Otherworld Renegade. Jane Godman
to her in invitation. Tanzi indicated her clothing and he laughed. “Yeah, right. Not really dressed for skateboarding.”
“How many people live here?”
Her abrupt question made him blink and he shrugged. “In Barcelona? One and a half million, maybe? Probably more.”
And she was looking for one man. The sad truth was that she had no idea if Lorcan was in this city at all. Even if he was in the country. Or this world. He had told her he was a wanderer. That meant he could be anywhere and that he was constantly on the move.
Her attention was drawn back to her companion. He was regarding her with undisguised admiration. “You have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t suppose you’re looking for someone to show you around?”
She shook her head, softening the gesture with another smile. “Do you know Lorcan Malone?”
“No. Is he your boyfriend?”
“I need him.” Tanzi looked along the bustling boulevard. Darkness was falling now and lights from the bars and coffee shops spilled out onto the mosaic tiles. Street artists played several competing musical styles and a flamenco troupe nearby danced an intricate routine. Mortals. They were a mysterious lot.
The youth picked up his skateboard. “Then he’s a lucky guy. Be careful, senorita. Stay on the Ramblas, some of the side streets can be dangerous at night.” He waved a hand before speeding off into the crowds.
Dangerous? In Tanzi’s experience, limited though it was, mortals were troublesome rather than hazardous. There were certainly a lot of them crowded onto this one street, but that didn’t make them a threat. Sighing, she picked up her bag. The heels were definitely her biggest mistake. She would ditch the shoes, find Lorcan... Tanzi halted her stride abruptly, much to the vocal annoyance of a girl on a bike just behind her. A frown furrowed Tanzi’s brow. What then? After she found Lorcan, what would happen next? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that she was free. Even if she didn’t find the necromancer tonight, there was no way she was going back to Otherworld to face the fate her father had in store for her.
“Lost, querida?” One of the street entertainers called across to her. His blue-black hair was spiked so high that he resembled a cockatoo and he was dressed as a toreador. His partner was a bull.
“I need Lorcan Malone.”
“Lorcan?” The toreador abandoned his bullfighting routine and came over to her. She didn’t like the way his narrowed eyes wandered over her body as though he was assessing her, but she did like his next words. “I know him.”
Relief flooded through Tanzi’s veins. “Can you take me to him?”
“Cierto!” Although his Spanish was heavily accented, Tanzi thought she recognized the same Irish intonation that lilted through Lorcan’s voice. It reassured her. “You’re in luck. Follow me.”
He walked quickly, dodging in and out of the crowds, and it was a struggle to keep pace with him in heels and on the uneven surface of the tiles. Tanzi was so comforted at the thought that he was taking her to Lorcan that she’d have walked across hot coals. With only the occasional glance over his shoulder to check that she was following, the man led her into a side street and then down a narrow alley. There were no lights here and the walls rose uncomfortably high on each side, closing in on her.
“Are you taking me to the safe house?” Tanzi called out, but the man ahead of her didn’t answer. The skateboarder’s warning came back to her and she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a flash of movement. Something struck the side of her head. She felt a crushing pain and the slippery cobbles came up to meet her as she fell to her knees. Greedy hands grabbed at her bag.
Tanzi tried to fight back. To her horror, there was no strength in her limbs and her head swam alarmingly. The bag was wrenched from her grasp. She managed to get into a sitting position with her back against the wall and was able to kick out at her assailant’s groin. A grunt of pain greeted this action. She knew a moment’s satisfaction before a fist connected with her face. Seconds later a heavy boot thudded into her ribs.
“Stop wasting time.” Through the haze of pain, she recognized the toreador’s voice.
“The bitch kicked me in the balls. She’ll pay for that.”
“The clothes are expensive. Get them and the shoes and get out of here. She knows Lorcan Malone. That renegade bastard will take no prisoners if he hears about this.”
* * *
The resistance sidhes hauled the fishing boat ashore onto the beach. Dawn was stirring the Catalan skies above Barcelona, and Lorcan heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t have a home, but this city was as close as it got. After more than thirty hours of being thrown about in a tiny boat on the open sea, he was looking forward to some sleep. Jethro stepped ashore beside him, yawning and stretching.
“Will you come and stay a while at the safe house?”
Jethro shook his head. “Places to go, people to see.” It was his standard response. It meant he had some risky dealings lined up that he was not prepared to discuss with anyone. Not even Lorcan.
“Take care, my friend. Lie low for a while. Vampires are not to be messed with.” Lorcan waved a farewell to the fishermen as they set off again.
Jethro’s hand strayed to his bruised cheekbone. “Tell me about it. But I owe Prince Tibor.” His expression hardened and Lorcan recalled the look of anguish in Jethro’s eyes as he drove the stake into Dimitar’s heart. The two men had buried their friend’s body in a shady spot on the Tangier cliff top before setting off on their journey across the Mediterranean.
“Why did Dimitar switch his allegiance from Prince Tibor to you? He was the prince’s human slave. You’re not a vampire. You can’t command the same sort of devotion.”
“I don’t understand it any more than you do. As soon as Dimitar set eyes on me he was adamant about it. The gist of what he said seemed to be that I was more deserving of his servitude than Prince Tibor.” Jethro scanned the expanse of blue sea. “What was the Romanian word he used to describe me? Maiestuos. I asked him what it meant and he said the closest translation was ‘imposing’ or ‘stately.’”
“And yet he’d met you?” Lorcan raised an incredulous eyebrow.
Jethro grinned. “Fuck off, Irishman.”
“Gladly.” He held out a hand and Jethro clasped it. “You know where to find me.”
“Likewise. And thanks. For clothing me as well as saving my life.” Jethro plucked at the T-shirt that strained across his muscular chest.
Lorcan watched him walk away before hauling his backpack onto his shoulder and making his way up the beach toward the port. The resistance safe house was within walking distance, and he drank in the early morning sights and sounds of the city as he made plans. Shower and sleep were fairly high on his list of priorities. Then he had to get to Otherworld and find out what had happened to Tanzi. If anyone could tell him what was going on within the dysfunctional sidhe royal family, it would be Cal.
The safe house was in a decidedly seedy area close to the famous promenade known as the Ramblas. Lorcan followed a series of narrow lanes that led him behind a fish market, dodging prostitutes, drunks and rough sleepers as he went. The location of the safe house was a closely guarded secret and Cal himself had overseen the web of detailed spells that had been woven around it to ward off intruders. Lorcan was one of the few people who could walk up the steep steps and knock on the scarred panels of the door without hindrance. He was conscious of hidden eyes observing him for several minutes before the door creaked open just wide enough to allow him to slip inside.
“Hola, Pedro.” The sidhe caretaker spoke very little and, when he did, only in Spanish. Fortunately, Lorcan had become fluent in that language over the years. Pedro had a reputation for never sleeping. During all the years he had been coming here, Lorcan had certainly never known a time, day or night, when the door