Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night)

by Sherri Claytor

  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.”<
br />
  “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?”

  “First, I create a case. Then—and I hate to own up to it—I use my powers to manipulate my way around the system,” Jordon admitted. “I’ve even gone so far as to shape-shift into one of my higher-ups, and while assuming his form, specifically requested ‘Jordon Black’ for the case I needed to be assigned to.”

  “I’m surprised it hasn’t caught up with you.”

  “Things always turned out to my advantage. I’m now presumed by my peers to be one of the top dog’s favorites. It makes for good job security.”

  “You’re diabolical.”

  “Hey, I only do what’s necessary. And I’m not hurting anyone…except the bad guys.” Jordon was feeling comfortable with Corin.

  “Tell me more about the charm you’re after. What power does it have?”

  “It’s one half of two parts. Boldor is in possession of the Heart of the Clyth—the center stone—giving him the power of concealment. But I don’t think he’s aware that it’s actually one of two pieces. When joined with its counterpart, the Body, they form a charm of unimaginable power—the Clyth. This is information the Order of the Clythguard strives to conceal. Very few from this world are privy to the information.”

  “And you’re telling me?”

  “I’m breaking a sacred code, but I want you to understand the vital importance of getting the Heart back. Over the years, Earthly immortals have been brought into the society—friends and spouses—but they are not members of the Order. However, several have proved themselves loyal and trustworthy. Like them, I believe you can be trusted.”

  “I told you, I’m no saint.”

  “You’re different, Corin. There’s something about you, about how all of this is playing out.”

  “Fate.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “What makes you think Boldor doesn’t know about the Body?” Corin asked.

  “He was connected with another member or the Order who claimed she kept that information from him. Besides, if he knew it existed, I believe he would have made an attempt to steal it by now. Especially since he’s endowed with the power of the Heart and can’t be detected.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “The Order has always kept the charms separated for added security. When both halves are joined, the Clyth endows its wearer with the power to steal the life force of mortals and immortals alike. For a human, this would mean immortality, but for an immortal, much more—a step beyond immortality—the creation of a god. If it happened to fall into the wrong hands, it could mean the ruin of many worlds.” Jordon went on to tell Corin about the dark angel who created the charm and the evil warlord, Gaun. “Upon the fall of Gaun, the Order of the Clythguard—a special league of nightwalkers—was instituted for the purpose of guarding the charm. Their job is to ensure that it never fall into such destructive hands again, and for the good of all kind, they must never fail. That’s why the charm was sent through the Passage of Dimensions and hidden away in another world…this world, where the inhabitants know nothing of its existence. But cold and ruthless seekers followed, Indith immortals willing to go to any length to acquire the Clyth’s formidable power. These are the worst of my kind, seeking the stature of a god, caring nothing of the vast number of casualties or of the many worlds that could be lost. But of all the immortals to come after the charm, not one from the Eleventh Dimension has ever succeeded in their mission. Yet, Boldor, an Earth-born nightwalker, even with his ignorance of the enormity of what he’s acquired, has somehow managed to steal the Heart. He’s certainly had luck on his side.”

  “Why not simply destroy the charm?” Corin suggested.

  “I wish it were that easy. But only a dark angel, such as the one who created it, can destroy the Clyth. And these days they’re not so easy to find. The Endokyre Dimension—a sort of fiery underworld where they once existed—was destroyed,” Jordon explained. “What few dark angels still exist are now scattered between many worlds. We have searched, but there’s little chance of ever locating one. Besides, in my experience, when dealing with the dark ones, nothing is ever easily resolved.”

  “Regardless, you mustn’t give up trying—for the sake of your world.”

  “And yours,” Jordon added. “In bringing the relic here, endeavoring to save ourselves, we’ve selfishly implicated Earth in our plight.”

  “What’s done is done. We must ban together. And now, I am one more soldier in t
he fight. From this night forth, we are allies.”

  “That’s a union I am pleased to accept.”

  “Good. Now, you’ll have to excuse me.” Corin rose to his feet. “I have some things to attend to.”

  “The girl…Angelique?” Jordon knew what had transpired. “She’s with you below?”

  Corin tossed him a warning glare. “That doesn’t concern you.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

  “Till tomorrow evening, then.” Corin left.

  Jordon went back to his room, hoping the wolves might move on soon. Lying in bed, thoughts of his home world weighed heavily on his heart and mind. With an urge to go back, if only for a few minutes, he pulled the Shalym Disc free from his side, and placed it on his palm. The disc melted into his skin, the top still visible, similar to a coin pressed in a book. Outstretching his hand, he turned his palm outward as if halting someone’s passage and said, Ta marof beegha, “take me home” in the ancient language of his ancestors. And with those words a wormhole appeared providing him passage home.

  * * * *

  Boldor barged in on Fulner who lay sleeping on a cot in a back room at the funeral home. Startled, the director scrambled to his feet.

  “It’s nearly morning.” Fulner glanced at a clock hanging on the wall. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I need shelter for the day. A casket and a room without windows will do. Two things I believe you can supply.”

  “You’ve come to the right place. Dealing with the dead and laying folks to rest is what I do best.”

  Boldor cast a blank stare, not humored in the least.