Читать книгу Otherworld Renegade - Jane Godman - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Running away from home. Surely more the action of an angst-riddled teen than a mature adult? And certainly not one upon whom the political future of her dynasty depended. But Tanzi had agonized over her options before making this decision. There was no one in whom she could confide.

Vashti was recovering well from the injuries she had sustained during the battle, but she was still weak. And could her sister be trusted not to share Moncoya’s feelings in this matter? Although they were twins, they had never been close. We are too different. She sees black and white, I see color. We both choose the fast lane, but she focuses on the road ahead, while I enjoy the scenery. Vashti is our father’s daughter. I am said to take after the mother we never knew. No, Tanzi could not share her plight with Vashti.

Her instincts told her she could trust Cal and Stella. Intuition and certainty were two very different things, however. Did she want to give them more proof of her father’s depravity, even if it might lead to protection from the marriage he planned for her? The faeries were in turmoil, unsure of their loyalties, their confidence in tatters. Every day further proof of atrocities under Moncoya’s leadership emerged, yet he was still revered by his people. Tanzi felt the weight of her responsibility to the faerie dynasty and her sidhe heritage. She could not publicly denounce her father, no matter how villainous his latest scheme might be.

That left her with only one option. If she was to avoid this marriage, she had to get away from Otherworld. She must put her trust in Cal to do the right thing for the faeries in her absence. There was only one person she could turn to. As crazy as it seemed, Tanzi was going to put Lorcan Malone’s promise to the test.

The decision to seek refuge with him, once made, brought her a whole new set of problems. How would she find him? He had told her he would know if she needed him. But that must have been bravado. Something to impress the girl he had just rescued. Necromancers did not possess psychic powers. No, she would have to go in search of him. It was a daunting prospect. She knew little of the mortal realm. The only times she had interacted with humans in their own world had been when she was sent by her father to attack, assassinate or kidnap them.

There was talk of a place in Barcelona, a resistance safe house. So well guarded it was impossible to gain entrance unless you knew the right people. Cal was known to be a resistance sympathizer, so perhaps his best friend also had links with the freedom fighters. La Casa Oscura, the dark house that led from the mortal realm to her father’s Otherworld palace, was also a conduit in the opposite direction. It would take her directly to the mortal city of Barcelona. If she went there and asked for Lorcan, perhaps she could get a message to him. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she had.

Moncoya had always forbidden his daughters from using the portal. He had instilled in them a fear of the mortal realm that remained strong in Tanzi, teaching them that the earth-born were the enemy of the fae. Those thoughts persisted as she made her plans to leave. Not that she did much planning. She didn’t have time. Moncoya would act swiftly. Tanzi must do the same.

That was how, two days after her meeting with Moncoya, she came to be standing on the Barcelona quayside, surrounded by a growing crowd of interested sailors, dock workers and one or two tourists. Patiently, Tanzi repeated the message she had rehearsed.

“I need Lorcan Malone.”

“Is it a publicity stunt? A trailer for a new film, maybe?” a passing tourist asked her husband. “I’m sure I know her face. Isn’t she that American actress, the one who won all those awards recently? She’s just as stunning in real life, and that outfit she has on must be worth a fortune.”

Damn. She hadn’t thought the wardrobe aspect through. Hadn’t thought anything much through. Once she had decided to go she had done just that and gone, pausing only to stuff a few items of clothing into an overnight bag. Until now, she hadn’t given what she was wearing a second thought. The delicate lemon lace dress with its full, knee-length skirt and layers of petticoats was perfect for the dinner she had been about to attend with Cal, Stella and a number of Otherworld dignitaries. Her nude heels, piled-up hair, and understated makeup and jewelry were all precisely matched to the dress. It was what people expected of Princess Tanzi, Otherworld fashion icon. Instead of going to the dinner, she had thrown a soft, calf-skin jacket over the dress and marched out of her old life forever. With hindsight she should have taken the time to match her outfit to the new location.

“Necesito Lorcan Malone.” Was she pronouncing his name wrong in their language? Did he use an alias when he was here? The faces of those around her remained blank.

A sailor staggered close. “You can call me Lorcan Malone, querida. Before, during and after.” The eye-watering alcohol fumes on his breath caused Tanzi to take a step back. He followed, reaching out a hand to grip her arm. When she shrugged him off, he lost his balance and staggered, cursing. Tanzi didn’t dare hit him. One blow and she’d break his neck. She couldn’t risk drawing that sort of attention to herself. Unfortunately.

There were too many people around her, and anywhere in this city was too close to La Casa Oscura. Her father’s spies were everywhere. Walk away, head down. Find somewhere quiet to come up with a better plan. Whatever you do, don’t draw any more attention to yourself. All good advice. Putting it into practice wasn’t going to be easy. The heels were not designed for a swift getaway. Note to self...if you find yourself in this situation again, raid Vashti’s street-inspired wardrobe before leaving.

As Tanzi left the quayside—acutely aware of the small group of men following in her wake—the sheer magnitude of her error became instantly apparent. Barcelona wasn’t just a big city. It was enormous. Crowds thronged the pavement and traffic was bumper to bumper in the street. Noise, life, color and smell all assailed her senses at once, stunning her into immobility. Buildings spread out around her, stretching high onto the hillsides as far as the eye could see. A laugh rose in her throat and met a gurgle of panic coming the other way. Her sheltered lifestyle hadn’t prepared her for this. In the past, each time she left her father’s palace, she had been surrounded by sidhe bodyguards. They had shielded her from harm and, she now appreciated, had hidden reality from her view, while she completed her assignments. Then they had escorted her back to safety. The substance of life in the mortal realm had never once been allowed to intrude into her carefully ordered existence. But had she really been naive enough to believe that she could step out of La Casa Oscura, simply speak Lorcan’s name and that the first person she came across would know whom she meant?

“I truly did,” she murmured to herself, using the sound of her own voice to calm her nerves.

The crowds flowed around her, but most seemed to be heading toward a wide, tree-lined street. She allowed herself to be drawn along with them. When she reached the mosaic-tiled thoroughfare, she paused. Leaning against a low wall, she gave herself a few minutes to assimilate her surroundings. Thankfully, there was no sign of her pursuers. Nearby, a youth was propelling himself across the street on a board on wheels. When he noticed Tanzi watching him, he performed a series of tricks for her benefit, finishing by flipping the board up into his hand, catching it and coming to join her. His smile was infectious and, in spite of her plight, she returned it.

He held the board out 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 was opened by anyone else. “How goes it?”

Pedro shrugged, closing the door behind him. From the expression on his face it might reasonably be construed that the world was about to come to an end.

“I’m going straight to my room.” Lorcan placed his foot on the first stair. Pedro and his wife, Maria, tried to keep one of the tiny attic bedrooms free for him. At times like this he was eternally grateful for their consideration.

“No, Senor Lorcan. No es posible.” Pedro’s voice halted him before he could advance any farther.

“Why isn’t it possible?”

“The house is full. We gave your room to the girl.”

“What girl might this be?”

“The one they found beaten and half-naked in an alley behind the Ramblas.” Conversing with Pedro was like wading through treacle at the best of times. Now, when he was bone tired, dirty and hungry, it was like having to wade there and back again.

“Pedro, try to remember I haven’t been here for weeks. I know nothing about any girl.”

Pedro’s smile was mildly triumphant. “No one does. She won’t speak. All she will say is your name.”

“My name?”

“Sí. ‘I need Lorcan Malone.’ Two days and this is all she will say.”

Two days. He had left for Tangier five days ago. “I will go up and see this girl for myself.”

Pedro returned no reply and Lorcan made his way up the familiar staircase with its worn carpet and peeling paintwork. Money was always tight and renovations were a luxury of which the resistance could only dream. How the hell did I end up in charge here? No one else wanted the job. That was the obvious answer. Being bloody good at what he did was the other. Hating Moncoya enough to want to bring down his network of evil was probably closest to the truth.

Moncoya represented the Celtic sidhes. The opposing Iberian sidhes formed the main backbone of the resistance. Ancient animosities still burned deep. Even with Moncoya in hiding, his network of evil remained in place. The work of the resistance was more important than ever now that Moncoya’s allies had been driven underground. Every penny was needed for the fight.

Lorcan paused with his hand on the attic room’s doorknob. He had no wish to startle this girl, whoever she might be. Most of the people who sought refuge in the safe house had traumatic stories to tell. Moncoya’s mortal residence, La Casa Oscura, was the most well-known of the dark houses. It was a portal to Otherworld, leading to the sleaziest side of the beautiful kingdom. Trafficking of substances and beings was rife, and La Casa Oscura was the conduit for much of this illegal trade. If this girl had been trafficked and used in ways Lorcan did not care to dwell upon, she would be disturbed. And rightly so. A man bursting into her room in the early hours was not going to help her recovery.

Yet this girl was asking for him by name, and he had no idea why. He needed to discover who she was in order to solve that riddle. Perhaps he could enter the room and get a glimpse of her without waking her? Gingerly, he turned the doorknob. It was locked. He felt a proprietorial sense of pride toward the unnamed girl who had the sense to protect herself against intruders. Feeling slightly furtive, Lorcan fished his own key out of his pocket. As the unofficial leader of the resistance, he was the only person with his own room, and his own key. After a moment’s hesitation, he unlocked the door.

There was enough early-morning light sneaking through the thin curtains to allow him to assess the scene. The girl was lying on her side, facing away from the door. She appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Frowning, he entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaning his shoulders against its battered panels as he gazed down at her. Two things alerted him immediately to her identity.

It was the bright mass of wavy blond locks spilling over the pillow almost to the floor together with her unmistakable scent—a subtle floral mix of violets, lily of the valley and jasmine that smelled natural and was probably wildly expensive—that told him who she was.

Why would the Crown Princess Tanzi—spoiled brat sidhe royal, Moncoya’s darling daughter, Valkyrie-trained warrior, Otherworld fashion icon—have turned up at this run-down resistance safe house? And why would she be asking for Lorcan when at their last encounter she had spent all her time looking down her dainty, aristocratic nose at him?