«Cullen James, this is Mary Miller. Mary, we want you to do a complete reading. The total works, okay?»

«Sure, Eliot. Hi, Cullen! Have you ever done this before? No? It's real easy and you don't have to be scared or anything.»

She sat down next to me and, to my surprise, took out the kind of rubber roller you use to make linoleum blockprints, a tube of black ink and some sheets of white paper.

Opening the tube, she took my hands and squeezed a sizeable blob onto both palms. Eliot hadn't told me about this part, so I looked up at him to see what was going on.

«Some palmists do it this way, Cullcn. They don't even look at your hand – just the print on the paper when it's done.»

Mary rolled the jet-black ink evenly over and over my palms, then turned them down on to the paper for a print. She was dissatisfied with the first two, so we did the whole thing again. I felt as if I had been arrested and was being booked and fingerprinted.

«Okay, Cullen. I've got it now. These last two will be fine. You can go and wash your hands; that ink comes right off. While you're in there, I'll have a good look at these prints. Take your time.»

I left for the bathroom, followed closely by Eliot. While I scrubbed away in the basin with soap and a pumice stone, he reminded me not to say a word to Mary once she got started. To let her do all the talking and not give her any hints about myself or what had just happened. Outside information could contuse or distract her and that would badly affect things.

When we walked back into the room I was scared, but the expression on her face was okay. She was looking at Eliot.

«I don't know what happened, Eliot, but from everything I can see here, she's absolutely fine.» She looked down at the pieces of paper in front of her and nodded.

«Cullen, I can give you a life reading or a crisis reading. But it sounds like you want a crisis reading?»

«Yes, I guess I do.» I looked at Eliot, who nodded and put his finger to his lips.

«Okay, then I'd say you have nothing to worry about. In tact, I'm very surprised you're having any kind of trouble. Everything in your hand says you're all right. Your marriage is balanced, but you already know that. Sometimes you wish your husband was a little bit more exciting and zippy, but besides that . . . Your children have inherited that healthy balance. They also trust you, which is extremely important.»

«You mean my _child_. I have only one.»

Eliot shushed me and wiggled his finger for me to be quiet.

«If you believe in reincarnation, it says you've lived several very interesting lives and have learned from them. What's most important in a reading like this, a crisis reading, is that there's no death in your hand now, Cullen.» She looked at me and smiled reassuringly. «Your father was very ill recently, wasn't he? Anyway, you're still worried that he'll die soon, but he won't. He has a few years to go yet and having you around has made both him and your mother tremendously happy. They're both in seventh heaven about having a grandchild; it makes them feel stronger and necessary again. Your husband had some kind of trouble a few months ago – Something to do with his body, but also his work. Anyway, he's completely recovered and likes the path his life has taken. And by the way, he loves you very much. That's all over your hand.» She pointed to a few lines here and there and I looked at them as if I knew what she was talking about. «When I do a crisis reading, people are usually worried either about death or some kind of disaster. Neither thing is _anywhere_ on your hand now.

«Just the opposite, actually! It's sort of difficult to describe this, but it's as if your life is at peace now. I've seen this kind of pattern before in people who are terminally ill, but who have overcome their fear of death. Don't get me wrong though – there's not a sign of death in or near you now, but you seem to have resolved something that is very hard for most of us to resolve. Like accepting our own deaths, or something else like that.

«When you were younger, you tore yourself apart with contradictions, like so many of us do. You were distant from everyone, but then you turned round and gave yourself to a man who ate you alive. It was a big disaster, right? It was like the Push Me-Pull You in _Doctor Dolittle_, remember? One half went one way, the other the other? Well, that was you then. But you're not that way now. Your feet are on the ground because subconsciously you know you're both needed and loved by a number of people, and those are the two things everyone wants most out of life. You want to be loved and you want to know there are a bunch of people who need you, specifically _you_. If you had asked for a life reading, I'd have told you you're a very lucky woman. You _are_ a very lucky woman! There's a great deal of love both in and toward you, if you get what I mean. I haven't seen so much in a person's palm for a long time. It radiates right out of there in all kinds of directions. It's your base, it's like your main ingredient. There is _no_ crisis here, Cullen. I can guarantee that, and I don't usually say things like that unless I'm absolutely sure.»

I knew Eliot would disapprove of my prompting, but I had to ask. «What about my dreams? I've been having a series of _really_ strange dreams. Sometimes they're so strong and vivid that they scare me.»

«There are signs of a very strong fantasy life in your hand, that's for sure. Your imagination is vivid and it probably carries over into your night dreams. Is that what you mean?»

«Well, not really. What if I said I think I have 'powers', or something?» I felt so much like a goony ass saying that that I couldn't even look at Mary to see what her expression was.

«You don't have to be embarrassed, Cullen, there really _are_ people who have them. But if you do, they don't show up in your hand. Sometimes special powers arise from a situation; we don't have them in us innately. You know what I mean – a child is run over by a car and the mother is able to pick up the car by the front bumper to save the kid. Or we're threatened physically and suddenly have tremendous strength to defend ourselves: a kind of strength that goes away immediately after the danger passes. Even scientists admit to that kind of phenomena, although they attribute it to things like adrenaline rushes. Who knows for sure about these things?

«All I can tell you, Cullen, is that your hand shows no powers. So I don't think they're _your_ powers if they do exist. In your palm it shows you're protected by others, but not by powers. Whoever it is, _they_ won't let anything happen to you, if it is at all possible.»

She took my hand and looked at it closely for a long minute. «No, I don't see any powers here. A giant amount of love, but no powers.»

How strange it was to eat glass and light. All of the food on the table was laid out beautifully and precisely. The spread would have looked delicious if everything hadn't been transparent; splashing the light from the icy chandelier hung high and huge over the crystalline dining table.

Pepsi picked up his clear hot dog wrapped in its clear bun and took a big bite. His walking stick leaned against the chair and was the only patch of color around. Exposed to the sun for days on our walk here, the sticks had burned or ripened . . . changed from their original gray-brown to a deep, vivid purple.

Sizzling Thumb had mine over his lap and kept petting it like a cat. «Your tapes arrived without chickens.»

When we'd reached his castle earlier that morning, he had greeted us at the drawbridge by saying «Doughnuts and staples, remember!»

Luckily Mr. Tracy had prepared us and was there to translate. «He's welcoming us. Says his home is ours as long as we want it. Give him your walking stick, Cullen.»