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and glinted off his glasses, hiding his eyes. The unnatural light did nothing to improve the multiple hues of Art’s cheap tie or the fit of his too-short, too-tight slacks.
    â€œHi.”
    â€œI was hoping you would take me up on my offer,” he enthused, pumping her hand.
    â€œI’m not—” she started, but Kevin entered the hall and she broke off.
    â€œDr. Chase,” he said, walking towards her with his hand offered. His eagerness trapped her.
    The two men led her into the meeting room. This was the source of the incense—four or five sticks burned invarious places. The furniture hugged the walls, leaving a space in the center of the floor which was covered with blue gymnastics mats.
    Art followed her gaze. “We sit on the floor, generally. That way if anyone wants to lie down or be held, it’s easier.”
    Megan nodded. “And the chairs?” There were two comfortable-looking armchairs, each placed at opposite ends of the mats.
    Art smiled. “One for me and, tonight, one for you.”
    â€œI see.” Megan didn’t like this set-up at all. It wasn’t the idea of clients sitting on the floor, it was the idea that, for whatever reason, Art didn’t think he should be on the floor with them.
    Perhaps her plan to ask Art pointblank what he wanted should be forgotten. She generally tried not to read people unless she felt she might be in some kind of danger, but she opened herself a little bit, feeling for his mind with her own. It never took her long to get what she needed, but she was always cautious.
    Sometimes people knew, like she’d suspected Dante had two nights before. They didn’t know , but they sensed something. Better to be careful. She’d learned that lesson as a child, when she’d gained an unwanted reputation as “the creepy girl” because she hadn’t been able to control her abilities.
    Art didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking, explaining the group’s philosophy, but she stopped listening.
    Something went through her mind, disappearing before she could make sense of it. It was so cold, so…empty. Blackness filled her vision, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her stomach lurched. All the while the cold seeped into her, filling her mind, her body.
    Megan.
    The voice came from everywhere, from inside her head, low-pitched and unctuous. She bit her lip to keep from crying out while Art continued speaking to her, his thin face glowing with pride.
    She cut him off with a gasp as the darkness left. The lights brightened as if someone had removed a filter. The feeling of sickness disappeared, leaving her wondering if it had been real, or if she’d imagined it.
    â€œMegan? Are you okay?”
    She swallowed a mouthful of saliva and tried to smile. The muscles in her face protested so much she expected an audible creak. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just—impressed.”
    â€œYou haven’t heard the best part yet.” Art took her hand and led her to a chair. She sat. She didn’t have the strength to do what she wanted to do—turn and run away as fast as she could—and, she suspected, even that wouldn’t dissuade Art from pursuing her.
    Of course, she could be seriously disturbed. Nothing said counselors never had problems. Her powers could be fizzling out. She could be seeing the darkness of her own soul. Certainly that had happened before. That was why she became a counselor to start with—because of what happened when she was fifteen.
    It made a more likely explanation than the idea that Art was some evil creature bent on eating her soul. The man couldn’t even afford decent slacks.
    â€œWhat’s the best part?” she asked.
    â€œOur clients!” Art said with the same twittering high-pitched laugh she’d heard the day before. He sounded like a little old lady. “They’re such a special group of people, and if I’m not