Otherworld Challenger

Even though they were twins, they had not been close as they grew up. Looking back, Vashti believed now that Moncoya had deliberately discouraged them from caring too deeply for each other. Divide and rule. That had been his policy toward his daughters as well as his enemies. He had instilled in them a belief that they were above mortal emotion. It was only when he had recently tried to force Tanzi into marriage with the devil that she began to question her own ability to feel. Lorcan Malone, the man she had run to, to escape her father’s plans, had taught her how to love.

“If I can do it, so can you,” Tanzi reasoned.

Vashti remained unconvinced. But one good thing had come out of that whole escapade. They had finally discovered the closeness other siblings shared. Even more than that. They had found they were able to communicate telepathically in the way that was unique to faerie twins.

Vashti was struggling to reconcile this Tanzi with the one she had grown up with. Her sister stood at the water’s edge, her hand clasped in Lorcan’s, while Ailie, the island elder, spoke the words of the simple ceremony. Tanzi’s feet were bare and she wore a plain, white shift dress. Fresh flowers had been woven into the bright gold curls of her hair. Lorcan wore rolled-up jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, and his feet were also bare. The waves lapped at their toes as they spoke their vows. Even Vashti, who found the emotions of others so difficult to read, could sense their love for each other. Next to Vashti, Stella, Cal’s wife, sobbed constantly into her handkerchief, much to the amusement of her husband, who cradled her head against his chest.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Stella said when the ceremony ended.

“But it made you cry.” Confused, Vashti fell into step beside her.

The villagers hoisted Tanzi and Lorcan onto their shoulders and carried them in a parade along the path back to the town square where a celebration feast was to be held. The guests followed the laughing, chattering group at a more sedate pace.

Stella caught hold of Vashti’s hand. “These are happy tears. Do you remember when we first met?”

“Yes. I wanted to kill you.”

Stella laughed. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest. We’ve come a long way.” Stella nodded to where Lorcan and Tanzi reached across from their respective perches on the villagers’ shoulders and, laughing, managed to grasp each other’s hand. “I want what Tanzi has for you, Vashti. I want you to feel it all, too. One day, I want to cry at your wedding.”

Vashti felt a frown furrow her brow. “You have some strange ambitions, Stella.”

Stella patted the slight swell of her stomach. “It must be the pregnancy hormones. Will you promise me something?”

“If I can.” Vashti was wary of promises. They usually imposed restraints she inevitably ended up breaking.

Stella glanced at the commanding rear view of Jethro, and Vashti followed her gaze. He walked alone, slightly to one side of the crowd. It seemed to be a metaphor for his life. He was known throughout Otherworld as a loner. The mysterious human necromancer whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.

Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, set in a rigid line, then dipped lower to his trim waist. Something about the way those faded jeans clung to his shapely buttocks as he walked made Vashti’s mouth go dry. It was a new sensation and one that brought a rush of blood to her face. She hoped Stella hadn’t noticed it.

Jethro de Loix probably took it for granted that every woman was watching him. It wasn’t just the perfect body that drew her eye. His face was too handsome for his own good. Luckily, he didn’t have the sort of looks Vashti admired. He was way too overtly rugged and sure of his own masculinity. Vashti preferred a bit of finesse. I mean, seriously, when was the last time he used a razor? Not for a few days, judging by all that designer stubble. Nevertheless, up close, it was hard to stop watching him. He was like a work of art. As if a masterful hand had decided to create a perfect image of manliness and, once finished, had stepped back as if to say, “Soak it up, guys. This can’t be beaten.”

“Be careful on this mission. Jethro won’t back down from a challenge.”

The smile that touched Vashti’s lips was grim. “Good, because nor will I.”

* * *

The Spae knew how to celebrate. There was delicious food, home-brewed beer, singing and dancing, with the wedding festivities continuing long into the night. Vashti’s initial attempts to avoid being flung wildly around in intricate whirling dances she didn’t understand had proved futile and her hand was claimed repeatedly by the younger men of the village. After her annoyance gave way to resignation, she started to find the experience quite exhilarating. But that might have something to do with the effects of the beer.

“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Lorcan, intervening before she could be thrown from one partner to another—the prevailing etiquette on the village green that served as a dance floor—caught hold of her hands. “I thought it was time we danced together. After all, we’re family now.”

The words jolted Vashti. For a long time her family had consisted of Tanzi and Moncoya. Recently her feelings toward both had undergone a dramatic change. Now she had a brother-in-law and Tanzi was pregnant, so she would soon have a nephew. She should probably try to say something welcoming to Lorcan. Her brow furrowed with the effort of trying to come up with the right words.

“You look quite ferocious. Have I done something to upset you? Other than marry your sister?” Lorcan slowed the steps of the dance so they could converse.

Vashti shook her head. “I’m glad she has found someone to love.” She took a deep breath. May as well get the apology out of the way. “And I think you will care for her.” She hoped he realized that was as close as she got to groveling.

He grinned. “I certainly intend to. Can we declare a truce between us? For Tanzi’s sake?”

It was easy to see why Tanzi had fallen for him. That smile was breathtaking and his charm was legendary. The surprise was that Lorcan was prepared to settle down with one woman. Until now the rumor had been that he was impossible to tame. Aware there was a suspicion of curtness about her nod, Vashti tried to be conciliatory. She should try to put the past behind her. The battle for Otherworld had changed old allegiances and the Alliance was about forging a new future. “I see no reason why we cannot be friends.”

To her horror, Lorcan caught her up in a hug and kissed her cheek. Affection, even toward those closest to her, was something Vashti found profoundly uncomfortable. She broke free of the embrace as quickly as she could, mumbling an excuse about needing to get a drink. In reality, the last thing she wanted was any more of the heady brew that tasted of sour apples.

When she reached the long table that held the barrels of beer, she snatched up one of the lanterns placed on its wooden surface and wandered a few hundred yards along the path to a point overlooking the bay. No one would miss her and a bit of solitude was exactly what she needed.

Yet when she reached the curve in the path, a tall figure was leaning against one of the trees, looking out over the still waters. Stifling an exclamation of annoyance as she recognized Jethro, Vashti prepared to stealthily make her way back. It was too late. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and, when he saw Vashti, his neutral expression changed to one of distaste.

“Coming back to the Isle of Spae must remind you of the last time you were here. The night you helped your father escape from justice.”

He could not have said anything that would more effectively enrage her, and he knew it. There was no way Vashti could defend herself against the false allegation Jethro repeatedly insisted on making. How could she possibly prove Moncoya had tricked her into letting him go that night? Her anger kicked up a notch. And why should she have to defend herself to Jethro of all people?

“When do we set off in search of the challenger?” Two could play at this make-your-blood-boil game.

By the light of her lantern Vashti saw something shift in the midnight darkness of his eyes. Something dangerous. “Why did it have to be you?”

All around them the night was haunting in its perfection yet they remained inside their own little bubble of tension. Vashti had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”

“Why do you have to be the one who comes with me? The Council could have sent anyone.”

“My people have the most to lose if you find the challenger. I want to be absolutely sure you get it right.”

“Ah, yes. I was forgetting. You will cease to be a princess if his claim to the throne is proved. That must sting.”

His barb struck home. Vashti felt her own rage light up the night skies almost as effectively as the fireflies dancing around them. “You sanctimonious bastard.”

Why must he persist in ascribing such hateful motives to her actions? It was the legacy of being Moncoya’s daughter. Everyone assumed she was as evil as her father, yet somehow it hit harder when it came from Jethro. Or maybe he was prepared to be more honest than most and say exactly what he thought of her.

Jethro grinned, his anger dissipating as quickly as hers ignited. “Tomorrow.” Vashti blinked at him, not comprehending this sudden shift in the conversation. “I am setting off in search of the challenger first thing in the morning.”

“Okay.” She turned away, but his next words brought her back to face him again.

“And, Princess, just so you know? Despite what you think, you won’t be able to keep up with me on this quest...and I have no intention of waiting around for you.”

“Is that a challenge?” She flashed the words right back at him.

“You can count on it.”

* * *

As the night wore on Vashti noticed the party had dwindled to a few hardy souls. A group, including herself and the bride and groom, sat in a circle, earnestly discussing the matter of the challenger for the faerie crown.

“Surely there are other topics of conversation you’d rather engage in on your wedding night?” Cal asked Lorcan.

“I can think of one or two.” His friend grinned. “But Tanzi has a theory she wants to share.”

Tanzi looked beautiful and happy as she sat between Lorcan’s raised knees and leaned back against his chest. Vashti thought she had never seen her sister so relaxed.

“It may be nothing,” Tanzi explained, “but when Ailie tried to gain an impression of the missing heir, she said he doesn’t look like a faerie.”

Known for their powers of healing and intuition, the Spae had been persecuted as witches in the mortal realm and driven to make their home here in Otherworld. They lived in isolation on this island, refusing to engage in the politics and fighting that drove the other dynasties.

Ailie, a woman with an open, pleasant face and a kindly manner, nodded her agreement with Tanzi’s comment. “When Lorcan asked me if the true heir was still alive, I tried to discover what I could of him. Although I couldn’t see him clearly, what came through was that he doesn’t look like a faerie.”

“It seems a strange thing to focus on.” Jethro was the only one of the group standing, his broad shoulders propped against the wall of one of the cottages.

Trust him to feel the need to look down on the rest of us. Vashti’s earlier anger toward him might have dulled, but it was no less dangerous for having lost its edge.

“I’ve thought about it a lot since then,” Ailie said. “The fact I gained that impression of him, above all others, makes me think he must look nothing like a faerie.”

“Yet he is a pure-born faerie, so his looks must make him stand out among other faeries. And the Goddesses of Fate told me Lorcan already knows him.” Tanzi spoke up again.

“Even though I actually have no clue who he is,” Lorcan reminded everyone in a long-suffering voice. “What’s this theory of yours, Searc?”

“Has anyone here ever met a pure-blood faerie who doesn’t look like a faerie?” Tanzi’s glance took in each of them in turn. The question stunned them all into silence.

Stella was the first to speak up. “You’re right. Even I look a lot like a faerie and I’m not a pure-blood. My father was mortal. I’m a hybrid. The challenger is faerie royalty. He should definitely look like a faerie.”

“He doesn’t know who he is. He may not mix with faeries. Bloody hell—” Cal ran a hand through his hair, his expression increasingly incredulous. “He probably doesn’t even know he is a faerie.”

“Since I’m the one with the task of finding this mystery man, can we rewind a bit while someone gives me a refresher on the difference between faeries and sidhes?” Jethro’s calm tone cut across the conversation.

Cal answered him. “All sidhes are faeries, but not all faeries are sidhes. The faeries are a dynasty, one of the largest in Otherworld, with many nationalities within it. The sidhes make up the majority of the faerie population. Although Moncoya was elevated to the faerie gentry when he took the throne, he is a sidhe and his background is not royal...a fact that infuriates him. The challenger we seek does come from the original royal family.

“All faeries are endowed with incredible physical beauty, all have the power to enchant—known as faerie glamor—and all are able to coexist with humans. Like Tanzi and Vashti, sidhes have the ability to shape-shift, other faeries don’t. Sidhes have a pronounced ring of fire around the iris of their eyes. Faeries have it, too, but their eyes are green, like Stella’s, so the color makes the ring of fire appear fainter, possibly even nonexistent.”

Vashti felt her lip curl. They were going to send a man who didn’t understand something so fundamental about her people in search of this challenger? Her father was unlikely to have anything to fear. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing for her people.

“But Lorcan and I do know someone who fits that description. Someone who doesn’t look like a faerie.” Tanzi turned her head to look up at her husband. “Aydan.”

“Who is Aydan?” Jethro asked.

Lorcan turned his head to look up at him. “A prominent member of the resistance in Barcelona. We’ve worked together many times, fighting against Moncoya and his henchmen. Tanzi’s right, he doesn’t look like a faerie. He barely has a ring of fire around his irises. Aydan could pass for a mortal any day.”

“You mentioned Aydan to me when I said I was losing my right-hand man now that you were coming to live here on Spae. You said Aydan would be the perfect replacement,” Cal said.

“And he would. Brave, sensitive and totally reliable. I’d trust him with my life.” Lorcan’s voice resonated sincerity. “Hell, I have trusted him with my life. Many times.”

“What’s his background?” Cal asked.

Lorcan shrugged. “Sure, haven’t we always been too busy kicking the shit out of Moncoya’s henchmen to find time for a bonding session? I assumed he was one of the Iberian sidhes. Most of the resistance are.”

“But his eyes are green,” Tanzi insisted. “I noticed it the first time I saw him, which is why I think he is a faerie.”

Cal looked thoughtful. “I’m a great believer in gut instinct. Is it worth you checking him out before you go to Avalon?” he asked Jethro.

“Sure. I can check out everyone Lorcan knows who doesn’t look like a faerie, if you like.” Jethro pushed away from the wall, standing straight and tall, looming over the rest of the group as they sat on the grass. Vashti was reminded once more of his sheer size and latent power. “But I thought we were up against the clock?”

“We are. We need to try to find the challenger before the elections for the Council leadership take place in a month,” Cal said.

“I have to go home before I set off for Avalon, so it won’t cost too much time for me to do a detour to Barcelona to see Aydan. I can sound him out about his background without coming right out and asking him any direct questions.”

“Home?” Without thinking, Vashti had spoken directly to Jethro.

“Home.” He repeated, his eyes flickering over her with their customary lack of interest.

“Where is home?”

“Maine.” When she returned an uncomprehending look, he continued, as if speaking to someone of limited understanding. “In the United States.” When she continued to stare at him, he spoke more slowly again. “Of America.”

“This is a place in the mortal realm?”

“Of course.” His voice was openly contemptuous now. “I’m mortal. Where else would I live?”

Before she could utter a scathing reply, Cal interrupted. “We’re in agreement, then. Jethro will speak to Aydan before he sets off for Avalon. If there’s the slightest chance he’s our man, bring him to the palace so I can see him for myself. Use the excuse Lorcan has already given us. I’m seeking a new right-hand man and Aydan comes highly recommended.” He rose, reaching down a hand to Stella. “Come on, let’s get you to your bed.”

Vashti watched as the group split up, wandering away to their separate cottages. She stayed where she was, shifting position slightly so she could sit with her back against the cottage wall. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on them and remained that way for some time, wrapped in her thoughts.

“Why didn’t you tell him of your fears?” Ailie’s voice interrupted her musings as the older woman came to sit next to her.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Vashti retreated behind her usual combination of arrogance and belligerence. It was generally effective at driving people away. Why did she get the feeling it wouldn’t work with this woman?

By the combined light of the moon and the lantern Ailie placed on the ground, Vashti could see the sympathy in the Spae leader’s eyes. “Of course you do. It is natural to fear the unknown. There is no shame in it. Why not tell Jethro you are dreading this journey to the mortal realm?”

Vashti snorted. “You’ve met him. He’s not exactly Mr. Approachable.”

“There is a coldness in his manner, I agree. But I think you can trust him. Although he may not always use them wisely—” Ailie broke off as though chasing an elusive thought. Shaking her head slightly, she continued. “He has goodness, a strong sense of what is right and the ability to draw others to him that is unlike anything I have known before.”

“He hates me.” Where had the sudden wobble in her voice come from? “He thinks I am working for my father to undermine the Alliance.”

“In that case, is it wise for you to go with him on this quest?”

Vashti sighed. “I have to go. Because it means more to me than anyone else. Except perhaps Tanzi, but she has other commitments now.” She turned slightly so she was facing Ailie. “Jethro thought it meant so much to me because I will lose my royal status if the challenger is found.”

“That hurt you.” It was a statement not a question.

“I know what people think of me. I’m Moncoya’s daughter, a spoiled-brat princess with no thought beyond her own comfort. But that?” Vashti shook her head. “He couldn’t have shown his contempt for me any more clearly. I have to see this through for the sake of my people. If this man is found, he has the potential to tear the faerie dynasty apart in a way even my father couldn’t achieve with his ambition and cruelty.”

“And you see it as your duty to try to hold the faerie dynasty together?”

“If I can.”

“Yet the thought of going into the mortal realm terrifies you.” Ailie’s soft voice became even more gentle. “Why is that?”

Vashti hunched one shoulder. “When we were children, our father instilled a fear of mortals into us. They were the enemy, to be feared and avoided. I’ve been into the mortal realm before, but in the past I have always been escorted there and back, and protected the entire time. My interactions with the earth-born only occurred when I was required to kill or kidnap them.”

“Yet violence toward the earth-born is not the true faerie way. In the past faeries and mortals have lived in harmony.”

Vashti’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “My father does not subscribe to the old ways.”

Ailie nodded. “I have heard as much. What I don’t understand is how Tanzi had the same upbringing yet, when she fled from your father, she voluntarily went to the mortal realm to escape him.”

“Tanzi was desperate. And she was with Lorcan, a man who had sworn to protect her.”

“While your journey will be undertaken alongside a man who is antagonistic toward you.”

Vashti laughed. “That’s his approach to me when he’s having a good day.”

“And your pride will not allow you to try to break down these barriers between the two of you?”

“Not in this millennium. Probably not in the next.”

Ailie shook her head sadly as she stood. “Then I wish you luck.”

“I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

Chapter 3

The next morning Vashti cautiously approached a very angry Jethro, who seemed to be taking his frustration out on Cal as they stood on the village green. “Is this some kind of joke?” Jethro’s expression resembled a thundercloud. “You’re telling me there is a portal direct from where we are now to the mortal realm, but it will take me to a remote Scottish island?”

Cal sighed. “The Spae originated as mortals on the Isle of Orkney. Centuries ago, when they were persecuted by witch finders and forced to flee their home, your convenience and ease of international travel were probably not uppermost in their minds. They were more concerned with their own safety.”

“What is the problem?” Depositing her bag on the grass, Vashti surmised they were not likely to be departing immediately.

“The problem is I will waste time getting from Orkney to mainland Scotland, then from there to a major US airport, where I’ll need to get another flight to Maine. Allowing for connections and delays, it will take the best part of two, possibly even three, days.”

Since Vashti had no concept of mortal time, Jethro’s frustration was meaningless to her and she turned to Cal for an explanation. “It would take as long if Jethro returned to the palace with Stella and me to use the portal at La Casa Oscura. From there, he would enter the mortal realm in Barcelona and travel from Spain to the US. Either way, the journey is a long one. Which leaves me with one question.” He turned back to Jethro. “Since we are, as you said, up against the clock, do you have to go home first?”

Something shifted in Jethro’s expression. The irritation was replaced by a guarded look, as though shutters had been abruptly pulled down. “Yes.”

“When it comes to being stubborn, you remind me of someone I once knew.” Cal’s voice held a trace of frustration.

“Who was that?”

“His name was Arthur.” Cal’s annoyance shifted and became a reminiscent smile. “He didn’t turn out so bad.”

Hoisting a large backpack onto one shoulder, Jethro held out a hand to Cal. “Sometimes stubbornness works. Have my money ready. The next time we meet, I’ll be bringing you your challenger.”

Gripping the outstretched hand, Cal nodded. “Blind, arrogant confidence. King Arthur had that, too. It’s what we need right now. I guarantee Moncoya has it in abundance. Before you go, I need to have a few words with Vashti.” Jethro started to turn away but Cal stopped him. “You need to hear this.” Beckoning Vashti closer, he held up a small leather bag. “This contains a few items you will need.” Opening the bag, he began to produce the contents one by one. “Cash. US dollars. Do you know how to use this?”

Conscious of Jethro’s disbelieving eyes on her face, Vashti tried to sound nonchalant. “Is it money? I’ve heard of it, but I have never used it.”

“Be careful with it. Keep it safe. If you wave it around, someone will try to take it from you. And, while I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to stop them in their tracks, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by killing a mugger.”

Cal reached into the bag again. “This is a credit card. When the money runs out, you use this to get more. Jethro will show you how.” His eyes flicked over to Jethro. “Won’t you?” The response was a curt nod. “These are the papers you will need so you have a mortal identity. And, finally, this is a cell phone. Use this if you need to keep in touch with Jethro.”