“Brain cancer. Did you see the moviePhenomenonwith John Travolta?”
She was incensed on Alistar’s behalf. “Six generations’ worth? What about the trees? You have to admit how active they are when he’s around.”
“And how long have you known him?”
Okay, a week wasn’t long to know someone, but that was beside the point. “The visions?”
“Ah, the visions. Another interesting piece of the paranormal.”
“The headaches?”
“Have you witnessed any headaches?”
Peyton thought of his nude body smeared with paint, standing in front of an unfinished canvas in the sudden light she’d thrown into the room. The desolation when he’d looked back at her, not saying a word. He appeared… bereft. “Maybe.”
Astonishment flashed across his features, his expression quickly shifting to pity. It infuriated her. She wasn’t without wits or intuitive instincts of her own. Alistar told her he loved her, and she believed him.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not a very good friend, are you?”
“What are you saying?”
It was obvious that Tarron was fighting an aching head. While Alistar could empathize to an absurd degree, he was reluctant to give up. He felt on the verge of an impending sense of doom. They were running out of time. Neither of them had a clue where Peyton could have gone. Or with whom.
“There is nothing poetic about these words. If I had to guess, this Sabina chick committed suicide. It sounds to me like the Forrest character married another woman and had a kid. She took it badly and—” Tarron put his hand to his temple in the shape of a gun. “Boom.”
“How romantic.”
“Isn’t it?” Tarron grimaced. “Sorry. Not very subtle of me.”
“No.” Alistar sat back then shook his head. He didn’t think that pertained. “She had a daughter of her own. Naomi.”
“Doesn’t stop some people.”
“Good God, man. That’s a gruesome way to look at things.”
“Ah, yes. But somehow realistic.” He leaned back and shut his eyes.
Alistar considered Tarron’s words and tight expression, and it hit him. “Your mother?”
Tarron clamped his mouth closed in a tight line.
“I see. Well.” Alistar found himself at a loss. He was usually the one in need of… something, anything. “Er, what time is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, glancing at a clock on the mantel. Four thirty. “Pelz!”
“Seriously, was yelling necessary?” Tarron growled.
“Apologies.”
Pelz materialized in the arch of the door. “My lord?”
“Exactly what time in the afternoon was I born?”
“Three thirty-four.”
Alistar was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“You didn’t ask, my lord.”
“Maybe the curse has been broken.” Tarron’s sarcasm would have been something to appreciate under other circumstances.
