"I've only ever been briefed that anything involving time travel and some tricky realms and relics, are best left alone," he told Gwen, with a smile that didn't hold much mirth in it. "So I can only imagine there's a whole fat lot of rules. It's rubbish your mum didn't warn you."
He didn't say anything about secrets. His business was secretive enough. He also didn't mention that he hadn't ever been on good terms with his mum, even before her death. It was a lot of arguing. A lot of him mouthing off, and a a lot of his mum saying things that were intended as barbed comments, intentionally aimed to cause pain. They all had tempers. His father was a drunk recluse. Pete knew that families were imperfect things, and the mere thought of those people filled him with regret.
But there was one person that Gwen immediately reminded him of when she claimed the ability to see and speak to the dead or the demonic. That was his sister, Romany. The difference was that Romany was pure evil, into the occult, and channeled Atlanteans until she got the spins and her mates stopped asking her out on pub crawls. Pete knew that knowing someone like that was handy in certain circumstances, and that his circle of contacts was now basically null and void. No better time than the present to take measure of those around him and improvise, if need arose.
He always stopped short of calling it a friend, because it was safer having contacts. It also wasn't like he was going to make too many friends, not with his sparkling personality. Sooner or later, friends left, died, or looked at him with disappointment or disdain. And they were right to do so.
"Any road, this' helped me out in a pinch," Pete said, not really going into all of the ways he could manipulate it. It wasn't ever safe to give away a potential upper hand. "I've consulted a few spiritualists now an' again? Talking at ghosts and demons is a useful skill. Dead useful. Pun intended."