Once we’re done eating, I pull out my phone and set it on the table. “Let’s switch gears, okay?” Sylvie shrugs a shoulder, noncommittal. “Can you read me right now?”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Since you like the analogy, think of me as a vampire. I can only read a person if they invite me inside.”

In this moment she appears utterly sincere, vulnerable. She really is a very good actress. The waiter clears our dishes. Sylvie asks for a container for her leftover mashed potatoes. “Moose likes them?” I ask.

“They’re for Chris.”

“Don’t bother. She’s an incredibly picky eater.”

Sylvie dabs her lips with the cloth napkin then sits back. “Did I ever make a real connection for the people you planted?”

The muscles along my neck tighten. “Look, I have proof you research your audiences. Nothing you say can wipe that evidence away.”

“My shows are filled with people who desperately need to hear from someone so they can move on with their lives. If I fail, they go home, stuck in the past.”

“Is that a justification?”

Sylvie spins the sapphire infinity ring on her index finger. “So it’s black and white to you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not saying I do, but are you certain I research all the time?”

“I’m certain unless you can prove differently.”

Sylvie slightly tips her head, like she’s considering my words. “What if I told you that sometimes I draw a blank?”

My pulse ratchets up a notch and I lean forward. “Why?”

“Like I’ve said before, what I do isn’t an exact science. But when I know something about an audience member, it allows me to build a bridge—”

“A bridge?”

“Bits of information about the person I’m reading that let me cross from the here and now to the other side and attract the deceased, then go further.”

“That’s one way of rationalizing it. Another is that you hook people in. Excitement gets them to overshare. They think you’re psychic when all you’ve done is memorize Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter posts. That’s not called a bridge. It’s fraud.”

“Despite my memory, I’m not a computer,” Sylvie says as she weaves her hair into a braid. “It’d be impossible to do that for an entire audience.”

She plays with her hair when she’s backed into a corner. “So you make sure you have a handful of big hits and the rest? You throw out enough ambiguous information to snag a few people then read their reactions to make sure you’re headed in the right direction. When you strike a nerve, you amplify.”

“What about Kelly and Rose at the last show?”

“What about them?”

“A woman I might’ve known something about, unbeknownst to me, gave Kelly her ticket,” Sylvie says, choosing each word carefully. “I had no idea Kelly would be there. How could I? And no clue she’d attended a previous show.”

“You recognized her face.”

Sylvie shakes her head. “I didn’t, though I wasn’t surprised an audience member said I’d talked about a specific date. Sometimes dates pop into my mind during an appearance. I share them. But how could I know that Kelly’s sister, Rose, was going to commit suicide on that date?”