by Jane Godman
“I tried to raise the subject once or twice, but it wasn’t easy. They loved me very much, you see.” A reminiscent smile twisted his lips and he sat straighter so he could take a drink. “And they gave me everything a child could have wanted. It always felt like a betrayal to cross-examine them about my birth. As though I was saying they weren’t enough for me. Does that make sense?”
“Yet they must have anticipated you would want to know.”
“I’m not so sure. For a number of reasons. First, there would have been nothing formal about my adoption. Think about it. As you’ve so astutely figured out, I was born before 1830. How long before is anyone’s guess. There were no adoption laws back then.”
Vashti wrinkled her brow in confusion. “I have to confess I struggle with the concept of mortal time. We are talking many mortal years between then and now, I take it?”
“Several mortal lifetimes. So, however it was that I came to live with Bertha and Gillespie, it is highly unlikely there was any legal contract involved. Although I don’t know exactly how old I was when we moved into the old house, I have always believed I was born in about 1825.”
Because his face was in shadow, Vashti couldn’t read his expression. “What makes you think that?”
“I’m a necromancer. Our immortality works in a specific way. We progress into adulthood at a normal rate and then simply stop aging. That day in 1830 is my earliest memory, so I guess I was born not long before that.”
“You must have inherited your necromancing powers from your birth parents.” It was a fascinating story, one that went some way toward explaining the enigma that was Jethro de Loix.
“From one or both of them. I’m one of the strongest necromancers around, part of an elite group that includes Stella, Cal and Lorcan—and Iago—so it’s possible they both had the power.”
“You said there were other reasons that led you to believe Bertha and Gillespie might not have expected you to ask questions about your birth parents,” Vashti reminded him.
“Yes. And those are to do with my necromancing powers. I think I was under some sort of spell during my childhood. A spell that was intended to suppress my abilities. It’s precisely because I am so powerful that my abilities were able to override the spell.” He sighed, leaning back again. “I’ve been over and over it. I think it’s possible Bertha was so desperate for a child—and Gillespie would do anything to make her happy—that she tried to erase all trace of my background so I wouldn’t ask questions.”
“But you did question it?” Vashti had never drunk whiskey before. It was having a curious effect, spreading mellow warmth through her veins.
“It was hard not to. They were so old, you see. It was obvious Bertha adored children. She’d devoted her whole life to them, yet she had none of her own. It didn’t take much imagination to work out she couldn’t have a child of her own. There was no way I was the late arrival in their lives they claimed. I wish I had been. If anyone deserved happiness, it was them.” He took a long slug of his drink. “Then Bertha’s mind started to go and it wasn’t possible to ask her anything. You saw what she was like.”
“When did they die?”
“They were killed in 1918. I was away, fighting on the Western Front in Europe.” At Vashti’s look of confusion, he explained further. “The mortal realm was involved in a great war and I fought as an enlisted soldier. When I returned home, it was to find Bertha and Gillespie had been brutally murdered.”
“My God! Who did it?”
“I never found out, but I will never stop trying.” Jethro turned his head on the cushions so he was looking directly at her. His face was a mask of sorrow. “This is harder than I imagined it would be. I’ve never spoken about it before.”
Her eyes widened. There it was again. That huge weight of responsibility. The importance of getting it right. “Is that why they stayed? Because they have unfinished business here?”
“They didn’t remain in the mortal realm out of any desire for revenge. Even in death, she refused to leave the house she loved. And she couldn’t let go of the charity work to which she’d devoted her life.” His laughter was affectionate, the sadness gone now. “She insisted on being around to make sure her good work continued. Over the years, Gillespie became more involved in what was happening in the Ghost realm in Otherworld, but Bertha has steadfastly refused to leave here. Her mind had started to deteriorate when she was alive, and strangely, the decline continued after her death. Even when the dementia took a hold so firm she was scarcely recognizable as the strong woman we once knew, she made us promise we would never make her leave her home. Which is why Gillespie is still adamant she must be allowed to stay.”
“And the fire you spoke of? That really was an arson attack?”
“I think so. It happened a few years ago on Halloween—” he groaned at her confused expression “—talking to you is like a minefield. I feel like I have to start every conversation with Mortal Culture 101...”
“You do know I have no idea what you are talking about, right?”
“Introductory college classes are traditionally numbered 101. It was my feeble attempt at a joke.”
“And Halloween?”
“Much more interesting. Essentially, it is the Celtic pagan festival of Samhain, which celebrates the end of harvest season. It is the time when the walls between our world and the next become porous, allowing spirits to pass through. They return to life on the day of Samhain to bring mischief to the mortal realm. The name Halloween comes from the words All Hallows Eve. It has become a commercialized festival in recent years.”
“Sounds like a lot of fun. Particularly if the burning of houses is involved.”
“As I told you, the house has always attracted a lot of superstitious attention locally. That intensifies around Halloween, which, coincidentally, is tomorrow night. I believe it was a random act of vandalism. Am I sure?” He shrugged. “As far as I can be. So there you have it. My life story...what I know of it.”
Vashti scanned his shadowed features. Why did she get the feeling he was still keeping something from her?
“Any questions?”
“Just one.” Jethro quirked a brow at her. “Why did you change your mind and decide to tell me this, after all?”
Instead of answering he leaned closer, reaching for her hand. “Because I think there is an affinity between us.”
Vashti’s breath caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. “You said it was just a kiss. The kind of thing mortals think nothing of.”
His smile gleamed, full of darkness and promise. “That’s not what I meant. When I stepped out of the shower, I took a look in the mirror.” He lifted her hand to his face and Vashti’s eyes widened in amazement as her fingertips connected with the smooth flesh of his right cheekbone. “My scar is gone.”
* * *
There were too many questions raging around in Vashti’s mind for her to contemplate how to start unraveling them. One minute, they had been caught up in controversy, the focal point of which was Jethro’s past life, then, without warning, it had shifted and become about Vashti herself. She was still struggling to understand how the change in focus had happened.
Jethro had asked only one simple question. “Do you know how you did it?” In response, she had given a helplessly noncommittal shrug. He seemed to understand she was incapable of further discussion about the matter.
Now, alone in the pleasantly cozy guest room, she lay back on her bed and tried to make sense of a day that had contained very few rational moments. Her mind insisted on replaying only those events involving Jethro. I have managed to progress through my life so far without exhibiting any of the traditional traits of the fae. Now, in the few short days I have been in close proximity to Jethro de Loix, I have discovered a hitherto unsuspected side to my personality. Intuition, the power of healing, the glam
our...all the legendary characteristics of the members of the Seelie Court seemed to be emerging from within her, prompting a question that could not be ignored. Was Jethro the catalyst for this change?
If she had never met him, would she ever have become aware she possessed these qualities that had once been so revered by her race? Somehow she doubted it. Setting aside the kiss—even though her mind showed an alarming tendency to return to it every few minutes—he had the ability to light her up from within with just a look or a touch. He does something to me no one else can. And whatever it is appears to have awakened a fundamental talent within me. Something that must always have been there, lying dormant. Something that was always meant to be.
Although her restless thoughts found no answers, they did come up with another question, one that would not be banished, no matter how hard she tried to drive it from her mind. Why does he have this effect on me? Was the answer all too obvious? Let this not be about how much I want him. Because surely that will go away once I get this mad longing out of my system. Whereas the fact that her proximity to Jethro appeared to be effecting these deeper changes to her psyche, suggested something more, something she didn’t want to probe any further. He said he doesn’t do love. Good, because nor will I.
Impatient and agitated by a problem she couldn’t solve, Vashti rose from the bed and, opening the sliding door, wandered onto the balcony that encircled the upper floor of the house. She was wearing only a thin cotton nightshirt and the cool fall air made her shiver slightly. Leaning on the rail, she gazed out into the darkness. The uninterrupted silence wrapped itself around her, eerie, yet strangely comforting. The lake was a glassy reflection, bouncing back a perfect image of the moon and stars above her head.
“What are you doing out here?”
Because she hadn’t heard Jethro approach, he was right behind her before she felt his presence. When he spoke, his voice was a soft growl in her ear. His hands came down firmly on the rail on either side of her, imprisoning her in the circle of his arms. Vashti attempted to turn so she was facing him, but he pressed himself hard up against her, imprisoning her against the balcony rail with his body. His erection pressed into her spine, signaling his intentions. A storm of desire shuddered through her whole body as his teeth nipped at the back of her neck.
She wanted to speak, to protest at his high-handed assumption that this was what she wanted. But wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? What she had been hoping for? As one muscular arm slid around her waist and the other hand moved to under the hem of her nightshirt to caress her thighs, the only sound she could manage was a helpless whimper.
“Let go of her, you trickster bastard.” It was Jethro’s voice. Icy with pent-up fury. A few feet away from where Vashti was standing. Yet weren’t those his fingertips sliding just inside the elastic of her underwear? What the hell was going on here?
“Must I? We were having so much fun.” The voice in her ear was mocking and all too familiar. It took a moment or two, but then the reality of what had happened sank in. With a furious exclamation, Vashti brought her elbow back hard into Iago’s stomach. Too late. He was already gone. Only the sound of his derisive laughter lingered briefly in the still night air.
Red-hot heat flooded her face as she turned to face the real Jethro. “I thought it was you...”
Oh, dear God! That didn’t make it any better. She might as well admit she would be happy to let him bend her over the balcony rail and take her any time he wanted. Despite his anger, the brighter flare in the dark depths of his eyes was a brief acknowledgment Jethro knew exactly what she was saying.
Drawing in a deep breath to cover her embarrassment, she tried for a more composed tone. “How do you suppose he found us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Some of the tension in his frame relaxed slightly. “He could have been with us the whole time. We don’t know if he’s gone away now.”
Vashti brought her hands up to her upper arms, hugging herself against the breeze that suddenly seemed to chill her flesh through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. “That’s a horrible thought.”
“Would you put it past him? From what I saw just now, I reckon he’d be quite capable of joining you in your bed or in the shower.”
Vashti cast a glance over her shoulder. He was right, of course. Iago would try any trick to unnerve them, no matter how devious or dirty. “That settles it. We’re swapping rooms.”
Jethro shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what room you’re in, if he wants to find you, he will. And I’ve had a thought more horrible than yours. He can impersonate me, but he can imitate you just as easily. I don’t like the idea of waking up with Iago’s tongue in my mouth...or elsewhere. This might seem like a massive U-turn considering my opposition to the idea of you accompanying me on this mission—” he reached out a hand and, much to Vashti’s surprise, caught hold of her wrist “—but I’m not letting you out of my sight from now on.”
Chapter 8
“I still don’t see how locking the door will work if he’s already in here with us.” Vashti flopped wearily into a chair beside the bed as Jethro prowled around his bedroom, checking the windows.
“If the slimy little bastard is in here, he’ll have to show himself sooner or later. That way I can get my hands around his scrawny throat before he has another chance to escape.” He flicked a glance in her direction; she looked tired but unbearably desirable. Although he couldn’t quite figure out why that should be the case, since she was wearing a perfectly respectable nightshirt that kept her covered from neck to knee.
“Why don’t we make this easier? I promise faithfully not to try to seduce you during the night. Now, if anyone does slide into bed with you, you’ll know it’s Iago.” Vashti smothered a yawn behind her hand. “Mind you, if he’s listening to this conversation, he’ll know he’s lost the element of surprise. I expect he’ll be plotting something else instead.” She gave a mischievous chuckle. “Always supposing cozying up to you was his intention. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you might not be his type.”
Her laughter was infectious and Jethro couldn’t help smiling in response. “That’s the problem. Now he knows where we are, we have to expect the unexpected. All the time.” He quickly became serious again. “We also have to assume Iago is not the only one who knows our whereabouts.”
Vashti’s eyes went to the window, as though she expected to see someone standing in the darkness outside looking in. Even before she spoke, Jethro knew who she was picturing. “My father?” It was as if those two words had drained all the life from her. The laughing sprite of seconds earlier was replaced by a colorless shadow. If the mere thought of Moncoya could do that to his own daughter, was it any wonder Cal didn’t want him ruling the faerie dynasty?
“He and Iago are allies. As soon as Moncoya gets an inkling of this mission to find the challenger, he’ll do everything he can to put a stop to it.” He drew the drapes, shutting out the darkness and, hopefully, Moncoya’s image with it. “I think it’s time to move on, don’t you?”
“Do we have to go right now?” Vashti cast a longing look in the direction of the bed.
“Tomorrow will do. There is something I have to do first, and I want to see Gillespie again before we go.”
“Why?”
Why indeed? Jethro wasn’t sure he could answer that question. He just felt there was unfinished business back at the old house. What it was, he couldn’t say, or even guess at. “To make sure Bertha isn’t suffering any ill effects.” It was the truth, but not all of it. “And I suppose I need one final attempt to get him to let me send Bertha to Otherworld.”
Vashti glanced around the room again. “Iago isn’t in here.”
“What makes you say that?” He came to sit near her on the bed, so close their knees were almost touching. Her eyes were huge in the pale oval of her face, the sidhe ring
of fire blazing brighter than ever.
“I just feel it.” She shook her head. “The fae has never been strong in me, but, since I’ve been in the mortal realm, its force has been growing more powerful all the time. A minute ago, when I said he wasn’t here, I was fairly sure I was right. Since you sat down there, I’ve become absolutely certain of it.” Her eyes scanned his face. “Could your nearness affect my ability?”
Jethro shrugged. “I’m not dismissing the idea, but I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve experienced or even heard of.”
Vashti stretched her arms above her head. “Maybe I’m being fanciful and I just need to get some sleep. Since you’ve locked me in here, do you mind explaining the sleeping arrangements?”
The bed was huge, but Jethro very much doubted she’d be willing to share it. On one level, he felt a sense of regret. He had a feeling sharing a bed with Vashti could turn out to be a life-changing experience. But was life-changing what he wanted—or needed—right now? On a purely physical level, there was only one answer to that question. It started with hell and ended with yeah. Of course he did. His rational mind attempted to restore a sense of balance. Life was complicated enough. Distance was what was needed here.
“You take the bed.” He pointed at the sofa Bertha had lovingly restored many years ago. He knew from experience it was the most uncomfortable item of furniture in the house. “I’ll sleep there. And just so we’re clear—” Vashti glanced up at him, a question in her eyes “—that promise you made works both ways. I won’t be sneaking in beside you, either.”
She blushed. “I’m so tired I wouldn’t notice.”
Just as he’d decided to be sensible and keep his distance, some roguish impulse prompted him to see if he could deepen that blush further. “Oh, you’d notice.”
Sure enough, the soft tinge of color in her cheeks darkened to a deep rose and she drew in a ragged breath. Jethro decided it was the most enticing sound he had ever heard. Unfortunately, the success of his tactics meant he was now going to endure a night tormented by erotic fantasies instead of getting the decent sleep he desperately needed. It was worth it, to see that look of delicious confusion spread across her face.
