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picked up another crystal, this one small enough to rest in the palm of his hand. “I stopped expecting this after the first five minutes.”
    It was the right thing for him to say. A.J. sipped her wine again and tried not to be too pleased. “It’s just a hobby with Clarissa, collecting the obvious trappings of the trade.”
    “She doesn’t use them?”
    “A hobby only. Actually, it started a long time ago. A friend found those tarot cards in a little shop in England and gave them to her. After that, things snowballed.”
    The crystal was cool and smooth in his hand as he studied her. “You don’t approve?”
    A.J. merely shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t if she took it seriously.”
    “Have you ever tried this?” He indicated the Ouija board.
    “No.”
    It was a lie. He wasn’t sure why she told it, or why he was certain of it. “So you don’t believe in any of this.”
    “I believe in Clarissa. The rest of this is just showmanship.”
    Still, he was intrigued with it, intrigued with the fascination it held for people through the ages. “You’ve never been tempted to ask her to look in the crystal for you?”
    “Clarissa doesn’t need the crystal, and she doesn’t tell the future.”
    He glanced into the clear glass in his hand. “Odd, you’d think if she can do the other things she’s reported to be able to do, she could do that.”
    “I didn’t say she couldn’t—I said she doesn’t.”
    David looked up from the crystal again. “Explain.”
    “Clarissa feels very strongly about destiny, and the tampering with it. She’s refused, even for outrageous fees, to predict.”
    “But you’re saying she could.”
    “I’m saying she chooses not to. Clarissa considers her gift a responsibility. Rather than misuse it in any way, she’d push it out of her life.”
    “Push it out.” He set the crystal down. “Do you mean she—a psychic—could just refuse to be one. Just block out the…let’s say power, for lack of a better term. Just turn it off?”
    Her fingers had dampened on the glass. A.J. casually switched it to her other hand. “To a large extent, yes. You have to be open to it. You’re a receptacle, a transmitter—the extent to which you receive or transmit depends on you.”
    “You seem to know a great deal about it.”
    He was sharp, she remembered abruptly. Very sharp. A.J. smiled deliberately and moved her shoulders again. “I know a great deal about Clarissa. If you spend any amount of time with her over the next couple of months, you’ll know quite a bit yourself.”
    David walked to her. He watched her carefully as he took the wineglass from her and sipped himself. It was warm now and seemed more potent. “Why do I get the impression thatyou’re uncomfortable in this room. Or is it that you’re uncomfortable with me?”
    “Your intuition’s missing the mark. If you’d like, Clarissa can give you a few exercises to sharpen it.”
    “Your palms are damp.” He took her hand, then ran his fingers down to the wrist. “Your pulse is fast. I don’t need intuition to know that.”
    It was important—vital—that she keep calm. She met his eyes levelly and hoped she managed to look amused. “That probably has more to do with the meat loaf.”
    “The first time we met you had a very strong, very strange reaction to me.”
    She hadn’t forgotten. It had given her a very restless night. “I explained—”
    “I didn’t buy it,” he interrupted. “I still don’t. That might be because I found myself doing a lot of thinking about you.”
    She’d taught herself to hold her ground. She’d had to. A.J. made one last attempt to do so now, though his eyes seemed much too quiet and intrusive, his voice too firm. She took her wineglass back from him and drained it. She learned it was a mistake, because she could taste him as well as the wine. “David, try to remember I’m not your type.” Her voice was cool and faintly cutting. If she’d thought about it a few