Otherworld Renegade. Jane Godman

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