Otherworld Challenger (12 page)

Jethro laughed. “They tend to shy away from acts like chopping the head off an undead monster.”

Vashti considered the matter for a moment before shrugging. They commenced their pacing. Several more vampires approached in the night, relentlessly drawn to the summerhouse by the number of mortals in one place. Most were persuaded to leave. Two, overcome by their bloodlust, needed more drastic action. Jethro was able to freeze them before staking and decapitating them.

A faint glow was lighting the sky as he and Vashti washed the worst of the blood from their hands and arms under the old pump outside the de Loix house. “The vampires won't come now. What bothers me most is we've still heard nothing from Iago. Can you feel him?”

“He's still close by.” Her expression was tense. “It's like he's toying with us.”

“Sounds about right. I need to deal with the zombies.” Jethro grimaced. “Wish me luck. This could go either way.”

“Do you have to go and round them up?”

“Like some sort of freak show shepherd? Hopefully, I can exert enough control over them from here to send them back to their graves. The problem with zombies is that the longer they've been out of the ground, the harder it is to get them back in again. They don't so much develop free will—they have no will—it's more like they get some sort of blind, stupid obstinacy. They start resisting commands just for the hell of it. This lot has tasted freedom for longer than I'd like. Time to find out how they respond.” He moved slightly away from Vashti, adopting the familiar stance, head bent, arms outstretched at shoulder height.

For several minutes he breathed in the darkness. It was fading now, but there was still more in the remaining gloom than most would ever know. Sunset wasn't a frightening or sullen time for the ones whose hearts beat to the rhythm of the night. With his finely tuned necromancer senses, Jethro could feel them going about their business. The children of the night. The vampires were retreating now. These were not Tibor's well-trained followers. They did not have the self-control to withstand the light of day. Coffins filled with their homeland soil sang to them.

Jethro turned his attention to the shambling mass of zombies. Damaged by the vampire onslaught, they shuffled close by—staggering and blundering into each other—awaiting his command.
You're not going to like this one, guys.

“
Edhwierft.
Return.”

The response threw him backward, almost jolting him off his feet. Zombies had no voice, no thoughts, no free choice, but their collective resistance was a silent scream echoing in his mind. It was his lone strength pitted against their sheer, bloody, brainless defiance. He had to win. If the zombies he had raised got into the town... No, that didn't bear thinking about.

“
Edhwierft.
Do it now.” His voice was stronger, ringing out across the unseen distance between him and his undead followers. He had them this time. Breathing hard with the effort of keeping them under control, Jethro repeated the command once more. He couldn't afford to feel relief too soon. Nevertheless, his mind conjured up the wet flesh sounds and old-corpse scents of a zombie retreat. It was happening. They were going back to their graves. Dragging their feet—those who still had feet—but that was zombies for you.

Drained by the effort it had taken, Jethro sank abruptly to his knees, feeling the early morning dew soak through the cloth of his jeans. Vashti hurried to his side, pausing to glance around at the sound of applause ringing out in the murky half light. Although, its source unclear, the voice that accompanied it was all too familiar. Iago remained invisible. “Very impressive. But can you do this?”

There was a rustling sound in the trees, as if giant unseen birds were settling high above them. Eerie whispers filled the air, accompanied by rasping, sucking sounds. A smell—reminiscent of rancid meat—hung in the air, mingling with the smell of smoke from the house.

“My God. How low will he stoop?” Jethro's voice resonated with a combination of shock and disgust.

“What is it?” Vashti sounded like someone who knew she wasn't going to like the answer.

“He has called upon the Sluagh.”

“What are the Sluagh?”

“They are the undead fae, so reviled even the Unseelie Court cast them out. These are souls so evil they aren't welcome anywhere after death and are forced into exile in the mortal realm. They can never be reincarnated into their earth-born forms or exist as ghosts. Yet their malevolence survives. They are envious of the souls that live in mortal bodies and want to drag those souls along with them on their endless journey.

“The Sluagh gather when the earth-born are dying. They arrive in the night on the westerly wind and enter mortal dwellings through open windows or doors that have been left ajar. Once inside, they will try to snatch the soul of the dying person before it has time to move on. The unwilling soul is forced to join the Sluagh and add to the numbers of the flock.”

“What use can the Sluagh be to Iago if they only feast on the souls of the dying?”

“Generally, the Sluagh cannot pull the soul from anybody that is not dying. The will of the living is much too strong. It is when they arrive at dawn they are at their most dangerous.” Jethro cast a look at the brightening sky, aware his words offered little in the way of reassurance. “Dawn is when they seek the souls of the living. And they need the support of a powerful being to assist them in their quest.”

“Let me guess. That powerful being wouldn't happen to be a necromancer, would it?”

“Right the first time.” He licked his finger and held it up, testing the air. “Sure enough, the wind is blowing from the west. Every other necromancer I know has taken a vow that no matter how great the provocation, we will never call upon the Sluagh.”

“I don't imagine necromancer ethics mean much to Iago. What can we do?”

“If we could somehow get word around the town, tell everyone to make sure their doors and windows are tightly closed...” He gave a laugh that ended on a groan. “They'll think we've gone mad.”

Vashti gripped his arm and shook it as his rising panic communicated itself to her. “It's better than doing nothing. If the Sluagh are dead, you must be able to exert some sort of control over them. Can you hold them here while I take the mortals back to town?”

Jethro tilted his head back, staring up at the teal-colored sky. The sun's first rays touched his face with pale warmth as tendrils of early morning fog wrapped around his ankles. What would this new day bring? Could he hold a flock of Sluagh? Could anyone? He'd never heard of it being done. Vashti's upturned face was full of hope and trust. She believed in him.

“I'll try.”

Chapter 11

V
ashti gritted her teeth as the man known as Rector continued to question her plan. Dealing with humans was not as easy as it should be. She found this one particularly annoying.

“Can we talk as we make our way into the town?”

“I want to be absolutely sure it's safe before we leave here. There were some very strange sounds during the night. Screams and such like. Have those gangs really gone? And where is your friend?”

“Linus—” one of the women stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm “—these people have proved trustworthy so far. Let's go.” The woman had obviously recognized Vashti was running out of patience.

He made a grudging harrumphing sound. Since Vashti had reached the point where she might need to start smashing things, his compliance came just in time. She set off down the hill at a sprint and was forced to modify her pace when the mortals failed to keep up with her.

“Let me get this straight. You want us to knock on every door and tell the occupants to make sure they stay inside, with every window and door closed, until noon?” The rector's voice was incredulous.

“Yes.”

“And what reason will we give for this bizarre request?”

How about I promise to keep my foot off your throat? Is that a good enough reason?
Biting back the retort, Vashti improvised. “Those gangs that were fighting up on the hillside last night? They had gas canisters with them. We overheard them threatening to release chemicals into the atmosphere.”

“Good heavens! There's not a moment to lose.” He quickened his pace, issuing instructions to his companions about which streets to take and what to say to the residents.

Bemused, Vashti shook her head. She would never understand mortals. Ask them to trust and they dug their heels in. Give them a fat, juicy lie and they were all eager compliance. Why couldn't they obey blindly?

Her thoughts went to Jethro, facing the Sluagh all alone on the hill. Her heart clenched with dread.
Dawn is the time when they seek the souls of the living.
That was what Jethro had said about the Sluagh. And she had left him to face them alone.
Iago has succeeded. He has separated us
. The trickster had sworn to kill Jethro.
He never wanted these mortals. He used them to get at Jethro...and I let it happen.
Whirling around, she ran back up the hill, her heart pounding in time with her footsteps.
Let me not be too late.

When she reached the de Loix house, Jethro was standing exactly where she had left him. His head was bent and his outstretched arms were held at shoulder height while a group of about twenty hideous creatures performed a freakish dance around him. The Sluagh were birdlike, haggard and thin, with skin barely clinging to bone in a pitiful version of what used to be the faerie form. They kept their leathery wings close, forming a weathered cloak around their bodies. What had once been hands and feet were now bony claws. Sparse strings of dark hair covered their exposed skulls and gnarled, pointed teeth protruded from their beak-like mouths.

Horrified at the sight before her, Vashti approached. Jethro lifted his head and she flinched at the agony in the dark depths of his eyes. “They are trying to tear my soul from my body.” His voice was raw and filled with pain. “I don't know how much longer I can hold out against them.”

Although the Sluagh croaked their annoyance at her intrusion into their circle, they did nothing to prevent her when Vashti approached Jethro. It was as if she didn't matter.
The outcome is decided. I cannot change it.
The thought chilled her.

“What can I do?”

“Get the hell out of here. Tell Cal I'm sorry.”

“No.” She slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. “There must be something.”

“He's right, you know.” Iago's hated voice grated in her ear as he emerged from the shelter of the trees. “I do hate to interrupt this touching little scene, but the Sluagh are keen to finish this. As am I.”

Vashti turned to face him, keeping her body in contact with Jethro's, hoping against hope that she could impart some of her own strength into him. “You bastard.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” Iago's grin widened. “And we'll have so many more opportunities with him out of the way.”

“I was wrong. You're a
deluded
bastard.”

“So fiery. Talking of fire, I really thought the house would burn to the ground this time,” Iago said. “Yet it seems determined to resist my efforts—”

“Fýrwylm.”
Jethro's voice was weakened, his hand only half raised. Nevertheless, the flames that shot out caught Iago unawares. The trickster went staggering back but he recovered quickly. Iago responded instantly. A fireball of his own, bigger and more powerful, came flying through the air. It would have hit Vashti full in the chest if Jethro hadn't caught hold of her upper arms and turned her side-on with his body protecting her from the flames. The impact of the fiery onslaught hit him in his upper left arm and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Vashti dropped to her knees beside him, sickened at the smell and sight of the burned flesh of his biceps.

“Finish it.” Iago waved an imperious hand to the Sluagh. “He is all yours.”

Triumphantly the creatures started to advance. Vashti leaped to her feet, standing guard over Jethro, who appeared unconscious. “Stay away from him!”

To her everlasting surprise, they stopped, cocking their heads as though listening to a silent voice. Quivering with anticipation, Vashti braced herself for a fight.

“You have got to be joking.” Iago appeared to be talking to himself. “We swore revenge on all of Niniane's killers, remember? This one is ours for the taking. This had better be good.” He tilted his head, much in the way the Sluagh had done. Then, clapping his hands, Iago drew the attention of the Sluagh back to him. “She has spoken. Not this one, my friends. Not this time.”

Vashti watched in amazement as, with flapping wings, screeching cries and a whirlwind of undulating shadows, the ill-begotten creatures rose, circled Jethro once and flew off. Iago strolled casually forward, glancing down to where Jethro lay.

“I don't know why, but he has been saved by one whose powers are greater than any of us can comprehend. You might be able to patch up his wounds, little faerie, but the damage inflicted by the Sluagh may go deeper than the physical. There is only one place to make sure he heals fully. You are commanded to bring him to Avalon. The time has come for the truth to be revealed.”

His smile deepened and he reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. Vashti flinched away in a combination of shock and disgust. Iago's smile deepened. “You look at me like that now, but you will change. There is one on Avalon who awaits our mutual friend with great eagerness.” He nodded at Jethro. “Trust me, you will not be able to compete with her. When he no longer looks your way—is no longer aware of your existence—you will be glad of my touch.”

“Never.” Vashti didn't try to hide the shudder his words provoked.

The smile became unpleasant. “How little you know. Yet you will learn. I will enjoy teaching you when we meet again on Avalon. She is waiting.” With those words he was gone, fading into invisibility.

Stifling an uncharacteristic sob, Vashti turned back to where Jethro lay. His face was ashen in the pale sunlight. With his strong features, he resembled a fallen statue of a heroic knight from a bygone age. Kneeling beside him, Vashti pressed her ear to his chest. His heartbeat was faint, his breathing impossibly shallow.

Vashti acted on instinct. Through the unique bond they had, they could empower each other. She knew—without understanding
how
—that Jethro needed her touch to restore his strength. Lying next to him on the damp ground, she pressed her body against his and, holding her hands on either side of his face, kissed Jethro's ice-cold lips. For the longest time there was no reaction. He remained still and unresponsive, like the effigy she had imagined him to be. Then, very slowly, his lips parted and she was able to slide her tongue into his mouth. A shudder ran through him and his right hand reached up to clamp her waist. This was a kiss unlike others they had shared. This was no furious fusing of lips with a promise of further intimacy. In place of the immediacy of passion, this was slow, honeyed sweetness and a touch of magic. Blending her breath with his, Vashti used every ounce of her newfound faerie power to infuse the strength and life stolen by the Sluagh back into Jethro's body. As she did, she knew the most potent force of all was working its charm between them.
You have to live...because, unlike you, I do love. I love you.

“What did you say?” Jethro pulled away from her, a frown in his eyes. His voice was weak, his face ghostly pale, but he was alive.

“I didn't speak.” She felt bright tears sting her eyelids and blinked them away before they could spill over. “Now, can we get the hell out of here?”

* * *

At first Jethro was so weak he could barely stand. Leaning on Vashti and pausing for breath every few steps, he managed to falter his way down the hillside. When they reached the town square, all was thankfully quiet. Clearly the chemical warfare story had worked and the rector had done a good job of persuading his parishioners to stay indoors.

Vashti eyed the motorbike with misgiving. “Can you ride it?”

“Have to.” The words were a faint croak.

“Maybe I could do it?”

A corner of his mouth lifted in a fleeting shadow of a smile. When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. “Mortals have laws, remember? The sort of day we're having, you'd get pulled over by highway patrol. Come on, let's do this.”

As she climbed up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, Vashti felt Jethro's pain reverberate through her body. The Sluagh had damaged his soul. A ripple of panic ran through her.
Can I heal him?
Could her powers extend that far? There was no one she could ask. All she could do was trust her instincts. That fae sense that had lain dormant inside her for so long rose up now strong and true. It was telling her she could cure Jethro's injured psyche. More than that. It was urging her to do so. Deep inside her something was saying,
This was meant
. The implications of the message shook her to the core.
It feels like there was a plan. A plan that included me being here to save him.
How could that be the case, when the only reason she was here at all had to do with her own stubborn determination and antagonism toward Jethro?

They were fortunate that none of those highway cops Jethro had mentioned were around as they made their way along back roads to the nearest motel. It was a journey of epic proportions, though the distance was only a few miles. The bike weaved a slow, erratic path. Several times it came perilously close to the oncoming traffic. Once, they left the road completely and ended up in the undergrowth. Luckily, the vehicle wedged itself in shrubbery and remained upright. Vashti would not have liked their chances of lifting it had it fallen.

Just when Vashti was about to suggest abandoning the bike, they meandered into the parking lot of an unattractive motel. Jethro almost toppled headlong onto the asphalt. It was clear he had no energy left. Vashti left him slumped against a wall and went to deal with the very mortal matter of securing a room. She muddled through the whole credit card thing. The desk clerk's attitude was one of bored resignation.

Finally, she emerged with a key and was able to help Jethro inside the bland room. He collapsed onto the bed while she collected their belongings from the bike. When she turned her attention back to him, Jethro was asleep but shivering violently. When she touched him, his skin was icy though the room temperature was warm. She wanted to deal with the burn on his arm, but Vashti knew those chills were coming from deep inside him. If she didn't heat him up, and do it fast, he could die. Stripping off Jethro's clothes and then her own, she lay next to him, drawing the bedclothes over their naked bodies. Holding his juddering form in her arms, she willed her own warmth into him. Gradually, over a period of many hours, he grew still.

Later again, when they had both slept and the light through the thin curtain was beginning to fade, Vashti opened her eyes to find Jethro propped against the pillows, watching her. Relief flooded her veins. She moved into a half sitting position beside him. Before she could speak, he kissed her neck, dipping his tongue to the hollow of her throat. Her world spun and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. His stubble brushed her skin as he moved his mouth toward her lips.

“I want you...need you,” he murmured before taking her mouth in a searing kiss. His laugh was a sigh against her lips. “But I'm as weak as a kitten.”

Vashti kissed him back with everything she had, everything that had simmered inside her from the moment they'd met, everything she had refused for so long to acknowledge she felt. “I don't mind doing all the work.”

Jethro's arms tightened around her as his chest rose and fell more quickly. With slow, deliberate movement, Vashti straddled him with her knees on either side of his hips. He made a low animal sound as he moved his mouth to her nipple. His tongue found the stiffened nub and circled it, lapping it with velvety smoothness as his hands held her hips, keeping her firmly in place against him.

“Are you strong enough?” Her voice was husky. Given the rock-hard erection pressing into the folds of her sex, it seemed to be a particularly unnecessary question.

“Being inside you is exactly what I need right now.”

Needing no further encouragement, Vashti raised herself up and moved slowly down to feel his shaft against the heat of her core. Jethro lifted his hips and she took him inch by throbbing inch. She squeezed her muscles tight, drawing in his size and iron hardness, trying to control the pace as he pushed eagerly up. He moved one hand down to rub her clitoris with a fingertip and she lost control, crying out and driving up and down on him in time with his upward thrusts.