‘Pyrokinesis,’ he said in my ear. ‘The Sidhe are attacking.’

I pulled away from him, searching desperately for the Fomori. They’d been knocked off their feet by the impact but they were still conscious. The three who’d been in front of us, holding us in our place, scrambled towards their leader without thinking.

Fergus, a trickle of blood leaking from his forehead, pulled himself to his feet and wiped it away. ‘It’s a warning shot,’ he said calmly. ‘Or there would have been more. The Steward is sending a message.’ He looked at May and said the same to her in Gaelic.

‘Tegs,’ Taylor whispered. ‘We were caught as we came looking for you but we’d already found something else.’

I frowned at him, not sure what he meant. He unzipped his jacket a little and a faint golden glow appeared before he hastily zipped it up again. I gasped then clamped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. ‘How did you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That I needed the Draoidheachd?’

He turned his head to Speck. ‘Told you that’s what it was,’ he said smugly. ‘You owe me fifty quid.’

‘Keep it hidden,’ I told him. I looked at Byron, a question in my eyes.

He nodded, pointing to the bag by Fergus’s feet. ‘It’s there.’

I drew in a shaky breath. Good. That was very good.

‘May,’ Fergus said. ‘She knows we have it as well.’

I stiffened, glancing in her direction. After explaining the warning shot theory to the others, she was watching us, an intelligent gleam in her eyes. The tiniest smile crossed her lips and she turned away. ‘She’s not going to say anything. She knows what might be about to happen.’

Taylor frowned. ‘Why would she say something? And what’s about to happen?’

We had a lot of catching up to do but there wasn’t time – the three Fomori had returned.

‘Get up!’

We all got awkwardly to our feet.

‘We should execute them now!’ one of the others said.

My mouth was dry. The English-speaking Fomori murmured something into the boss-man’s ear. He nodded. ‘We can do that later. We can do that any time. But we might need them first.’ He turned to the messenger. ‘Get everyone in the city to safe ground. Not here – this will be the first point of attack. Get them to Arthur’s Seat and tell them to be ready.’

The messenger didn’t ask what they should be ready for. He bowed, whirled round and fled.

The air around us sizzled. At first, I thought it was simply from the tension but then, without further warning, an Ochterlony Sidhe flashed into existence right next to us. We barrelled towards him to stop him doing anything dangerous. He held up bare palms, however, and cleared his throat. ‘I’m here to parley.’

The English-speaking demon stepped forward. ‘You teleported here.’

The Sidhe inclined his head. He didn’t look in our direction; he was wholly focused on the demons. ‘Our leader, the esteemed Steward of the Highlands, Aifric Moncrieffe, is requesting safe passage to this castle to discuss current … developments.’ I almost snorted. Current developments? Is that what we were calling war these days?