing them to grow old together made the situation easier for her to accept. However, with her mortality, death eventually came. Losing her was hell, leaving him to endure the terrible heartache that he still felt all these years later.

His thoughts turned to Angelique. Could he do it again? Could he ever bear
losing her the way he had Miralanya? Angelique was a blessing, his angel of light. She lit the darkness of his dismal existence, and without her, he feared he’d forevermore be incomplete.

He’d lived too many lifetimes and endured too much suffering, but he’d
accepted his fate—his curse—long ago. But at times like these, the cruelty of what immortality really meant came flooding back. He knew that in a human lifetime joy typically equaled sorrow, two things he had experienced many times over. But in his long life, it seemed sorrow and loneliness had always been the overpowering elements. He just wished he didn’t have to continue his eternal walk alone. He would give anything to have Angelique continue with him—an immortal companion—but he could never ask her to give up her soul to be with him. It could not happen. He would not be the devil responsible for clipping an angel’s wings.

* * * *

Sheriff Pierson couldn’t believe he’d been called out for another homicide. All he could do was hope they’d find some solid evidence this time. He had Corin von Vadim pegged as the killer, but he had no firm proof. There was the watch, of course, but with it inscribed with only a first name, he had no way of proving it belonged to von Vadim. And with nothing else tying the estate owner to the murders, he couldn’t build a case against him.

Rudy had searched every accessible database, digging up all the information
he could find on the man, but what he’d discovered, or rather the lack of, was perplexing. He’d found the usual driver’s license and social security records, but not much more beyond that. There were no birth or school records, nothing showing he’d ever existed as a child, which was odd, making Sheriff Pierson even more suspicious.

A mass of media had descended on the crime scene at the
Black River Falls Inn. With this the fifth killing in a lengthening string of murders, there was no way of avoiding them. The
Jackson County killings—
as the murders had been dubbed—were quickly becoming nation-wide news.

Rambling off a prewritten statement to the many TV cameras and reporters
gathered before him, Pierson grimaced when he spotted Robert Darnell—the husband of the second murder victim, Sandy Darnell—amid the crowd. He had been hounding the station since his wife’s murder, demanding action and throwing about accusations of inadequacy toward him and his investigative team. Pierson understood his need for justice, but slandering the law certainly wasn’t the way to go about achieving it.

The sheriff
tugged his left ear, that ol’ twitch revving up. His green eyes focused on Mr. Darnell. And just as he suspected, the man made his move, lifting a megaphone to his mouth and confronting the sheriff, creating a spectacle.

“What have you done to catch this killer, Sheriff? How many more women
must die before the department finally takes some real action?”

“What is your response?” a reporter called out
, instigated by the drama.

“I assure you, we’re following every available lead,” Pierson replied. “But I
can’t divulge any particulars for the good of the investigation.” With national exposure likely, he was careful with his words.

Sheriff Pierson tried to finish his statement, but Mr. Darnell’s constant
interruptions prompted him to skip ahead to his closing. He quickly offered his condolences to the families of the victims and reassured the public that his team was hard at work, giving one hundred percent to each case. He then backed away from the microphone and worked his way through the swarming media who had been stirred up by the public display. Mr. Darnell had certainly succeeded in creating quite a chaotic scene, turning what should have been a well-controlled media update into an outright protest, yelling out, “We want action. Show us action,” and convincing a group of others to join his chant.

“Do you have any suspects, Sheriff?” One reporter managed to get close
enough to shove a microphone in his face.

“Like I’ve already said, at present we are unable to disclose any information
for concern of impairing our investigation.” He pushed past the crowd with the help of two officers and made his way around the building to the taped-off crime scene in the back alley. “Let’s move this perimeter back another hundred feet,” he ordered. “I want this area kept clear.”

Pulling
an officer aside, he gave instructions to charge Mr. Darnell with creating a public disturbance and impeding a police investigation if he continued his protest. He knew the charge wouldn’t stick, but all he was looking to do was settle things down so he could take care of business. This was a crime scene, after all, not a circus.

* * * *

At von Vadim Estate, Jordon stood at his bedroom window looking toward the woods, listening to the wolves howling in the night. They were too close for comfort.

Plagued by their
doleful wails, he couldn’t rest, and made his way downstairs to the first floor, sensing Corin’s presence. Moving toward the lanai door, he spotted the nightwalker’s position right away, having exceptional night vision.

“Mind some company?” Jordon asked.

“Have a seat and tell me a little more about yourself,” Corin motioned.

Jordon pulled out one of three available chairs and joined Corin at the
wrought iron patio table.

“The wolves are relentless tonight. Do you have them where you come from?”

“There used to be a great many wolves in my world. But they’re now pretty much extinct, having been hunted and slaughtered by the nightwalkers.”

“What a shame,” Corin
expressed with lament. “I find it strange how we immortals assume their canine forms more often than any other animal.”

“It’s always been that way, especially with covens, running as packs. But it’s
also a common choice for daywalkers, as you know. Although, the animals don’t seek us out the way they do your kind.”

“Why do you think that is? Why do they seek us out—disclose our
whereabouts?” Corin mused.

“I’d like to say it’s because you are kindred spirits—creatures and hunters of
the night—but the greater likelihood is they sense your bloodthirsty nature and are gathering for a feast of leftovers.”

“Rather morbid theory.”

I suppose, but they are hunters.”

“Why did the nightwalkers wipe out the wolves on your world?”

“They had no choice. During times of war, the animals gave up the nightwalker’s positions to their enemies. So, as you can understand, it came down to a matter of survival.”

“Your world seems so much different from ours.”

“It is in many ways, and much the same in others. We’re not as technologically advanced, stuck in a time similar to what you once called your Medieval Age.”

“Are there humans, or is it only immortals?”

“There are mortals. The population mostly consists of nightwalkers, daywalkers, and humans. However, contrary to Earth, humans aren’t the dominant species. Here, immortals are viewed as monsters of myth, but in my world, we don’t hide away in obscurity for fear of being discovered. We live free, open lives, right along with humans, and other beings existing there.”

“You all coexist in your world,
” Corin was intrigued, “ mortal and immortal together…in peace?”

“Don’t get me wrong, we are a far cry from being a perfect world. But at least
in the Eleventh Dimension we each know of the others’ existence. And even though Earth has far exceeded us technologically, we have managed to surpass you in several other areas, one example being a scientific breakthrough made by the nightwalkers. They’ve discovered a method of feeding that doesn’t require taking blood from other living creatures. It’s all in a pill.”

“A pill?” Corin
’s voice held disbelief.

“A group of scientists created it from some newly discovered protein. But I’m
no expert in the field of science, so don’t go asking me to explain it to you. All I know is they made the discovery and it works.”

“Imagine what that could do for my kind here, less killing and no more
feeding from beasts.”

“Well, it’s a fairly new find, and there’s also the politics to contend with. We
do have some who oppose it. Not every nightwalker is so willing to give up the traditional method of feeding.”

“I sure would love to visit this world of yours. Has that ever been allowed?”

“You’re immortal, so it could be arranged. I’d have to get permission from Council, but with me vouching for you, I don’t think it would be a problem.”

“How do you cross from world to world?”

Jordon could see Corin was fully engrossed, riveted by the deluge of information, and wanting more.
“There’s an ancient passage called the Passage of Dimensions. It was created by our ancestors in a time when sorcerers ruled the divisions. There are only a few sorcerers remaining in this present age. The passage allows those of us authorized to travel between worlds to do so by means of a Shalym Disc, a sort of calling card. When we’re ready to return home, we activate this disc and a wormhole appears providing us passage back. These discs are our only means of return, so we guard them with our lives.”

“You have one with you now?”

Jordon pulled up his shirt revealing a quarter-sized disc secured by a piercing on his lower left abdomen. “I prefer to keep it out of sight in case I should happen upon others from my world. It’s marked with the sign of the Indith Sentry, a special force of trained hunters.”

“And you’re one of these hunters?”

“I’m proud to say I am. We’re sent out in search of fugitives who have managed to escape our world, or in this particular circumstance, to recover a charm of great power and return it to its rightful place. That’s why I hide the Shalym Disc, and the other markings I have. They’re the only way others from my world can recognize me. With them concealed, they’ll sense I’m an immortal, but that’s all they’ll know about me.”

“You sure live an action-packed life. There’s more to you than I would ever
have imagined. A world-crossing Indith Sentry who masquerades as a U.S. marshal while chasing down otherworld fugitives.”

“Deputy U.S. Marshal…and it’s law enforcement.
It’s in my blood.”

“I have to say, you’d make a great comic book character, fitting right in there
with Superman and the others. But in all seriousness, you have quite a demanding job.”

“I have a lot to make up for.” Jordon didn’t elaborate.

“So I guess those from your world are rarely found out.”

“You’d be surprised how many immortals in your world know of us. And now,
you’re one of them. Just remember that I’m incognito—Marshal Jordon Black. Being part of a special division of the Marshals Service, established specifically for capturing the most wretched offenders and killers, makes my job of hunting down fugitives from the Eleventh Dimension a lot easier.”

“Is that your real name?”

“The first name, Jordon, but not Black. My true name is Jordon Day Morrain of Kordes.”

“Jordon Day—a daywalker,” Corin
cocked his head.

“I know, very original. No jokes, please,” he stopped Corin before he started.
“It derives from diurnal immortals—what my kind are called,” he explained. “I’ve also aged my appearance to fit my position. Just over two hundred years old, I’d look around twenty in human years. Not old enough to get much respect in this line of work.”

“I understand. I’ve aged my appearance many times,” Corin told him. “About
your work, how do you ensure you won’t be assigned to other cases instead of those tied to your world? Do you have someone on the inside helping you out?”