If the other side was after her with such grim determination because they either feared her or valued her, then Tucker thought the chances were very good that Sarah could use whatever it was they feared or desired against them. The question, of course, was whether she could do it. Whether she could even try to do it.
As much as he had learned over the years about psychic abilities and the paranormal, Tucker still felt very unsure about what to tell Sarah, about how to advise her. He was not psychic, and as he’d told her, he couldn’t begin to feel what she felt. Not even his vivid writer’s imagination could help him to help her.
Until he had met her, he had seen in the world of the paranormal very little he’d believed to be genuine. And even the few psychics who had impressed him with their abilities had been erratic not only in what they had been able to do but in their interpretations of what they had seen and sensed. That was why he had, in the beginning at least, questioned Sarah’s interpretations. But she seemed—so far—less erratic than those psychics had been, and far, far less likely to try to “fill in the blanks” of what she saw with hunches and outright guesses.
Maybe that would come in time. Maybe every genuine psychic learned to create a patchwork of vision and guess and interpretation in order to present something complete and understandable to those inquiring. Maybe it was simple human nature.
And then there were those things not so easily explained.
“She never wanted to be found, you know. That’s why you couldn’t.”
A quiet statement, offered in a quiet moment, as if it had simply come to Sarah without her bidding. A reluctant glimpse inside the mind of someone she did not know, had never known. Someone who had been gone for a very long time.
Sarah had simply known.
Her abilities, Tucker believed, were still new and raw. Unformed, in a sense. Unrestrained by the checks and guards and filters her mind would no doubt struggle in time to erect. They might at this point be beyond her ability to control, but they were also undoubtedly powerful, and the force of them was undiluted by her conscious mind. Where an experienced psychic might try to interpret what was seen, Sarah merely reported it.
This is what I see. This is what I know.
When she looked—even absently without her full attention—she saw.
He had to make her look. No matter what it cost her.
No matter what it cost him.
The usual crowd populated Venice Beach, but it had been a slow day for Daisy Novak. Plenty of curious looks were directed toward her kiosk, but not many seemed eager to pay twenty bucks to get their fortunes told.
Absently, she polished her crystal ball with her sleeve and watched the people wander past. It was nearly dark, but there were plenty of lights around, and still plenty of people, and Daisy hesitated. She was stiff after sitting here so long. Damned arthritis. But just another twenty bucks or so would mean she probably wouldn’t have to work on Saturday. Another hour, then. But no longer; her cat, Moses, would be waiting for his supper.
She reached under the draped table and flipped the switch that turned on the light under her crystal ball. A nice effect, if she did say so herself. Especially since her kiosk was in one of the dimmer areas of the boardwalk. The light shone upward through the crystal, and she knew it made her face look nicely spooky and unearthly.
And it was effective too. Within minutes, a customer sat down on the other side of the table.
“Twenty dollars for ten minutes?” She pushed a bill across the table.
Daisy smiled and slid the bill into her voluminous blouse. “Yes, indeed. Do you have a preference, Megan? Tarot, palm reading, crystal ball?”
Megan blinked, then smiled. “You’re pretty good.” She was young, in her twenties, and pretty, dressed as casually as everyone around her in shorts and a skimpy top, and she had that I-dare-you expression that Daisy easily recognized. “Let’s try out the ball.”
Automatically, Daisy cupped her hands around the base of the crystal and peered at it intently. Now she regretted turning on the light; the damn thing made her eyes water. “Past, present, or future?” she murmured. “The crystal shows all.”
“Suit yourself,” Megan said.
Daisy glanced at her, noted the challenging expression, and felt irritated enough to reach a bit deeper than usual. So this one was a skeptic, was she? Well, then, Daisy would just give her her money’s worth.
Briskly, Daisy said, “I see buildings, with young people walking all around—ah. You’re a graduate student. Economics.” She sneaked a glance up and saw Megan blink again. Good. A direct hit. “Single, but you have a boyfriend who is…a musician. You spend weekends with him. Hmmm. Doesn’t like the missionary position much, does he? Wants you to do all the work whenever possible. And he just bought a book with more positions illustrated for next weekend—”