Page 98 of Dark Rover's Luck

"Perhaps it needs more time," Graham tried.

Fenella shrugged. "Like I said, my so-called talent is not very reliable."

"Try mine," called another patron, sliding a ring across the bar.

Fenella picked it up, again feeling nothing beyond the physical object. "Sorry. Nothing here either."

A line began to form as more customers produced objects for testing—keys, jewelry, even a dagger that an intimidating Kra-ell warrior slid down the counter toward her.

None of them triggered any psychometric response.

"Performance anxiety, maybe?" Atzil suggested quietly as Fenella handed back yet another object with an apologetic smile.

"Or it's just not working consistently," she said. Then, struck by inspiration, she added in a louder voice, "Though I'm getting some rather interesting impressions from this glass."

She held up a tumbler she'd just washed, pretending to study it intently. "Hmm, yes. Very interesting indeed."

"What do you see?" asked the glass's previous owner, a burly immortal named Dan or Derek. She didn't remember.

Fenella put on a serious expression. "This glass has witnessed you thinking about a truly spectacular dance performance you did in your kitchen earlier, wearing nothing but socks and headphones."

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd as Dan's face reddened. "That's ridiculous! I've never?—"

"The glass doesn't lie," Fenella said solemnly. "And you have quite the moves, buddy."

More laughter erupted, and Fenella's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Who's next?"

For the next hour, the game continued. Patrons would hand her an object, and Fenella would invent increasingly outlandish visions about their owners. An elegant pen revealed a secret passion for romance novels. A wristwatch disclosed a tendency to talk to houseplants. A dollar coin exposed a childhood habit of hiding vegetables in potted plants to avoid eating them.

The bar filled with laughter as Fenella's fabricated revelations grew more creative. Even Din seemed amused, his earlier overprotectiveness relaxing as he watched her work the crowd with ease.

"You are a natural entertainer," Atzil commented as he helped her mix an order of vodka cocktails for a group of Kra-ell.

"I've missed this more than I realized," Fenella admitted.

The night passed in a blur of activity—mixing drinks, inventing ridiculous psychometric 'readings,' and falling into easy conversation with the village residents. Fenella hadn't felt this alive in decades. Even the knowledge that some of the patrons were former Doomers couldn't dampen her spirits.

Din remained at his table, occasionally ordering another beer but otherwise content to watch from a distance.

Fenella appreciated that he'd given her the space to establish herself, even if his continued presence suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with her handling the rambunctious patrons who were getting progressively drunker.

As midnight approached, the crowd showed no signs of thinning. If anything, the bar had grown more packed as word spread about the entertainment.

The place was bursting at the seams, with people standing between tables and along the walls because there was no more room to sit.

"Read mine next!" called a woman Fenella recognized from the café, sliding a pencil across the bar.

Fenella picked it up, making a show of closing her eyes and concentrating. "Oh my," she gasped. "This pencil has seen things. Scandalous things."

"What kinds of things?" the woman asked, playing along.

"It seems," Fenella said dramatically, "that this pencil has been used to write some rather spicy letters to a certain Guardian whose name rhymes with 'Rex'."

The woman's mouth dropped open in pretend shock. "How did you?—"

"The pencil doesn't lie," Fenella said with a wink, returning it to its cackling owner.

Atzil laughed, shaking his head in admiration. "You're going to be very popular around here."

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