“Imagine that.” Olivia gave him a steely smile. “Maybe it’s because they rarely get to deliver good news, and nobody wants bad news, so they blame the messenger. Or possibly it’s the fact that the utterances tend to be cryptic, frustrating and hard to decipher.”

He wasn’t sure how to read her smile. It did not look promising, so he pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“I think another reason oracles try to suppress their talents is because they are afraid it’s an indication of mental instability,” he said. “It’s a tough talent. It makes other people uneasy. I’m sure it would complicate personal relationships.”

“No shit. Sounds like you’ve done some serious research on the subject.”

“Yes.”

“The oracle thing is clearly not a good career path,” Olivia said coldly. “No job satisfaction, and probably no money in it.”

“There’s always been money in it if you want to go that route. It’s amazing how many people are willing to throw cash at anyone who claims to have psychic powers. It’s just a matter of smart marketing.”

“Most people who claim to have psychic powers are frauds,” she pointed out.

“That’s a whole other issue. What I have learned is that the oracle talent appears to be linked to the dreamstate. Everyone knows how difficult it is to interpret dreams and visions. Oracles need interpreters, someone who can decipher the meanings in the images.”

“Is that right? And just who does that kind of work?”

“Chaos talents are the best at it.”

Olivia gave that some close thought and then shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a chaos talent.”

“Yes, you have. I’m certain Victor Arganbright is one, although he prefers to think of himself as highly intuitive.”

“You know a lot about this so-called chaos talent, too,” Olivia said.

“That’s because I am one.” Harlan pulled the last crab claw out of the cioppino and used both hands to crack the shell. “And I’m a lot more powerful than Victor Arganbright.”

CHAPTER 7

Harlan wasn’t boasting, Olivia realized. Just stating a fact.

She watched, riveted, as he extracted the crabmeat from the claw. She could not decide if she was unnerved or fascinated.

“Is my aura still twitchy?” Harlan asked around a mouthful of crabmeat.

The matter-of-fact question fractured the small spell that had come over her. She raised her senses and did a quick survey. His powerful aura looked normal—for a monster. More worrisome was the compelling, intimate sense of bone-deep recognition. It was as if something inside her had been waiting for this man.

“Nope,” she said. “I can tell you’re still tired, though.”

He tossed the empty claw aside and wiped his hands on the damp towel the waiter had left. “Now that I’ve found you, I may be able to get a decent night’s sleep.”