Otherworld Renegade

“You should offer to help Maria with both. She’ll refuse, but it will endear you to her. No, I think your fighting skills will prove more useful than your domestic talents.” How would she respond? He was asking her to take up arms against her father. It was the ultimate test of how serious she was.

Tanzi’s face told him she understood. For a moment her expression was open to him and the anguish he read in her eyes shocked him. What had Moncoya done to her?

“Agreed.”

That single word said it all. Whatever had caused her to run to him, it was so bad she was prepared to change sides. Lorcan knew how that felt. It was the hardest decision in the world. Without thinking, he took her hand in his. Tanzi looked down in surprise. Briefly, she let her hand rest passively in Lorcan’s palm. Then she turned it and twined her fingers between his. It was a touching, trusting gesture. They sat together for a long time, hand in hand, watching the lively display of life unfolding in the square in front of them.

“Tell me about the men who hurt you.” Lorcan broke the silence at last.

She let go of his hand, and it felt as if a spell had been broken. Perhaps it had. “I was foolish.”

“You trusted me enough to come looking for me. You can tell me about this.” Pedro said they had found her half-naked and beaten. That was bad enough. Was it even worse? His mind made a connection he didn’t want. “Tell me they didn’t—?”

“No.” She interrupted quickly. Her cheeks flamed. “They didn’t rape me. Is that what you meant?” He nodded. “They were street performers. Dressed as a bullfighter and a bull. I suppose they thought I was just a naive tourist flaunting my expensive clothes. I think it could have been much worse, but I’d told them I was looking for you. They knew your name. They seemed to be afraid of you.”

“So they bloody should be.” His jaw muscles tightened.

“They called you a renegade. What did they mean by that?”

Lorcan didn’t answer at first. Renegade. It was a word he hadn’t heard in a long time. A word he had hoped never to hear again. When he did speak, it wasn’t in answer to Tanzi’s question.

“I know who they are.”

* * *

Tanzi regarded Lorcan thoughtfully. “You take your old room, I can sleep in here.”

She indicated the cramped space in which they were standing. It was the only other room on the top floor of the house and, until an hour ago, it had been used by Maria as a linen closet. After returning from the square, Lorcan and Tanzi had cleared it of its contents and carried a foldaway bed up the winding stairs all the way from the cellar. It just fitted into the cramped space. Maria, after eying the arrangement in disgust, was making her way—with much huffing and complaining—down the stairs with laden armfuls of bedding.

“Sure, isn’t this the height of luxury after some of the places I’ve been forced to get my head down in my time?” He grinned and Tanzi’s stomach responded by doing a strange little flip-flop movement. She wondered briefly if it might be some sort of necromancer spell. If it was, its purpose eluded her. “Go to bed, Searc.”

It must be a spell, she decided later. Why else would she be drifting aimlessly around her room in a giddy trance, listening to the sounds of Lorcan getting into bed in the room next door? Smiling to herself as she heard him bump his head on the low ceiling and curse? Picturing the tanned torso she had seen that morning and imagining running her fingers lightly over those interesting ridges of muscle? Discovering that she was not, as she had always believed, immune to the pull of sexual attraction that others found so enticing?

Flopping down onto her own bed, Tanzi thought about what Lorcan had said. If she stayed here, she was changing sides. She would join the fight against her father. To even contemplate such an action should make her weighed down by her own duplicity. So why did she feel—her mind searched for the right word—liberated? It was as though her subconscious had been seeking this decision all along and, now it was made, every part of her felt lighter and freer.

This all-enveloping sense of relief was not just a result of Moncoya’s behavior toward Tanzi herself. The preceding three months had provided her with more than enough proof of his corruption and viciousness. Even though she was his daughter, the faeries had started to come to Tanzi with their stories. She was gaining a reputation for fairness and action. They were beginning to trust her. Tanzi herself no longer had any faith in Moncoya. Finally, she could accept that she had never loved him. Her life had been ruled by her fear of him.

So I will proudly turn my coat. I will become a renegade like you, Lorcan Malone. Tanzi had seen the wretchedness in his eyes when she said the word, and her curiosity had spiked in response. I know why I am crossing the line, and I will do so with my head held high. What was your reason, necromancer?

The third stair from the top had a creak that sounded like a strangled cat. When it came, it was the signal Tanzi had been waiting for. The noise had either been caused by someone coming up the stairs, or, as she suspected, by Lorcan sneaking down.

Slipping fully dressed from her bed, Tanzi pulled the hood of her dark sweatshirt up so that it hid her hair. Leaving her room, she closed the door carefully behind her and leaned over the banister. She could see Lorcan on the flight of stairs below her. He was carrying his shoes. Avoiding that telltale third step, Tanzi made her way down, hiding in the shadows of the landing as Lorcan paused to pull on his boots.

The night air was crisp as she followed him outside. Lorcan’s long stride made him hard to keep up with, but the streets were thankfully quiet. Tanzi found herself running from one corner to the next, peeking around buildings before tiptoeing on. Like a cartoon caricature of a sleuth, she thought in annoyance. Are all men this obstinate? Why couldn’t he have just offered to take me with him?

Lorcan made his way out of the winding lanes around the safe house and into a wider promenade near the Ramblas. There were more signs of life here. Neon lights cut through the darkness and a few revelers were trying to maintain the daytime carnival atmosphere. The smell of beer and fried onions hung heavy in the air. Tanzi kept her hands in her pockets and her head down, glancing up only now and then to check that Lorcan was still in her sights. That was how she almost missed it when he ducked into a narrow alley between a bar and a strip club. Doubt assailed her. Maybe she had this all wrong. Was he actually planning a nocturnal visit to seek comfort in one of the district’s seedier establishments? These advertised their services with red lights hung over their doors. Although the prostitutes loitering on the doorsteps might also have been a clue.

Tanzi hung back, watching by the light of a single streetlamp as Lorcan followed a short cobbled passage, then turned left. When she sprinted after him, she found herself in a walled courtyard, with a church at one end. The building was abandoned. Even in the darkness it was clear that half the roof had fallen in and there was no glass in the windows. There was no sign of Lorcan. Tanzi spun round. There hadn’t been time for him to scale one of the ten-foot-high walls that enclosed the square yard and, while she knew that his friend Cal had the power to make himself invisible, it was not a common trait among necromancers.

A shout of laughter from inside the church drew Tanzi’s attention and, clinging to the shadows, she made her way in that direction. As she approached, she noticed Lorcan’s tall figure to one side of the door. He was hanging back, observing what was taking place inside. Presented with a dilemma, Tanzi considered her options. If she went any closer, Lorcan would notice her. If she remained where she was, she would be unable to see what was going on. Curiosity won, which was probably what prompted her next action.

When Tanzi was a child, she and Vashti used to sit spellbound while their old nurse, Rina, told tales of faerie folklore. Of a time when mortals understood that the wee, fae folk were part of their heritage, accepting the decisions of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, even referring to Otherworld as “Faeryland.” There were no divisions then between the faerie factions. No separation between faerie and sidhe, no fighting for prominence between Iberia and Celt for who would rule the faerie dynasty. Now, of course, Tanzi understood Rina’s hidden message. She spoke of a time when there was no Moncoya. Rina would tell them of the powers of the ancient faeries. Faeries of the Seelie Court could bestow good fortune upon mortals, change the landscape, control the weather and the crops, levitate or fly and shape-shift. These powers were frowned upon by Moncoya because, in him and other descendants of the Unseelie Court, they were weak or nonexistent. Gradually, over the centuries of sidhe rule and as the distance between Otherworld and the mortal realm grew wider, the faeries had become a fighting race and their benign powers faded.

Nevertheless, Tanzi and Vashti had been determined to put their own skills to the test. Tanzi had never mastered levitation, although, after much practice, Vashti had been able to hover a few feet above her bed. Beyond all others, the one faerie power that had fascinated them throughout their childhood had been shape-shifting.

“I will be a cat,” Tanzi had declared.

“Panther.” Trust Vashti to go bigger, bolder, meaner and keener.

With no clear idea of how to go about the necessary transformation, they had spent hours concentrating on the feline forms into which they wished to change. Tanzi recalled a whole day during which she had followed the kitchen cat around the palace grounds, emulating its movements and imagining herself inside its skin. No matter what they did, neither twin sprouted so much as a whisker. Dispirited, they had questioned Rina about the problem.

“Your father would not like it if he knew I talked to you of the old ways.” Their nurse had cast a nervous look over her shoulder as though expecting Moncoya to emerge from the very walls. “It would be worse if he thought I was encouraging you to try them.”

“We won’t tell if you don’t,” Tanzi had assured her. “But we want to know how to shift.”

“I don’t understand how it works,” Vashti, a stickler for detail, had grumbled. “Even if we could work out what to do, what happens to our clothes when we shift? And how do we come back into our own form again?”

Rina had shaken her head, clicking her tongue indulgently. “Ah, my princesses, you are thinking about this in the wrong way. This is what happens when the old traditions are allowed to die. You are faeries, not were-creatures. Your bodies do not change in the way theirs do.”

Spellbound, Tanzi and Vashti had gazed at her. “Go on.”

“The faerie skill lies in the ability to weave an illusion. We are creatures of magic. Changing shape is part of our glamor. All you have ever needed is the desire to create your disguise. If you believe, you will make others believe with you.”

Round-eyed, the twins had watched each other in delight as they shifted easily into their chosen animal form. From that day on, Tanzi’s go-to shift throughout her childhood had been a black cat. Mercurial Vashti chose a different animal each day, depending on her mood. It had remained their secret, one they had never revealed to anyone else. Their father’s response to their newfound skill was not one they cared to predict.

It had been a while since she had donned her feline disguise, Tanzi conceded. But, if she wanted to see what was going on over at that church, it was her only option. Her mind was made up when Lorcan moved out of the shadows and pushed open the wooden door. Dropping into a crouch and then onto all fours, Tanzi padded into her cat form. She crossed the square and then sprang lightly onto one of the window ledges so that she could look down through the broken glass and onto the scene below.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_7535301d-3d19-533e-99a0-b55ac9a0a978)

The interior of the ruined church was lit by two branches of flickering candles set on a table near the altar. Upon this were piled numerous items, including bags, wallets, clothing and shoes. From her vantage point looking down on the scene, Tanzi immediately spotted her own belongings. She also knew the toreador from his spiky hair and distinctive street performer’s clothing. She didn’t recognize his companion, but he wore dark clothing that could easily have been the bull’s costume. The discarded bull’s head lying on one of the lopsided pews was the final giveaway. Tanzi’s injured ribs ached in acknowledgment of the second man’s identity.

“Raimo and Ronab.” Lorcan strolled into the church, coming up behind them. He lit a path before him in the way that was unique to necromancers. “It’s been a while, guys.”

They swung around, matching expressions of comical incredulity on their faces. The toreador attempted a sneer. It didn’t quite work. “Not long enough.”

Even from a distance, Tanzi could hear Lorcan’s exaggerated sigh. “Raimo, will you lose the attitude? Is that any way to greet a fellow countryman?”

Lorcan was standing next to them now, and Tanzi noticed that the other two men had a tendency to hunch over with their backs curved forward and their heads hanging almost below their shoulder line. Maybe it was just because Lorcan was so tall and straight in comparison. Perhaps it was even a trick of the shadows or a distortion caused by her viewing angle. It was disconcerting because when she had first arrived the two men had looked completely normal. They had also appeared to be individuals, completely different from each other. Now, only minutes later, when she looked from one to the other and back again, they had become almost identical, like indistinguishable mirror images.

Lorcan ran a casual hand over the hoard on the table. “Busy night?”

“What’s it to you, necromancer?” The one who had been dressed as a bull adopted a belligerent tone. It was the same one he had used in that alley when he’d stolen her clothes and kicked her in the ribs. It made Tanzi arch her back and unsheathe her claws.

Lorcan’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Effortlessly, he lifted the other man off the ground. “A friend of mine was attacked in an alley just off the Ramblas a few nights ago. If I remember rightly, beating up girls is your specialty, Ronab. Would you know anything about this incident, by any chance?”

Before Ronab, who seemed to be struggling for breath, could speak, Raimo moved closer to Lorcan. His gait was odd, almost gamboling, and his arms appeared much longer and thinner than Tanzi remembered. Why had she not remarked upon these very noticeable traits when she first saw him? I might be naive, but even I would not have willingly followed one whose appearance was so clearly odd.

“You wrong us, Lorcan.” The combative note in Raimo’s voice had been replaced by a high-pitched wheedle. “It would not be the first time.”