"But I need a job," Kevan said. "I—I gave up my last job because I thought I was going to be drafted. Now I have no job and I'm broke. And the draft board rejected me because I hear voices."
For the first time, the black-haired girl looked interested. "What kind of voices?" she asked.
"Thin little piping voices," Kevan said. He didn't know why but he felt that she would understand. "Most of the time I can't understand what they're saying. Sometimes they sing. Like this." Wincing from the pain in his head, Kevan sang in the highest pitch he could reach. "Gie brownie coat, gie brownie sark, ye'll get nae mair o' brownie's wark." He stopped and looked at the girl. Her smile was warmer.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Kevan MacGreene."
She nodded. "I'll see," she said. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. He could hear the faint buzz in the inner office. "There's a young man here," she said into the phone, "looking for a job. He says his name is Kevan MacGreene and that he hears voices." She listened a minute and then put the phone down.
"He'll see you," she said. "Go in." She indicated the door beyond her desk.
Kevan stopped beside the desk and glanced down at the hair that was like a raven's wing. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Kathleen Culanna."
"Ah," he said, "I knew there was a reason for the green in your eyes and the harp's song in your voice. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"