Free Born of Deception by Teri Brown Page B

until I realized that my abilities won’t work on anyone with a high level of spirituality or on other Sensitives.” She must have seen my confusion because she laughs. “I was sent to a Catholic boarding school when my parents became estranged. Wishing didn’t work on ninety percent of the nuns.”
    I smile and feel the tension I’ve felt since the millinery shop draining away. There’s nothing sinister about her abilities. Calypso is rather like a kitten: playful and affectionate but never letting you forget about the claws. Considering my mother and my gun-toting best friend, would I even like someone without claws?
    “What’s really frightening is the ten percent of nuns that your abilities did work on!” I say. “What was wrong with them?”
    She giggles. “I know. What were nonspiritual nuns doing teaching school?”
    “Who knows? And, Calypso?” I look her straight in the eye and her face stills. “Next time don’t influence someone to give me a cheaper price. I’d rather just pay for my hats.”
    Her shoulders slump, but then she brightens. “Let’s talk about you now. What are your abilities?”
    I hesitate.
    “Oh, come on. I told you mine.”
    “I can channel the dead.” I give her what I consider the least of my talents. My habit of self-protection is too strong to allow me to offer complete disclosure.
    Calypso’s eyes glitter with excitement. “What a fantastic ability! How often do you do it? Is it hard? I would love to be able to talk to the dead! Can you imagine talking to Aristotle? Or Catherine La Voisin, or Morgan le Fay!”
    “Isn’t Morgan le Fay just a story?” I ask, trying to remember my Tennyson.
    “Oh, no. She’s real. My father once said we were related to her.”
    “I always assumed the Arthur stories were just legends.”
    Calypso shakes her head. “Don’t let any red-blooded Englishmen hear you say that.”
    “So you’re English, then?” I ask.
    “Half English. My father was born here, but my mother is originally from Trinidad and moved to Greece as a child.”
    I nod. That explains the accent.
    “Why are we talking about me again? I want to know about you. Who have you talked to?”
    For a minute I’m confused, until I realize she’s talking about dead people. I shake my head, not wanting to tell her that I’ve only done it once. “It’s not that simple. And I don’t know how to control it either.”
    A waitress serves our meat pies and we dig in. I’m half hoping that’s the end of the questions, but it’s not.
    “So you’re like me. Is that why you want to be a member of the Society? To learn control?”
    “Partly. Though I’ve learned a lot of control working with Cole.”
    “Cole is wonderful, isn’t he? I’ve only met him briefly since he’s been back, but he is so nice. And handsome! Are you two close, then?”
    It’s a normal reaction, but my insides knot up in a tangle of jealousy. Mortified, I glance down at my half-eaten meat pie, my hunger dissipating as I remember the tension at dinner last night. Cole had sent me a note this morning telling me he was tied up with preuniversity testing and family obligations but would meet me tomorrow night at the theater. I realize Calypso is still waiting for an answer and I give what I hope is a happy smile. “Yes, actually, we are.”
    Her brows rise, but she doesn’t comment on my hesitation and instead asks me about my magic act. The conversation moves from that to her life as a child in Greece and by the time we’re finished with our meal, I feel like I’ve made a friend.
    She confirms this feeling with her next words. “It’s like we’ve known one another forever. Are you doing anything this evening?”
    I shake my head, thinking of Cole’s note. “I’m on my own.”
    “Then come to a costume party with me tonight. It will be so much more fun if you come!”
    I bite my lip.
    “Please? You don’t have to dress up if you don’t want to.”
    I nod. I might as well. “All right.