Otherworld Challenger (11 page)

“Will it hurt her?” Gillespie looked down at the figure in his arms. Bertha had begun to tire and her desperate writhing turned to quiet sobbing as she looked back at her ruined home.

“She won't like it, but she will not be harmed,” Jethro promised him. Stepping closer, he held his hand above Bertha's head. “
Afaran.
Depart this place.” His voice was soft and compassionate.

Bertha shuddered into awareness. “No!” Her eyes were wide and pleading. She turned her head to look reproachfully up at her husband's face. “You promised I would not have to go. The fae one will seek me out...” Her voice drifted through confusion into nothingness.

“Take care, my son.” Gillespie held up a hand in farewell as the two ghostly figures faded into the surrounding dusk.

As they faded away, Vashti spoke quietly. “How is it you don't do love when you have had such a perfect example of it before you all your life?”

“I've wondered about that. It's as if something deep inside me is broken.” He looked down into her eyes. “Almost as if I've had a bad experience, but I've never been in love.”

“Sorry. That question was way too deep for this situation.” The two figures had gone completely now and Vashti reached out instinctively for Jethro's hand. “What now?”

His fingers closed around hers. “Now we wait.”

* * *

While they waited for Iago to become visible and make his move, Jethro's emotions swung back and forth on a pendulum between relief he had Vashti, a seasoned and ruthless fighter, at his side, and concern for her welfare. How did that happen? At what point had he gone from feelings of irritation at having her presence forced on him to caring about what happened to her? And why the hell hadn't he noticed the change creeping up on him? Because now it was too late. He was backed into a corner with someone who mattered. A lot. And the evil trickster who was toying with him would not only know it...he would use it to his advantage.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” Vashti had been facing away from him but at Jethro's exclamation, she swung around to face him.

He shook his head. How could he explain? The expletive had been wrung from him at the realization Iago would sense Jethro's weakness and go after Vashti first. Would the fact she was the daughter of Iago's ally, Moncoya, count in her favor? Jethro almost laughed aloud at the thought. This was Moncoya. The King of the Faeries had killed his own wife when she tried to leave him. He had tried to sell Vashti's twin sister to the devil. He wouldn't think twice about sacrificing his daughter if it meant winning a fight.

Could he tell Vashti to go? Get out of here? Leave him to deal with this? Jethro almost laughed out loud. First, at his chances of Vashti listening to him and, second, at the possibility Iago would leave her alone so she could escape to safety. No, they were in this together. He gripped her hand harder and Vashti gave him a questioning glance. Jethro returned the look with a reassuring smile. Despite his misgivings, together was how he liked it.

“What did Bertha mean when she said the fae one would be able to find her now?”

“Who knows? Her mind is so full of holes it's like a fragile piece of old lace. Even when she does speak, she'll say things that only make sense to her. I guess that was one of those things.”

He could see Vashti wasn't convinced, but a debate about the state of Bertha's mental health was not to be forthcoming. There were voices—normal, mortal voices—coming toward them along the path that lead from the road and he could see flashlights bobbing through the trees. A dog barked and someone shushed it nervously. Obviously a group of townsfolk had decided to make their way up the hill to find out what was going on.

“Damn. I suppose it was too much to hope Iago's little fireworks display wouldn't attract attention down in the town.” He sighed. “I do not want any innocent bystanders caught up in his games.”

“I think it might be too late.”

She was right. The shadows around them had started to undulate, flickering like candlelight in a breeze. Jethro could feel the darkness pounding in his blood. He knew that feeling. Vampires. Older than sin and twice as deadly. Within seconds there were dozens of beautiful vampires encircling him and Vashti, each one hell-bent on taking Jethro's severed head back to Prince Tibor. Even as he tried to count them and assess what he was up against, more appeared.

Jethro could control the undead, but this many at once? And while he was busy with the bloodsuckers, what would Iago be doing? The answer came sooner than he anticipated. It was not the one he wanted. The flashlights in the woods changed direction as the focus of the group from the town shifted abruptly away from the burning house and toward something else. An animal howled, a woman screamed and a flurry of activity ensued.

“Lord! Was that a wolf?” The man who spoke was clearly shaken. “Did anyone bring a gun?”

“Get me out of this circle so I can deal with Iago.” Vashti kept her voice quiet and level.

“No way. Not on your own.”

A scream from the depths of the trees followed his words. “He'll make us listen while he kills them one by one.” The obscure figures around them drew closer, adding to the sense of urgency. “We have no choice.”

She was right, of course. “Promise me you'll be careful.” Who was he kidding? They both knew she wouldn't be careful.

“Just do it.”

“Oflinnan.”
Jethro issued the halt command and the vampires closest to them instantly stilled. It was the most powerful word in the necromancer's armory. The ancient Anglo-Saxon language of his predecessors worked on the dead at a soul-deep level. Even in the case of vampires whose souls had long gone. Yet even this powerful trick was no match for the sheer number of creatures before him. As the front rank of vampires froze, the next line was moving closer. It was a carefully planned maneuver.

“Swactrian.”
Jethro gave the order to depart and the vampires under his control whirled obediently into their bat form, wings flapping as they flew away. This attack had Iago's signature scrawled all over it. Jethro would be tied up doing nothing but issuing instructions to vampires, his psychic energy slowly draining. Meanwhile, Iago was free to do as he pleased.

“Can I go now?” Pulling her hand free of his, Vashti was already poised to sprint through the vampires and head in the direction of the trees.

“
Oflinnan.
Wait. Let me think.
Swactrian.
”

“Sorry. Thinking is a luxury we don't have time for.” Without waiting for a response, she was gone.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Jethro returned to his alternating halt and retreat commands while trying to formulate a plan to break the cycle so he could follow her.

Chapter 10

J
ethro took his responsibilities toward the dead seriously and always tried to keep his dealings with them ethical. It was his job to care for them in death as they wished to be cared for in life. That was the necromancer code. It included not raising the dead without good reason.

Yet faced with a never-ending swarm of barely visible vampires while Iago did God knew what to a group of innocent mortals, Jethro considered this situation a good reason. Having Vashti dealing with Iago alone counted as another—even better—reason.

He thought of the age-old question he and Lorcan debated now and then. Zombies versus vampires? Who would win that fight? The answer seemed straightforward. Vampires were possessed of immense strength, speed and intelligence, particularly now that darkness had fallen. Zombies, on the other hand, were slow, shuffling and operated on pure instinct. But they were hardwired to never give up. What would happen when an army of beautiful monsters faced a legion of unstoppable ghouls? It was time to find out. He wished Lorcan was here to see the end result. He wished Lorcan was here. Period.

Keeping up his alternating chant of ordering the vampires to freeze and then depart—while trying not to let his mind dwell on what might be happening to Vashti—Jethro introduced a new command, one intended for a different audience. He hated this part of the job. Zombies were easy to raise but they could be bastards to get back in their box.

“
Awacnian.
Awaken.” Jethro raised his outstretched arms to shoulder height and bowed his head. “
Hidercyme.
Come here. Come to me.”

They were on their way. Almost immediately he could feel their ghastly presence. The cemetery was close by. Even zombies, with their lumbering gait, would cover the distance in no time. He hoped no one was around to witness what was happening in Darwen's churchyard right now. It would be a Halloween to remember, that was for sure. The town would never forget the night every occupant of the graveyard rose and decided to go for a stroll...

The vampires quickly picked up on the change in mood. The circle moved closer to Jethro as those around him bared their fangs in an angry, collective hiss.

“Fýrwylm.”
Jethro raised his hands, keeping his palms upward. Flames shot from his fingertips, engulfing the vampires, who shrank back with shrieks of rage. Fire wouldn't kill them, but it would hold them back until the zombies arrived. It sure as hell wasn't doing anything for their mood. The group of pissed-off, singed-around-the-edges vampires turned eagerly as wet, shuffling sounds signaled the arrival of Jethro's zombie army.

Zombies had no brains. Each individual zombie cell was programmed to fight for the necromancer who controlled them. Their body could be hacked into pieces and each piece would continue to fight. As long as Jethro remained close by, he could leave his foul-smelling, brainless foot soldiers to carry out his bidding. He might not like them, but these zombies were the ultimate in blind, unthinking loyalty.

Jethro knew from experience it was best to keep zombie instructions simple. He couldn't tell them the truth. He couldn't say, “Gather round and listen up, guys. You can't kill these blood-sucking bastards. Not unless you stake them through the heart, then decapitate them.” How did you explain a concept like that to a shuffling, snuffling mass who didn't share a single brain cell between them? The best he could hope for was that the zombies would keep the vampires occupied while he and Vashti got the mortals out of Iago's clutches and to safety. Dealing with the aftermath? He wasn't looking forward to that.

“Kill them.” He pointed to the vampires. “All of them.”

Raising their arms in front of them in the familiar zombie stance, his corpse fighters shambled forward to meet the whirling mass of vampires. Whatever the outcome, this was not going to be pretty. Wincing as the two groups met head-on, Jethro stayed for a few minutes to ensure the vampires really did have a fight on their hands before setting off in Vashti's direction.

* * *

When Vashti plunged into the forest she had no idea what she would find. She only knew she could not ignore that Iago was around here somewhere, torturing innocent mortals to get at her and Jethro.

“Pick on someone your own size, you evil trickster,” she muttered, following the sounds of a struggle.

She could see lights weaving in and out of the tree trunks up ahead and she made her way toward them. The shouts and exclamations continued, interspersed with the occasional scream. As she drew closer, Vashti could see about a dozen figures—men and women with one or two children—flailing wildly around. The beams of the flashlights added to the sense of chaos, as did the relentless barking of several dogs.

There was no doubt Iago had done this deliberately to separate her and Jethro. The sense she was walking into a trap laid by the most cunning opponent she had ever encountered weighed heavier with each step she took.
He might be sneaky, but he's also a coward
, she reminded herself. Iago didn't like face-to-face confrontation. Smoke and mirrors were his style, but, time after time, he'd chosen to run when the going got tough.

“What's going on?” She reached the group of mortals and raised a hand to shield her eyes as a flashlight was turned in her direction.

“Who are you?” The man's voice was high-pitched and jittery with nerves.

“I was passing and heard noises. I thought maybe I could help.” She hoped he wouldn't notice she hadn't answered his question.

“There's an animal that keeps coming at us, snapping and snarling. Each time we think we've got a look at it, it vanishes into the darkness. It could be a big dog or even a wolf.” This time it was a woman who spoke and, as Vashti's eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the speaker was carrying a young child on her hip.

Another man moved forward to stand alongside the woman. He had an air of authority that was explained by his next words. “I'm the rector. We've come from the church hall at the top of the road. The fun was just getting started when we heard the explosion up at the old de Loix place. Someone said maybe it was another arson attack, so we decided to come and see what was going on. We took a shortcut through the woods, then this happened. Is this someone's idea of a joke?”

Yes, but the sort of sick mind we are dealing with here makes a bit of trick or treating look tame in comparison.
“Possibly. Why don't we get out of these trees? Whatever, or whoever, is causing the problem is using the cover of the woods. Out in the open it will be much harder to hide.”

Making sure the group was with her, Vashti turned and led them back the way she had just come. Was it her imagination or did she hear a faint snickering sound behind her? Was Iago trying to get inside her head to convince her he was more powerful than he truly was?
I'm not falling for your hype.
She wanted to say it out loud, but decided talking to an invisible being was probably not the way to get these mortals to trust her.

When they reached the path, she had a decision to make. Head down the hill toward the town or take the upward curve to the de Loix house? It wasn't much of a choice. Not only was the route into town longer, it would leave them out in the open, exposed to any attack Iago might launch. Like it or not, her little group was going to have to take their chances with the haunted house, taking a detour around Jethro and the vampires, of course.

“Whoa.” The rector drew alongside her. “Why are we going this way?”

Before Vashti could answer, one of the women pointed a finger. “What's going on over there? It sounds like the hounds of hell have broken loose.”

A tall, familiar figure strode toward them. “Rival gangs.” Jethro jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the mayhem. “They decided to join in the trick or treating and it got out of hand. I suggest we get the children out of the way. The summerhouse at the de Loix place hasn't been damaged by the explosion. You can hide out in there until the police have dealt with this.” The rector looked skeptical, but there was no mistaking the sounds of bloodshed. The other mortals seemed only too eager to get away from a scene of carnage. Vashti slid her hand into Jethro's, gripping his fingers hard with relief. He glanced down at her with a slight smile before becoming serious again. “Shall we go?” She knew he was keeping his voice deliberately controlled, hiding any urgency from the mortals.

“What is it?” she murmured, walking alongside him toward the house.

“The sounds of undead flesh being ripped apart you heard back there? Vampires taking on zombies. Both sides will see this group of mortals as a moving feast. I can control the zombies, but if the vampires get their scent they'll forget to keep ripping apart the zombies and be up this hillside faster than you can blink.”

“So what use will it be to get these mortals into the summerhouse?”

“Vampires can't cross a threshold unless the residents invite them.”

“Clever.”

“I do my best.” He glanced over his shoulder at the group of mortals. They were approaching the old house now and the moonlight on their faces displayed a range of emotions. None of which could have been described as happy. “That just leaves Iago.”

Vashti groaned. “Why does everything we do end with that sentence?”

The blaze had not fully taken hold of the main house and tendrils of smoke swirled sluggishly around them as they approached. The roof leaned at a dangerous angle and some fiery embers still burned bright against the night sky. By the combined lights of the moon and the flashlights, the summerhouse was a silent, empty outline, its many windows opaque with decades of dust. Jethro tried the door and it creaked open. He beckoned the others to follow him inside. The interior was stacked high with furniture and boxes covered by dusty tarps. It was obvious that, in life, Bertha and Gillespie hadn't believed in throwing anything away.

“This place became used for storage.” Jethro stated the obvious as the flashlights illuminated the gloom.

“How come you know so much about this place? And why don't our cell phones work up here?” The rector came to join them.

Jethro drew him to one side and Vashti joined them. “I don't want to alarm your companions, but those gangs back there? They have some sort of weird Halloween thing going on. One group thinks they're vampires while the others are dressed as zombies. Just now, they seem totally focused on each other. I wouldn't like to speculate on what might happen if that gets out of hand.”

The rector's expression took on a queasy hue. “You mean they could come after us? Enact some sort of sick ritual?”

“Let's hope not. Maybe we should be prepared, just in case? If they believe they are vampires, they could try anything. Let's play along. Do you and your companions wear crucifixes?”

The rector nodded, his pallor increasing with each passing second. “Good. Wear them on the outside of your clothing. Let your dogs go. They'll fend for themselves and find their own way home. I want you to sit in a circle in the middle of the room, facing outward. Put the children in the middle. Don't break that circle, no matter what you see or hear. Is that clear?” The other man nodded weakly. “And, Rector? Don't invite anyone in. No matter who they are or appear to be. Do you understand?”

Another nod. The rector swallowed audibly. “This is not a human gang, is it?”

“You might want to pretend it is.”

* * *

It felt like the longest night of Jethro's life. Without Vashti at his side, it probably would have felt longer. They had walked around the exterior of the summerhouse in an endless circle. When the first vampire attack came, Jethro was almost glad. Anything to break the nerve-jangling tension and monotony.

The vampire who approached was newly transformed, inexperienced and overeager. Drawn by the prospect of mortal blood, he approached swiftly, ready to slash his way through any obstacle.

“Step aside, mortal.” Fangs bared, the vampire drew himself up to his full impressive height, facing Jethro across a distance of several feet.

In reply, Jethro took a step forward, holding up his hands. The wooden stake and serviceable hammer he held were clearly visible in the moonlight. Vashti joined him, swinging the ax Jethro had unearthed from the barn at the rear of the old house. She studied the vampire with her head on one side before turning to Jethro.

“This isn't the sharpest ax, but one good blow should do it. Two at best.”

Jethro gave an exaggerated sigh. “Remember what I said. Stake through the heart first. Then the decapitation. It has to be in the right order.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Vashti looked the vampire up and down again. “What are we waiting for?”

With barely imperceptible movement, the vampire whirled closer, his eyes boring into them. “You don't scare me with your mortal banter.”

“If I was mortal I'd probably be shitting myself right about now. But they should have told you at bloodsucker school you can't use mind control tricks on a necromancer. Or a faerie.”

“Let's get on with it. Do that thing that makes him into a statue, then we can put his head on a pole to warn his friends to stay away.”

“Faeries.” Jethro shook his head with mock sadness. “Good to look at, but no finesse. Now, where was I?” He stepped closer to the vampire, stake held high. After a brief hesitation, the vampire gave a furious hiss, then swirled away. He blended into the shadows before disappearing completely. “That was fun. We should do this double act thing more often.”

“You let him get away.” Vashti scanned the darkness, her eyes seeking any sign of movement. “We should have killed that one as a message to the others.”

“For the sake of the mortals, I'd prefer to avoid a bloodbath.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Are the earth-born really so squeamish?”