"And they will know, as I do, that you are an adept. You would be a better one if you had not defiled your spirit." Serena disapproved strongly of the little cyberware Geraint had implanted: his datajack, the headware memory, the cannula implant just above the first vertebra for swift administration of psychoactives. Poisons, she called them, and she would not budge on that interpretation. "It is not a common gift, yours, to see the future."