Corin & Angelique (After the Fall of Night) (13 page)

“I can handle him. No worries.”

“I’m sure you can. I’ll be ready.”

Corin leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her lips, disregarding all the boundaries he’d previously set for himself.

“I’ll give you an escort home.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’m headed home as well, so being my neighbor, it’s the only neighborly thing to do.” Corin winced at the sound of his corny attempt at wit.

Following her to the farm, he was glad to find Tomes’s truck parked in front of the house. Then tossing a wave, he drove on, plagued by the taste of her kiss, the sweet traces still lingering on his lips.

Get you mind back on business.

Failing to reach his earlier destination, he made tracks toward the cemetery, but stopped several miles up the road. Pulled to the curb, he stepped out of the car cursing himself for going too far with Angelique.

What am I doing?

He looked
up at the moon, and released an anguished roar. The power of the midnight hour was strong. It took more to control his desire for her than it did to fight his craving for fresh blood—something he would die without.

* * * *

Corin laid his hands upon the earth, endeavoring to see Louisa’s attacker, but the image was clouded. Detecting another presence, he looked over the cemetery.

Who
is here?

Finding no one around, he left and headed home
, met by a cold, empty estate, settling in the stillness of the night.

Pouring a
glass of brandy, he stepped onto the lanai. He didn’t require food or drink, but there were certain things he enjoyed, and brandy was one of those indulgences.

Looking over the back grounds
at the woods lying beyond the wall, he contemplated taking flight, but decided against it. Something seemed out of sorts in the house, making him uneasy.

Pushing off the vexing feeling, he went back inside and busied himself with
finances and tidying up the main floor, biding his time till dawn. Finally, the blessed morning came, and he retreated to the basement, leaving Tomes a note on the outside door that he’d see him at dusk. With the plan set in motion of Angelique thinking her brother was working for him, Corin figured he’d be coming around.

“Sometimes you do know what you’re talking about,
Tomes. At least this time.” Corin slid a bolt lock into place, having taken Tomes’s advice and installed it, realizing with the main gate open, he was vulnerable while at rest. And with the door secured, he headed down and started undressing, pulling his wallet from his pants and laying it atop the dresser.

“What?” His eyes widened
, realizing something was missing.

He growled and sniffed the air, catching the faint trace of an odor wafting
about the room.

No!

Anger overtook him. The fiend had been in his home…stolen his things!

With a vehement energy inspired by his craving to do nothing more than
even the score, he cursed as he stormed the room.

“You’ve gone too far. No one invades my home and gets away with it
. No one!”

He slammed his hand against the wall,
creating a hairline crack that traced its way to the floor.

Corin wondered how
the newcomer had managed it. When a home had been occupied for a duration of three consecutive lunar cycles, a nightwalker couldn’t enter that residence without first being invited. This told him there could only be one explanation—he must have come into contact with this character at some point, but where? He thought back over the last several nights, pinning down the moment he’d encountered the demon, at a local establishment called Micky Joe’s Bar and Grill. Corin often frequented the bar, not so much for the drink, but for the atmosphere, feeling a camaraderie with the tortured souls attempting to drown their sorrows in liquor. He recalled sitting at a table, obscured in the back of the room, when a foreigner had approached him in a friendly manner and initiated conversation.

“I was told you’re von Vadim.” The man spoke with a strong Turkish accent.

“You were told right. What can I do for you?” Corin wondered who had pointed him out.

“I heard you have a fine collection of classic cars
. I’m a collector myself.”

“Is that so?” Corin wasn’t too sure of the individual.

“I might be willing to take a model or two off your hands if you’re interested in parting with any of your collection.”

“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I have no interest in
selling…sorry.”

“I completely understand. I would never part with any of my own. But you
can’t blame a man for trying. I know the dedication it takes to restore those vehicles to their original glory, not to mention the time and money. In the process, they kind of become a part of you.”

Corin took a sip of his drink, still trying to read the stranger. He had an odor
attached to him that just didn’t fit—an odd, moldy stink that even a generous dousing of aftershave couldn’t mask. This was an odor Corin would typically have associated with the undead, but he sensed no other immortals in the room. And after listening to the man’s endless rambling about several cars he’d restored, Corin finally concluded the foreigner to be just what he claimed to be, merely a fellow enthusiast, albeit lacking hygiene, but harmless. And disregarding his initial reservations, Corin found himself engrossed by their conversation, a topic he knew a lot about.

“I can’t believe you have a
fully restored 1958 Lister,” the man was impressed. “I would really love to see it.”

“I don’t drive it much. But I’d be glad to show it to you sometime.” Corin
proceeded to invite him to von Vadim Estate to view the Lister, along with the rest of his collection that he referred to as his “pride and toys.”

Corin drew his thoughts back to the present, slamming a hand down on
the dresser. He had been played…duped.

“So, that’s how you did it.”

One brief invite was all the newcomer needed to gain access.

You shielded yourself. How?

Corin’s biggest challenge lay in not being able to sense the clever nightwalker. He could only imagine the degree of power the immortal possessed, enabling him to shield his presence from other nightwalkers in such a way. This left Corin wondering if he might be from an age-old clan, or even from an unknown race of immortals possessing powers far superior to his own. Nevertheless, learning the newcomer’s lineage or what powers he possessed would change nothing at this point. The fiend had now made this fight personal. Disadvantaged or not, Corin intended to see it through to the bitter end. But at present, there was nothing more he could do till sunset. So in his perturbed state, he proceeded to undress, climbed into the crypt, and slept within the comforting confines of the earth. His rest would not be peaceful, but it would be productive. He needed to be at his peak, mentally and physically, prepared for anything that the nightwalker might throw at him. This newcomer had deceived him, invaded his domain with cruel intent, and stolen from him.

May the best nightwalker win.

Chapter Eight

Boldor Enescu

Boldor Enescu had been walking the earth for nearly three hundred years. Although not the ancient Corin was, he was still well versed in his species. Holding an unfair advantage over other immortals, he had the ability to shield his presence, disguise what he was. He possessed this power by means of a charm he’d obtained through thievery. While using the name Karlot, he’d infiltrated the Order of the Clythguard—a special league of nightwalkers—with the aid of a partner associated with the society. Together, they’d devised a plan to gain the trust of the Order, all in a malicious scheme to steal the mystical relic right out from under their noses. It was a phenomenal feat, and to date, his proudest achievement.

Boldor had made many enemies over his lifespan, human and otherwise, for it
was his nature to cheat, steal, and kill. He even prided himself on his abhorrent talents and abilities. Chased out of his homeland of Turkey more than fifty years earlier, he fled to the lands of the Americas where he found a bountiful reservoir of fresh blood for the taking. Boldor could have sought refuge in any of several bordering countries, but he figured that in this new “land of opportunity” he could start over with his freedom intact, and more importantly, with his head remaining right where it needed to be—resting safe and secure on his shoulders.

Boldor had never managed to acquire the worth and means Corin had built
over the last several hundred years. Unlike von Vadim, he didn’t have the patience to wait for his wealth to accumulate over time, finding it easier to just take what he wanted rather than work for it. So he robbed and stole his fortunes, filching from unsuspecting prey, his wanton acts keeping him on the run. He had been considerably fortunate at various aspects of his life, but was never apt to hold onto his riches, always squandering the bounty away.

Once upon a time, Boldor had even been an aristocrat, but when he’d
murdered a fellow Turk over a simple dispute, he’d been stripped of his title and thrown into prison. However, possessing abilities that enabled him to pull a convenient disappearing act, he’d escaped from his cell before dawn. And today, he was still running, only now it was from the tenacious Marshal Jordon Black. Unlike other lawmen before him, the marshal had a special talent for tracking, not allowing Boldor a moment of peace in the past two years. Staying ahead of Black wasn’t always easy, the man was a bulldog, and Boldor knew there was no way he would ever give up the chase.

* * * *

Where were you last night, Angel?” Tomes probed.

“I was restless, so I took a drive.” Angelique offered no further details.

“Well, I found your note and I’ve been waiting for this Louis Gomez fellow for over an hour. I don’t think he’s going to show.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She spooned a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “Weird. He
seemed so interested in hiring you.”

“He must have changed his mind.”

“Maybe, but he could have at least called.”

“I wish he had. I’ve wasted time I could be putting to much better use. Where
did you meet this guy, anyway?”

“In the grocery store.”

“Well, if I’m reading this situation right, I’d say this Louis Gomez fellow was probably more interested in obtaining your services than mine.”

“Tomes, you’re such a child. And it wasn’t like that. We had a minor mishap. I
accidentally ran my cart into his, which led to conversation—him telling me how he’d just purchased an older home and was looking to renovate. He was a complete gentleman. Honestly, I don’t know about you sometimes,” she groused.

Tomes laughed and she loved hearing it.

“But all jokes aside, I thought he’d be here.”

“Well, it’s too bad he didn’t show. I was looking over the books this morning
and our account’s running a little low.”

“That’s an understatement. But I don’t want you pushing yourself.
I told him it would be a couple of weeks before you could start. Till then, we’ll get by.”

“Thanks, Angel. But we both know we’re slowly sinking. If it gets any more
critical, we’ll be forced to sell a couple of the foals sooner than expected. We might even have to let go of one of the mares. Dale Wickerton, over at Little Water Ranch, has had his eye on Dixie Long for quite some time.”

“No, Tomes, not Dixie Long. I’d hate giving her up,” Angelique protested. “She
gives us our best foals. And Wickerton is our biggest competitor. That would really hurt us in the long run.”

“I know. And trust me, letting her go will be a last resort,” he assured her. “I’ll
go later today and enter us in next month's show. In the meantime, I do have some work lined up with von Vadim.”

“He told me he was interested in hiring you, but I wasn’t sure you’d take him
up on it.”

“Well, work is work. And beggars can’t be choosers. Who knows, maybe this
Mr. Gomez will still get in touch. What sort of person was he?”

“He was nice, I’d guess around thirty
. Dark features, tall and thin. He talked with a foreign accent.”

“Where was he from?”

“I didn’t think to ask. If I had to guess, I’d say he was European. You would have liked his car. When I was leaving, he waved to me in the parking lot while getting into a nice-looking blue Camaro.” She remembered admiring it.

“A
Camaro?” Tomes’s voice grew serious. “What color blue? Was it light, dark, what?”

“Not too dark. I’d say it was sort of a grayish-blue color.”

“Dusty-blue…did it look dusty-blue?” Tomes pressed.