Alasdair blew out a breath. “Why can’t she just tell me how to change the future she saw?”
“Because she doesn’t know. All she can see is the ending coming if you stay on your current path, not what happens if things change.”
“I don’t believe this.” He ran a hand over his jaw.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Her lips twisted. “Hopefully, this is about your demon problem. A clue as to how to deal with it or what actions result in a worse situation.”
He ran that same hand around the back of his neck. “I should have known coming to you was a mistake.”
Ouch. His words struck deep, lodging under her skin in a way that she shouldn’t allow. She owed this man nothing. Besides, she was trying to help, in her limited capacity.
“There’s no way out of it and no way to stop beyond going through what she wants us to see.”
Please, Mother, no revealed secrets.
She didn’t need this powerful man holding those over her.
Chapter Three
Alasdair was still contemplating a response when a high-pitched scream shattered the quiet that fell between them. Not the happy squeal of a girl at play. Instead, the heartrending cry of a child’s brokenness. They both looked down, only now the child version of herself was bent over the cat.
“I didn’t mean to,” Delilah whispered along with the child version of herself.
The pain in grown-up Delilah’s voice about took Alasdair’s knees out from under him. An inexplicable reaction when he was still fucking furious about being stuck here.
But he knew for certain, after their encounters this year, that she didn’t share her emotions with others. Took one to know one. That she couldn’t hide her pain from him, while she watched what was apparently the young version of herself, got to him. Like a thousand needles in his skin.
Child Delilah lifted her face to the heavens, cheeks red and blotchy and drenched in tears. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”
The little girl’s plea made that needle sensation only worse. Alasdair crouched beside the cat and even reached out to put a hand to its belly to make sure the animal was dead. With a jerk, he stopped himself short, realizing this had already happened. He couldn’t fix it for her.
“What did you do?” Alasdair lifted his head to ask the woman standing back from the scene, arms wrapped around her middle.
She didn’t pull her gaze from the cat, or maybe she couldn’t. “My powers got away from me. I was trying to train her to play dead, like a dog. A surprise for my father, who never liked cats. Only—” She swallowed hard, a shudder visibly passing through her.
Fuck. He might not be able to help the child, but he could help the woman. Even if she didn’t deserve it. Alasdair got to his feet and deliberately stood in front of her, blocking her view. “Don’t watch.”
She lifted her head. Gaze dull, dazed, she seemed to stare through him, so self-contained, it hurt to watch.
Why was this bothering him so much? He’d hardened his heart to witnessing others in pain or peril long ago. A man in his position would be driven mad by the numbers of lost souls if he didn’t find a way to compartmentalize. Usually he could. He’d gotten good at it, given his childhood.
Why not now? Why not with her?
Jaw clenched against the sight of the sorrow clearly ripping her apart, Alasdair took her by the shoulders. “Look at me.”
She focused on him with dark eyes so shadowed they appeared bruised.
“It already happened,” he said. “It’s over. You don’t have to go through it again.”
She blinked slowly, and an emotion flitted across her face that he didn’t quite catch. Dread, if he had to hazard a guess.
“It’s not over yet,” the woman he shielded whispered.
“I can make repairs,” the child version of herself said at the same time.
Still blocking grown-up Delilah’s view, not letting go of her, Alasdair glanced over his shoulder to find the girl holding her hands over the cat. A soft glow came from her palms as she whispered words—vaguely familiar words tickling at his memory—over the body. The glow grew brighter, building and ebbing, and then the cat gave a shaky meow.
“Impossible,” Alasdair whispered. He knew of no magic that could raise the dead.
“Penelope.” The child cried and gathered the now very live cat into her arms, rubbing her tears against its white fur.
“Lily?” a male voice called out, the urgent edge reflected in the man’s face as he hurried into the room. Dressed in the fashion of medieval court, tall and muscled, he could have passed for one of the gods with his blond hair, bronzed skin, and bright blue eyes.
“Your father?” Alasdair slid a glance to Delilah, who nodded.
“What is he?” he asked next.
But she only stood there, mute and still. Which meant more was coming.
The man took in the cat and the girl’s tears in a single glance. “What did you do?” he whispered through lips gone chalky white.
“I healed her, Papa.” Dimples appeared in rounded, still wet cheeks, as the girl offered a proud grin and held the cat out to her father.
An expression that was more terror than wonder seized her father’s face, and Delilah herself closed her eyes against the sight.
“What’s going to happen?” Alasdair asked.
“It cannot be time,” her father whispered, the words hoarse in his throat, as though arguing with himself. “She is only a baby, yet.”
Three years old at the most. Unconsciously, Alasdair tightened his grip on the adult version. “Time for what?”
“To bind my powers.”
“What? No.” That could be incredibly dangerous, locking energy inside a child.
If magic wasn’t expunged regularly, it could result in catastrophic explosions or madness or other horrible ends. Was this why she’d refused to help? Because she had no access to her powers? Was this what Hazah wanted him to see? That the choice to go to Delilah in the first place had been the wrong one because she couldn’t help?
But that made no sense, because she could have gotten anyone on her payroll to help instead. Her business was about helping people.
She did go to someone else, a small voice reminded him. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here right now.
“Delilah,” her father said to the girl, going down on one knee and gathering her to him. “Do you remember the words we’ve been practicing?”
Her puckered brow an unconscious imitation of her father’s expression, the tiny girl nodded.