“You and your feelings.” Tanzi gave him a teasing glance.

“You and your lack of feelings.” He returned the look. Careful, Malone. This was starting to feel a lot like flirtation.

“I’ve been discovering lately that I might be able to feel more than I believed I could.” Her sidelong glance was a combination of invitation and confusion.

To hell with caution, Lorcan thought as he pulled Tanzi into his arms. He’d never know which of them was the most surprised. All he knew was that the action was long overdue.

JANE GODMAN writes in a variety of genres including paranormal, gothic and historical romance and erotic romantic suspense. She also enjoys the occasional foray into horror and thriller writing. Jane lives in England and loves to travel to European cities, which are steeped in history and romance—Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are among her favorites.

A teacher, Jane is married to a lovely man and is mum to two grown-up children.

Otherworld
Renegade
Jane Godman

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“Trust me, Tanzi. If you need me, I will know.”

Those words, spoken by Lorcan Malone in the heat of battle, must have been a bit of Irish blarney. He probably didn’t even remember who she was, let alone recall their strange encounter on that fateful day. So why, in this moment—when she was in more trouble than she could ever have imagined possible—was she suddenly experiencing a fierce longing for the bad-boy necromancer with the twinkling blue eyes?

It’s called clutching at straws, she told herself. It’s what you’re doing right now instead of facing reality and finding your own way out of this madness.

“What are you thinking, my daughter?” Moncoya, exiled King of the Faeries, watched her face.

“I’m thinking that defeat has unhinged you. That you have finally done what others have whispered of for years and taken leave of your senses.” Never before had Tanzi spoken so boldly to him. Defiance was the trait her twin sister, Vashti, proudly exhibited. Tanzi had always been the acquiescent one. Until now. There were some things she could not bow down and agree to. This was one of them.

Moncoya’s perfect features hardened with fury. His blue eyes, so like her own with their sidhe ring of fire encircling the iris, lit with a brighter inner blaze. His fingers tightened on the arm of his chair so that his knuckles gleamed white in stark contrast to the black polish that decorated his perfectly manicured nails. Tanzi braced herself. His retribution would be swift and merciless. She couldn’t hope to match him in strength, but she might be able to outrun him.

The outcome hung in the balance for seconds that stretched into minutes. Then Moncoya laughed. It was a brittle, mirthless sound that set Tanzi’s teeth buzzing. She knew that laugh well. It had never boded well in her childhood. She didn’t imagine things had changed. Unexpectedly, he relaxed back into his seat.

“My child, you are overwhelmed by the honor I have arranged for you. I should have foreseen this.” He rose, draping a deceptively casual arm about her shoulders. “Walk with me awhile.”

They stepped through a set of double doors straight onto a sand-and-shingle beach. The entire island, known locally as the Silver Isle, seemed to be made up of sand. Even the ocher-hued cliffs looked ready to crumble into grit at the touch of a fingertip. Ferns, wild fennel and coarse bamboo grasses clung determinedly to soil that was a combination of granule and dust. Tanzi thought of her father’s palace, of the precisely laid-out gardens leading down to the elegant lake. She glanced back over her shoulder at the beachside villa they had just left. Sea breezes and salt water had taken their toll on its elegance so that it had a faded charm she doubted her father would acknowledge. In comparison with the soaring, white marble palace she had called “home” for all her life, it was a shack. Moncoya was as out of place here as a diamond in a dung heap.

“You made sure no one followed you?” Moncoya withdrew his arm from about her shoulders as they walked along the water’s edge. Secrecy surrounded this hiding place. If he was discovered, he faced trial and inevitable execution.

“Of course.” Tanzi was offended at the question. Would he have asked Vashti the same thing? She doubted it. Yet we both trained with the Valkyrie. We are equally astute when it comes to warfare and subterfuge. It came back to the same weary argument. The same reason Tanzi had been summoned to be the recipient of his latest piece of “good news” instead of her twin. Moncoya viewed Vashti as the son he had never had. Tanzi’s only value to her father was as a pawn in the marriage stakes. Not this marriage, Father. The sacrifice you are asking of me is too great.

“Tell me what has been happening at the palace in my absence.” Three months had passed since the cataclysmic battle that had forced Moncoya into hiding. It felt like three years.

“There is a peacekeeping council known as the Alliance in place. Each of the Otherworld dynasties has representation on it. The Alliance itself is led by Merlin Caledonius.”

Moncoya’s expression hardened further at the name. “That half-blood cur will pay dearly for his part in this.”

Merlin, the greatest sorcerer the world had ever known, was Moncoya’s half brother and the man who had brought about his exile. Cal, as he preferred to be called these days, had widened the existing gulf of hatred between the two men further by falling in love with and marrying the woman Moncoya had hoped to make his queen.

Tanzi paused, looking out across the turquoise waters toward the horizon. She drew a deep breath. “My father, you wrong him. He is man of conscience who is doing a fine job of uniting the dynasties...” Moncoya’s growl of rage told her she had gone too far.

“Am I, the greatest leader Otherworld has ever known, to be forced into hiding while he lives in luxury in my royal palace? Am I to endure the knowledge that he has stolen the necromancer star, the woman I chose as my own, from under my nose? Must I kick my heels in this backwater while you, my own daughter, take the seat that should be mine at this pathetic council table—” He broke off, his voice ragged. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, the words a caress. “But you know nothing of these things, my child. It is wrong of these men to ask you to involve yourself in their political machinations. They seek to trick you.”

Tanzi bit her lip. How could she explain it to him when he insisted on viewing her as a helpless dupe? Being part of the Alliance had brought her new life. Oh, she had been regarded with suspicion initially by many of the council members. She was Moncoya’s daughter, after all. They saw her as the spoiled brat sidhe princess who had been his consort—his puppet—in the past. Together with Vashti, she had blindly carried out his wishes. But things had changed three months ago on that battlefield. She had changed.

A pair of laughing Irish eyes came into her mind once more and she determinedly dismissed them. Cal and his wife, Stella, treated her as their equal, and with their help she was learning how to be the voice and conscience of her people. She was developing an understanding of compassion and democracy. Tanzi cast a sidelong glance at her father. She was learning that there was a way to rule other than Moncoya’s iron-fisted style.

“Let us leave this talk of the mongrel sorcerer for another day. I look forward to dealing with him when the time comes. This marriage I have arranged for you is the highest distinction ever to be bestowed upon a woman. Through this union, I will not only be able to come out of this undignified hiding and return to my palace, I will be the undisputed ruler of all Otherworld.” Moncoya’s lips thinned into a smile. “There will be no need for their puny Alliance when that day dawns.”

“And what of me, Father? While you become all powerful, what will I become?”

He paused then, perhaps considering for the first time the true implications of what he was asking of her. Such was his arrogance, she might have known he would not allow her feelings to influence him for long. “You will be revered above all others.”

She shook her head. “I will not do it.”

His face was set. The silken note in his voice made the threat even more menacing. “You have no choice.”

“By all the angels, Father, you cannot intend to force me into this!”

Moncoya’s lips smiled but Tanzi’s heart quailed at the look in his eyes. “Given the bridegroom I have chosen for you, might I suggest you refrain from speaking of angels in the future?”

* * *

Lorcan Malone narrowed his eyes against the harsh blast of sand that swept off the golden beach. He was seated on a cliff top looking across the stretch of blue Mediterranean Sea from Tangier to Gibraltar and wondering what the hell he was doing there. He knew why he had come to Morocco. Of course he did. The same reason that led him anywhere had brought him to this place. But that had been two days ago. The job was done and yet he was still hanging around, waiting for... Well, what was he waiting for, exactly?

“Damned if I know,” he muttered, kicking a pebble and watching it bounce down the steep slope.

His sources had been insistent when they persuaded him of the need to stay on. There was more work for him here, they had maintained. There were others in danger, men who needed his help. All that urgency and secrecy. Then silence. He was beginning to suspect a trap. Moncoya might be out of action, but he wasn’t the only evil bastard in Otherworld. He certainly wasn’t the only one who would like to see the anti-Moncoya resistance movement wiped out.

If it was a trap it meant Lorcan’s cover was blown. Someone had seen through the aimless veneer he worked so hard to preserve. The Irish wanderer guise had slipped somewhere along the way. Lorcan shrugged. I’m surprised it’s lasted this long.

A movement on the hillside caught his attention and he turned his head. A car so battered it looked as if it was held together with string and candle wax screeched to a halt, throwing up clouds of red dust in its wake. The head that thrust through the open driver’s window wore a battered fez and a grin as wide as the Strait of Gibraltar itself.

“Taxi for Malone?”

“Ali!” Lorcan sprang up from the scrubby grass. “Tell me it’s not yourself who has kept me kicking up my heels in this sorry place. Because if it is you’re a dead man, my friend.”

“Get in and save your bluster for someone who cares.” Ali threw open the passenger door. Tossing his backpack in first, Lorcan slid into an interior that smelled of cheap tobacco and cheaper aftershave. Before he could even close the door, Ali screeched off again in the direction of the city. Lorcan had been in Tangier long enough to become acquainted with the rules of the road. There were no rules. There were no seat belts either. Not in this car, anyway.

“Out with it. What’s going on?” If Ali was involved, at least Lorcan could be reasonably confident this wasn’t a trap. Ali was a prominent member of the resistance movement and as fiercely anti-Moncoya as Lorcan himself.

Ali turned soulful brown eyes, made even darker by their sidhe ring of fire, toward him. Lorcan wished he’d keep them on the road, particularly as they were navigating a narrow cliff-top bend, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “There are friends of yours imprisoned in the catacombs beneath the Kasbah.”

Lorcan shook his head. “That’s not possible.” At Ali’s inquiring look, he elaborated. “I have no friends.”

“Be serious, necromancer. Unless you can get them out, these two men are finished come sunset tonight.”

“Why me? Why can’t the resistance here in Tangier do it?”

“You will see.” They had reached the center of the town now and Lorcan fell silent as all of his energy was required to regulate his breathing and cling to his seat. They tore across lanes of oncoming traffic, squealed around bends and finally slammed to a halt, narrowly missing oncoming cars, camels, pedestrians and several goats.

“Do your roads have lanes, traffic signals, anything that might give a clue about who has right-of-way?” Lorcan pried his fingers off the dashboard.

Ali grinned. “Scared, necromancer?”

“No. Bloody terrified.”

It seemed they were abandoning the car in the middle of the road. Unwinding his long frame from the tiny vehicle, Lorcan followed Ali into the crowded streets of the ancient Kasbah. His sidhe companion moved with confidence through a series of increasingly narrow alleyways while Lorcan shrugged off offers of food, watches, livestock and sexual favors. They passed stalls selling pungent spices and colorful woven carpets until Ali ducked through a mosaic-encrusted arch into a sandstone courtyard.

“This is the oldest part of the Kasbah.” Ali indicated the castellated fortress walls. “This building was a prison many thousands of years ago.”

“What is it now?” Lorcan’s voice echoed oddly in the confined space. Or perhaps it was just the effect of the silence after the bustle of the Kasbah.

Ali licked his lips and cast a glance over his shoulder. “A dark house.”

A dark house was a very specific portal, one that led directly to the darkest, seediest underbelly of Otherworld. There were other portals—harmless ones—all over the world. Some of them, like Stonehenge, made grand statements. Most were quieter. It was the dark houses that the resistance fought a relentless battle to close down. From the outside, this place didn’t have the feel of a dark house. Lorcan should know. He had been in more than his fair share over the years.

He glanced at the tiny square of blue sky that was still visible between the high sandstone walls. The sun was sinking from late afternoon into evening. Otherworld was closest at dawn and dusk. He should go, get out of here while he still could. Ali had said the two men had until sunset. Being a good guy never brought him easy choices.

He sighed. “Take me inside.”

The interior of the fortress was cool after the heat of a Moroccan summer day. Dust tickled Lorcan’s nostrils and caught in the back of his throat while something unpleasant crawled along his spine. And there it was. That dark house feeling. It was unmistakable. This one probably wasn’t used much anymore, which was why he hadn’t felt it instantly. They traversed empty corridors and passed ancient cells, their footsteps echoing in silence. The suffering of thousands of years hung heavy in the air.

“Down here.” Ali indicated stone steps hewn into the floor.

Lorcan gestured for the sidhe to go first. He might trust Ali, but he had done this sort of thing too many times. There was trust and there was gullibility. Lorcan knew which he preferred. They descended into total blackness. Lorcan extended a hand and light flickered around them.

Ali gave an appreciative whistle. “I like the way you necromancers do that.”

“We aim to please.”

They reached a circular dungeon and Ali stepped back, allowing Lorcan to move into the center of the room. On one wall two men, both naked from the waist up, were suspended by manacles around their wrists. One was so badly beaten Lorcan could barely make out his features. He hung unconscious between his restraints. The other man raised his head as Lorcan approached. His lips curved into something that was almost a smile.

“They promised you would come. It is too late for me, but there is still time to save my master.” His voice was heavily accented.

“My God, Dimitar, what the hell has happened here?” Lorcan hurried forward. He was brought up short as Dimitar turned his head, revealing the telltale marks on his neck. There was no mistaking the puncture marks made by repeated vampire bites, even in the gloom of the catacombs.

“Prince Tibor never forgave me for deserting him and choosing Jethro as my master instead. This is his revenge.” Until the recent battle, Dimitar had been the human slave of the all-powerful Prince of the Vampires.

“Has he also been bitten?” Lorcan jerked a thumb in the direction of the unconscious man. He could see now, from his height and muscular physique, that it was Jethro de Loix, his fellow sorcerer. The mercenary who gave necromancing a bad name by selling his skills to the highest bidder. When he told Ali he had no friends, he wasn’t being entirely honest. He had Cal, and these two men had saved his life in the heat of the battle to reclaim Otherworld from Moncoya’s bloodthirsty ambitions. Some things went even deeper than friendship.

“Only once. He is stronger than I. After the first time, he resisted and used his powers against the vampires. They chained him and brought their human servants to beat him each night. They promised me I would watch him die tonight.”

“I don’t understand. A mortal has to willingly invite the vampire’s first bite.”

“There was a woman...” Dimitar cast a sorrowful glance in Jethro’s direction.

Lorcan laughed. “Say no more. Where Jethro is concerned, there is always a woman. Ali, can we get these manacles open?”

“Yes. That is what we have been waiting for these past two days. One of our fighters stole the keys and made a copy.” He produced the keys from the pocket of his robes and handed them to Lorcan.

“No.” Dimitar shook his head as Lorcan reached up to place the key in the lock at his wrist. “I told you it is already too late for me.” As he spoke, Lorcan could see his canine teeth lengthening. Darkness must be falling already outside. “Save my master.”

Lorcan didn’t hesitate. There was no room for sentiment in a situation like this. Leaving Dimitar in his restraints, he turned to Jethro. “Unlock the manacles while I hold him.” He spoke over his shoulder and Ali hurried to do his bidding. Once free, Jethro slumped into Lorcan’s arms with a groan that indicated he was coming round.

“That’s a relief. I didn’t fancy carrying you out of here, my large friend.” Lorcan eased Jethro’s long body down so that he was resting in a near-sitting position against the wall.

“Lorcan? What the...?” Jethro sat up straighter, his half-closed eyes widening as they took in something behind Lorcan’s shoulder. “Watch out, she’s the one who got to me.”

Lorcan rose to his feet as a stunningly beautiful, voluptuous woman entered the dungeon. She wore the traditional garments of a belly dancer, and her honeyed skin had a sheen that cried out to be touched. Thick ebony hair hung to her waist, and above the half veil that covered the lower part of her face, her huge almond-shaped eyes were enough to melt any man’s heart. It might almost be worth eternity as a vampire just for a bite from her. Lorcan shook the temptation away quickly, aware that she was already getting inside his head.

“You are new.” She had shimmied across to him before he even noticed the movement. “And so very pretty.” Her grasping little hands reached for him.

“Sorry. I prefer blondes.” No sooner had he spoken the words than his wayward mind decided to dwell on the one blonde he knew for sure he could never have. It was amazing how often it managed to do that. Resolutely, he turned his thoughts away from Princess Tanzi and back to the matter before him.

“Oflinnan.” Lorcan issued the halt command and the vampire’s eyes flickered briefly with surprise before she froze, becoming a statue of loveliness.

“She has some nasty friends.” Jethro was struggling to his feet. “And they won’t be far behind. Let’s free Dimitar and get out of here.”

He turned to where Dimitar hung in his manacles. The halt command had worked on him as well and he was frozen in position, his mouth open, revealing new, fully formed fangs. Even behind the mask of blood that covered Jethro’s swollen features, Lorcan could see the pain on his face.

“They did this to him because of me. He lost his immunity when he switched allegiance. I won’t leave him here for them.” The words were wrenched from Jethro.

“We can’t risk taking a vampire with us. He will want to feed.” Ali’s voice echoed high and panicky around the dungeon.

“I want to get him out of here so I can stake and decapitate him. That way he can rest in peace instead of being in torment for all eternity.” Jethro’s response was hard, flat and—some might have said—uncaring.

Lorcan gestured to Ali for the keys and, once the manacles were opened, Jethro hoisted Dimitar’s stiffened frame onto his shoulder.

“These tunnels will take us beneath the city and closer to the coast.” With Ali in the lead, they made a silent, cautious trek through the tunnels. Some time later they exited out into the mimosa-scented Moroccan night.

“There is a fishing boat waiting near the lighthouse. It will take you to Barcelona. Until we meet again, necromancer.” Ali clasped Lorcan’s hand. The little sidhe gave Jethro, who still carried Dimitar’s body, a wide berth. Lorcan began to walk toward the beach. He was halted in his tracks when Ali called out softly. “I almost forgot! You asked us to let you know if anything happened to Princess Tanzi.”

“Yes?” Lorcan’s heart gave an uncomfortably loud thud. Just when he thought he’d trained it not to do that at the mention of her name. “What about her?”

“Word came from Otherworld earlier today. She has disappeared.”

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?

Chapter 3

Tanzi came awake slowly, blinking as she took in the shabby, vaguely familiar surroundings. Consciousness wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. She was in the safe house. Safe. That was the essential word. Her head still ached. Her knees, face and ribs were a rainbow of bruises, but at least Moncoya couldn’t get to her here.

It must have been very early because the room was semidark and there were no noises, voices or footsteps echoing around the rambling house. She yawned, turned and stifled the startled cry that rose to her lips as her gaze took in a pair of long, denim-clad legs stretched out in the chair near the window. The lower body was all she could see. Whoever it was had fallen asleep with his upper half in shadow. It was definitely a he. She did a double check, and the larger-than-average bulge in the crotch of his jeans confirmed it. A blush burned her cheeks. When there is an unknown man in your room, does size matter?

But I locked that door. I know I did! Carefully, she felt under the pillow for confirmation. There was the key. Next to it was the carving knife she had stolen from Maria’s kitchen drawer on her first night in the safe house. Her hand closed gratefully around the handle. Wincing as the movement triggered a sharp pain in her injured side, she slid stealthily from the bed with the knife extended in front of her. The only time in her life Tanzi had been caught unawares was in that alley two days ago. It would never happen again. This intruder was going to wish he had finished the job when he first broke in instead of taking time out for a nap. The thought jolted her. If he intended to harm her, why had he fallen asleep?

She paused, inches from him, trying to get a look at his face. Hesitation. Bad mistake, Tanzi. She could hear the words spoken in the voice of the Valkyrie mentor her father had employed to train his daughters. The intruder’s hand snaked out and caught Tanzi by the wrist. There was a blur of movement and he was on his feet, his body colliding hard with hers. The knife went spinning across the room. With her weapon gone and her opponent so much taller than her, Tanzi resorted to street-fighting tactics. Keeping her head low, she aimed for his eyes with her nails, missed and pulled out a chunk of his hair instead. When he grunted in pain and responded by pinning her arms at her sides, she attempted to knee him in the groin.

Within seconds, it was all over. With no very clear idea of what had happened, Tanzi was sprawled on her back on the bed with her opponent straddling her and pinning her hands above her head.

“Considering you’ve been going around telling everyone how much you need me, this is not quite the welcome I was expecting.”

The words, and the Irish accent, acted like a spell on Tanzi and she stopped struggling. Following his naked, muscular torso upward, her gaze encountered the very pair of smiling blue eyes she had been seeking. Lorcan studied her face, his head on one side. There was a flash of something in his eyes that she had never seen before. It drove the laughter away, replacing it with a cold, hard fury that made her shiver.

“Christ, Tanzi, you look like shit.”

“So do you.”

It was true. His good looks always had a dangerous edge to them, as if he should be a bad-boy rock star or a Byronic hell-raiser. Today he was taking the cynical, world-weary look to extremes. His eyes were bloodshot, his chiseled jawline darkened with stubble. He didn’t even bother to brush away the characteristic flop of dark blond hair from his brow. Clearly deciding she was no longer a danger to him, Lorcan risked letting her go and moved to sit on the side of the bed.

“I haven’t slept in—” he paused and clearly had to think about it “—two nights.”

“So why did you break in here and sleep in the chair?”

A corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. “You were in my bed.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Your need was greater than mine.”

Tanzi felt at a disadvantage lying down. She was also conscious that she was wearing nothing but her underwear and a very old, faded T-shirt that Maria had unearthed for her. She shuffled into a sitting position, wincing as the movement caused more pain in her ribs.

“Did I hurt you?” Lorcan’s tone was apologetic.

“Yes. But I was going to kill you so I suppose it can be forgiven.”

He started to laugh. “Always so literal. Why are you here, Tanzi?”

“Pedro and Maria gave me this room.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Tell me why I shouldn’t immediately suspect this is one of your father’s tricks to infiltrate the resistance.”

She fiddled with a loose thread on the bottom of the T-shirt. It meant she could keep her head down and avoid looking at him. “On the battlefield that day, when you rescued me, you made me a promise. That you would be there for me if I needed you.” Suddenly the words were hard to say. Why hadn’t she anticipated this? She took a deep breath and looked up. Lorcan’s steady blue eyes gave her the confidence she sought. “I need you now.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then you have me. I’m all yours.”

An emotion she had never felt before tugged hard at Tanzi’s chest. Was it gratitude? Tenderness? Empathy? They were all new to her. Moncoya discouraged mortal emotion, particularly where his daughters were concerned. Tanzi and Vashti were his finely tuned weapons. Their hearts should be encased in steel. It was an odd sensation to discover that her own steel casing might have a flaw. Tanzi’s voice was husky when she spoke again. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“If you want me to know, I expect you’ll tell me in your own time.” Lorcan stretched his arms above his head. “Right now, if I don’t shower and then get some breakfast, I’ll be no use to you or anyone.”

* * *

The square was crowded with students. Competing music blared from open dormitory windows and from the bars around the outer edge. Lorcan skirted around skateboarders, impromptu dancers and chattering groups, carrying beer and pizza to where Tanzi was sitting on the steps of the university building waiting for him. She wore leggings and a sweatshirt that was at least three sizes too big. Her hair was tied back and hidden under a black baseball cap, and her face was still swollen and bruised. Even so, when she looked up with a smile as he approached, he felt the full impact of the effect she had on him. It hit him somewhere just south of his abdomen. Whom was he kidding? The feeling began well south of his abdomen. He told himself it was what faeries did best. Their ability to enchant was legendary. Faerie glamor, his mother would have called it. The old-fashioned term and the memory of his mother made him smile. Moncoya’s dislike of the phrase was well-known. The faerie king preferred to believe it was his personal charm that drew others to him. Dismissing the unwelcome intrusion of Moncoya into his thoughts, Lorcan joined Tanzi on the step.

“I thought you wanted to talk to me in private?” Tanzi leaned in close so that he could hear her above the noise. Her breath brushed tantalizingly close to his ear.

“I do.” He pointed with his beer bottle at the teeming square. “No one here is remotely interested in us or anything we have to say. They are all too busy having their own good time.”

She laughed, taking a slice of pizza from the box on his knee and biting into it with very white, very even teeth. He remembered another thing his mother used to say. “Are you claiming me for your own?” He nodded at the pizza. “Sharing food with me? In faerie terms, doesn’t this mean I belong to you now?”

Tanzi blushed and glanced down at the slice of pizza in her hand. “I didn’t think. I never meant...”

“I’m teasing you. In a way, I’m already yours to command. I told you that three months ago, on the day of the battle for control of Otherworld.”

She drew in a deep breath and, for a moment, he thought she was about to say something more. Instead, she nodded at the crowded square. “Is this what you mortals do?”

So she bought in to the pretense that he was mortal. Most people did. He was good at it and it was half-true, anyway. He didn’t contradict her. “Have fun? Yeah, we try. Sometimes we even succeed.”

They ate and drank in companionable silence.

“What did you wish to say to me?” Tanzi turned to face him and Lorcan thought again how amazing her eyes were. The bright blaze of sidhe fire around her irises made the blue of her pupils appear darker. There was something slightly feline in the slant of her eyes and the finely arched brows above them. A man could drown in those eyes. Unless he was very careful.

“If you are to remain in the safe house, we must take great care not to let anyone know who you are.” The long lashes swept down, shadowing her cheeks, but not before he caught a glimpse of the pain his words had caused her.

“Because of my father.”

“Yes.” What else could he say? There was no way to soften the blow. She was Moncoya’s daughter. If she was recognized, she’d be lucky to get out of the safe house in one piece. Moncoya had wrecked too many lives for anyone to forgive and forget. And Tanzi was no innocent. She had played a willing part in her father’s villainy.

“Was I wrong to come here?”

“No. You were right to come to me. I will keep my promise and take care of you, but you need to face facts. Your name isn’t going to win you any popularity contests among the Iberian sidhes.”

“So what story shall I tell? What must my name be?”

Lorcan frowned. He hadn’t thought of her name. But there was only one Tanzi. She was as well-known as her father. The name had to go. “Keep it simple. You have no story because you have no memory. You don’t even remember your own name.”

“I can’t be nameless. You will have to call me something.”

He stared into those endless eyes. “I will call you Searc.”

Tanzi wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I like that. What does it mean?”

“Ah, some old Irish words have lost their meaning in the mists of time,” he lied. “Now, if you are to stay at the safe house, you must earn your keep.”

Tanzi started to laugh, the action bringing her shoulder into contact with Lorcan’s arm. A warm feeling spread from his chest to his stomach. She was addictive. Perhaps he should allow himself these small doses of her touch now and then. Just to develop immunity and test his own strength. “I have not been trained to cook or wash dishes.”

“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

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.”

Lorcan laughed, letting go of Ronab so quickly that the other man stumbled and fell to his knees. “I have never been wrong about you.”

Tanzi almost lost her grip on the window ledge as she caught a glimpse of Ronab’s face, as he turned fully in her direction for the first time. There was no longer anything left of his human features. It was as if he had donned a mask of polished bone. Roughly triangular, his head narrowed from a wide top to a sharp, pointed chin. Small, downward-curving horns protruded from the upper corners, and bright red slits glowed in place of his eyes. Ronab blinked once and, as Tanzi watched in fascination, his eyelids moved from side to side instead of up and down. As far as she could see, he had no nose or mouth.

“We have to earn a living. Ever since we were cast off...”

“Don’t give me that old sob story. We all know you were cast off because of your thieving ways.”

“To our sorrow. If we could go back, start again, explain what happened.” Raimo sighed. “Too late. We miss her.”

“You should have thought of that while you still had her protection.” Lorcan’s voice was colder than the ice on the mountains surrounding Valhalla. “The question is, what shall I do with you now?”

“Speak sternly and make us promise never to do it again?” Ronab got to his feet. With the change in their appearance, the demeanor of the two men had also altered. They had become skittish, almost fawning over Lorcan. They were subservient to him now. Any suggestion of confrontation was gone.

“I could do that,” Lorcan agreed. “And five minutes after I left here, you’d be back out on the street doing a number on the next unsuspecting tourist you came across.”

“There is one way to ensure our eternal obedience.” The creatures that had once been men arranged themselves on each side of Lorcan, gazing up at his face. “Become our master.”

Before Lorcan could respond, Ronab turned his head to slowly gaze at all four corners of the church. Despite his lack of nostrils, he appeared to be sniffing the air. “Faerie,” he grunted, when he had completed the circle.

Raimo crouched lower in a defensive attitude. “I cannot feel it but you are better at detecting the fae ones than I. Where?”

“Very close.”

Was it Tanzi’s imagination, or did Lorcan actually look directly at her? She tried to draw back into the shadows, but it was difficult on such a narrow perch. “Can we get back to the matter in hand? You know very well I cannot be your master. Even if I wanted the job, I lack the necessary credentials.”

“You changed once, you can go back again. It is what she would want.” Raimo, who was clearly the spokesperson, hovered somewhere between pleading and desperation.

“I’m a patient man.” Tanzi decided that she loved listening to Lorcan speak. Even now, when there was a slight edge to his tone and danger in the air, those lyrical notes in his voice reassured her that she was safe. “But if you speak of her again, I swear I will raise her from her grave so that she can punish you herself.”

“You would not!”

“Try me.” Evidently deciding that he meant business, the creatures subsided into an aspect of supplication at his feet. Lorcan turned back to the haul of stolen goods. “Here’s the deal. You will take these to the Santa Maria homeless shelter tonight. Then you can take yourselves off home and find a new master.”

“If we say no?” Ronab scurried out of reach as he asked the question.

“Then I’ll beat you to within an inch of your miserable lives,” Lorcan told him cheerfully. “And, when I’ve done that, I’ll take you home myself and hand you over to someone who’ll know how to keep your light-fingered tendencies in check.”

Needing no further encouragement, the two creatures began to gather up the items from the table. “Not these.” Unerringly, Lorcan picked out Tanzi’s property. “I’ll return them to their owner. Oh, and guys?” They paused, looking at him inquiringly. “You might want to go to the homeless shelter in your mortal guise. No point frightening the volunteers by showing them the real you.”

Muttering under their breath, Raimo and Ronab scurried out of the building, loaded down with their haul of goods. After they had gone, Lorcan stood very still in the center of the aisle.

“You can come down now, Searc.”

Surprised, Tanzi sprang lightly down from the window ledge, shifting back to her own form as she landed. “How did you know it was me?”

His grin lit up the gloom. “Sure, even the luck of the Irish wouldn’t be enough to get me followed by more than one cute faerie.”

She came to stand beside him. “What were those beings? I haven’t seen their like before.”

“You wouldn’t. They are imps. Faeries are their worst nightmare. They’d run a mile across hot coals to avoid you.”

“They weren’t doing much running in that alley.” Tanzi ran reminiscent fingertips over the bruises on her cheekbone.

“Imps are generally loyal to their masters. This pair—Raimo and Ronab—are a rarity. They proved to be subversive and disobedient to the point where their master disowned them. When that happened, they were forced to become wild and fend for themselves. They did so by donning a mortal form and taking to that which they do best...robbery and violence. I’d heard what they were up to, but I didn’t know they were in Barcelona until you told me what had happened to you. One of their favorite insults for me is ‘renegade.’ That was how I knew who they were. That and the fact that your experience had all the hallmarks of one of their attacks. In their mortal guise they lose their impish traits. They wouldn’t have recognized you as a faerie.”

“Who was the master who disowned them?” The imps had spoken of a mysterious “she.” Tanzi sensed that, whoever “she” was, it caused Lorcan pain to speak of her.

“My mother.” He shook himself slightly as though ridding himself of a memory. “Let’s get your stuff and go.”

“How did you know which was mine?” Tanzi gathered up her dress, jacket, shoes and bag.

He looked surprised and then shrugged. “They looked like your style. Which means you can’t wear them in the safe house. You’ll stand out too much.”

“Maybe so, but at least I’ll have more than one change of underwear.”

They walked out into the darkened square. Overhead, the sky was midnight blue sprinkled with silver stardust. Even though they were in the heart of the city, it was quiet as they strolled back the way they had come.

“So, the cat thing. Do you do that often?”

Tanzi cast a glance up at Lorcan’s profile. It was impossible to read his expression. “It comes in handy now and then.”

His smile was teasing as he looked down at her. “I imagine it would. Come on, let’s get you home. I’ll get you a saucer of milk. That’ll make you purr.”

A tummy rub from you would make me purr more. Tanzi almost tripped over her own feet in surprise. Where did that thought come from? Could she say it out loud? Did she dare? She opened her mouth to try but the words wouldn’t come. Flirting. It was something she had never considered important until right now. They reached the steps to the safe house and the moment was lost.

* * *

Camaraderie. Laughter. Teasing. Fun. Tanzi was developing a new vocabulary. Sitting around the table in the ramshackle kitchen late into the night with Lorcan and his resistance friends had initially been a frightening experience.

“What if they recognize me?”

“Then we’re in deep shit.”

Lorcan’s response had been to pull her into the room with him. Although their entrance halted the noisy conversation that had been taking place, no one had denounced Tanzi. To be fair, no one had taken much notice of her. Apart from one or two curious glances thrown her way, there was no doubt Lorcan was the main attraction. He was hailed with noisy delight by the group of two women and five men. From then on, he was the one they consulted and deferred to. He was in charge, and Tanzi saw a different side of him in this new role. Oh, he was still the blue-eyed charmer. He still had a laugh and a smile for every occasion, but there was something deeper in his expression when the group around the table spoke of their work. She saw the fire and passion of belief in what he was doing and felt a burning sense of shame. These people had been brought together to fight evil. And the evil they fought was her own father.

Most of the time, she let their conversation wash over her. The persona she had donned when they carried her into the safe house, half-conscious, terrified and pleading for them to find Lorcan, stood her in good stead now. No one but Lorcan knew that her voice and her memory were back to full capacity. Tanzi was happy for it to stay that way. She was content to curl up in an ancient armchair near the fire with one of Maria’s cats on her lap and to let them ignore her.

“Every time we close one of the brothels down, they open another.” The young faerie who spoke was called Aydan. He looked mortal, except for a faint ring of fire around his irises. He hid his eyes behind tinted glasses and wore his hair in long dreadlocks.

“So why do we bother?” A girl called Lisbet spoke up. “It costs us so much each time we challenge them. We are lucky if we come away with every life intact. There are always injuries. If all we do is cause them a minor inconvenience, is there any point?”

“There is always a point,” Lorcan stated, and Tanzi noticed the way every head turned his way. He was their undisputed leader, even if he made light of his own skills. “If we save only one person from a life of degradation in one of Moncoya’s hells, it is worth the risk.”

Tanzi was aware of Aydan looking at her with sympathy, and a blush stained her cheeks. He thought that she had escaped from one of these brothels of which they spoke. She loathed, yet needed, the pretense in which their assumptions cloaked her. Their kindness and compassion was misplaced and she hated herself for accepting it. What would they do if they knew that in reality I was part of all they work so tirelessly to destroy? She pressed her cheek against the cat’s silken fur, turning her burning face away from gentle Aydan’s stare.

“Why are these brothels so much worse than the ones run by mortals?” The man who spoke was a recent recruit called Iago. He was slightly older than the others around the table, and his eyes were an unusual pale green color, made even lighter by their bright ring of fire. He reminded Tanzi of one of the medieval knights in Rina’s tales. With his dark beard and courtly manners, she could imagine him slaying dragons or rescuing maidens. “Some of them can get pretty nasty.”

“The beings in Moncoya’s brothels are slaves, stolen from their homes—sometimes as children—and forced to work there. They have no choice. Often they are beaten, starved or drugged into compliance. The services they offer are not only illegal, they are deadly. These brothels cater for the basest desires, both mortal and nonmortal. Moncoya’s henchmen provide a personalized service. They will kidnap a being to order. You’ve seen a teenage were-cougar you like the look of? Hand over the cash and she’s all yours. You have a fantasy about an underage male witch imprisoned in your own torture chamber? As long as the price is right, consider it done.” Somehow, Lorcan’s lilting accent made the horrors he described sound even worse.

“Is La Casa Oscura one of these brothels?” Iago asked.

Lorcan shook his head. “No. La Casa Oscura is unique. The darkest of the dark houses.”

“I don’t understand.”

“La Casa Oscura was designed to be a well-disguised portal to Otherworld.”

“Until Moncoya made it into something more.” Aydan’s pleasant features hardened.

“Yes.” Lorcan continued his explanation. “I’m not going to pretend that before Moncoya there were never those who exploited the border between Otherworld and the mortal realm for nefarious purposes. Of course it happened. But until Moncoya, it was never done on this scale. This is organized crime that would make the gangs of Eastern Europe gnash their teeth with envy. This is people trafficking to an extent that the mortal realm cannot conceive. Yet, because it takes place between worlds, the law enforcement agencies of this world have no idea it even goes on. The Alliance has sworn to stamp it out, but they have enough problems at present bringing the dynasties around the table, and Moncoya is flexing his muscles from his hiding place. In the last few days, there have been faerie terrorist attacks in some of the major Alliance strongholds.” This was the first Tanzi had heard of this, and she sat up straighter. Lorcan, noticing her movement, threw her an apologetic glance.

“You said La Casa Oscura is more than just a portal.” Iago drew Lorcan’s attention away from Tanzi and back into the conversation.

“In addition to the day-to-day portals, there are other ways of gaining entry into Otherworld. These are the dark houses. They are a very specific portal, leading to the darkest reaches of Otherworld. Those who wish to gain entry without attracting attention do so by using a dark house. Smuggling, trafficking, anything illegal is done through the dark houses.”

“Were the dark houses created by Moncoya?” someone else asked and Tanzi closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. Even though, since the battle, she had seen concrete evidence of her father’s vile deeds for herself, it still hurt her to hear of more.

“No. They have always existed. For as long as mortals have spoken of heaven and hell or of Otherworld and Underworld. Moncoya was not even the first to exploit their unique properties.” Lorcan looked tired. Tanzi wanted to go to him and brush back the errant lock of hair that flopped onto his forehead. When did these odd, protective feelings toward him start developing? And, more important, how was she going to get rid of them? “What Moncoya brought to the equation,” Lorcan continued, “was his organizational skills and his manpower. The dark houses are now used systematically and efficiently as a means of transporting—well, anything really—between Otherworld and the mortal realm. La Casa Oscura has been Moncoya’s greatest and darkest accomplishment.”

“How so?”

“It has served him well in many ways. Firstly, Moncoya is one of the few Otherworld leaders to develop a fully fledged mortal persona. He has been forced to abandon that guise since his defeat, of course, a fact that has led to intense press speculation here in the mortal realm. Just what has happened to celebrated electronics billionaire Ezra Moncoya? His disappearance is the news story of the decade. La Casa Oscura was his mortal base. Its next purpose was as a genuine portal to Otherworld. Enter La Casa Oscura and you may also, if you so choose and if you believe it to be true, enter Moncoya’s royal Otherworld palace. Finally, it is the ultimate dark house. The treasury of Otherworld’s grim secrets.” Lorcan’s beautiful mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “Moncoya may not be at home anymore, but his legacy lingers on in the very bricks and mortar.”

“So why don’t we destroy La Casa Oscura?” Aydan spoke up suddenly, his voice excited and eager. “Just blow the place sky-high?”

Without thinking, Tanzi jumped to her feet. The cat’s howl of rage drew everyone’s attention in her direction. “No...” She thought of her beautiful childhood home. Of her sister. Of the servants who had served her so loyally and who played no role in Moncoya’s dark deeds. Words bubbled up to her lips, but Lorcan was at her side in an instant, sensing her distress and calming her before she could give herself away. His arm around her shoulders steadied her, and she leaned gratefully against his side. Tanzi held out her hand, showing him blood welling in the lacerations where the cat had scratched her when she disturbed its slumber. It was a feeble excuse, but it was for the benefit of the others. She knew Lorcan already understood the real reason for her distress.

“It’s okay.” How was it, that as soon as he said the words, she was soothed by them? “If that was an option, sure, wouldn’t we have done it long ago? For the reasons I’ve already outlined, it can’t be done. La Casa Oscura is the cover for Moncoya’s mortal enterprise. Blow it up and we destroy the home of the world’s leading electronics firm, we kill Moncoya’s mortal employees. We draw the wrong kind of publicity to ourselves. It is also the portal to the royal palace, now the headquarters of the new Otherworld Alliance. Innocent staff work in the palace itself but, most important of all, it is now the meeting place of the peacekeeping council. Are you willing to risk the lives of the dynasty leaders? To risk Cal and Stella on the chance that we might succeed in destroying the dark house?”

Shamefaced, Aydan begged pardon for his foolishness. “But we can close down this latest vile brothel?”

“Of course we can. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t done it before now.” Lorcan scanned Tanzi’s face as if assuring himself that she was really okay. In response, she nodded slightly. He seemed satisfied at what he saw and released her. She felt oddly bereft as he returned to table. How foolish! Is it your goal to keep him at your side for all time?

“We were waiting for you, Lorcan. We need your necromancer prowess.”

Lorcan sighed. “Why do all the worst jobs always start off with that sentence?”

Chapter 5

“I don’t see why Lorcan has to bring her along.” Lisbet made no attempt to lower her voice, and Tanzi stiffened slightly as the words reached her through the open kitchen door. “Her only use seems to be decorative.”

“Hush.” Aydan’s quieter tones carried into the hall, where Tanzi was sitting on the bottom stair, waiting for Lorcan to lead them all to the brothel. “She will hear you. We may not know who she is, but we know she has been through a great trauma.”

“For that reason alone she shouldn’t come. What possible good will she be to us if there is any fighting?”

“We must trust Lorcan. If he wants her with us, then she comes.”

There was a definite huffing noise from Lisbet, but no further argument. Pedro was hovering near the front door and, when there was a knock, he hurried to see who it was. Once the sidhe caretaker had satisfied himself that there was no threat, he opened the door and Lorcan strolled in. He was accompanied by Iago.

“Don’t we need to wait for dark?” Lisbet asked as the five of them prepared to depart. It was late afternoon.

“The ideal time for a surprise attack is under cover of darkness, when the brothel’s activities will be in full swing. That’s when we’ll take the place. But for now we want to reconnoiter and get an idea of what we’re up against. This is the best time to do it. They won’t be on their guard and we can get an idea of what sort of security they have in place.”

The site of the brothel was in the medieval Gothic quarter of the city in a cloistered placa, or square, dating back to the days of the Inquisition. It was like stepping back in time. Once they were within the decorative tiled walls, it had the feel of a country village with geese and ducks wandering freely and vines rambling wild. The vast city might have been a million miles away. Tanzi, still adjusting to the difference between her mystical Otherworld home and the harsh realities of the mortal realm, was thrust slightly off balance by another change of scene. They hung back in a side alley, surveying the placa.

“They chose this for the location of such debauchery?” Iago cast a disbelieving glance around at the peaceful setting.

“That building was an Inquisition torture chamber.” Lorcan’s face was grim as he pointed to a Gothic structure with curved walls and high, arched slits in place of windows. “Many of the original features have been preserved.”

Everyone fell silent as they contemplated the building and the implication of Lorcan’s words. It was Aydan who broke the silence. “What do we do now? We can’t go and knock on the door, can we?”

“There isn’t a door,” Tanzi pointed out. It was only when they all turned to stare at her that she realized she had spoken aloud.

“Found your voice?” Lisbet’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

“Pedro has plans of most of the old areas of the city. There are two underground entrances to this building. One is through another placa to the rear of the building. That is the one the sidhes currently use. The other is through an underground crypt in the cloisters over there.” Lorcan pointed. “The inquisitors took their victims straight from the altar to the torture chamber.”

“It strikes me as odd.” Iago viewed the strange structure again. “Surely the point of running a brothel is to make money? Isn’t the fact that there is no obvious way of getting into it something of a disadvantage from a business point of view?”

“On the contrary,” Lorcan responded. “The exclusivity of this place is its selling point. Passing trade would be a hazard. And let’s not forget Moncoya’s human guise. He is the mortal realm’s electronics virtuoso, internet supremo, master of the dark web. Those mortals who want to know what is offered here—so long as they can pay the going rate, of course—will learn of it. There is no need to tout for trade.”

Tanzi shuddered. How little she had known of the man whose genes she shared. And yet she never doubted that Lorcan was speaking the truth about her father. She accepted Moncoya’s ability to lead a double life as readily as she accepted his evil tendencies. Perhaps she was more like him than she cared to believe. She was hiding her true personality from these people, after all, and doing it very effectively. I am not evil. Please let me not have inherited his destructive traits. She shivered again at the thought.

Lorcan, sensing the movement, glanced down at her. “You okay with this?” His voice was low enough for her ears alone. “You don’t have to do it.”

“You will never know how much I do.”

He studied her face, then nodded decisively. “Very well. Aydan, wait here with Iago and Lisbet. Watch out for any activity. Searc, come with me.”

They followed the shadowy outer edge of the placa, following in the footsteps of ancient cruel inquisitors. When they were at a right angle to the building that housed the brothel, Lorcan paused. “According to the plans Pedro showed me, the entrance to the crypt should be around here.”

The marble wall that marked the outer edge of the placa was smooth, with decorative arches set at regular intervals along its length. Tanzi pointed to one of these.

“There.”

Camouflaged within the dappled gray surface of the marble there was a small iron ring, slightly rusted with age. Lorcan lifted it and, with a groan of protest, the marble panel slid inward, revealing gaping darkness beyond. A scurrying sound indicated that they had disturbed the creatures lurking within.

Lorcan raised a hand and the darkness vanished. The light he cast revealed a narrow corridor and the disappearing shapes of several large rats. “The entrance to our crypt, I believe. Can you cope with the rodents?”

“Have you forgotten my preferred choice of shift?” Taking the hand he held out to her, Tanzi followed him into the narrow space.

“Hadn’t I just? Don’t you be off chasing rats and leaving me to fend for myself, will you now?” Lorcan pulled the marble panel closed behind them.

They were in a narrow corridor just wide enough for Lorcan to walk along and lead Tanzi behind him. It smelled of damp and decay, and thick dusty cobwebs brushed their faces. Nature had made an attempt to reclaim it, and dark moss covered the walls, while green tendrils stretched down through cracks in the roof. As they followed the twists of the passage, it led them sharply downward until it opened out into a cavernous space. Here the rocky walls were lined with shelves. Lorcan kept Tanzi’s hand in one of his, but he held his other hand high to illuminate the scene. Each shelf was stacked high with coffins in varying states of repair.

“The crypt.”

There was something different about Lorcan’s voice when he said the word. Tanzi studied his face. His expression was serene, almost dreamy, as his eyes scanned the coffins. It was as though an inner peace had descended upon him. Should it surprise her that he was at home here among the dead? He was a necromancer, after all, one of those rare and magical beings who were born with the ability to communicate with those who had gone beyond life. She just hoped he wasn’t going to start doing it now.

As if he sensed her unease, Lorcan drew his eyes back to her face. “If Pedro is right, we should be able to enter the other building from here. The inquisitors used this crypt to hide the true number of their dead from the outside world.”

“There doesn’t seem to be any way out, other than the way we came in.” Tanzi looked around. It was a man-made cave with rough stone walls and a high, rounded ceiling. “It’s a dead end.”

Lorcan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Less of the dead jokes, please. I’ve heard them all before.”

“I didn’t mean—” Tanzi’s protest was cut short by a scraping noise from one of the coffins. It was soft but unmistakable. Nervously, she drew closer to Lorcan. “What was that?” Even though she whispered, her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the echoing space.

“One of them needs to tell me something.” Lorcan started to move toward the shelf from which the noise was becoming louder and more insistent. Tanzi gripped his hand tighter, keeping him at her side.

“Just like that? Do dead people often feel the need to tell you things?”

“If it’s important they do. They can sense my presence.” He turned to face her. “You’re trembling.” He drew her to him, running his hands up and down her arms. Soothing me as he would a frightened animal, Tanzi told herself, even as she gave herself up to the sensations his touch provoked. Just as if I really am the kitten he jokes about me being. “There is nothing to fear from the souls who lie here. Even if they wished us harm—and I doubt they do—the dead cannot hurt a necromancer.” He slid his fingers under her chin, constraining her to look up at him even though her instinct was to burrow her head into his chest. “I’ll look after you, Searc.”

Releasing her, Lorcan went over to the stack of coffins. The noise was coming from the casket on the top shelf. It was newer and less elaborate than the others, little more than a plain box compared with their wrought iron–encrusted grandeur. Placing his hands on the lid, he bent his head as if in prayer. “Asprecan. Speak to me.” His voice was gentle, offering a world of sympathy to the coffin’s occupant.

The coffin began to rock back and forth on its shelf as the noises from within became frantic. Muffled cries from inside tugged at Tanzi’s heartstrings and she hurried to Lorcan’s side, forgetting her earlier fear. “What can we do?”

“Help me get this top off.”

Lorcan produced a serviceable-looking army knife from his back pocket and, flicking out the blade, began to unscrew the coffin lid. When it was free, Tanzi helped him to lift it clear of the casket and place it on the ground. The young girl who instantly sat up and regarded them with huge, petrified eyes didn’t look dead. Her skin was creamy, her hair lustrous, and her lips retained a cherry bloom. The only telltale sign that she might have relinquished her hold on life was the dagger embedded in her chest and the splash of bright crimson that bloomed around it.

She looked at Lorcan in surprise, then lifted a hand to point at Tanzi. “Faerie.”

“Yes, but she will not hurt you,” Lorcan reassured her.

“Faeries is deadly.”

“I mean you no harm.” Tanzi stepped forward, but the girl shrank away from her.

“She is a dryad,” Lorcan said. “Or she was in life. They fear your race. Although she can see you, you cannot interact with her now that she is dead. Nothing you say or do will comfort her. It’s best if you stand to one side while I discover what she wishes to say to me.”

“Does she know she’s dead?” Tanzi whispered.

“Possibly not.” There was a trace of regret in his smile. “She’ll find out soon enough. It’s my least favorite part of the job description.”

Tanzi moved away slightly, casting a wary glance at the other coffins. What if one of the other occupants of this crypt suddenly discovered a burning desire to converse with Lorcan while he was otherwise engaged? She decided to stay far enough from the walls not to find herself on the receiving end of a bony hand reaching out from one of the shelves. The dryad stared around her with wide, startled eyes.

“What is your name?”

“Iphae.” It seemed she was compelled to answer Lorcan. “What place is this?”

“You are in the mortal realm, in a city called Barcelona. Do you remember how you got here?”

She began to shake her head. Then she raised a hand to cover her lips, and the shaking turned to nodding. The hand dropped, her lip trembled and tears filled the gray-green depths of her eyes. “Sidhes did come to our forest and hunt us down like animals. Only the youngest girls did they want. I was fearful for my little sister so I helped her to hide deep in the woods. Took me instead, didn’t they?”

“What happened when they brought you here?” Lorcan’s voice was gentle.

Iphae hung her head. “Cannot say it. Not to make me, please.”

“Did they make you work for them? In their brothels?”

She nodded and fat, glistening tears rolled down her cheeks. “Mortal men pay good money for no-good dryad bitches, sidhes do say. Keep us in chains until our masters come, don’t they?”

“Who hurt you, Iphae?”

She gazed up at him blankly. Then her hand went to her breast, seeking the hilt of the dagger. “Oh!” Iphae’s breath hitched in shock and Tanzi wanted to go to her and cradle the lost girl in her arms. Sympathy was another new emotion she had learned through her contact with Lorcan. What a pity a faerie’s touch would terrify the sad little dryad even further. “Big mortal took a liking to me. Cruel, and getting worse each time, wasn’t he? In fear for my life, I was. Stole this knife from one of the sidhes, didn’t I? This time when he got too rough, I cut him. Wasn’t going to take that from a cheap dryad whore, was he? Paid me back, didn’t he?”

“Is that what you wished to tell me?”

She frowned as though concentrating hard. “No. I hear them talk, don’t I? Saying the great Moncoya is set to rise again stronger than ever and return to his rightful place. Time to put these resistance dogs down, isn’t it? Set a trap for them. Their leader is back in town, isn’t he? Get him and slit his cursed throat.” Her hand reached out suddenly and gripped Lorcan’s. “Beware.”

Tanzi glanced apprehensively over her shoulder. Was it possible her father knew who the resistance leader was? Worse, could he know that she had joined them? If so, his revenge against Lorcan would be absolute and vicious. For her—his daughter—death could not be any worse than the marriage plans he had already made for her.

Iphae was speaking again. “Moved the dryad money spinners on, didn’t they? Gone from here, my friends are now.”

Lorcan placed a hand on the girl’s head and her eyelids fluttered. “You have done well, Iphae. It is time for you to rest now.”

“Not to go, sir. Not yet, please...” For a moment her face was a mask of fear. Gradually, she relaxed under Lorcan’s touch and her expression lightened. “Sleep, shall I?”

“Yes, Iphae. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She lay down again in her casket, her eyes closing like a tired child who had fought slumber for too long.

Lorcan signaled for Tanzi to help him replace the coffin lid. She watched his face as he performed the task. “How do you stand it?” Her voice was husky. She wanted to hold him, but she didn’t know how he would react. Instead, she settled for placing her hand on his forearm.

Lorcan glanced down at her slender fingers where they rested on the sinewy muscles of his arm, but made no comment about the gesture. “It’s what I have to do for them. Listening to them, comforting them, allowing them to share their secrets and unburden their fears. It’s an obligation that was placed upon me when these powers were bequeathed to me. It’s a great responsibility but also a privilege. The final dignity I can bestow on them is to get this part right.”

“You did,” Tanzi said quietly. “Today, for Iphae, you got it absolutely right.”

“Thank you.” A corner of his mouth lifted briefly.

“What now?”

“Now? We steer clear of that bloody place.” He nodded at the blank wall at the end of the crypt. “Whatever their trap is, we’re not walking into it.”

“What about Iphae’s friends?”

“We’ll find them and free them, of course.”

* * *

The talk around the table that night was of the plan to rescue the captured dryads. Pedro was charged with discovering any likely places to which the girls might have been transported. Tanzi, from her habitual seat by the fire, kept her eyes on Lorcan’s face. She thought his eyes revealed his fatigue, but his expression remained determined.

“This is too dangerous for you,” Lisbet insisted. “It seems they know of your presence here. They know you are our leader.”

“How can they know it?” Aydan asked.

“There is only one way.” Lorcan looked at each of the faces around the table. “We have an informer in our midst.”

There was an outcry at that. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Tanzi thought that, in the ensuing series of furious protests, Lisbet cast one or two suspicious glances her way. Eventually, when the matter had been discussed several times over with no clear conclusion reached, they all departed for their separate rooms.

“I know how difficult it is for you to hear of the things his followers have done.” Lorcan paused outside Tanzi’s bedroom door. Even though they were alone, he was careful not to make any direct reference linking her to Moncoya.

“You mean it is hard for me to hear what he has instigated.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment and she continued. “Will I develop immunity over time, do you think?”

“Do you want an honest answer?” She nodded. “Probably not.”

Tanzi sighed. “I fear you may be right. Can I ask you something? About what happened with Iphae?”

“Only if I can sit down while I answer.” His devastating grin dawned. “I’m knackered.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Knackered?”

“An Irish expression. It means done in. Worn-out. Exhausted.” He followed her into her bedroom and sat on the bed.

“Is it practicing your craft that tires you so?” Tanzi glanced around, trying to decide where to sit. The bag containing her clothes—what she now thought of as her “princess kit”—was on the chair. With a feeling somewhere between apprehension and euphoria, she joined Lorcan on the bed, primly maintaining a distance of about twelve inches between them.

“Yes. The mental energy required to commune with the dead drains my strength, and then there is the emotional toll. What did you want to ask me?”

Even though his eyelids were drooping with tiredness, he still managed to look utterly adorable. It was very unfair of him. It made concentrating on anything else extremely difficult. “I thought that when the dead were raised they became zombies preying on human flesh. Yet Iphae returned to her coffin peacefully and, in the end, accepted—even welcomed—her death.”

“It’s a common misconception. Zombies are undead who are raised against their will. Iphae came to me of her own free choice and, although I suggested she should return to the other side and even exerted some pressure on her to do so, it remained her decision.”

“Do you ever raise the dead against their will?”

“I try not to. Inevitably sometimes I have to, but it’s a messy business. Zombies are a bugger to deal with. My turn to ask you something now.” His eyes were probing on her face. “What was so bad back in Otherworld that this is better?”

The question was so unexpected that Tanzi gasped. Yet she should have been expecting it. Especially now that they suspected someone was passing their secrets on to the sidhes. “Do you think I am the one who betrayed you?” She tried to keep her voice level so that the hurt didn’t show.

“Funnily enough, that never even occurred to me.” He closed the distance between them, catching hold of her hands. “I trust you, Tanzi, truly I do. I just thought perhaps it was time to tell me. Because, and maybe I’m wrong, I sense it eating away at you. I know we’ve been over the fact that I’m a lowly necromancer, you’re a royal princess, and we’re worlds apart many times, but I want to help you if I can.”

Her throat felt suddenly tight, as though his kindness had triggered a warm emotion that was threatening to choke her. She nodded. “Let me get a drink and I will tell you.” She owed him the truth.

Rising, she went over to the dresser and poured a glass of water from the bottle Maria had placed there. She kept her back to Lorcan as she drank, attempting to restore some of her lost equanimity. When she felt that her composure had returned sufficiently, she turned around. A slight smile touched her lips at the sight that greeted her. There would be no confidences tonight. Lorcan was stretched full-length on her bed, sound asleep.

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