“Mom tried many times to get Grandma to come and live with us, but for some reason she refused,” Olivia said. “Mom was never clear about why. She just said Grandma needed lots of alone time because she was an artist. But we often drove down the mountain and over to the coast to visit her.”

“What was Grace Goodwin like?”

“I don’t remember much, to be honest. She died in a house fire when I was five. She always seemed anxious when we were there. I think it made her nervous. Fearful. She was glad to see us but we never stayed long. Looking back, I think she suffered from panic attacks.”

Harlan munched a bite of the fritters and mulled over the information Olivia had provided. “Anxious. Fearful. Nervous.”

“Yes. She had been through a lot, if you’re right about her having been involved in Vortex. If she had been in hiding for years, it’s no surprise she was anxious. We’re talking serious PTSD.”

“True. But according to my research, feelings of anxiety are common to oracle talents.”

“No surprise. In the modern world, very few people take oracles seriously. They are considered delusional or outright frauds.”

“Huh.” Harlan finished his wine. “You’ve got a point. I hadn’t thought about that angle. You seem to know a lot about the subject.”

“I know a real oracle talent. She doesn’t sleep much and she’s a little obsessive when it comes to some things, but she’s not abnormally anxious or fearful or nervous.”

“I’m just saying that traditionally oracle talents are considered somewhat fragile when it comes to their nerves.”

Olivia ate a small bite of tuna, chewed and swallowed. “Do you really think my grandmother was an oracle talent?”

“That’s what Crocker Rancourt’s notes say.” Harlan cleared his throat. “Evidently the talent tends to go down through the female line, occasionally skipping a generation.”

Olivia stared at him, irritation sparking in her eyes. “If you’re implying I might be an oracle, forget it. I told you, I know a real oracle. Trust me, I’m not one. If I were, I’m pretty sure I would have figured it out by now.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve spent a big chunk of the last five years researching the genetics of the paranormal senses. The oracle talent usually remains latent unless it’s triggered by a traumatic incident.”

“There you go.” Olivia waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “That proves I’m not an oracle. I’ve had a few traumatic incidents in my life. The last one happened quite recently. I was kidnapped. Doesn’t get much more traumatic than that. There’s been no sign of oracle talent. I’m sure I would have noticed if I’d started announcing scary prophecies.”

“Oracles often resist accepting their talents,” he said.