"Was that from that cartoon, I only saw it once, what, South Central - "

"South Park, have you no appreciation for you own culture?"

"Only when it appreciates me."

Two helpings of fettucine with tomato and eggplant sauce later, the second bottle of Chianti was on its way to a place in history. Annabelle thought about running out to the liquor store, but decided against it. Nature taking its course was one thing, but inebriated nature was another entirely, and Annabelle made a silent vow to never get drunk and bang some guy ever again.

"So what do you paint?" She got up and put the kettle on, and arranged a selection of teas on a plate.

"Landscapes, mostly. Ireland, primarily, oddly enough. I'm working on glass at the moment, I was walking by a building site, they were after tossing away sheets and sheets of it, twenty by forty feet, it was only going to waste. I used one for that application thing."

"Wow." Annabelle rinsed out a couple of mugs, and scraped what little was on left on their plates into the trash. As they waited for the kettle to boil, Jamie told Annabelle about Sinaan, leaving out the bit about the dream and the way it had ended up looking like her. As he described the government scheme, his work, and the benefits involved, Annabelle watched the visible wrestling match that this project had him in the grips of. He wants to go home, she thought, and he doesn't know it. She smiled at him, fondly, and she had to fight a natural impulse to run a finger down and around the bicep nearest her as he lost himself in the tale.

"But sure you probably know that old yarn already."

"No. Why would I?"

He gestured to her altar. "It looks like you have an interest in that sort of thing."

The kettle whistled, and Annabelle got up to make the tea. "I do," she said. "I don't read auras or tea leaves, or anything."

"One of my cousins does auras. She's got a holistic center in the back arse of nowhere in Kerry. Also reflexology and animal communication. And Auntie Maeve, she does the tea leaves."

"I'm not being defensive!" Annabelle said defensively, and they both laughed. She set the tea down with a few packets of purloined coffee shop sugar, ignoring Jamie's raised eyebrow. "I just had a blow-out with my friends about this stuff. Maria Grazia and Lorna? The co-conspirators, of the set-up thing? They think I'm crazy. Which is their opinion, and perfectly fine, but I feel like they've been humoring me all these years, and it really bugs me.

"I mean, I'm not really Wiccan or anything, I'm just kind of an 'over-the-counter' practitioner, but my Pooka business kind of pushed their envelopes. They were okay with the tarot and stuff, but apparently their cut-off point has to do with interfering poltergeists from foreign countries."

Jamie slapped his hand down in front of her mug of tea. "Go on, then," he grinned. "Tell me my fortune."

She reached over and bent his fingers over his palm. "I don't do palms. I had a couple of experiences that got kind of ... antagonistic. I prefer the cards - they provide a bit of distance between myself and the other person." She reached toward her altar and stopped. "I don't know - do you really? Want a reading?"

"Sure, why not?"

Annabelle's face was clouded with emotion as she took her deck out of its wooden box. She looked up into Jamie's questioning gaze. "I just realized that I never really offered this properly. I mean, I offered, but I kind of nagged about it, too. Lorna and Maria Grazia were unwilling guinea pigs as I practiced doing readings." She scowled down at the cards in her hands. "That wasn't very fair."

"Friends fight all the time. You'll make it up."

"Maria Grazia has a pathological aversion to confrontation, and I've always been a bit afraid of yelling at Lorna, so these friends have never fought at all. So much to think about." She smiled at Jamie, and held out the deck to him. "Shuffle them, and when you're ready, cut the cards into three piles."

Annabelle turned down the music, and shifted her chair over so that she was sitting closer to Jamie. "Don't tell me the question, I don't want to be influenced, because now that I know you better, I might want to finesse the outcome. Even so, the cards never lie." They smiled into each other's eyes. "Let me know when you're ready."

Jamie closed his eyes and shuffled the cards, his strong fingers dexterous, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. He smelled of clean laundry, and fresh food, and the spring night that was wafting over the windowsill. She watched him manipulate the cards - Lucky old things, thought Annabelle. Maybe I should have told I needed to be sitting on his lap in order to summon up the correct vibrations - Jamie cut the cards into three piles and set them down. "Right. Go on, then."

Annabelle turned over the top card on each stack.

The Three of Pentacles in the position of the present.

The Chariot in the position of the inherent challenge.

The World as the outcome.

"I can write these down for you if like, I never remember anybody's readings. The pad there by the phone - thanks. This first card, the three of Pentacles, it's all about success through effort. There's so much going on right now, there's an amazing amount of productivity, and the potential for even more work ... " She paused to choose her words carefully, and Jamie watched her eyes scan the cards, with the same utterly focused look that came over Maeve when she read the leaves.

"The Chariot, in the second position? It's about journeying, not just physically of course, and in fact, it's more often about spiritual movement, but I'm just getting the feeling that it's about physical space as well. Because the last one, The World, is about wholeness, the journey into the completion of your being, your soul ... hmmm. There's plenty going on, and it's all 'right', if you take my meaning, you're not wasting your time or anything, it's all about fulfillment of your personal truth as a person and as an artist."

Annabelle shook her head. "That was a bit pompous sounding, maybe." Suddenly nervous, she went to put on more hot water.

Jamie looked down at the spread, distracted by the fascinating imagery on the cards. "No, that's exactly what I wanted to know." He looked up at Annabelle, as she started doing the dishes, and reached out to grab her elbow. "Come on now, it's grand. I'm impressed. It's just another in the long line of interesting things about Annabelle."

She smiled at him over her shoulder, and shut off the faucet. The dishes could wait. "Have you got any more questions?"

He shuffled the deck again, and closed his eyes. Opening them, he cut the cards in to three piles - hesitated, and then cut the deck twice more.

Annabelle arched her brows. "Okay, then."

"It felt right," Jamie grinned, and watched as Annabelle slid the top card off of each pile, and then turned them over one by one.

The King of Cups. The Queen of Cups. The Ace of Wands. The Ace of Cups. The Sun.

Now what? Annabelle thought, as she blushed furiously. She gathered up the cards. "Um, a positive outcome. A 'yes', for lack of a better word. Thumbs up, as it were." She shuffled the deck a little madly, and stuffed it back into its box.

Jamie grabbed her arm again. "What? Was it bad?"

"No, I told you," Annabelle blustered. "Full speed ahead."

He smiled up at her, guilelessly. "I'm really interested to know what they meant."

"Well, I put them away, I told you I forget as soon as I - "

Jamie took up the pen and drew. "There was a king and queen. And then one that was a staff. The second was a cup, on its own? And the last one was easy, the Sun." He showed her the paper. "So?"

Damn it. How was she going to explain the reading without explaining the reading? You're assuming that he was asking about you, and himself, you and he together. Well, what else could it be? He came over here, made you dinner, told you straight out, basically, that he was single, and now he extracts the most sexual combination of cards you've ever seen in your life including your own court card - "There I go again!" She forced a laugh.

"Away with the fairies," Jamie said. He set down the pen and sat back, shrugged. "If you don't know what they mean, it's perfectly fine - "

"I know what they mean! What, just because I don't have all kinds of bells and whistles, tables spinning around and clouds of sage everywhere doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing. Fine," she huffed, "if you must know, the answer to your question is yes, the event that you're hoping will come to pass, one that is of a romantic - "

KnockknockKNOCKknock - KNOCK! Jamie and Annabelle swung around to the door.

Annabelle reached over and yanked it open. "Ned, what a surprise!"

"Would you mind turning down your music? I'm trying to watch American Idol!" Nosy Ned craned his head around Annabelle, and Jamie thought he'd do the bugger a favor by standing up so he could get a good look.

"Ned, my music isn't that loud. You know what? I am sick and tired of your prying and nosiness. I am entertaining. Mind your own business!" She slammed the door in his face, and turned around, leaning against it.

"That was long overdue. He's been torturing me for years, the nosy creep, and - "

Jamie moved closer. "You were saying?"

"About?"

"The cards."

"Oh. Um. Forgot. Sorry!"

"Something something, event I am hoping for will come to pass, 'one that was of a romantic', and then we got interrupted." Jamie leaned a hand on the door next to Annabelle's head, and shifted forward. Just a little, a little bit, but just enough.

"One that is of a ... romantic nature. It will come to pass." Annabelle glanced at Jamie's mouth, which now seemed perfectly aligned with her own.

"And the cards never lie."

"Nope." She must stop staring at his mouth. "Never."

"I'm delighted to hear it," he murmured as he felt an inexorable pull toward Annabelle's somewhat parted lips.

"Oh, good. I hate it when people hate their readings," Annabelle gasped, as he ran a finger down the side of her face, ending at the bottom of her chin, which he tipped up slightly.

"I am almost perfectly satisfied," he whispered, as she gripped his wrist and then allowed her fingers to caress the back of his hand.

"Almost doesn't count," she practically moaned, as their eyes fluttered shut and she could smell the chamomile tea and honey on his breath as - KnockknockKNOCKknock - KNOCK!!! The furious banging, landing, as it did, directly behind Annabelle's head, inspired a great leap of fright out of her, with the consequence that she and Jamie painfully banged foreheads; she landed rather heavily on his foot, which knocked him off-balance and sent him crashing to the floor. Annabelle wrenched open the door once more, and glared down into the angrily trembling face of Nosy Ned.

"I've done a lot for you in the past, Annabelle, and I really resent the fact that you couldn't be a bit more polite and hear me out when I made one simple request. And another thing. I don't think that strangers should be wandering around in our vestibule!"

Jamie moved forward, swaggering, Annabelle thought, and as involuntarily thrilling as that was, it was up to her to put a stop to this. She looked up at Jamie, who was glaring down at fat little Nosy Ned, and laid a hand on his chest. "I'll take care of it," she said, and slipping out the door, forced Ned further into the hallway.

Annabelle opened her mouth to send him packing but before she could so much as inhale, a fierce and silent wind blew from behind her, plastering Ned up against the opposite wall. He fought mightily, as strenuously as one of 'Johan und Johannes' mimes, but to no avail; the mystery wind was too much for him, and tumbling like a leaf in a breeze, he was swept away on its current, around and around, up the stairs, into his flat, the dregs of the tempest slamming his door firmly behind him.

Annabelle leaned against her door, thankful that Jamie hadn't witnessed that. As open-minded as he seemed to be, she didn't think that he was ready to deal with this Pooka business.

"I wasn't going to hit him," Jamie grumbled as Annabelle shut the door behind her.

Men and their manly egos. Unbelievable. "I know. I've been avoiding confronting him forever. He's been bugging me ever since I moved in here, so it was up to me to do it myself." Sort of.

Jamie shoved his hands in pockets and glared at the floor. "Feckin' little bugger ruined, you know, a moment."

Annabelle began a straightening-up campaign, trying not to grin at his sulky tone. His hand on her lower back wiped the smile off her face as a little chill chased up her spine, and she started drying dishes a bit maniacally. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Sure, we might be able to find our way back, if we tried hard enough."

Annabelle turned, clutching the teapot. "I have this thing - it's sort of a reverse voyeuristic hang up? I hate thinking that anybody's, you know, watching, and I mean, I know that Nosy Ned can't see us, but I just know he's got a glass to the floor, or something and I, I'd feel really anxious and nervy and wiggly and stuff." She grimaced. "It's dumb, I know, but if I'm not going to enjoy it - I mean, I know that I would, on some level, on a lot of levels!" She looked up at Jamie, beseechingly. "I mean - "

He grinned. "Now I know what it sounds like when you talk to yourself in your head." He tugged at a lock of her hair. "No worries, missus. Anticipation is half the fun, I always say." He gathered up his knives and whisk and collapsible vegetable steamer, and Annabelle opened the door.

"That was really lovely. Except for the head-banging, falling over part." Annabelle shrugged gamely.

"I'll ring about an excursion to the auntie's. Think about it."

"Okay. Thanks again."

"My pleasure. And the head-banging wasn't so bad, but the falling over - fugeddabowdit."

"Ah, Ben Stiller. Very good!" Laughing, Annabelle shut and locked her door, and held up a hand. "Callie - not in the mood, okay? There is no way you can be more pissed off than I am right now, so let's just leave it."

Turning off lights and blowing out candles, Annabelle headed off for bed, and didn't hear the pounding that was coming from above, as Nosy Ned suddenly found himself the ball in an impromptu game of invisible soccer.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Lugging her stuff out of 1175 Sixth Avenue, Annabelle sighed and slid her shades over her eyes. The midday sun shot off the glass and metal of midtown's skyscrapers with a vengeance, and the buildings flashed and glittered as a cloud or two raced across the sun. It was the first truly warm day of the season, and the district's canyon-like atmosphere served to trap the heat and intensify it. Add to that the manic hustle and bustle of office workers, couriers, deli delivery boys, and worst of all, tourists, and Annabelle felt almost unbearably oppressed by the environment. Give her the low-lying buildings of good ol' Brooklyn any day.

And oh, God, the traffic. Every single taxi that went by was engaged, and she simply couldn't face the subway, not at rush hour, not all the way back to Carroll Gardens from midtown. Hands on hips, she wondered yet again where her Pooka had gotten to, and why, when she could really use a supernatural helping hand, she was never around?

Callie would have also come in handy at the beginning of the interview: the subject, a middle-aged business man type she was meant to profile for BusinessWeek, had been so stiff and uncooperative that Annabelle had despaired of getting anything out of him at all. She had sent a thought out to her Pooka, asking her to shake the guy up a bit, but no mischief had been forthcoming.

That's when Annabelle decided to think like a Pooka. While making a show of putting a new tape into her recorder, she noticed that Mr. Uptight Business Man was wearing a Jerry Garcia original tie.

"Mind putting on some music? I find it really inspiring," Annabelle said. Even if it will make transcribing this tape a complete nightmare.

"Sure!" Business Man showed a spark of enthusiasm. 'What do you like to listen to?"

"Well, I'd have to agree with Hunter Thompson - 'Workingman's Dead' was one of the best records of the early seventies."

After that, he was putty in her hands, and she was certain that her lead would have to be a description of his rousing session of air guitar while standing on his desk.

Well, she'd solved that problem. Now how about this one? She supposed she could go back inside, beg the security guy for the number of a car service ... Don't be ridiculous! A car service! Get on the F train, lazybones! She resolutely turned toward Sixth Avenue, when she saw Lorna and Maria Grazia walking toward her.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Annabelle, trying for jolly and cheerful.

"Hey, honey," said Maria Grazia.

"Hello," said Lorna.

"Just passing through?" Annabelle looked expectantly at her friends.

Lorna looked confused, and Maria Grazia sounded it. "No," she said, "We knew you'd be here, and we wanted to patch things up in person."

It was Annabelle's turn to be bewildered. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"You told us," Lorna said impatiently.

"No, I didn't."