Into the Rift

by Cynthia Garner

  “Kester!” Sirina struggled against her guards’ inflexible hold. “Please let me talk to him. Please,” she repeated when the men kept urging her along.

  Her brother looked as traumatized as she felt, his face pale, his eyes wild. By the looks of his disheveled uniform he’d put up a struggle when they’d come for him.

  Sirina jerked her arms, trying to dislodge her escorts. “I’ll confess,” she said, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’ll confess to whatever you want, just let him go. Kester had nothing to do with anything.”

  “That decision isn’t ours to make,” one of the guards muttered, hatred hardening his voice. “Besides, you got what you deserved, Avasan.”

  She gave a final glance over her shoulder in time to see her brother led into the room she’d just left. Then she looked at the guard who’d spoken to her. “What I deserve?”

  “For being in collusion with the assassin.” His lips twisted, and for a moment she thought he was going to spit on her. But he didn’t. Relief lightened her dread, but only for the briefest of moments.

  “I wasn’t involved. I’m innocent!”

  “I thought you just said you’d confess.” His eyes glittered with antipathy.

  The men stopped in front of a metal door before one of them breathed into a security lock. A blue light flashed three times and then remained lit, signaling that the unit accepted the minute traces of DNA in the moisture in his breath. The door snicked and slid open with a soft whir.

  Her escorts walked her into the room. “Here’s another one,” the surly guard said to a technician. “Where do you want her?”

  “Over there.”

  The men walked her over to the shiny exam table the tech had pointed to. The shackles were taken off one of her wrists and attached to a metal ring on the side of the table. Without another word the security officers left the room.

  Sirina stood there, feeling the cold tiles of the antiseptic lab floor seeping through the skin of her bare soles. She swiped drying tears from her cheeks and looked around, trying not to break into fresh sobs. She was scared, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She knew the only reason she was here was because she was related to Natchook. His escape plan had worked, and the authorities were rounding up his relatives in retaliation for his crime. Otherwise the charge against her would have been co-conspirator instead of sedition.

  One of the techs walked toward Sirina, a syringe in her gloved hand. Sirina backed away, only a step before she was stopped by the manacle around her wrist. “I… Please don’t do this,” she whispered, setting her imploring gaze on the tech. “Please. I’m not guilty.” Tears she’d been able to suppress trembled on her lashes.

  “I’m sorry.” The woman seemed genuinely remorseful. “I have to, or I’ll be in dereliction of duty.”

  “Let me guess. Punishment for that is being rifted?” In spite of Sirina’s best efforts, a tear plopped onto her cheek.

  “Gods.” The woman glanced down and shook her head, then looked at Sirina again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She jabbed the needle into Sirina’s arm and pressed the plunger home. Pulling the syringe away, she motioned to a couple of security guards standing just inside the doorway. “Get her onto the table for me, please.”

  The room spun as the two men lifted Sirina onto the metal gurney. The ceiling continued to whirl, and she realized she could no longer stand on her own.

  “Let’s get the machines connected,” she heard the female tech say, and the exam table began to move. Sirina’s wrists and ankles were immobilized, and a heavy, thick strap went over her waist. She had little room to move even if she’d had her wits about her. Electrode patches were attached to her forehead and chest, and a central line ran into the back of her right hand. “We’ve found that if we draw blood from the subjects first, the transition goes a little more… smoothly,” the tech said.

  How smoothly could having your soul sucked out of your body possibly go? Sirina started to ask that, but her eyelids kept drooping. She turned her head to blearily watch the blood—her blood—flow down the tube and into a clear container. This was the end, then? She bled out, and whatever was left was sent through the rift?

  White-hot agony seared through her, wrenching her from her lethargy. It was as if flaming pokers skewered her body at every joint, through each muscle. Her body bowed. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a low groan came out. She writhed in her restraints, trying in desperation to get free, to get away from whatever was causing such pain.

  A slash of fire ripped through her, then… nothing. No pain. Just a feeling of peace, of floating. She was aware of her surroundings but couldn’t feel anything. She had the sense of being contained yet couldn’t feel a floor under her feet or bars beneath her fingers.

  She wanted to ask what was happening but couldn’t find her voice. After a short time she became aware of others around her. Not in any physical form, but rather a spiritual one. She could sense hundreds of life forces, and one that was familiar to her.

  Kester.

  But she couldn’t see anything, couldn’t touch anything. Which meant she was in her incorporeal form and awaiting the opening of the rift.

  Chapter Four

  1866

  Sirina groaned and slowly opened her eyes. She blinked, trying to focus her gaze. Cold, rough brick grazed her fingertips, and she realized she was sitting on the ground. She struggled to her feet, the layers of her skirt and petticoats wet from puddles of rain on the road.

  She stumbled back a few steps to lean against the wall of a three-story building. Things seemed strange, yet somehow familiar. She had memories of walking these streets, yet it was as if the memories were not hers but someone else’s. As far as she could see along this narrow road, multistory houses stood next to each other like sentries against the chill. Thick black smoke rose from chimneys in those houses, leaving the smell of charred wood in the air and a light coating of soot on surfaces. A costermonger hawked fruit and vegetables from a handcart a few doors down, and a horse-drawn wagon rumbled past her, the driver staring at her from beneath the brim of his cap as he went by. Two roughly dressed men stepped onto the paved sidewalk to avoid the wagon. One of them bumped into her and knocked her against the wall, barely a mumbled apology leaving his lips before he hurried to catch up to his companion.

  What was going on? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was being taken to the detention center and charged with sedition. No, wait, there was more. She’d been dragged down a hallway to…

  Kester! Her brother had been there, too. But why?

  She rubbed her eyes with one hand, wincing at the iciness of her fingers against her face. She squinted against the weak light filtering through the overcast sky. A break in the clouds showed her a large yellow sun.

  Yellow? She shaded her face and stared. The star that Avasa circled was blue, not yellow.

  Her eyes widened in shock. She remembered. Her life force—everything that made her who she was—had been removed from her body and put into a holding cell to await the next rift. That she stood here, once again flesh and blood, could only mean she was no longer on Avasa. The rift must have opened and all those in the holding cells had been dragged into the other dimension. This dimension.

  She had no memory of traveling through the rift or of entering this woman. Yet she somehow had ended up with this new body on a new planet. She looked down at herself and saw clothing she had never seen before—a dull, drab brown skirt that fell to her ankles and scuffed button-up shoes. A wilted flower was tucked into the top buttonhole of her striped tan and brown jacket.

  “Oy!”

  She looked up to see a woman dressed in a long black skirt and dingy white blouse, a little straw hat askew on her disheveled red hair. She walked toward Sirina, her unsteady steps suggesting she’d imbibed a little too freely of whatever passed for alcoholic beverages in this place.

  “What d’ya think yer doin’, ’ere on my street?” The woman st
opped in front of her, arms akimbo. “Get on back to Buck’s Row wi’ ya.”

  “What?” Sirina frowned. The woman’s accent was strange, the language unfamiliar to her ears, yet somehow she understood it. She could only think it was because the woman whose body she now inhabited was also still there, still and silent but cognizant of what was happening.

  “You ’eard me, Victoria. Get on back to yer own street.” She stared at Sirina, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “You’d be’er no’ let the bobbies see you like this. They’ll ’aul you off to the workhouse, they will.”

  “I…” Sirina shook her head. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  The woman’s scowl deepened. “What’re you playin’ at?” She walked closer until she stood an arm’s length away. She peered at Sirina’s face, her belligerence fading. “You all right, luv? You look a bit pale.”

  Sirina gave a slow shake of her head. “No, no, I don’t think I am.” She took a few steps away from the woman and stopped in front of the window of a closed millinery shop. The woman who stared back at her was a complete stranger. Her skin wasn’t the dusky blue she remembered. It was… pink. Pale. With small spots across her nose. Her hair was now dark brown, not the vibrant yellow she used to have. She turned her head and looked at her companion. “What did you call me?”

  The woman moved closer. “Victoria. Don’t you remember?”

  Sirina turned and looked at her reflection again. “No,” she responded in a whisper.

  “You’re Victoria Joseph.” The woman grimaced at Sirina’s confusion. She glanced down the street.

  Sirina followed her gaze to see her staring at a uniformed constable. He wore a truncheon at his waist, and his gaze seemed to be narrowed on them.

  The woman cleared her throat and looked at Sirina again. “Look, I gotta go. You’ll be all right then, won’tcha?” Without waiting for a response, she gave Sirina a sympathetic look and walked away.

  Sirina thought about the name the woman had called her and turned it over in her mind. Victoria. Victoria Joseph. Little by little her mind continued to clear and the memories of her host came flooding back.

  Her father had called her…

  Tori. His little queen. But her father had been dead for years now, long before Tori had met and married John Joseph. Then John had left her to fend for herself, and being without skills she had to turn to the only commodity she could sell.

  Herself.

  Shame bubbled up within Sirina—remembered shame from her host, Tori, and new shame that she might still have to live this way until she determined a new course. Her stomach clenched. At first she thought it was emotional, but she soon realized it was due to hunger.

  This host body was thin and malnourished. It was time to get some food. She glanced around and didn’t see anything but residences. An aroma wafted to her and she lifted her head, sniffing the air.

  Meat. She smelled meat. Gathering up her skirts, she followed the scent until she stopped at a butcher shop a few streets over. Huge slabs of meat hung from hooks along the front windows. Even more were piled in a large bin on a table to the right of the door.

  By the smell, the animals had been slaughtered days ago. Decay had begun, sending up an odor to her nostrils that shouldn’t have been so appealing, but it was. Her eyes began to burn and a low growl worked its way up from her chest. The scent in the air made her want to bury her face in a side of beef and fill her belly.

  As soon as that thought hit her, she backed away in horror. She couldn’t really be thinking of eating raw meat, could she? What kind of world was this? What had she become?

  And where were Kester and Natchook? Who were they? Wherever they were, could Jarrad T’heone be far behind?

  Even if she had the faintest notion of how to go about looking for them, would she recognize any of them? They all were different now, with different names. And this place… This place was so primitive. There were no motorized vehicles that she could see, no communication hubs, no signs of the technology she was used to. Just row after row of dingy buildings and crowds of tired, sad people going about their business.

  She stared at her surroundings with unseeing eyes. She was alone in a strange, possibly hostile place. A place where she felt wildness stirring deep inside her, a ferociousness like that of a feral beast.

  This new world, and her place in it, would take some getting used to. “Victoria,” she whispered. She started walking, not knowing where she was going but feeling the need to move. “My name is Victoria. Tori.”

  Chapter Five

  146 Years Later

  After a long day of handling recalcitrant werewolves, Victoria “Tori” Joseph let herself into her rental home and drew in a deep breath, shedding her role as liaison to the Council of Preternaturals for a few hours. Her trip through the rift had turned her into a werewolf. As it turned out, all Avasans who came through the rift became werewolves upon inhabiting humans. They were strong. Capable. No longer under the rule of Talis, their destinies were their own to determine.

  Now she had a reputable job. Considering the work she’d done on Avasa, working for the government was right up her alley. But even with her contacts she hadn’t been able to find her family.

  She’d been feeling particularly lonely lately, having finally given up on ever being able to find her family. She hadn’t seen her brother or her cousin since she’d come to Earth. She’d been alone for a hundred and forty-six years now and likely would remain alone the rest of her life.

  She had resigned herself to that, but sometimes the feelings of alienation were nearly overwhelming. At times like this she needed to be around a crowd, to pick up some of their frenetic energy so she could feel connected to something again.

  After a long, hot shower she styled her hair in an updo, put on a barely there black dress and high heels, and headed to the trendiest place in town—the Devil’s Domain.

  After walking through the front door, she paused, letting the sounds and smells of the club filter through her senses. She looked around, not only checking for people she knew but also to make note of trouble spots. So far everyone seemed to be behaving themselves.

  Wait. There was a ruckus near the bar. Another council liaison, Nix de la Fuente, had one of the vampire bartenders down on one knee, his arm wrenched behind his back. Even as Tori moved forward, Nix’s expression went from battle ready to sheepish before letting the vamp go. She handed the bartender a wallet and said something to which the vampire responded with a quick roll of his eyes. Nix started to walk away, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

  With her enhanced sense of smell, Tori could detect the distinct scent of vinegar emanating from Nix. Although Nix was only half demon, her demon traits oftentimes overshadowed her human ones. Demons released smells dependent upon their moods, and the smell of vinegar only meant the poor thing was embarrassed. Tori guessed it was because she felt stupid in front of her old lover, Tobias Caine, who was standing nearby. Seeing her retreat, he had turned to go with her.

  Tobias was the human host Jarrad T’heone had taken. From what he’d told her, he’d gone into the body after the man had been gunned down and died. The act of possession, in Tobias’s case, had given new life where there had been none.

  He and Tori had made peace with each other a long time ago and had even become friends. Unlike the Talisian government, he hadn’t held it against her that the assassin Natchook was her cousin. Thoughts of Natchook led to thoughts of Kester, which brought back the sadness that never seemed far away.

  With a lift of her chin she reminded herself that she’d come here tonight to have fun. Heading over to say hello to Nix and Tobias, she caught him staring, his expression one of surprise and male appreciation. With a mischievous smile she gave him a slow wink.

  But hold the phone. Who was that fine specimen standing with them? Tori hadn’t seen the man before this moment, and she wondered if he had come into the club with the pair. Tori smoothed one hand down her hip and came to a stop a fe
w feet behind the man in question. Tall, with dark hair and the finest ass she’d ever seen and broad shoulders that were pure temptation. Lust welled within her and she had to fight it down. It wouldn’t do for her to meet a new human with the amber of the wolf in her eyes.

  She heard Nix call out her name and she smiled. “Nix. Tobias.” She glanced at the human who had turned at the sound of her voice. His front was as delicious as his back. “Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” She had to fight to keep her voice calm because this man with the banked desire in his dark eyes ruined her composure six ways to Sunday.

  Tobias’s lips twitched. “This is Detective Dante MacMillan, a member of the Special Case squad.” He motioned toward Victoria. “Dante, this is Victoria Joseph, another council liaison.”

  Her heart knocked against her ribs and her breathing grew shallow. She registered these new reactions even as she moved closer to shake his outstretched hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective.”

  The human police officer stared at her a moment, his gaze drinking her in, before he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to her knuckles. “Please, call me Dante,” he said. His voice was a bass rumble that rasped against her nerve endings all the way to her toes. “And the pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Joseph.”

  “My friends call me Tori.” She gave him a flirty look from beneath her lashes.

  He drew in a breath. “My friends call me Dante, but you can call me anything you’d like, darlin’.” His eyes glittered with carnal interest.

  A shiver worked its way down Tori’s spine and sparked a response deep inside her. This might just be the beginning of something very special.

  Half demon, half human, Nix de la Fuente solves crimes between the world’s mortals and its most unsavory undead. But a string of murders bring her face-to-face with the one vampire she could never resist…