“Maybe you’re not running because you’ve got two high-level talents yourself.”

“I’m not an oracle, Harlan. I can use the camera because I resonate with my grandmother’s psychic signature. That does not make me a dual talent.”

She could tell he wasn’t buying her explanation, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead he slowly lowered his mug.

“There’s a theory that having more than one strong talent leads to sensory overload,” he said. “Too much stimulation. Most people don’t have the power and control it takes to handle one high-level talent, let alone two. The result is usually a fragile parapsych profile.”

“Whose theory is that?”

“It was formulated early on in the Bluestone Project, and the Foundation researchers are still mostly convinced it’s true,” Harlan said. “At the very least the experts are wary of multi-talents.”

“Well, you’re certainly not unstable. Nature gave you two talents and, obviously, the ability to control both.”

“You’re sure of that?”

She raised her brows. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have let you sleep here last night if I wasn’t sure of it. At the very least I would have insisted on having the security team standing guard outside my bedroom door—not down on the street.”

He nodded, accepting that statement. “I’m okay with my chaos talent. It has its uses.”

“How does it work?”

“Sort of like a Venn diagram. I look for the places where the circles overlap. Connections.”

“But you’re not okay with your ability to camouflage your aura.”

“It’s good for only two things,” Harlan said. “Hiding in plain sight and scaring the shit out of people. It makes me one of the monsters. I’m good at hunting them because I can think like them.”

CHAPTER 13

Olivia choked on her coffee. She sputtered, coughed and spewed. Harlan reached over and thumped her on the back a couple of times. She grabbed a napkin, wiped her mouth and mopped up drops of coffee on the counter.

“There you have it,” she said. “Proof that I am not an oracle. I sure didn’t see that coming.”

Harlan winced. “I get that a lot.”

Olivia swiveled around on the chair to face him. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Harlan’s mouth tightened. His eyes burned. “I’m serious.”

“This is . . . fascinating.”

Harlan blinked. “Fascinating?”

“Intriguing? Interesting? Riveting? Did your father, Stenson Rancourt, have any unusual talents?”

“He was a strong chaos talent—like my grandfather—but he did not possess any other particular talent. Just the above-average intuition that most talents have.” Harlan swallowed some coffee and lowered the mug. “Which he often ignored, especially when it came to women.”

“I’ve heard he was notorious for his affairs.”

“He loved my mother. Deeply. After she died in a car accident he—” Harlan stopped.

“Became a womanizer?”