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it.
You don t even know that he was the father of the baby. You see what you re doing?
No, she didn t see, didn t hear. He was talking to the air.
You underestimate a perp and you re dead. You re hanging out there on your own. And that took guts, or maybe not. Perhaps she was merely
fearless, and it was that which would get her killed the lack of a healthy sense of fear.
Are we done?
No, there s just one more thing. Be careful you don t shake out the wrong tree, Mallory. You may have more than one of them coming after you. I can
see the lawsuits piling up now.
Charles sat back in his chair and waited out the family ritual of Robert Riccalo admonishing the boy and the woman.
He didn t like Riccalo.
The man craved a spotlight and a stage so he could strut up and down all morning and display his mind, his maleness, his ruthlessness. And then,
after lunch, he would want to rule the world. The man s eyes were black water. God only knew what was really under the surface, and God had
probably shuddered and looked away quickly, only checking briefly to maintain His reputation for omniscience.
Now the man was leaning close to Justin, denying the child any possession of personal space. The boy turned to the woman. No help there. Sally
Riccalo always avoided looking directly at Justin. And that was interesting.
Justin, this nonsense will end! the man was saying, booming, threatening.
The cat was backing away to a corner of the room. Nose didn t like Robert Riccalo either. Charles smiled at Justin, and the boy seemed to take a
little heart from that.
Mallory walked in, and all conversation stopped. The cat trotted up to her, eyes fixed on the one it clearly adored.
Mallory cut the small animal dead with a look. In tacit understanding, the cat backed up a few steps to sit down and love her from a safe distance.
The purr was audible all over the room.
The purring stopped when the square wooden pencil caddie on the desk began to rock. The cat was under the couch before the caddie fell over on
its side. A fury of color flushed Robert Riccalo s face. His hand gripped his son s arm, and the boy winced with the pain.
Not so fast, said Mallory, walking over to the desk. It was a command, and Riccalo seemed stunned to see his hand obey her, as it released the
boy s arm and fell back to his lap.
Mallory picked up the pencil caddie and righted it. We re accustomed to objects flying around the office. Aren t we, Charles?
And now a pencil came flying out of the caddie and aimed at Charles s throat. Mallory s hand shot out and intercepted it.
Charles swallowed. Well, some of us are more accustomed to that sort of thing than others. Oh, fine. Now Mallory had added flying pencils to her
private arsenal.
It happens all the time. Mallory was staring at the boy, who only showed curiosity. She walked behind Charles s chair and another pencil flew out of
the caddie and neatly into her hand. Nothing to it.
The boy was showing no reaction any more. Apparently he had grown bored with airborne pencils.
So it is a trick! said Riccalo, turning on the boy with a look which promised something nasty when they were alone again.
Not necessarily, said Charles. But you see, so many things in the area of psychokinetics can be duplicated with illusion. That s why it s so difficult
to test for a gift. It s going to take a while is all my partner meant by that demonstration.
He looked up to Mallory, willing her to nod and smile in agreement. Fat chance, said her eyes. He turned back to Riccalo. We re looking for
something we can test. Come back after Christmas, and we ll get into this in more detail.
When goodbyes were said, a new date set, and the Riccalo family was through the door and gone, Charles turned around to find Mallory standing
close behind him.
And this was another trick of hers which unsettled him. There was never any warning noise of footfalls. Sometimes he wondered if she just liked to
see him jump outside his skin for a second or two. Nose trotted into the room to sit at her feet. When Mallory was around, he could at least keep
track of the cat by the purring.
Mallory ignored the sound of the small, contented engine, and settled into a wingback chair with dancing Queen Anne legs. She nodded to the
couch, beckoning Charles to sit down with her. Aren t you going to ask me how I made the pencil fly?
No, let me guess, all right? He was smiling as he sat down. Every now and then I see a street vendor who still sells the Wonder Widow, a black
rubber spider on a nearly invisible nylon string. When the vendor works the string, it looks like the spider is crawling along by itself. When a large
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