Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night)

by Sherri Claytor

  “Oh, you won’t have any problems. It’s not far, just several miles north and to the west of I-94.”

  “Do you know the exit number?”

  “105. Then turn right onto 95—it’s also called Interstate Road. From there, it’s less than a mile. You could also take County Road A, but the interstate is faster.”

  “I’m sure I’ll find it. Thank you for the info, Chuck. You’ve been more help than you could ever know.” Jordon’s voice held a hint of belittlement.

  “Well, that’s what we’re here for, to serve and assist,” the officer replied in a chipper manner, seeming not to notice the derision. “What about a message…for the sheriff?”

  “I’m with the U.S. Marshals Service. I just wanted to inform him that I’m here looking into the murder. I’d like to meet with him, but there’s no need to take anything down. I’ll stop back by later.” Jordon gave a friendly nod and left.

  What kind of a hillbilly hellhole have I wandered into this time?

  He stepped outside the building and made a beeline for his car, eager to get to Hixton. Visiting the murder site was his next plan of action. If Chuck was any indication of the rest of the force, the incompetent idiots running Jackson County just might have overlooked some vital clues.

  Arriving in Hixton fifteen minutes later, he stopped at a local convenience store where a clerk gave him directions to Old Denaud Road. Following the course given, he found the two-lane byway with little effort. Traveling a little farther through dense, wooded terrain, he spotted a dirt drive to his right framed by two tall poles supporting a sign saying: Jaffler Farm. Several Thoroughbred horses grazed in a large pasture nestled between the road and the farmhouse that sat a distance back. Continuing past the farm entrance, he located the taped-off crime scene a minute later, at the edge of the woods.

  Jordon pulled off the road and shifted the black Dodge Charger into park. His gator-skin boots had just hit the dirt when a white SUV pulled up behind him. By the dim view afforded him through the front windshield, he recognized the man behind the wheel from his picture in the paper—Sheriff Pierson.

  The sheriff alighted from his vehicle and Jordon heard him mumble, “Who the blazes is this beatnik?”

  An imposing figure, he stared at Jordon in an obvious attempt to intimidate while pulling a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and tapping one out. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he lit the cigarette and let out a plume of smoke that curled upward and drifted away on the light breeze.

  “I prefer Camels myself.” Jordon spoke first, reaching for his own gold-colored pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and blew the smoke out of the left side of his mouth in a cocky manner, letting the sheriff know he could not, would not, be intimidated. “You must be Sheriff Pierson.”

  “I am. And who might you be?” Pierson asked, moving his way. “This is an official crime scene.”

  “I’m well aware of that.” Jordon bit his cigarette between his teeth to free his hands, searching his inner coat pocket for his badge. In the process, Pierson caught sight of the 9mm strapped to his shoulder and immediately took defensive action.

  “Put your hands up,” the sheriff ordered, his gun trained on Jordon. “Where I can see them!”

  “Whoa.” Jordon raised his hands and spat out his cigarette so he could speak clearly. “Take it easy, Sheriff. I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal.”

  “I’ll be needing some proof of that.”

  “I have my badge right here in my coat. If you’ll let me get it, you’ll see this is just one, big misunderstanding.”

  “All right, but you make any sudden movements, and the next bullet’s got your name on it,” Pierson warned. “Now take it slow…real slow.” The sheriff maintained a firm aim.

  Jordon moved with extreme caution and reached into his coat. He located his badge right away, pulled it out, and flipped it open.

  Sheriff Pierson lowered and holstered his Glock .45. “Sorry about that, Marshal, but you can’t be too careful.”

  “No harm done. I’m Marshal Jordon Black. I stopped by your station to advise you of my arrival and spoke with Officer Gantt.”

  “I assume you’ve been sent to investigate the murder,” Pierson stated.

  “Not exactly, or I guess I should say I’m not quite sure yet.” Jordon looked down and stubbed out his cigarette still burning on the ground at his feet. “The

  murder you had here is identical to those of a killer I’ve been tracking.”

  “So you have a suspect, then?”

  “Sorry, Sheriff, I wish I did. He’s quite a mastermind, real good at covering his trail.”

  “What makes you think this is the same killer?” Sheriff Pierson reached for another cigarette, having lost the first when pulling his gun on Jordon.

  “I’m not positive it is. But from what I’ve read it seems to be his handiwork. I’ve been after him for two years. He’s cunning, never stays in one place for long. Killing comes easy as breathing to him. He’s left a considerable number of blood-drained bodies in his wake, and the string of cases just keeps getting longer and longer.”

  “Blood-drained bodies?” The sheriff looked surprised. “I hadn’t considered a serial killer.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “I thought that was the FBI’s job.”

  “I’m with a special division of the Service. We work closely with the FBI,” Jordon told him. “Would you mind if I take a look around the site?”

  “I have no problem with that. I’m here to take another look myself,” Pierson replied and moved toward the taped-off area.

  Jordon followed, sure that, sweep or not, the unqualified little force had missed something. And preferring to conduct his own search in private, he deliberately put some distance between them, scouring the tree line and underbrush about eighty feet away from Pierson, where he found something of interest. Squatting down, fearful the sheriff might confiscate his find, he smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and gave it a quick skim. It was a receipt from the Black River Falls Inn.

  “Have you got something there?” Pierson called over to him.

  Jordon slipped the receipt into his pocket before rising from his crouched position.

  “Oh, no, I was just checking the underbrush for any tracks or clues your group might have missed,” he lied.

  “I know what I saw, so how about you just empty that right pocket of yours and prove me wrong.”

  “Happy to.” Jordon pulled the pocket inside out, but with a bit of sleight of hand, transferred the receipt under his sleeve. “Nothing here but a pack of gum, a couple wrappers, and a lighter. What you saw was me retrieving a wrapper that fell from my shirt pocket when I was bending over. Like I said, I was just checking the underbrush for missed clues. I suspect you don’t have the best forensics team at your disposal, am I right?” He went on with uncouth arrogance, not caring how his words came across.

  “I’m rather proud of my team, Marshal, and I can assure you, they did a more than adequate job.” Pierson responded, his irritation at Jordon’s insult apparent.

  “It’s a small county, but we do know how to follow protocol. Everything was done by the book.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and pressed it into the dirt with the steel tip of his boot.

  Jordon chuckled to himself, a mental image forming of the sheriff pulling out a large instruction book entitled Homicide for Dummies, and attempting to instruct a group of inept deputies.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Mansion

  Corin rose from his dark sanctuary as the sun was setting. He usually waited for twilight before emerging, but being an older vampire, he could tolerate a small amount of sunlight. In the shadows of the forest, where he spent a great deal of time, he even dared to wander out in the earlier daylight hours. But that was a risk he wouldn’t attempt often, for the burning rays could literally turn him to ashes.

  Corin stayed in isolation at his estate—a sprawling and grand abode consisting of more than t
wo thousand acres of lush woodlands running across a hilly terrain. The mansion had undergone numerous renovations over the last five hundred years, growing in size and value. It sheltered a host of treasures—just a taste of the vast wealth he’d accumulated over his many years of existence. A cunning businessman, he’d made many wise investments, ensuring his position. Money would never be a problem for him.

  With his eyes shaded by dark glasses, he stood in a shadowed area near the lanai door, looking past the wall, toward the woods. This land had been his solitude from the very beginning of his changed existence, and if he had anything to say about it, it always would be.

  “You’re taking your walk, aren’t you?” His thoughts were on Angelique, fearing she was venturing out alone, regardless of her recent scare. She had no idea of the danger lurking in the area.

  Concerned for her safety, he disregarded his own well-being and braved the light. Twilight wasn’t far off, but he refused to wait a moment longer for those last lingering rays to give in to the onslaught of falling night.

  Sheltered under his cape and Stetson, he made a swift dash for the woods. Reaching the shady folds, he metamorphosed into a wolf and tore off in the direction of the creek, keeping to the cover of the woodland floor for protection from the dwindling light breaking through the shield of trees above him. He knew right where to find her—walking the path that led to the creek where their properties merged.

  Making his way through the crowding of trees, he caught sight of another wolf running parallel with him. A bit to his left, the creature kept in perfect unison. Time slowing to a crawl, he watched as it moved in slow motion. Surmising this was no ordinary wolf, Corin veered toward it. But with his attempt to intercept, the animal suddenly dematerialized, confirming what he feared—another immortal walked the woods.

  Why can’t I sense you?

  Corin picked up his pace, now more concerned than ever for Angelique’s safety.

  Relief suffused his body when he spotted her on the path. Careful not to be seen, he bypassed her in the woods, reached the creek ahead of her, and waited. He reclaimed his human form, clothes and all, having the exceptional power to shape-shift anything on his person. Fortunately, the sun had finally descended, but for the moment, he kept to the shadows and anticipated her arrival. Her scent carried on the air as she drew close. He inhaled deeply, a subdued groan emerging as he exhaled. Only a few feet away from him now, his gaze fell on her.

  “Hello again,” he stepped into view.

  “Corin…hello.” Her lack of reaction led him to believe she must have expected to run into him.

  “We’re going to have to stop meeting this way. We wouldn’t want to subject ourselves to rumors,” Corin’s remark prompted her to laugh.

  “Is that so?” Angelique played along, twirling a strand of hair in her fingers. “And who would ever know? I doubt anyone else is out here, traipsing around these woods.”

  “True,” he responded, not able to tell her about the creature he’d just encountered in the form of a wolf, worried where it might be.

  He could have offered to walk her home again, but she was an addiction—a sensual, dark-haired vision that haunted his every waking hour. Yes, he wanted to protect her, but he also longed to be with her even though he knew he shouldn’t. Conflicted, he invited her to his house for drinks, but silently reprimanded himself for encouraging her affections.

  “I’d love to. I never go beyond the creek, stemming back to a promise I made my father. But I’m not a child anymore, and it would be nice to explore your side for a change. The mansion is so secluded behind that wall. I’ve lived here all my life and have never seen it up close.”

  “Well, allow me to escort you, then.” Corin presented an arm for her to take hold.

  The moon provided plenty of light as they made their way across a shallow area of the creek and through the winding woods. Corin kept a watchful eye out for any unwelcome company, but the trespassing immortal didn’t show himself again.

  “You must forgive my brother’s behavior last evening.” Angelique looked into his shadowed face. “I was so ashamed of his reprehensible conduct.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. Considering everything that’s happened, I can’t blame him for being protective.”

  “He’s under a lot of stress. And the sheriff pinning him as a suspect isn’t helping matters any,” she told him.

  “That’s just preposterous. From what I’ve seen, no man could have loved his wife more.”

  “He really did love her. They were a perfect fit. Made for each other,” She responded in a low, remorseful tone. “They had something special—that once in a lifetime thing—the sort of love most of us spend our whole lives searching for, and few ever find.”

  “They were soul mates, and he’ll no doubt grieve for a long time to come.”

  “I just hope it doesn’t destroy him. I’m afraid he’s giving up on life.”

  “He’s suffered a tremendous loss, but in time, he’ll learn to live again.”

  “I pray you’re right.” Angelique suddenly halted as they rounded a corner and a tall stone and mortar wall came into view.

  “My uncle was a private man,” Corin guided her to a solid gate and pulled a keychain from his pocket. Singling out the one required, he unlocked the gate and welcomed her inside. Passing through, the mansion loomed in front of them.

  “Wow. It’s breathtaking. I’ve only seen it once before…a long time ago.”

  Corin was pleased with her reaction, almost relieved by her approval. He couldn’t help fantasizing, envisioning her mistress of von Vadim Estate. He would have loved nothing more than to keep her there with him forever, but for the good of her soul, he would never be so selfish.

  “I just see it as home.” He guided her across the well-manicured back grounds to the house, watching her expressions. At the front of the structure, he motioned toward the entrance. “Shall we take company inside?”

  “Listening to you, Corin, I’d think you were from another era.”

  He laughed to himself. If she only knew how right she was.

  Past influences often crept into his speech. When living for hundreds of years, losing track of the changes in times and styles wasn’t hard to do. Over the years, he’d observed the mortals living out their lives around him, rarely attempting to interact with them. He did form associations with a select few, those needed to maintain his personal finances and other necessities of living, finding that there was less chance of discovery that way.

  “Maybe I am from another era, or was, in another life,” he told her. Funny thing was, he spoke the truth.

  * * * *

  A dark-colored wolf raced across Old Denaud Road and prompted Tomes to stop. He hopped out of his truck and peered into the woods where the animal had darted, but the darkness and underbrush prevented him from seeing very much.

  Mournful howls echoed, creating an eerie atmosphere. It was unusual to hear so many of the animals, and he’d never spotted one so close to the farm before, giving him cause for concern.

  “What is going on?”

  The idling truck sputtered as he hopped back in. He contemplated going to von Vadim Estate to get Corin’s thoughts, but decided he should first locate Angelique and apprise her of the situation.

  “You’re out there in the woods…alone. Even after what happened to Louisa.” He knew how much his sister enjoyed taking her nightly walk.

  Figuring he’d best find her before she ended up face to face with one of the creatures, he hurried home, parked, and ran to the front door of the house. Stepping inside, he called out, receiving no response. She wasn’t there.

  “Darn it, Angel.”

  On foot, he headed for the woods. Dappled in shadows from the surrounding trees, the trail he followed wound its way to the creek. He expected to meet up with her at any moment along the way, but he saw no sign of her.

  “Where are you?”

  Standing next to the water, he looked arou
nd and sighed, growing more worried with every passing minute.

  “Your cell phone.”

  He hurried back to the farm, hoping she had her phone with her. Bolting from the truck, he barreled into the house and dialed her number, expelling a held breath when she answered. He’d never been so glad to hear her voice.

  * * * *

  Angelique stared up at the massive three-story structure in utter awe. She had seen it before, when she was a child, but only from a distance when Tomes coaxed her into exploring von Vadim land. They were curious about the recluse, Victor von Vadim, and why their father had so adamantly forbade them from tarrying beyond the creek. She recalled how they found a tree overhanging the wall and climbed it, getting a view of the estate house. An unsettling dread befell her when her eyes gazed on the dwelling, as if it were reaching for her, trying to draw her in and capture her in its hold forever. It was so disturbing she never went there again.

  Progressing toward the mansion now with Corin, that old eeriness crept back, but she chalked it up to being warned her whole life to stay away. But with Victor von Vadim deceased, she presumed any threat her father thought existed there was now gone. Thinking of the recluse, she recalled how he’d kept the gate at the main entrance chained, warding off anyone who dared attempt to enter. It had remained that way until Corin inherited the estate a month earlier and removed them.

  “Wait.” Angelique, growing disoriented, stopped and reached for Corin.

  Suddenly inundated by past memories, she was unable to prevent a flashback, sweeping her back to a brief meeting she’d had with Victor von Vadim when she was eight years old.

  Night had just fallen. She sat in the living room of their farmhouse reading a book when a knock sounded at the door. With everyone else preoccupied in other rooms, she answered, greeted by a tall, older fair-haired gentleman. Clutching her book, she looked up into his face with wide-open eyes, having no inkling of who he was.