She wraps her arms around his neck, and he nuzzles her nose with his. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he spins her around.
“Are you kidding me? I loved being part of your world, princesa. I got to speak to my abuelita. You have no idea how much I miss her. And there’s an afterlife, which means I will get to see her again one day!”
“No rush,” she says, and their light kisses turn to a passionate embrace.
Rafi stifles a laugh, and we turn away as we hear Xavi mumble something about how much magic Beatriz has brought to his life.
“I should get to bed,” I mutter. So much happened last night, I need to process it properly. If Mikayla is alive, then she’s out there. And if she was pregnant, as I’ve always suspected, then did she have the baby? Whose was it?
“Food first. Come on.” Rafi slings his arm around my shoulder. “I’m taking you to La Boqueria.”
“The food market?”
“How dare you! La Boqueria is the finest eatery in this city!”
“What about Beatriz and Xavi?”
“I’m sure she’ll find him some corpse to peck at on their way home.”
I play-slap him on the arm, and he laughs. With my head resting on his shoulder, we head down Las Ramblas.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, stifling a yawn.
“We’re going to visit every tapas joint in the place and we’re going to gorge on fat prawns and suck their brains out, slurp back oysters and get our mouths greasy with chunky slices of tortilla de patata. Then I’m going to hand-feed you succulent morcilla and fuet, washed down with gallons of Rioja. What do you say?”
“Don’t stop.” I give him an exaggerated pout of my lips. “Keep talking dirty to me.”
Rafi stops walking and pushes my hair out of my eyes, then gives me a lopsided smile.
“You know, down in the basement, that wasn’t easy for Luisa. She doesn’t visit the Nox as often as I do.”
“What? I thought her and Alba had a…”
“No. Not for years. Not since Alba’s Nox powers came to the surface. You don’t mix Touchmage magic with the dead, that’s just asking for trouble. She went there for you, you know.”
I bite my lips together, and he winks at me.
“Don’t break her heart, eh?”
“Luisa seems pretty unbreakable to me,” I reply with a laugh.
Rafi doesn’t join in though. “You’d be surprised. She’s not as tough as she looks. What’s the time?”
I glance at my phone, ignoring the ‘How’s it going?’ text from Jackson, and see it’s almost eight in the morning. I’m past tired and I’ve moved straight on to wired— although after my last dream, I’d prefer to stay awake.
The entrance to the market is already crowded with tourists taking selfies and trying to capture the perfect Instagram shot. We weave past stall after stall of brightly stacked fruit and vegetables, bars already serving brandy-infused coffees and butchers selling lamb’s heads cut through the center like they’re gifts for a sacrificial altar. I look away. I’m starving, but after the amount we drank, and smoked last night, the last thing I need to see this early in the morning is sheep eyeballs.
“How come no one came through for Luisa tonight?” I ask, as Rafi stops at a tapas bar.
“Her family isn’t dead. They’re just dead to her. Here, sit down.”
He pulls a tall stool out and hands me a menu, but his comment keeps buzzing around my mind. I can’t bear the thought of Luisa being alone.
“I’ll eat anything. You choose.”
Rafi’s face lights up as if I’ve given him the keys to a magical kingdom. Leaning over the bar, he rattles off a list of dishes to a guy in an apron, then sits back down triumphantly.
“Last night was heavy,” he says.
I nod. Images of blood on snow fill my mind. I’ve not even had time to think about Ansel and her message of forgiveness, let alone the weird thing my dad said about my mother, bears, and wolves.
“Who came through for you?” I ask.
Rafi stoops down and picks up a wilted flower from the floor. It comes to life in his hand, bright pink petals blooming and leaves unfurling. He hands it to me, but I tuck it behind his ear.
“Rafi?”
He sighs. “My father.”
The guy behind the bar places some dishes beside us, and I’m momentarily distracted by the smell of jamon croquetas. I take a bite, the soft salty filling burning the roof of my mouth. I tip my head back and groan.
“Fuck, they’re good.”
“A que si?”
“Tell me about your family.” I’m not letting him get away with it that easily.
He rolls his shoulders as if he’s preparing for a fight, then sighs.
“I was raised in a small village in Algeria, although most of my extended family live in Morocco, so I’ve never met them. My parents weren’t hugely religious, but they were traditional. Growing up I knew nothing about my family line and even less about Witches, Warlocks or magic.”
He finishes his wine and pours another glass from the carafe.
I can already see where this is going. “You saying you didn’t know you had powers?”
He shakes his head. “I’m the eldest, the only boy of six children. I was expected to work with my dad in his workshop. Carpentry. My magic came in late but strong, at around fifteen. There was a fire at the workshop and I…”
Rafi stops and takes a gulp of wine, then follows it with a slice of tomato-covered bread. He swallows.
“I put the fire out, except not in a normal way. I did it without thinking. One minute the workshop was an inferno, all my father’s creations turning to ash, and the next thing I knew I’d manipulated the flames into one corner and then drawn water from a nearby well, directing it to the shop like a snake charmer.”
Shit.
“Yeah. As I said, my family wasn't religious… but that doesn’t mean the villagers didn’t believe in evil spirits.”
“That’s crazy.” I
