Otherworld Challenger Read online

  Keeping up his alternating chant of ordering the vampires to freeze and then depart—while trying not to let his mind dwell on what might be happening to Vashti—Jethro introduced a new command, one intended for a different audience. He hated this part of the job. Zombies were easy to raise but they could be bastards to get back in their box.

  “Awacnian. Awaken.” Jethro raised his outstretched arms to shoulder height and bowed his head. “Hidercyme. Come here. Come to me.”

  They were on their way. Almost immediately he could feel their ghastly presence. The cemetery was close by. Even zombies, with their lumbering gait, would cover the distance in no time. He hoped no one was around to witness what was happening in Darwen’s churchyard right now. It would be a Halloween to remember, that was for sure. The town would never forget the night every occupant of the graveyard rose and decided to go for a stroll...

  The vampires quickly picked up on the change in mood. The circle moved closer to Jethro as those around him bared their fangs in an angry, collective hiss.

  “Fýrwylm.” Jethro raised his hands, keeping his palms upward. Flames shot from his fingertips, engulfing the vampires, who shrank back with shrieks of rage. Fire wouldn’t kill them, but it would hold them back until the zombies arrived. It sure as hell wasn’t doing anything for their mood. The group of pissed-off, singed-around-the-edges vampires turned eagerly as wet, shuffling sounds signaled the arrival of Jethro’s zombie army.

  Zombies had no brains. Each individual zombie cell was programmed to fight for the necromancer who controlled them. Their body could be hacked into pieces and each piece would continue to fight. As long as Jethro remained close by, he could leave his foul-smelling, brainless foot soldiers to carry out his bidding. He might not like them, but these zombies were the ultimate in blind, unthinking loyalty.

  Jethro knew from experience it was best to keep zombie instructions simple. He couldn’t tell them the truth. He couldn’t say, “Gather round and listen up, guys. You can’t kill these blood-sucking bastards. Not unless you stake them through the heart, then decapitate them.” How did you explain a concept like that to a shuffling, snuffling mass who didn’t share a single brain cell between them? The best he could hope for was that the zombies would keep the vampires occupied while he and Vashti got the mortals out of Iago’s clutches and to safety. Dealing with the aftermath? He wasn’t looking forward to that.

  “Kill them.” He pointed to the vampires. “All of them.”

  Raising their arms in front of them in the familiar zombie stance, his corpse fighters shambled forward to meet the whirling mass of vampires. Whatever the outcome, this was not going to be pretty. Wincing as the two groups met head-on, Jethro stayed for a few minutes to ensure the vampires really did have a fight on their hands before setting off in Vashti’s direction.

  * * *

  When Vashti plunged into the forest she had no idea what she would find. She only knew she could not ignore that Iago was around here somewhere, torturing innocent mortals to get at her and Jethro.

  “Pick on someone your own size, you evil trickster,” she muttered, following the sounds of a struggle.

  She could see lights weaving in and out of the tree trunks up ahead and she made her way toward them. The shouts and exclamations continued, interspersed with the occasional scream. As she drew closer, Vashti could see about a dozen figures—men and women with one or two children—flailing wildly around. The beams of the flashlights added to the sense of chaos, as did the relentless barking of several dogs.

  There was no doubt Iago had done this deliberately to separate her and Jethro. The sense she was walking into a trap laid by the most cunning opponent she had ever encountered weighed heavier with each step she took. He might be sneaky, but he’s also a coward, she reminded herself. Iago didn’t like face-to-face confrontation. Smoke and mirrors were his style, but, time after time, he’d chosen to run when the going got tough.

  “What’s going on?” She reached the group of mortals and raised a hand to shield her eyes as a flashlight was turned in her direction.

  “Who are you?” The man’s voice was high-pitched and jittery with nerves.

  “I was passing and heard noises. I thought maybe I could help.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice she hadn’t answered his question.

  “There’s an animal that keeps coming at us, snapping and snarling. Each time we think we’ve got a look at it, it vanishes into the darkness. It could be a big dog or even a wolf.” This time it was a woman who spoke and, as Vashti’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the speaker was carrying a young child on her hip.

  Another man moved forward to stand alongside the woman. He had an air of authority that was explained by his next words. “I’m the rector. We’ve come from the church hall at the top of the road. The fun was just getting started when we heard the explosion up at the old de Loix place. Someone said maybe it was another arson attack, so we decided to come and see what was going on. We took a shortcut through the woods, then this happened. Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

  Yes, but the sort of sick mind we are dealing with here makes a bit of trick or treating look tame in comparison. “Possibly. Why don’t we get out of these trees? Whatever, or whoever, is causing the problem is using the cover of the woods. Out in the open it will be much harder to hide.”

  Making sure the group was with her, Vashti turned and led them back the way she had just come. Was it her imagination or did she hear a faint snickering sound behind her? Was Iago trying to get inside her head to convince her he was more powerful than he truly was? I’m not falling for your hype. She wanted to say it out loud, but decided talking to an invisible being was probably not the way to get these mortals to trust her.

  When they reached the path, she had a decision to make. Head down the hill toward the town or take the upward curve to the de Loix house? It wasn’t much of a choice. Not only was the route into town longer, it would leave them out in the open, exposed to any attack Iago might launch. Like it or not, her little group was going to have to take their chances with the haunted house, taking a detour around Jethro and the vampires, of course.

  “Whoa.” The rector drew alongside her. “Why are we going this way?”

  Before Vashti could answer, one of the women pointed a finger. “What’s going on over there? It sounds like the hounds of hell have broken loose.”

  A tall, familiar figure strode toward them. “Rival gangs.” Jethro jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the mayhem. “They decided to join in the trick or treating and it got out of hand. I suggest we get the children out of the way. The summerhouse at the de Loix place hasn’t been damaged by the explosion. You can hide out in there until the police have dealt with this.” The rector looked skeptical, but there was no mistaking the sounds of bloodshed. The other mortals seemed only too eager to get away from a scene of carnage. Vashti slid her hand into Jethro’s, gripping his fingers hard with relief. He glanced down at her with a slight smile before becoming serious again. “Shall we go?” She knew he was keeping his voice deliberately controlled, hiding any urgency from the mortals.

  “What is it?” she murmured, walking alongside him toward the house.

  “The sounds of undead flesh being ripped apart you heard back there? Vampires taking on zombies. Both sides will see this group of mortals as a moving feast. I can control the zombies, but if the vampires get their scent they’ll forget to keep ripping apart the zombies and be up this hillside faster than you can blink.”

  “So what use will it be to get these mortals into the summerhouse?”

  “Vampires can’t cross a threshold unless the residents invite them.”

  “Clever.”

  “I do my best.” He glanced over his shoulder at the group of mortals. They were approaching the old house now and the moonlight on their faces displayed a range of emo
tions. None of which could have been described as happy. “That just leaves Iago.”

  Vashti groaned. “Why does everything we do end with that sentence?”

  The blaze had not fully taken hold of the main house and tendrils of smoke swirled sluggishly around them as they approached. The roof leaned at a dangerous angle and some fiery embers still burned bright against the night sky. By the combined lights of the moon and the flashlights, the summerhouse was a silent, empty outline, its many windows opaque with decades of dust. Jethro tried the door and it creaked open. He beckoned the others to follow him inside. The interior was stacked high with furniture and boxes covered by dusty tarps. It was obvious that, in life, Bertha and Gillespie hadn’t believed in throwing anything away.

  “This place became used for storage.” Jethro stated the obvious as the flashlights illuminated the gloom.

  “How come you know so much about this place? And why don’t our cell phones work up here?” The rector came to join them.

  Jethro drew him to one side and Vashti joined them. “I don’t want to alarm your companions, but those gangs back there? They have some sort of weird Halloween thing going on. One group thinks they’re vampires while the others are dressed as zombies. Just now, they seem totally focused on each other. I wouldn’t like to speculate on what might happen if that gets out of hand.”

  The rector’s expression took on a queasy hue. “You mean they could come after us? Enact some sort of sick ritual?”

  “Let’s hope not. Maybe we should be prepared, just in case? If they believe they are vampires, they could try anything. Let’s play along. Do you and your companions wear crucifixes?”

  The rector nodded, his pallor increasing with each passing second. “Good. Wear them on the outside of your clothing. Let your dogs go. They’ll fend for themselves and find their own way home. I want you to sit in a circle in the middle of the room, facing outward. Put the children in the middle. Don’t break that circle, no matter what you see or hear. Is that clear?” The other man nodded weakly. “And, Rector? Don’t invite anyone in. No matter who they are or appear to be. Do you understand?”

  Another nod. The rector swallowed audibly. “This is not a human gang, is it?”

  “You might want to pretend it is.”

  * * *

  It felt like the longest night of Jethro’s life. Without Vashti at his side, it probably would have felt longer. They had walked around the exterior of the summerhouse in an endless circle. When the first vampire attack came, Jethro was almost glad. Anything to break the nerve-jangling tension and monotony.

  The vampire who approached was newly transformed, inexperienced and overeager. Drawn by the prospect of mortal blood, he approached swiftly, ready to slash his way through any obstacle.

  “Step aside, mortal.” Fangs bared, the vampire drew himself up to his full impressive height, facing Jethro across a distance of several feet.

  In reply, Jethro took a step forward, holding up his hands. The wooden stake and serviceable hammer he held were clearly visible in the moonlight. Vashti joined him, swinging the ax Jethro had unearthed from the barn at the rear of the old house. She studied the vampire with her head on one side before turning to Jethro.

  “This isn’t the sharpest ax, but one good blow should do it. Two at best.”

  Jethro gave an exaggerated sigh. “Remember what I said. Stake through the heart first. Then the decapitation. It has to be in the right order.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot.” Vashti looked the vampire up and down again. “What are we waiting for?”

  With barely imperceptible movement, the vampire whirled closer, his eyes boring into them. “You don’t scare me with your mortal banter.”

  “If I was mortal I’d probably be shitting myself right about now. But they should have told you at bloodsucker school you can’t use mind control tricks on a necromancer. Or a faerie.”

  “Let’s get on with it. Do that thing that makes him into a statue, then we can put his head on a pole to warn his friends to stay away.”

  “Faeries.” Jethro shook his head with mock sadness. “Good to look at, but no finesse. Now, where was I?” He stepped closer to the vampire, stake held high. After a brief hesitation, the vampire gave a furious hiss, then swirled away. He blended into the shadows before disappearing completely. “That was fun. We should do this double act thing more often.”

  “You let him get away.” Vashti scanned the darkness, her eyes seeking any sign of movement. “We should have killed that one as a message to the others.”

  “For the sake of the mortals, I’d prefer to avoid a bloodbath.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Are the earth-born really so squeamish?”

  Jethro laughed. “They tend to shy away from acts like chopping the head off an undead monster.”

  Vashti considered the matter for a moment before shrugging. They commenced their pacing. Several more vampires approached in the night, relentlessly drawn to the summerhouse by the number of mortals in one place. Most were persuaded to leave. Two, overcome by their bloodlust, needed more drastic action. Jethro was able to freeze them before staking and decapitating them.

  A faint glow was lighting the sky as he and Vashti washed the worst of the blood from their hands and arms under the old pump outside the de Loix house. “The vampires won’t come now. What bothers me most is we’ve still heard nothing from Iago. Can you feel him?”

  “He’s still close by.” Her expression was tense. “It’s like he’s toying with us.”

  “Sounds about right. I need to deal with the zombies.” Jethro grimaced. “Wish me luck. This could go either way.”

  “Do you have to go and round them up?”

  “Like some sort of freak show shepherd? Hopefully, I can exert enough control over them from here to send them back to their graves. The problem with zombies is that the longer they’ve been out of the ground, the harder it is to get them back in again. They don’t so much develop free will—they have no will—it’s more like they get some sort of blind, stupid obstinacy. They start resisting commands just for the hell of it. This lot has tasted freedom for longer than I’d like. Time to find out how they respond.” He moved slightly away from Vashti, adopting the familiar stance, head bent, arms outstretched at shoulder height.

  For several minutes he breathed in the darkness. It was fading now, but there was still more in the remaining gloom than most would ever know. Sunset wasn’t a frightening or sullen time for the ones whose hearts beat to the rhythm of the night. With his finely tuned necromancer senses, Jethro could feel them going about their business. The children of the night. The vampires were retreating now. These were not Tibor’s well-trained followers. They did not have the self-control to withstand the light of day. Coffins filled with their homeland soil sang to them.

  Jethro turned his attention to the shambling mass of zombies. Damaged by the vampire onslaught, they shuffled close by—staggering and blundering into each other—awaiting his command. You’re not going to like this one, guys.

  “Edhwierft. Return.”

  The response threw him backward, almost jolting him off his feet. Zombies had no voice, no thoughts, no free choice, but their collective resistance was a silent scream echoing in his mind. It was his lone strength pitted against their sheer, bloody, brainless defiance. He had to win. If the zombies he had raised got into the town... No, that didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Edhwierft. Do it now.” His voice was stronger, ringing out across the unseen distance between him and his undead followers. He had them this time. Breathing hard with the effort of keeping them under control, Jethro repeated the command once more. He couldn’t afford to feel relief too soon. Nevertheless, his mind conjured up the wet flesh sounds and old-corpse scents of a zombie retreat. It was happening. They were going back to their graves. Dragging their feet—those w
ho still had feet—but that was zombies for you.

  Drained by the effort it had taken, Jethro sank abruptly to his knees, feeling the early morning dew soak through the cloth of his jeans. Vashti hurried to his side, pausing to glance around at the sound of applause ringing out in the murky half light. Although, its source unclear, the voice that accompanied it was all too familiar. Iago remained invisible. “Very impressive. But can you do this?”

  There was a rustling sound in the trees, as if giant unseen birds were settling high above them. Eerie whispers filled the air, accompanied by rasping, sucking sounds. A smell—reminiscent of rancid meat—hung in the air, mingling with the smell of smoke from the house.

  “My God. How low will he stoop?” Jethro’s voice resonated with a combination of shock and disgust.

  “What is it?” Vashti sounded like someone who knew she wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “He has called upon the Sluagh.”

  “What are the Sluagh?”

  “They are the undead fae, so reviled even the Unseelie Court cast them out. These are souls so evil they aren’t welcome anywhere after death and are forced into exile in the mortal realm. They can never be reincarnated into their earth-born forms or exist as ghosts. Yet their malevolence survives. They are envious of the souls that live in mortal bodies and want to drag those souls along with them on their endless journey.

  “The Sluagh gather when the earth-born are dying. They arrive in the night on the westerly wind and enter mortal dwellings through open windows or doors that have been left ajar. Once inside, they will try to snatch the soul of the dying person before it has time to move on. The unwilling soul is forced to join the Sluagh and add to the numbers of the flock.”

  “What use can the Sluagh be to Iago if they only feast on the souls of the dying?”