Allie lingered until the lawyer showed up; a very efficient-looking woman in neutral beige, and wearing an air of confidence. Allie piggybacked inside her mind, studying her. Allie had no intention of probing her thoughts, but being that close to someone’s mind revealed many things. The woman believed the boy was guilty, but she was also dedicated to her profession and would do everything within her power to give him the best possible defense. Well, now that Allie was here, he’d be getting something better than that. He’d be getting exactly what he deserved, one way or another.

Two guards brought Seth Fellon to the room where his lawyer was waiting to see him. The guards sat him down, and then left, closing the door. It was called client-attorney privilege. Although the guards waited outside the door, they couldn’t listen in. In that room Seth and his lawyer had absolute privacy. It was exactly what Allie needed.

Seth Fellon looked the part. He was a punk with scraggly hair, a stony gaze, and an orange prison jumpsuit that seemed like something he was born for. He had no facial rings now; they had been removed when he arrived. His jumpsuit had short sleeves, and Allie could see the tattoos up close. Not a single hint of fire.

Before the lawyer could speak, Allie made her move, pushing her own consciousness forward and tweaking the sleep reflex deep within the woman’s limbic system. The woman instantaneously went to sleep, and Allie took full control of her body, rolling her neck to get a kink out of it.

“Hi, Ms. Gutierrez,” Seth said. “Any luck changing the trial date?”

Allie had no idea. With the woman’s mind asleep, there was no way to look for the information. Seth took her hesitation as a “no.”

“Didn’t think so,” he said. “I don’t suppose you would have a cigarette, would you?”

Although Seth’s eyes were anything but friendly, Allie forced herself to look deeply into them.

“I want you to think about the fire,” Allie said, getting right down to business. “Everything that happened before, during, and right after.”

“What’s the point?”

Then Allie asked the big question. “Are you guilty, Seth?”

He looked away uncomfortably. “You said you wouldn’t ask that.”

“I’m asking.”

Now Seth looked scared. “They found my fingerprints on the gasoline can,” he said. “Why does it matter what I tell you? They’ve all made up their minds anyway.”

“You work in a gas station. That’s why your hands smelled like gasoline, and that’s why your prints were on the gas can—you probably filled it for someone.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But nobody believes that’s true. Not even you.”

“If it’s true,” Allie said, “I’ll believe it. Now close your eyes and think about the fire.”