"You're in it with me, Passarelli."
"Never met you," he said, getting up. "Thanks for the drink." He started for the door.
"That witch has the Stigma after all," I said to his back. That stopped him. He came back and poked his angry face into mine.
"You had her tested?"
"Professor Lindstrom, at Columbia," I told him. "She is slick as a whistle. Lindstrom fell for her yarn that it was sleight of hand—but it was HC. I'd have sworn it didn't exist."
"Well," he said. "Well, well. All right, Maragon. What's the jam you're in?"
"You suggested I should represent her, and I'm going to. But with the Stigma? That's more than I bargained for. You know no reputable attorney can afford to represent a Psi. Not if he wants any Normal business. Too much feeling."
"Going to duck out on her?"
"Damned if I'll welch!" I said, more hotly than I had meant to. "You sure don't seem very shaken up by the news."
"It's not any news to me," Passarelli said tightly. "You forget that I've had first-hand experience with that little lady. She gave me the business right in my courtroom. I'm no credulous egghead like Lindstrom. I know the difference between sleight of hand and an hallucination. She made me see just what she wanted me to see."