Otherworld Challenger (10 page)

Swinging her bag up onto her shoulder, she marched away from the house and out onto the jetty. By the time Jethro joined her, she had reached the foot-tapping stage of annoyance. Tanzi would have recognized the warning signs. Jethro barely glanced in her direction as he placed their bags in the boat. When he sprang lightly down into the little vessel and reached up a hand to help her down, Vashti ignored him.

He appeared not to notice, turning away to start the engine as she joined him in the boat. Once they set off, Vashti looked back at de Loix Island as it grew smaller in the distance. From the water, it was easier to appreciate the beauty of the cedar-log house, sitting high on the island, commanding views across the surrounding bay. Despite Iago having found them there, it was the first place in the mortal realm where she had felt safe. She had also learned a thing or two about herself. She experienced a faint tug of sadness knowing she would never return.
Tanzi was right. We can care. We just have to be placed in the right situations to discover it.
The thought no longer had the power to shock her. Instead it was strangely comforting.

Risking a glimpse at Jethro, she found he was staring at her. Even though his face remained impassive, there was a searing intensity in the dark depths of his eyes. He looked as though he was about to say something. Vashti's breath hitched in anticipation...then the shutters came down and he looked away.

When they reached the boathouse, Jethro finally spoke. “Wait in the boat while I check the place out. Iago might have been here ahead of us.” When she opened her mouth to protest, his expression softened slightly. “Please? I know how the place should look. It will be quicker if I do it alone.”

Grudgingly, Vashti agreed. Jethro disappeared inside, reemerging again after a few minutes to signal everything was fine. Vashti tossed their bags up to him and this time allowed him to take her hand so he could help her onto the decking at the rear of the boathouse. Anything else would have resulted in an undignified scramble. “Has Iago been here?”

“If he has, I can't see any signs. I need to check the bike over, but tampering with vehicles isn't Iago's style. It's not theatrical enough.”

They went inside and Jethro wheeled the bike out onto the grass at the front of the boathouse. Vashti watched as he gave it a thorough examination before pronouncing it sound. She was struck again by his hands. She'd seen those hands do many things. They were strong and capable, nimble as they fiddled with the bike's valves and gears. Vashti recalled their gentleness with Bertha. Her mouth went suddenly dry as she thought of those long fingers on her own body...she looked away abruptly as a wave of pure lust hit her.

Oblivious to what she was feeling, Jethro stowed their belongings in the cargo box and handed Vashti a helmet. She remembered he'd said he had something he needed to do before they went to see Gillespie. “Where are we going?”

“It's something I have to do. A promise I made.”

That was it? That was all he was prepared to tell her? He was still being strong and silent? Of all the emotions Vashti was feeling, frustration was the one that fizzed to the surface. “Do you have to do this whole enigmatic thing every time?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean why do I have to pry everything out of you? Just for once can't you volunteer something? A little snippet? Like where we're going? What you're doing? How you're feeling—?”

She broke off as he grabbed her by her upper arm, and hauled her to him. “You want to know how I'm feeling? Okay, I'll tell you. I'm feeling like my whole fucking world got turned upside down this morning. By you. Like I want you every minute, with every breath I take. I can't stand to be near you and not touch you.” Just as Vashti relaxed against him, he let out a shuddering breath. “But I don't
want
to want you. I don't do needing. This is not who I am—”

His words were cut short as Vashti pressed her fingers to his lips. “I wanted information, not a grand declaration. This isn't the time for soul searching. Not with Iago snapping at our heels. Let's stick to where we're going, shall we?”

Some of the anguish went out of his expression and he gave a shaky laugh. “What the hell are you doing to me?” The words came out as though torn from him against his will. “Emotional speeches are not my style. Not usually, anyway.” He released her, his expression still slightly disbelieving. “We're going to visit a place near the old village of Head Tide. It will take too long to explain, but it'll become clear when we get there. Now, can we get going before a deadly cobra emerges from the cargo box or Iago bursts out of the woods in his latest grizzly bear disguise?”

He didn't add, “Or Moncoya turns up with his henchmen in tow?” He didn't need to. They were both thinking it.

Once they were out on the open road, Jethro kicked the bike up a gear so the scenery flashed past. Vashti gave herself up to the sensation of speed and his nearness, splaying her fingers across the iron-hard ridges of his abdominal muscles.
So you want me, but you're fighting it? That's okay.
A smile touched her lips.
We both enjoy a challenge, and we're evenly matched. But just so we're clear, my big, hot necromancer, there will only be one winner in this contest. And she's sitting right behind you.

Chapter 9

T
he mansion resembled a child's dollhouse with its square shape, symmetrical features and perfectly maintained white-clapboard exterior and extensive gardens. Beyond the house itself, Vashti glimpsed the sparkling curve of a river wending its way in the distance. It was an idyllic location and the sound of distant children's laughter filling the air added to the perfection of the scene.

Jethro left the bike in a small-car parking area and they followed a path around to the front of the house. A brass sign beside the door welcomed them to Toussaint House. A small plaque underneath bore the words “Established 1863.”

“What is this place?” The atmosphere was so calm and tranquil Vashti almost felt she should whisper in case the sound of her voice shattered the peace.

“Toussaint House was originally the Toussaint Home for Young War Orphans. It was founded by Bertha during a civil war that tore this country apart.” Jethro rang a bell at the side of the door. “Rather in the same way we anticipate your dynasty could be devastated if the return of the challenger is not handled correctly.”

“Toussaint?”

“Bertha's maiden name. Her family were great philanthropists.”

The sound of footsteps from within ended their conversation. The door was opened by a young woman whose face lit up when she saw Jethro. “Mr. de Loix, what a pleasant surprise!” Her hand went instinctively to her hair, smoothing it. “We weren't expecting you.”

“This is a brief visit, Ella. I was in the area and I wanted to see if there was anything you needed.”

They stepped into a wide, bright hallway. A broad arch spanned the center and the dark wood antique furnishings included a huge grandfather clock that sat on the first turn of the galleried staircase. A series of framed portraits lined the walls. The atmosphere was calm and organized; the air redolent of furniture polish and baking.

“Toussaint House is one of the few remaining privately run orphanages in the state,” Jethro explained to Vashti. “Ella is responsible for the day-to-day running of the home on behalf of the board of trustees.” Obviously feeling an introduction was required, he continued. “Miss—” he flashed a wicked grin in Vashti's direction “—Moncoya here is an independent observer. She's come along to assure herself I conduct all of my activities in an ethical manner.”

Ella, who was clearly devoted to her employer, bristled slightly and regarded Vashti with a look that was decidedly less than friendly. “You are welcome to observe any aspect of what we do here. Perhaps you'd like to see the children?” Without waiting for an answer, she led them through the hall and into a vast dining room. Opening the French windows at the rear of this room, Ella gestured to Jethro and Vashti to step forward onto the terrace beyond.

The gardens, which sloped down to the river's edge, had been allowed to grow into a semblance of wilderness. Although there were pathways through the shrubs and trees, they were overhung with branches and resembled tunnels and mazes. Groups of children were engaged in various pursuits including climbing trees, wading at the water's edge and cutting back some of the thicker shrubs.

“We have up to thirty children here at any one time, varying in age from between five to twelve years,” Ella explained as they observed the activity. “Our specialty is that we take children who are hard to place in foster care. Children who have, for whatever reason, been traumatized by their life experiences and may have developed behavior problems. Our goal is to place them with adoptive parents and we have a high success rate.”

“You don't seem to use conventional teaching methods here,” Vashti commented as a group of children pushing carts piled high with leaves walked past them. They were red-faced with exertion and their laughter and chatter was infectious.

“Our founder, Bertha de Loix, believed children who have experienced severe mental stress need to learn life skills and have fun before they can face academic learning. We use a combination of both types of education here.”

As they watched, Jethro asked Ella questions about the administration of the orphanage. Vashti listened with half an ear. So this was the reason why he wanted that million-dollar bounty from the Alliance. He needed it to maintain this haven. And she had thought him grasping. The thought humbled her. Every day she was with him brought a fresh revelation about this man. Gradually the layers of privacy were being stripped away and she was seeing more of the real Jethro de Loix.

“We have to go.” Jethro jerked his head and they walked back through to the hall.

Vashti paused in front of the portraits. The largest canvas was of a woman in a traditional pose. Although she had been much younger when the picture had been painted, Vashti recognized Bertha. It was the central portrait that drew her attention, however. Clad in a soldier's uniform and sporting a mustache, the man in the painting was unmistakable. The artist had perfectly captured the devil-may-care arrogance that was the essence of Jethro.

“The likeness is remarkable, isn't it?” Ella asked. “Everyone comments on it.” She turned to Jethro. “This gentleman was...what? Your great-great-grandfather?” He managed a noncommittal smile as an answer. Turning to Vashti, Ella held out her hand in a formal gesture. “I hope your visit has been a productive one? Although I am surprised you have come so soon after your colleague.”

“One of her colleagues has been here recently?” Jethro asked and Vashti's heart rate kicked up a notch as she sensed the matching tension in Jethro's frame.

“Yes, just yesterday. Such a pleasant man. He was so interested in everything we do.” Ella turned her head to smile at Jethro. “I almost forgot. He asked me to pass on his regards to you. He was most insistent about it.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Ella frowned in an effort to concentrate. “I don't. How odd. It's not like me to forget someone's name. I'm not sure he told me...but he signed the visitor's book.” She led them to a grand oak desk at the side of the front door. Opening a book that lay on the polished surface, she tapped the page with one fingertip. “Here it is.” A crease appeared between her brows as she read what was written. “I hadn't looked at it until now. What a strange thing to write.”

Jethro leaned over so he, too, could see what had been written. Concerned at the sudden change in his expression, Vashti read the words aloud. “‘They are all gone away, There is nothing more to say.'”
She glanced from Jethro to Ella. “I don't understand. What does it mean?”

“It's a line from a poem by Edward Arlington Robinson who was born here in Head Tide in 1869,” Ella explained.

“We have to get going. Right now.” Grabbing Vashti by the hand, Jethro propelled her out the door. They barely paused to say goodbye to Ella, who stared after them in consternation.

Vashti was forced to break into a run to keep up with Jethro as they made their way back to the bike. “Is it Iago?”

“I'd put money on it.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to the old de Loix house.” He paused next to the bike, catching his breath. “That bastard has gone after Bertha and Gillespie.”

“How do you know?” The anxiety gripping his features was painful to see.

“Because the title of Robinson's poem is ‘The House on the Hill.'”

* * *

The last time they had passed through Darwen, the town had seemed to be slumbering away a lazy, late morning. This time, when they arrived, the afternoon was well advanced and there was an energy about the place that was at odds with its former atmosphere. It wasn't a pleasant mood. There was a dark, sinister feeling that made Vashti want to keep glancing over her shoulder. Or maybe it was the knowledge of Iago's nearness that made her feel that way. Possibly it was the fact that the main street appeared to be filled with miniature ghosts, vampires and hobgoblins.

“Who are all these people?” Vashti moved closer to Jethro, eyeing the oddly dressed passersby with suspicion.

“Trick or treaters. It's a Halloween tradition. Don't worry, they're just kids dressed up. This is the early crowd. The serious ones come out after dark.”

Vashti sidestepped a child in a bedsheet who carried a miniature bucket that was overflowing with candy. “I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about some of these.”

“With good reason. There'll be some chronic stomachaches later.” Although the words were light, that tension was still there. His whole body was like a coiled spring and Vashti knew that he was waiting for Iago to make his move. Or for what they would find when they reached the old house.

“Could Iago actually harm Bertha or Gillespie?” she asked as they commenced the steep climb out of town. The feeling of walking into peril took a grip on Vashti's imagination as the squeals and laughter of the main street faded. “They are already dead.”

“As well as being a trickster, Iago is a necromancer. He's as powerful as I am. I haven't seen him at work, but Lorcan has. He told me Iago is capable of controlling a dozen zombies using the power of his thoughts.”

Jethro's words conjured up an image too awful to contemplate. If Iago could wield that sort of power, what could he do to poor, confused Bertha and courteous Gillespie? “Why is Iago so evil? What made him this way?” All Vashti knew was that Iago's story was tied into the legend of King Arthur.

“He is one of the two sons of Mordred, the illegitimate son of King Arthur and the notorious sorceress known as Morgan le Fay.”

That stirred something in the depths of Vashti's memory. “That can't be right. Morgan le Fay was King Arthur's half sister.”

“They had a relationship before they knew they were related. Mordred was the result. Not surprisingly, it didn't make for a happy outcome.”

Vashti grimaced. “And I thought my family was dysfunctional.”

“Mordred was killed by Cal at the battle of Camlan, just after he struck the blow that felled Arthur. Bizarrely, when Cal took Arthur to Avalon, it was Morgan le Fay who nursed him. That's the point at which conflicting legends kick in. Some say she saved him and he still lives. Others say he died and was laid to rest on Avalon. Another story is he lies sleeping, waiting for a time when he is needed. When that day comes, Arthur will rise up and once again become the greatest king the world has known.”

They had reached the point on the hill where the weather vane on top of the de Loix house peeked through the trees. The sense of malevolence was tangible. Vashti felt as if she could reach out a hand and touch the darkness created by Iago's hidden presence. The soaring trees hid their secrets well. Even the awakening creatures of the night fell silent in anticipation.

Just as he had done when they'd come to the house the first time, Jethro held out his hand and, with real gratitude, Vashti twined her fingers with his. Jethro raised his other hand and, in that way that was unique to necromancers, lit their path. When they followed the path to the house, despite the near darkness, the ramshackle old building looked much as it had the previous day. But it wasn't. They both knew it. The circle of menace was closing in on them.

“You said my presence strengthens your instincts.” Jethro turned to face Vashti, taking both her hands in his. “What do you feel?”

The force of her response almost threw Vashti off her feet. “Iago. He is close and he is not alone.”

“You asked why Iago is evil.” Jethro's gaze locked on hers steadied Vashti's out-of-control emotions. “You were there, that day on Spae, when Iago told us he'd been raised on Avalon by Morgan le Fay and her half sister Niniane. Believe me, either one of those two could turn a saint into a sinner with a single look. Together they were concentrated malevolence. Give them a child to raise? If he wasn't determined to ruin the lives of people I care about, I could almost pity Iago.”

As if on cue, and in mockery of Jethro's sympathetic words, an explosion tore the roof off the house, shattering the calm of the surrounding forest and sending a volcano of flames and sparks shooting into the darkening sky. It was a pyrotechnic spectacle of epic proportion. With one accord, Jethro and Vashti broke into a run toward the building.

When they reached the house, Jethro paused, holding Vashti back with an arm across her waist before she could bound up the steps. The sight that greeted them was pitiful. The blast had completely destroyed the roof, causing it to collapse in on itself. Bright cinders and billowing smoke were already pouring from the space. The air thrummed with the tang of wanton destruction.

Vashti placed a hand on Jethro's restraining arm, pointing toward the ruin. From within the clouds of smoke, Gillespie staggered down the steps and came toward them, carrying Bertha in his arms. She was struggling to get away from him.

“She wouldn't leave.” The words were a harsh rasp, as if the smoke had penetrated his throat. “Even now, she refuses to be parted from her beloved home.”

Jethro stepped forward, his face tight with a combination of pain and fury. Vashti sensed his frustration that he could not relieve Gillespie of his burden by taking Bertha from him. When a body had no substance, only another phantom could hold it. Her heart ached for Jethro, knowing he longed to comfort his parents with an embrace he could never give.

Instead, Jethro became brisk. “We don't have much time. The bastard who did this won't stop now. Let me send her to Otherworld. At least you know she'll be safe in the phantom realm.”

“What about the two of you?” Gillespie glanced from Jethro to Vashti, concern on his face.

“We're looking forward to meeting up with him again,” Vashti assured him, her voice grim. She hoped Iago could hear her.

“Very well.” Gillespie nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Ghosts are more fortunate than the rest of us. You don't need to find a portal to Otherworld. You can go there any time you choose. I'll persuade Bertha the time has come for her to leave the mortal realm for good. Then all you have to do is depart together.”