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these thefts—if they continue, the Faire will go bankrupt, and we’ll have to go home.”
    Home! Oh, man, how I wanted to go home! Home to our little house with the tiny little flower garden, home to my room with the two leaks when it rained hard, home to everything familiar and normal, where I had my place and no one bothered me in it. Home sounded just fine to me.
    Unfortunately, Mom didn’t feel the same way. She’d signed a year’s contract to tour with the Faire, dispensing her potions and spells while she got in touch with the European Wiccan community. She had looked forward to this year with an excitement I’d never seen in her. For three long months she yammered about how thrilling it was to be able to see Europe, and what an education I’d have going with her. She even had the school district convinced that her Ph.D. in education was good enough to tutor me for the school year while I was dragged all over Eastern and Western Europe.
    Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I love school or anything, but at least there I fit in. Relatively. As long as I didn’t touch anyone. Most of the kids thought I was just shy, which was fine with me. At least no one thought I was a weirdo.
    â€œI thought Absinthe said the last band ran off with the money. If they’re gone, how can they steal more money?”
    She fretted with her teacup, her spoon clinking against the side as she stirred it a gazillion more times. The sound of it set my teeth on edge. I buttered my French toast and spread raspberry jam on it. “Peter said this morning—this is in the strictest confidence, Fran; you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Imogen—that the safe was rifled again sometime after Absinthe had put the evening’s take in it. He said he was going to have to call in the police, but I don’t see how that’s going to do any good. Whoever is stealing the money is very clever. He or she wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave their fingerprints on the safe. Especially not if—”
    She stopped and looked down at her tea as she shook the spoon and set it on the table.
    â€œIf what?” I asked around a mouthful of French toast.
    Her light gray eyes lifted to meet mine. “If someone is using their special powers to steal the money.”
    I swallowed. “Like who?”
    â€œI don’t know. Absinthe doesn’t know. Peter doesn’t know. No one knows.”
    I made a half shrug, unwilling to admit that I would be perfectly happy if the Faire went under and we had to go home. “The police will probably find whoever it is.”
    â€œThis is beyond the police, Fran. There’s only one person who can possibly determine who the thief is.”
    I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t see it at all, which should prove once and for all that I don’t have a single, solitary psychic cell in my body. At least not of the precognitive kind. I stuffed another chunk of French toast into my mouth. “Who’s that?”
    â€œYou.”
    I choked, tears streaming from my eyes as I wheezed, trying to get air into my lungs around the big lump of French toast that was stuck in my throat.
    â€œYou’re the only one who can find the thief, Fran.”
    â€œI’m not going to be able to do anything if I choke to death,” I gasped.
    She frowned. “I’m serious.”
    â€œSo’m I!”
    She handed me my mug of tea. “Franny, you have to do this. I know you don’t like touching anyone—”
    I wiped my streaming eyes with the back of my hand. “No.”
    â€œâ€”but this is an emergency.”
    I shook my head, coughed, took a sip of tea, coughed again, and snarfed back the runny nose that always came with a near choking. “No!”
    â€œI wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t very important.”
    â€œIt’s not our problem! Absinthe and Peter can figure it out for