Play Dead by John Levitt Page B

put a psychic shield over both of us. Cassandra might not be a practitioner at all, but on the other hand she might well be a wild talent—people we run into occasionally, those with talent who have little or no contact with other practitioners, sometimes unaware that others like them even exist. Mostly they’re adolescents, when talent first manifests, but sometimes it’s an older person. Generally they’re harmless, but once in a while they have real power, and, being totally untrained, often wreak minor havoc.
    Checking them out is part of Victor’s responsibilities. If Cassandra was one of those, she might well sense our power. She might not recognize what she was seeing, but she’d sense there was something different about us, and that might make her uneasy and suspicious. Thus, the shield. Lou didn’t need any shield, of course.
    As soon as I knocked, the front door immediately popped open as if Cassandra had been waiting for us right behind it. Maybe she had seen us coming through the front windows.
    “Cassandra,” I greeted her. “This is my sister, Rebecca.”
    “Welcome, my dear. Welcome to both of you.” She looked down at Lou and a puzzled expression flitted across her face.
    “He’s very well behaved,” said Sherwood, following her gaze. Lou sat quietly at Sherwood’s feet, doing a convincing imitation of a well-behaved dog. “I hope it’s okay that I brought him along.”
    “Of course,” she said. “All are welcome at Cassandra’s house. Come in, come in.”
    When we stepped across the threshold I expected to feel the houseboat move under my feet, or at least have some sense of motion, but it was solid as a rock. The front room was light and airy, with windows that looked out on the bay channel. The widows opened out and a pleasant breeze with the tang of salt air came through.
    I didn’t get much time to look around. As soon as we entered, Cassandra led us through another door, heavy, with an iron dead bolt on the outside. A short flight of stairs led down to a basement, but unlike normal houses where the basement is underground, this room was below the waterline instead.
    Cement walls, painted white, were another surprise. You’d think they would be damp and clammy with condensation covering the surface, but they were dry as a bone, tight and snug.
    One corner of the room was set aside as a sleeping area, a low bed frame and mattress partially concealed behind a wooden screen. It wasn’t somewhere I’d be comfortable sleeping; no matter how warm and dry it was, I’d always be aware I was under the waterline with the chilly waters of the channel only inches from my head.
    The room wasn’t cool, though; it was hot and close. Possibly the water acted as an insulator. On a low table at the back of the room a small fan was stirring the air, trying to provide some relief. In the middle of the room a larger table had been set up, with a shallow rectangular pan of water in the exact center of it.
    Next to the pan, a small lamp was placed close enough to cast light over it. Several small square glass bottles, each a different color and stoppered with corks, sat next to the lamp. Two wooden chairs on either side of the table provided seating—one for Cassandra, the other for her client.
    I looked around for another place to sit and settled on a more comfortable chair in one of the corners. Lou appeared to wander around aimlessly, sniffing at things, but he wasn’t really being aimless. This was a job, and he was checking out the room as thoroughly as he could.
    “Sit down,” Cassandra said to Sherwood, motioning toward one of the chairs. She turned on the lamp, which cast a miniature spotlight on the pan of water, and turned off the other lights. Then she stooped down and flicked on another switch. Immediately, the ceiling of the room was transformed into a replica of a starry sky, complete with swirling blue clouds and moving points of light.
    It was a laser projector, one of those