“Okay, okay,” Rose said. “Crackpots are still human.”

“How’d you like to get a spoonful of mice with your stuffing?” Jerram muttered.

The house was nondescript, a run-down split-level ranch. They picked their way through a maze of frozen flower beds. Perhaps in summer it was a riot of color, but now it looked sad and dreary.

When Martha Mackey opened the door, a powerful aroma of lemon polish and pine disinfectant blasted out from behind her. She was a small, neat woman dressed in slacks and an expensive-looking bulky sweater. Her blonde hair fell in waves to her shoulders. She wore gold earrings and bright pink lipstick. She didn’t look anything like her brother.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said cheerfully. “Come right in.”

Rose saw instandy what her mother had meant about being clean. The place was spotless. Table-tops gleamed like mirrors, floors sparkled, the rugs and upholstery had a just-washed look. Miss Mackey invited them to sit down and get comfortable.

“I’m just going to do a preliminary reading today,” she said. “Then, I’ll evaluate what I’ve learned and let you know how we may or may not proceed.”

“May not?” Jerram asked, concerned.

“I have to see what abilities she really has,” Miss Mackey said patiently. “It may be hard for you to realize, but many, many people think they have ESP when it’s nothing more than a heightened sensitivity.” She looked at them. “Intelligent people are most often misled. The more intelligent you are, the greater your capacity for empathy. But empathy must not be confused with true power of the mind.”

Jerram looked resigned. Rose knew he was thinking: That’s me, Rose. Nothing more than a good I.Q.

“We’re twins, Miss Mackey,” Rose said unnecessarily. “We share thoughts a lot of the time.”

Miss Mackey smiled. “How can you expect otherwise, hatching from two companionable little eggs?”

“You make us sound like chickens,” Jerram said.

Miss Mackey patted Rose’s hand. “Tell me, dear, what is your wish? Do you want to have a special power? Or would you rather be ordinary?”

How could she answer that? How could anyone? “Whatever I am, I am,” she said lamely.

Miss Mackey nodded. “That’s the best answer. It means your ego is not involved. People who crave a superior specialness usually have problems.”

Jerram shifted impatiently. “But Rose does have problems, Miss Mackey, that’s why we came to you.”

She gazed at him. “All in good time, young man.”

Rose felt sorry for Jerram, knowing that what he wished most in the world was to be extraordinary.

Miss Mackey asked them to sit quietly for a few moments, to collect their thoughts. At first Rose felt fidgety, but an image began to form of her thoughts scattered about the room and she collecting them in a wicker basket, like gathering flowers.