‘In theory. Precognition isn’t an easy Gift to manage.’
I could well imagine. I resolved to keep well away from the pair of them. Not just because they were snooty Sidhe but because seeing the future was about the creepiest thing I could imagine. If Brochan’s theory about me learning others Gifts was correct, then I had to avoid them like the plague. Half the fun of life was not knowing what came next.
‘What do you know about my father’s Gifts?’ I asked, dropping my voice slightly so that the others wouldn’t hear. ‘You said there were three.’
He looked away.
‘Byron?’ I prodded.
He sighed. ‘I don’t know much. You have to remember I was only seven when all that happened.’
Not to mention that there was a conspiracy to get the world to forget the Adairs ever existed. ‘I know,’ I said aloud, crossing my fingers and making a quick decision to twist the truth wherever possible. ‘But as we suspected I didn’t receive a Gift from the grove and I’m curious about what his were.’
‘I heard it said that one of them was soul punching.’ He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good. ‘What is that?’ I asked quietly.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘It’s the ability to reach inside a person and kill them. Their soul is attacked and, well, they die.’
I absorbed this information. ‘Is that what happened to everyone in the Adair Clan? He … punched their souls?’
Byron nodded. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re like that.’
‘You don’t think I’m like a mass murderer? Well, that’s comforting.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
I bit my lip. ‘I know.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I heard a story that my father was possessed by a demon. That it wasn’t him at all.’
‘Apart from one incident when I was a kid, there haven’t been demons this side of the Veil in five hundred years. I’m sorry, Integrity. I realise you don’t want to think ill of him.’
‘I never even met him,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ I knew what I saw in the grove, though.
Without warning, Byron released one of his reins and took my hand. He squeezed it tightly. Rather than making me feel comforted, the action made me flinch. I tried to force myself to relax. Byron meant well, after all. He pressed his thumb into my palm, drawing small concentric circles. My eyes shot up. He watched me intently, making my mouth dry. It was getting damned difficult to think with any semblance of coherence.
‘There’s something I want you to know,’ he said awkwardly.
I forgot to breathe altogether. ‘Yes?’
‘That day. When we first met and you were just a kid.’
I stiffened, desire fleeing as quickly as it had arrived. ‘The day you called me pathetic.’
He winced. ‘Yes.’ His fingers tightened round mine again as if he were worried I would escape. ‘I knew that things were difficult for you living with the Scyrmgeours.’
‘Difficult?’ I tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. ‘I wasn’t even given a name, Byron. I was just a thing. The Bull’s hounds were treated like kings compared to me.’
‘If I’d been nice to you that day in front of Tipsania, what do you think would have happened?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ I snapped. ‘I ran away about ten minutes after you pissed off. It was the best thing I ever did.’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I didn’t know you were going to do that,’ he said. ‘All I knew was that if I showed you kindness, Tipsania would take it out on you later. I was trying to get her to leave you alone. It was clumsy and probably did more harm than good. Honestly though, I wasn’t being mean to you.’
I scanned his expression. He seemed earnest; hell, he seemed more than earnest. ‘Why her?’ I asked. ‘If she’s such a bitch, why are you with her now?’
He cursed under his breath. ‘She’s not a bitch, although I can see why many people think that. I’m not with her either. I just hang out with her sometimes. Really, it’s all politics. Her father has money.’ His eyes narrowed unhappily. ‘The Moncrieffes are broke.’
I tried to keep my expression blank. It wouldn’t do either me or him any favours to point out that I’d worked that out already. ‘How can you be broke? You’re the most powerful Clan.’
‘My father hasn’t gone into details but he’s alluded to plenty. Buying loans, paying for expensive penthouse suites and drinking pink champagne doesn’t help,’ he said, shooting me a wry look. ‘And it’s not easy keeping the other Clans in check.’
I glanced ahead. The Kincaid kid and the Darroch woman, whose Gift was dowsing, were bickering loudly. ‘I’ve seen that,’ I admitted. ‘So he’s spent the Moncrieffe fortune because he’s the Steward. Why not give up the title? Pass on the reins to someone else?’