Page 26 of Last Wish
‘Uh Integrity…’ Bob began.
I brushed him away, lifting my hand as if I were flicking away an irritating fly. In the far corner a man was flirting, turning a simple stick into an elaborate bunch of flowers through what must be his Gift of Illusion. Amongst the Sidhe, Illusion was considered a lesser Gift, something with which to amuse children. No one could make use of it quite like me, though.
I drew on it, sucking it inside me and feeling delight course through me. The hapless Sidhe fell against the wall while Bob pinched me. ‘What are you doing? You’re taking too much!’
I barely heard him. Right now I felt strong enough to fly. I could take down Aifric with one swoop; I could storm into the Cruaich dungeons and free Candy with a blink of my eye. I could twitch my little finger and every scrap of Scottish magic would be mine. I could … oh shite. I twirled round and faced away from Byron as he strode in from the hall to the right.
‘I was going to warn you,’ Bob murmured. ‘But you seemed kind of preoccupied.’
Suddenly, I felt woozy and nauseous. I wasn’t the only one. Several of the Sidhe from whom I’d stolen also looked distinctly unwell. I paid them scant attention. It was the knowledge that Byron was at my back that made me tremble all over.
I shuffled to the nearest wall, as far away from him as I could without drawing attention to myself. I’d allowed my over-confidence, along with the adrenaline of theft and the vertigo-inducing nature of magic, to make me almost lose control. If I wasn’t more careful it wouldn’t matter how many Gifts I managed to steal; I’d end up in the cell next to Candy. Or worse. And I’d hurt a lot of people in the process.
I gulped in air as Byron swept past me. He didn’t feel my eyes on him because everyone else was watching him too. I couldn’t see his face but that didn’t stop me fixating on him. The way his hair curled into the nape of his neck and the tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin where he’d pushed up his sleeves. I frowned. Had he lost weight?
I shook myself. He was probably on a damned wedding diet. It was no business of mine and I wasn’t here to gaze after him like a love-struck puppy. I was a Highland Chieftain who was far, far better than that – whether anyone here was aware of me or not.
As soon as there was enough distance between us, I scooted back to the other end of the room. Seeing Byron had been helpful in the sense that it brought me back to full awareness, like having a bucket of icy water poured over my head. I passed the library. Spotting a plain unvarnished door next to it, which I hoped led to the staircase Fergus had mentioned, I made a beeline in that direction.
‘Uh Integrity! Byron’s turning round!’ Bob squealed. ‘He’s looking this way. He seems…’
I wrenched the door open and ran inside to the welcoming darkness.
‘Uh Integrity? Why are we in a cupboard?’
I twisted round, knocking over a mop. When I tried to pick it up, I hit my head against a low shelf. I cursed loudly as pain exploded in my skull and lights danced in front of my eyes. I didn’t need to worry about Aifric or Byron or anyone else; at this rate, I would inadvertently kill myself.
‘As unpleasant as it is in here,’ Bob remarked, ‘it’s no spooky dungeon.’
‘Gee,’ I said sarcastically. ‘Thanks, Bob. I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Just trying to be helpful.’ He waited for a beat. ‘Byron looked really bad.’
I stiffened. ‘In what way?’
‘Tired. Great big expensive Louis Vuitton bags under his eyes. Awful skin. He must be stressed out because his fiancée has disappeared.’
‘Yeah,’ I said sourly, ‘he must be.’ Whatever. ‘Any chance you saw another door when you were gawping at Byron? One that might lead to the dungeons we’re supposed to be heading for?’
‘Ooooh!’ Bob flounced. ‘Get you! I’m not the one who was getting drunk on magic and flitting around like the Artful Dodger on speed.’
‘Sorry. I messed up,’ I muttered. I could hardly pretend otherwise.
‘What?’ he screeched. ‘No, no, no, no, no! A Chieftain does not apologise. Have you ever heard me apologise?’
I sighed. ‘I’m not infallible just because I’ve got a poncey title.’
‘Of course you’re not. But you don’t ever let other people know that.’ He paused. ‘Are you making a face at me?’
‘No.’
‘You are, aren’t you?’
‘I already said no, Bob.’
‘Honestly,’ he huffed. ‘This is what I get for working with amateurs.’
Chapter Six
