Page 35 of Curses and Cures

“Me.”

11

Lorcan

Twenty-four hours after leaving Vasko’s villa we arrive in the vibrant bustle of Marrakech after a gruelling crossing on a ferry, and a very hot and sweaty six hour train journey from Port Tangier Med. It’s ten in the morning and the city is a sharp contrast to the Spanish countryside we left behind. The atmosphere in the souk is electric and alive, the streets thronging with locals and tourists alike. Everywhere we look, colour and chaos fill the air; from the bright silks of the marketplace to the smells of spices and incense that cling to the walls of the city, and the colourful language as people sell their wares.

The sun's heat brings a flush to my skin, though the stinging discomfort of sunburn fades in comparison to the chasm opening up inside my chest. It's an abyss of frustration and rage, and whilst I might not be Arden who can see things in the future, my gut is telling me that Cyn’s time is running out. It’s been almost two weeks since they took her. Two fucking weeks. They could’ve done untold damage in that time.

“This is taking too long,” I say, frustration making a fist of my fingers as I watch Arden and Beast talk to a man selling herbs and spices at a stall opposite me.

So far, no one has given us an exact location, though plenty have said they’ve seen members of the Skull Brotherhood pass through the souk. The last stall owner we spoke to said that he heard a rumour of a man with almost a full skull tattooed across his face seen buying herbs and flowers from this part of the souk, and so here we are.

“We couldn’t fly into the country on The Masks plane, you know that. The ferry from Spain was our only option. Less conspicuous that way. Thank fuck we could call in the debt with Karim, we wouldn’t have gotten into the country without him.”

Karim is to the Moroccan people what Robin Hood was to the people of Sherwood. Of all the criminals we’ve ever come across over the years, he’s one of the better ones. An honourable man who wants to rid his country of all evil and corruption, starting with the Skull Brotherhood who’ve brazenly taken up residence in his home. When we told him why we needed his help, he didn’t hesitate.

I swipe a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “Yeah, I know that, but every hour that passes–”

“She’s alive, Lorcan. We’realmostthere,” Carrick interjects firmly, before slugging back almost a whole bottle of water. He crouches down and reaches inside his rucksack, passing a bottle to me. “Drink. We don’t need you passing out from heat stroke.”

I take the bottle from him, twisting off the cap and taking a long pull. I’ve barely been in the sun, keeping to the shade and wearing a baseball cap to protect my face, but even so I feel the sting of sunburn on the back of my neck and hands despite slathering myself in lotion. It fucking sucks having a skin condition that’s sensitive to the sun. But that’s the least of my worries right now as Arden stalks towards us with Beast hot on his heels, his face a mask of anger.

“Anything?” I ask.

“We have the exact location,” he replies, grabbing my bottle of water and downing it in one go.

“Then why are we still standing here!” I say, a surge of energy rushing through my veins.

Arden shakes his head, whilst Beast swipes at the sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Fuck this heat,” Beast says, his face almost as red as mine. “I feel like a pig roasting on a spit.”

“Just call Jakub, tell him we’ve found her and let's get this done,” Carrick insists.

“I’m in agreement with Carrick. Can we just go kill the cunts so I can get back home to rainy England? This fucking heat ain’t for me,” Beasts moans.

“That’s the issue. Getting into their place without being spotted,” Arden sighs, the dark circles around his eyes a deep purple against his sallow skin.

He needs rest. Sleep. He needs Cyn.

“Why’s that?” Beast asks, pinching the collar of his t-shirt and fanning it against his skin.

“Weren’t you listening to what he said?” Arden asks, his patience waning.

“I may or may not have spaced out a bit during some of the conversation,” he replies, pulling a face. “I told you I don’t like the heat, turns my brain to fucking mush.”

Arden huffs out a breath. “Soren’s stronghold is another eight hour drive away, just outside of Zagora and several kilometres into the Sahara Desert.”

“Eight hours!” I exclaim, my stomach churning at more precious time lost. “Fuck.”

“Not only that, it’s surrounded by dunes and nothing more. We can’t get in or out without being spotted,” Arden adds, swiping a hand over his face.

I draw in a deep breath, trying to quell the rising panic. Despite now having the exact location of the Skull Brotherhood’s lair, we can’t just rush the place given it’s in the middle of the fucking desert. They’ll pick us off one by one.

“So what now?” Carrick asks, shifting on his feet as he picks up his rucksack and swings it onto his back.

“Call Jakub, update him on what we’ve found out,” Arden says, looking at me. “I’m heading back to Karim’s. He should know someone willing to drive us into the desert. Locate the others and meet me back there in an hour.”

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