Otherworld Challenger. Jane Godman
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“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.”
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