Harlequin Nocturne May 2016 Box Set (31 page)

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

T
he 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.