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entirely too close to the man’s temple.
    He groaned again and tried to sit up.
    “Easy. You need to stay still.” I put my hand on his shoulder and gave a little push, not even a push, more like pressure, gently leaning him back against the table leg.
    That was a mistake.
    A big one.
    New personal rule: don’t lay hands on a man whose last remembered touch was from a creature Zeus traditionally sent after people who’d pissed him off.
    His hand grabbed my forearm. Something like an electrical shock ran up my arm, and the next thing I knew, I was airborne and slamming into the far end of the table, knocking over the bowl I’d just had my hand in, and was now wearing shrimp to go with my cocktail sauce.
    I think I knew how that harpy had felt. Now I was feeling the urge to hit the guy, too.
    The man blinked a few times, his eyes trying to focus on me. A shrimp picked that moment to fall out of my hair. Hopefully I didn’t look scarier than the harpies.
    He fully came to and gasped, his blue eyes wide with fear, horror, confusion; you name it, he had it.
    He looked around wildly. “What happened?”
    SPI agents were trained to calm any member of the public they might come across who’d just had a close encounter of the supernatural kind. It involved fast thinking and creative explanations. My thinking was plenty fast, but not when it came to lying, especially not when I’d seen three harpies come to life and was wearing shrimp and cocktail sauce on a dress that’d cost me a week’s pay.
    I decided to go with some truth, not
the
truth, but a little was better than none at all, and maybe it’d be enough for a man with a head injury.
    “Your guess is as good as mine, but whatever it was, it’s over.” I thought for a moment. “At least for now.”
    That last part was only a partial truth. While it might have been all the way over for him, the shit storm was just cranking up for me and SPI.
    I didn’t think I should ask him what he’d done to that harpy. He still looked dazed and confused, and I didn’t believe it was just due to the near-concussion he’d gotten. I honestly didn’t think he was aware he’d done anything. It was rare, but not unheard of, for someone to come into a talent later in life. Usually people were either born with it, or got it in puberty along with pimples. I’d been born with mine.
    Before he could ask me anything else, I decided to get some answers of my own.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Ben. Ben Sadler.”
    “Well, Ben Sadler, I take it you work here?”
    He shook his head and winced. “I’m a diamond appraiser at Christie’s.”
    He was here to check out the now-stolen goods. I could see a Christie’s employee getting upset enough at the loss of those diamonds to attack a harpy. No diamonds. No auction. No big, honkin’ commission.
    I gathered my makeshift ice pack, and reapplied it to his head.
    He reached up to hold it himself. “Thank you.”
    Our hands brushed in passing. No zap. He didn’t know he’d zapped me. That was both interesting and disconcerting.
    “What happened?” I asked Ben. When someone had been turned into a human rag doll, it was best to stick with simple questions.
    “Excuse me?”
    Okay, maybe that wasn’t simple enough. Opting for tact, instead of asking why he’d tried to commit suicide by harpy, I went with: “When you grabbed the, uh . . . thief, there was a flash of light and . . .” My hands moved in vague little circles over my stomach. “Something that felt like I’d swallowed a fistful of electrified Mexican jumping beans. So, what did you do?”
    “I only wanted to stop those things from taking the Dragon Eggs. There was bright light and my arm went numb.” His pale brow knit in concentration and confusion. “I . . . I don’t know anything about jumping beans. Then I woke up here. I remember being hit. I think.” He reached up with a shaky hand and gingerly touched his head, the tips of his fingers coming away with