Otherworld Challenger by Jane Godman Page A

sacred and noble. They confer upon us the power to channel the spirit world according to our wishes. The responsibility that brings is huge.”
    â€œBut you don’t use these methods—” Vashti indicated the candle he was now placing in the middle of the cloth “—all the time?”
    â€œNo. Necromancing is rare. There are very few of us around and the best of us—me, Lorcan, Cal and Stella—don’t use the older forms of the art often. Nevertheless, there are times when nothing else will do.” He lit the candle and an acrid smell, like stale, dried herbs, made Vashti wrinkle her nose. Jethro looked at Gillespie. “I need some of Bertha’s hair. From when she was alive.”
    With the unusual movement that was somewhere between gliding and walking—the one that had first alerted Vashti to his undead status—Gillespie left the room. When he returned, he brought with him a silver-handled hairbrush. Strands of long, black hair clung to its bristles and he hesitated before handing it to Jethro. He cast a dubious look at the items on the piano before taking up a protective stance close to Bertha.
    â€œYou know I would never harm her. She means too much to me.” Jethro extracted several hairs from the brush and placed them in a small copper dish. Opening several jars in turn, he added a few grains from each to the dish. Extracting a taper from the case, he held it to the candle’s flame, a frown of concentration on his face. Pausing, with the lit taper an inch or two above the dish, Jethro chanted a few words in a guttural language Vashti had never heard before. When he finished, he set light to the contents of the dish. Blue flames and white sparks shot into the air and a loud hissing noise ensued. A strong scent of sulfur filled the air.
    â€œMother.” As soon as he said the word, Bertha paused in the act of dealing her next card and looked up. A smile as sweet as the happiest dream dawned on her face.
    â€œHow long will the sorcery last?” A single tear tracked its way down Gillespie’s cheek as he watched his wife.
    â€œNot long.” Jethro took the chair opposite his mother at the table. “It will be as if she has been hypnotized. She will be unable to lie to me while she is under the influence of this spell.”
    Bertha appeared not to hear him. “My boy—” although she was unable to touch him, her hands hovered an inch above Jethro’s on the tabletop “—I’ve missed you.”
    The shadow that crossed Jethro’s face caused something hard and tight to form inside Vashti’s chest. “Whenever you need me, I will be here. Can I ask you a few questions?”
    Bertha laughed, a high, musical sound that dispelled some of the grief in the atmosphere. “Why so formal? Surely you know you can ask me anything.”
    Vashti flinched. She doesn’t know. Oh, dear Lord, she has no idea what’s going on here.
    â€œIt’s about the story you used to tell me of King Ivo’s lost heir.”
    A cautious look came over Bertha’s face and her hands fluttered nervously. “I’m not sure...”
    â€œDo you know what happened to him after he was smuggled out of the palace on the night of the massacre?”
    A soft sigh of resignation escaped her lips. “Yes, I do.”
    Vashti leaned forward. She wanted to jump in with a dozen questions of her own. How could Bertha possibly know what had happened that night? The massacre had taken place in another world. In the end, there was only one question that mattered and Jethro asked it next. “Where did his nurse take him?”
    Bertha’s eyes darted around the room. “I can’t say.”
    Jethro frowned, his eyes moving from Bertha’s face to Gillespie’s. “She should not be able to evade my questions. Not unless there is some powerful force at work preventing her from answering.”
    Vashti