Otherworld Challenger

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“While serving up a delicious meal?” She gestured to the bread.

The arrogance vanished and was replaced by a smile that was almost—she hesitated to use the word in relation to Jethro—shy. “My mother used to bake. It’s therapeutic.” He pointed to another loaf standing on a cooling rack. “Want to try some?”

Vashti’s stomach gave an enormous rumble in response, and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. It was on the plane when the flight attendant had been so attentive to Jethro while casting an occasional dismissive glance in her direction. She nodded and, within minutes, she was seated at the vast, scrubbed table with a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of bread and butter in front of her.

“You do not strike me as the domesticated type.”

Jethro lounged in a chair opposite hers, his long legs extended in front of him. He wore a white shirt and his biceps stretched the thin material of the rolled-up sleeves to its limits. The V shape of the buttons left open at his chest revealed dark hair. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist and flat stomach. He had obviously recently showered since his still-wet hair hung loose and slightly wavy below his collar. The crisp scent of citrus reached Vashti’s appreciative nostrils. Big, dark and dangerous, he invaded her senses. Domesticated was about the last word she would have applied to him.

“You can’t see me in a flowered apron?”

She pretended to consider the matter, tilting her head to one side. “Not flowered, no.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “But you do see me in an apron? Now that’s an interesting fantasy, princess.”

Vashti, who had taken a bite of bread and butter, choked as his meaning dawned on her. At least dealing with the coughing and the streaming eyes gave her time to consider how to respond. She decided the best plan was not to respond. To pretend she hadn’t heard or she didn’t understand what he meant. That sort of banter was probably like breathing to Jethro. All that thrumming masculinity needed an outlet and any woman, even one he disliked as intensely as Vashti, would do. At least the redness of her face could be ascribed to her mild choking fit and not extreme embarrassment at the image—vivid and suddenly very tempting—of Jethro in an apron and nothing else.

“What’s the plan for today?” Vashti asked when she had gained control over her voice.

“Yours should be to rest.” Jethro’s gaze skimmed the bruises on her face.

“Can we skip the bit where we pretend that might happen?”

He paused in the act of gathering the empty coffee cups. “Have you ever listened to advice from another person?”

“Only one.”

“Moncoya?”

Vashti shook her head. “I used to do as he asked if it was also what I wanted. But my father and I are equally stubborn.” A slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Our fights were legendary. No, when we were children, Tanzi and I had a nurse who cared for us. She was probably the only person I listened to.”

Jethro’s expression was inscrutable. “It sounds like you were fond of her.”

She gazed out across the dark blue water. The memories—or rather the recollections of which they’d been deprived...the mother they’d never known—didn’t get any easier. “We both were. Our mother wasn’t around, you see. At the time we believed she’d left our father when we were babies. Now we know he murdered her when she tried to leave and take us with her. Rina was the closest thing we had to a mother.”

“Rina?”

Vashti turned back to look at him. There was a slight frown in Jethro’s eyes, as though he was searching for something just out of reach. “Our nurse. Her name was Rina.” The frown persisted. “What is it?”

“That name. It seems familiar, but I can’t place why.”

“It is unusual, but not unique.”

He nodded, the frown clearing. “If it’s important, I suppose it’ll come back to me. Now, back to your question about plans for today. If you insist on coming with me, we’re going visiting.”

* * *

When they reached the sleepy mainland town of Darwen, Jethro left the motorbike close to the town square, complete with its decorative bandstand, and led Vashti along the main street. He carried a small, flat box made of polished wood, but didn’t reveal its contents. The street boasted a handful of shops and a few bars and restaurants. A sign outside one invited them to a cider tasting evening. Another boasted it served the best lobster in town.

Vashti was conscious of a few stares directed her way and tugged her knitted cap farther down over her ears. It won’t be far enough to cover what they’re looking at, she thought glumly. I’d have to wear a mask to do that. As a fae, she would heal quickly, but not fast enough for her liking. Perhaps those watching them thought Jethro was guilty of inflicting her bruises? He seemed unaware of the interested looks. Oblivious, in fact, that there were other people around at all.

Once they were away from the main street, the road climbed steeply and colorful wooden houses lined wide tree-lined streets.

Vashti had to quicken her pace to keep up with Jethro’s purposeful strides. “Who are we going to visit?”

He glanced down at her and she got the distinct impression he had momentarily forgotten she was there. “Some people I know.”

Well, that was helpful. She resisted the temptation to say the words aloud, sensing something within him. Some inner turmoil. And that in itself was unusual. Sensing anything about the feelings of others was new to her. She wasn’t sure she liked it. Intuition wasn’t for her. It brought with it a responsibility toward the other person she didn’t want or need. And when that person was Jethro, things could start to get complicated. On the whole, she’d have preferred to remain detached.

Exactly how did you see this mission unfolding? She supposed that, at the outset, she’d started out with a vague hope of catching Jethro if he tried to deceive the Alliance leaders in some way. Or at least of imposing her presence on him so he had no way of engaging in a hoax. I never imagined a situation where I’d have to interact with him. A second inner voice chastised her. That’s because you didn’t think this through. She had been so focused on her anger, so determined to punish him for his sneering, taunting approach toward her. What would happen once they set off and were alone together had never crossed her mind. The fact he might have redeeming features, some of which she might even like, had never crossed her mind. She had certainly not envisaged a situation where she might actually be intrigued by him or—heaven forbid—care about how he was feeling.

The houses were larger and farther apart now, the trees older and taller. Pine and spruce stood proud and green. The shorter beeches and maples were showing the first signs of changing to autumnal shades of red and orange. Branches stretched across the lane above their heads, meeting and, in some places, entwining to form a tunnel of green and gold. The sunlight barely penetrated and Vashti shivered slightly as a sudden chill touched her face. That was new, as well. A sense of foreboding. This strange, fluttering awareness that something about this place just wasn’t right. An impression of being watched by unseen eyes. I’m not sure the mortal realm agrees with me. Within the space of a few days, I’ve been beaten black-and-blue and developed an imagination, among other characteristics I never knew I had. The sooner we set out for Otherworld, and I can return to normality, the better.

They had almost reached the top of the hill and Jethro stopped, looking back down upon the town. The views were incredible, affording a sight of fishing boats huddled into the tiny harbor and beyond to the wide expanse of bay dotted here and there with pine-coated islands. Vashti got the impression Jethro had not stopped to admire the vista. Here we go again. Perception. Awareness. Just because you’ve discovered it, does that mean you have to use it? Clearly she did. It was unshakable. She knew what Jethro was doing. He was mentally preparing himself for whatever was coming next.

He pointed up through the canopy of trees. Vashti followed the direction of his finger. Barely visible through the leaves and fronds, she could just make out a pointed roof topped by a rusted weather vane. “That’s where we’re going.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a house. The oldest and largest in this area. It was built in 1830 for one of the wealthiest landowners in Maine, and it stayed in the same family for generations. It fell into disrepair after an arson attack.”

“How horrible.” Vashti watched Jethro’s face. There was something behind his expression she couldn’t understand. She got the feeling there was more to this story than his curt words were telling her. “Why would anyone deliberately set fire to a family home?”

“There have always been rumors about this house. Locally, it has always been known as a haunted house and a place of bad luck.”

“And is it?” If anyone should know the answer to that question, surely it would be a necromancer.

“Yes and no.” Jethro dragged his gaze away from the pointed rooftop and smiled down at her, genuine amusement lighting his eyes. “Yes, it’s haunted. No, it’s not a place of bad luck.” He held out a hand and, surprised at the unexpected invitation, Vashti entwined her fingers with his. “Don’t be scared. Let me show you the place where I grew up.”

Chapter 6 (#ulink_f0d030ea-d881-5fd3-84a2-98655dfebe45)

As they crested the hilltop, the house came fully into view. Even in its neglected state it was a magnificent sight. Built in a quirky, individual style, the main house was three floors high. Vashti’s eyes scanned the building, taking in such unusual features as the fact that each window was of a different design and the colored roof tiles were laid out in a mosaic pattern. In addition to the central property, with its wraparound porch and the pointed tower they had glimpsed from the road, there was a separate long, low building jutting out at right angles. This looked like an overlarge summerhouse, and it appeared to have escaped the fire damage that had left sections of the main house blackened and charred.

“It looks like—”

“Something out of a fairy tale?” Jethro interrupted her. “And you should know, I suppose?”

She ignored the deliberate gibe. “I can see why mortals might believe it to be a place of evil. I have heard they are a superstitious lot.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “Yes, that’s us mortals. Forever avoiding walking under ladders and staying indoors on Friday the thirteenth.”

“Am I supposed to understand what you are talking about?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.” They made their way along a drive fighting a losing battle with weeds and creepers. “It’s always the same. Whenever I come here, it’s like I’ve ceased to live in the here and now. I get transported back to different points in my life, depending on what my mind decides to dwell on each time. So many memories come back to me.”

“What are you recollecting now?”

He pointed to a broken-down gatepost. “I was running along the drive here, chasing a butterfly.” He raised a brow as Vashti made a suspicious choking sound. “Are you laughing at me?”

She did her best to keep her expression prim but it didn’t quite work. “Maybe a little bit. It’s a new image, one that will take some getting used to. How old were you?”

“I’m not sure. I was very young. Anyway, I tripped and went headfirst into that post. I still have the scar.” He turned his head.

Vashti stood on the tips of her toes so she could see the white mark above his right cheekbone. Some primeval instinct deep within her, a powerful urge she had never experienced before, prompted Vashti to reach out one fingertip and lightly trace the crescent-shaped scar. Jethro jerked beneath her touch, his eyelids fluttering closed. Raw heat arced from her finger to him and back again. It sparked through their bodies in a series of low-level electric currents. Although Vashti wanted to break the contact and stop the storm of sensation coursing through her, the force compelling her was too strong. Helpless to do anything else, she placed her other hand on Jethro’s shoulder, clinging to him as her body shuddered in time with his.