Otherworld Challenger. Jane Godman
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You may get some strange looks, but I’m sure you can give them one of your haughty royal stares in response. Can you walk?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
His eyes lingered on her face. “You are a very unusual girl, did you know that?”
“I’ve had an unusual upbringing.”
Something changed then in the dark depths of those eyes. It was as if he withdrew from her without moving. “So you have. I almost forgot.” The words seemed to rouse him into action. “Wait there.”
After Jethro had landed the plane he’d taxied straight from the runway into a private hangar. His booted footsteps echoed now on the concrete floor as, having jumped down from his side, he walked around the front of the aircraft and opened the passenger door. “Give me your hands.”
Vashti hesitated a moment. Her fierce independence went to war with the fear of looking foolish. What if she found she couldn’t walk and fell flat on her face? Pride won. Placing both her hands in Jethro’s, she allowed him to assist her out of the plane and onto the ground. To her intense relief, her legs, although shaky, held her weight. She leaned against the side of the plane while Jethro retrieved their bags from the space behind the seats, the scene of her recent fight with Iago. Her muscles were stiffening and she was going to have some serious bruises tomorrow to remind her of that encounter.
“Will Iago come after us again?” She would need all her strength if he did.
“Sooner or later, yes. All I know for sure is he’ll do it when we least expect it.” Jethro moved to another part of the hangar. Pulling back a tarp to reveal a mean-looking motorbike, he quickly checked the machine over. Apparently satisfied, he beckoned Vashti over and handed her a helmet. “Put this on.”
She glanced around the hangar. There were numerous other large, vehicle-size, canvas-covered shapes within the building. “Is everything in here yours?”
Jethro was stowing their bags in a cargo box on the bike, but he glanced up at that. “Yes. Why?”
“Necromancing must be a lucrative business.”
There was that grin again. The one she had thought, until so recently, she hated. Now, all of a sudden, it managed to turn her insides to liquid. Vashti wasn’t sure she liked the change. She didn’t have time to examine her reasons, but it felt a lot like control had somehow been handed over to Jethro.
“It pays the rent.”
Once they were out on the open road, Vashti found some of the tension that had gripped her oozing away. The greenery and freshness reminded her of home. Perhaps the mortal realm wasn’t so different or threatening, after all. If you took Iago out of the equation. She had been here before, of course. Moncoya had used his daughters to intimidate and threaten—sometimes to kidnap or assassinate—his enemies. On those occasions, Vashti and Tanzi had been closely guarded. Their focus had been on their assignment not their surroundings.
Vashti remembered a conversation with her father about those missions.
“Why do you send us and not your sidhe warriors?”
Moncoya’s eyes had narrowed. Those eyes were as blue as her own and with the same sidhe ring of fire, yet subtly different. Probably because Moncoya wore eyeliner and Vashti didn’t. “Do you question my judgment?”
“No. I’m not stupid enough to do that.” It was true. Vashti might be more defiant than Tanzi, but she never deliberately incurred his wrath.
He had laughed. “You are my statement to the world. My beautiful twin daughters. My perfectly matched pearls. No one expects you to also be my killing machines. Each time I send you into the mortal realm, it gives two messages. One is about your loyalty to me. The second goes deeper. It tells the world the faerie race is not what legend would like mortals to believe. We do not sit at the bottom of the garden benignly waiting to bestow our favors upon the earth-born race. We have stepped out from between the pages of a child’s tale. Yes, we still look good—” he’d waved a hand to encompass them both “—but we can kill a mortal with one hand.”
Even though, at that time—before she had known the full scale of his villainy, including the fact he had murdered their mother—her loyalty to Moncoya was absolute, the words had caused Vashti to shiver. Yet she knew there had been a time when faeries and mortals had coexisted amicably. Their childhood nurse used to tell Vashti and Tanzi tales of the old days. Days before Moncoya’s rule. It was dangerous talk, but she had risked it. Vashti knew Cal hoped the challenger—if he could be found—would restore some of that lost harmony between mortal and fae. It isn’t lost. It has been systematically destroyed by my father. It had never occurred to Vashti to question the origin of her father’s hatred for mortals.
Cal and Moncoya were half brothers, sharing the same faerie father. While Moncoya’s mother was a sidhe, Cal’s mother was a mortal woman, a nun who had hidden her talented sorcerer son away from his scheming father during childhood so he could not be given to Satan as part of an evil pact. Cal had grown up to become Merlin, the great sorcerer and now the leader of the Otherworld Alliance. Moncoya, through his ruthless drive and ambition, had usurped the faerie throne in a bloody coup. They might share a father, but no two brothers had ever been less alike. Perhaps the fact the brother he hated was half mortal explained Moncoya’s all-encompassing loathing for the earth-born.
Under Jethro’s skillful handling, the powerful bike purred along the country roads like a dream, eating up the miles until they reached a rugged stretch of coast. They followed the scenic route, hugging a dramatic shoreline of soaring, jagged rocks and gunmetal waters on one side and patchwork trees in every shade of green, gold and orange on the other. Finally, Jethro pulled into a narrow lane and halted the bike alongside a wooden boathouse. On the pebbly shore where they stood, the little building was level with the ground, but, as Vashti walked around to stretch her aching limbs, she saw it extended out into the water on raised stilts. A small motorboat, big enough for two people, was pulled up onto decking at the rear of the boathouse.
“Don’t tell me. This is your place and that’s your boat.” She was beginning to wonder if Jethro had transport tucked away all over the mortal realm. But surely she’d heard it was meant to be a big place and that would be beyond his means?
Jethro nodded as he wheeled the bike into the boathouse. He indicated the boat. “Twenty minutes and we’ll be there.”
Where is “there”? Vashti supposed she would find out soon enough. When Jethro had finished stowing their bags in the boat and locking the bike away in the boathouse, she joined him in the little vessel. “It feels like we’ve been traveling forever.”
“Welcome to my world.” He started the engine and the boat was soon skimming over the dark waters. Behind them the coastline with its tall pines and dramatic rocks began to fade. Ahead, an island, roughly horseshoe in shape, covered in the same spiky pines, came into view. “Home.”
There was something in Jethro’s voice as he said that single word. A note Vashti had not heard before. Emotion was something she still could not fully understand, but she had a feeling she was witnessing it now in its rawest form.
As they drew closer, she could see a jetty poking out from the island into the water. Above that, there was a single wooden house. Tall and majestic, set like a jewel among the encircling pine trees, with the sun’s dying rays glinting on high, arched windows. It was hauntingly beautiful.
“Who else lives there?”
“Just me.” Jethro steered the boat toward the end of the jetty. “Welcome to de Loix Island.”
Vashti shook her head. “You own this?”
He laughed at her expression. “I’m a loner. I don’t like sharing. Besides, it belonged to my parents before me.” He brought the boat to a halt alongside the jetty. Springing lightly onto the wooden boards, he reached down a hand to help Vashti.
“A fleet of planes. Motorbikes and boats strategically placed where you need