‘That’s not the point.’

Bob was right. I was determined to follow Byron but I wasn’t going to put anyone else in harm’s way. I braked slightly, staying back from the car in front, and forced my shoulders to relax.

‘Go back and get their number plates, Bob,’ I said. ‘I’ll make things right later.’ I could track them down and send them some kind of compensation. Frankly, compensation was the least I could do. The last day or two I’d been getting ridiculously reckless. I needed to remember who I really was.

Bob threw me a scowl but did as I asked and zapped away. When he returned, he sniffed grudgingly. ‘They’re fine. The damage is minor.’

I smiled. ‘That’s not the point.’

Appeased, he shrugged and patted my finger then turned to the front. ‘Let’s not waste all our efforts and lose Byron now. Look, he’s indicating left up ahead.’

Bob was right. Two of the cars in front drove straight on, leaving only two between Byron and me. That was cool. I followed them, keeping strictly to the speed limit as we continued through the streets of Perth.

‘Where do you think he’s going?’ Bob asked.

‘I don’t have a clue. Neither do I understand why he’s sneaking away from his own stag party.’

‘Maybe he’s doing a runner. He’s going to head for the sea and swim across to Europe.’

‘Right now we’re going west,’ I pointed out.

‘So he’s going to America then.’ Bob began to hum the ‘Star Spangled Banner’.

I had no idea how I managed to get into these conversations. ‘You think he’s going to swim across the Atlantic Ocean? What is that? Three thousand miles?’

‘Fine,’ Bob said, obviously stung. ‘What’s your suggestion?’

‘I told you, I don’t know where he’s going or what he’s doing. That’s why we’re following him.’ We were reaching the city limits now and I still couldn’t work out where we were heading. The Cruaich was in the other direction and The Veil – and my own lands – were more southerly.

‘You’re no fun.’

I huffed. ‘Bob, we’re tailing Aifric Moncrieffe’s son. He’s obviously on some secret mission and we’re the only ones who know about it. What kind of fun do you want?’

Bob considered this. The last of the street lights vanished in the rear view window and another car pulled off the main road, leaving just one vehicle between Byron and us.

There was a blinding flash and I cursed, swerving across the centre of the road briefly before righting the car again. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I glared at Bob. He’d changed into a tuxedo and was sipping what looked like a martini.

‘Mish Moneypenny, you ought to calm down.’ His accent was a good approximation of Sean Connery’s but I still rolled my eyes. ‘If Byron Moncrieffe isn’t going to be James Bond, then I will be.’

‘No more of that,’ I hissed. ‘Any further flashes of light and Byron will know something’s up. If we’re going to be spies, then act like one.’