Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(51)

There was a whisper from right behind me. I spun round, expecting to see someone but there were only trees. The branches hung overhead, gnarled twigs reaching out towards me like ancient fingers. I shivered and turned back just as there was another strange whisper. I took a deep breath.

‘You’re going to have to speak up,’ I called out. ‘I can’t hear you.’

The whispers increased in volume, although what they were saying remained incomprehensible. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to identify the words. Their sibilantic hush made that impossible until they all abruptly fell silent and one clear musical voice of no distinguishable gender spoke, freezing my bones.

‘Adair.’

A strange image flitted through my head of a young man in old-fashioned dress. He had brilliant white hair and violet eyes. He was also wielding a sword, swinging it with unrestrained violence about his head. His eyes turned in my direction and I gasped involuntarily as he heaved the sword towards me.

Then he was replaced by another man of similar build and colouring. Then another and another and another. The images came so thick and fast that I felt dizzy. The only thing that seemed to change was the mode of clothing. I cried out, willing them to slow down. There were too many and it was all too quick. Nausea filled my stomach. I couldn’t take any more. It had to stop. It had to…

Another man appeared. This time he wasn’t alone; he was pressing his cheek against the rounded stomach of a heavily pregnant woman. Both of them looked at me and smiled and, unable to help myself, I smiled back. There was tenderness in their expressions – and unfathomable, immeasurable love. Even though I knew they were only in my head, I still reached out. I wanted to touch them.

The woman held out one graceful hand. If I stretched I might be able to grasp hold of her fingers. The moment I tried, however, she began to choke. Blood trickled from her mouth and she collapsed. The man roared in helpless, silent agony as she slid from his arms to the ground. His eyes filled with an anguish that turned to rage. I stepped back as he stretched out his arms and howled at the heavens. He seemed to be struggling with some terrible inner turmoil. In the past I might have made fun of the phrase ‘gnashing their teeth and renting their clothes’ but it suddenly made sense. I desperately wanted to help him, to soothe him in some way, but I had no idea how. His body writhed and his eyes bulged. Then, like a cloud passing, it was over. His eyes were clear as he turned to me.

‘Layoch,’ he said before vanishing entirely.

I fell to my knees. There was a wetness on my cheeks. It took me a moment or two to realise it was tears.





Chapter Fourteen




It took some time before I could pull myself together enough to get to my feet and start walking back. I was confused by what I’d seen and my thoughts were in free fall, tumbling one after the other as I tried to make sense of it all.

The one thing I knew was for certain was that I hated my true name. Layoch? I mean, come on. It sounded like it belonged to a boy. Had Daddy Dearest been wishing for a son? If so, maybe it was just as well he’d not stuck around long enough to meet me.

The journey back seemed longer. Perhaps it was because of the kerfuffle going on inside my head. Despite my sniffy attitude towards my true name, I kept seeing the expression in my parents’ eyes as they looked at me. It was haunting – and not in a particularly good way. My father didn’t looked like an evil murderer. He looked like a man grieving.

I was so focused on the recurring images that I didn’t notice the root jutting out from the ground until it was too late. The tip of my toes caught it and I went flying to the ground with a heavy thump, receiving a mouthful of dirt in the process. It was the only reason I didn’t scream aloud in pain. Who knew that a cracked rib could hurt so much?

I choked. ‘Nice move, Integrity,’ I scolded myself. Between tripping up over a pile of clothes in my own flat and a tree here, I was starting to think I was developing some serious coordination problems. I’d need to get Taylor to put me through my paces when I got back to Aberdeen. I didn’t want my new colleagues at mountain rescue thinking I was as unbalanced and tottery as Bambi.

I pushed myself up gingerly, dusting the debris off my scarf with a hiss of irritation. Then there was a far louder hiss and something flew past my head in a rush of heat, almost blistering my skin.

There was a loud crash, followed by a strange sizzle. I glanced back into the clearing and gaped when I saw one of the trees behind me ablaze. There was another hiss. This time I paid more attention. I ducked down, covering my head in my arms as a genuine, honest-to-goodness fireball blazed past, slamming into another tree and immediately engulfing it in flames.

Pyrokinetics, I thought. That’s Byron’s second gift. I cursed myself for a fool for beginning to trust him and rolled to my right, away from the path and the danger. I move just in time. A third fireball appeared, flying much lower this time. If I’d stayed where I was, I would have been toast.

‘Man’s house is on fire,’ I muttered to myself, still rolling, although now I was away from the path it was harder to avoid the trees and, with every move, my ribs yelled up at me to stop. ‘He calls up the fire brigade and asks for help. “How do we get there?” asks the fireman. The man frowned. “Don’t you still have those big red trucks?”’

My shoulder crashed into one of the solid tree trunks and I yelped in pain again. No more fireballs appeared to be on their way; not surprising really. If I’d been standing up on the path – which I should have been – they’d have hit me already. Unless they were sentient fireballs that could weave in and out of trees, now I was in the dense wood I wouldn’t be hit. I got to my feet and stared at the blaze.