"My money's on Richard Castle. He's got an afflicted Neptune, not to mention a cl.u.s.ter f.u.c.k of planets--that's a stellium to you civilians--in his twelfth house, the house of secrets. Pluto's dead on his natal moon, so however it happens, he's looking to get hammered by the next new full one.

Sit on him, and see."

"I get Friday Farrell as next," Dawn said. Gil looked at her.

"It just came to me," she explained Smith said, "She's the Taurus? You can sit on her, too, but you'll be wasting your time. Taurus is about as psychic as a brick." He clapped the Ephemeris shut.

"That's it?" Gil asked.

Smith's voice turned brittle.

"I just saved you a barrel of work, and all it cost you was a pizza.

You can leave my tip with the hostess."

"Tell me, how is it you never went over the Rockies, Smith?"

Smith's mustache frowned.

"Three reasons: Alpha doesn't believe in pizza, nicotine, or time. I live on pizza and cigarettes, and astrology is all about timing."

Gil frowned.

"We'll be in touch."

"Not if I see you coming." Smith's smoky laugh followed them out of the building.

Roberta Chung took no chances. Not in business, not in love. She booked a room whenever the call of Kundalini stirred her hormones. She had been only four when America split into two polar opposites-the materialistic Beta and the spiritual Alphas--and although the Schism was largely nonviolent, America discovered Alpha and Beta could not coexist unless everyone was psychic, or no one was. Beta was where money could be made, so she left Los-CAL at 22, not abandoning Alpha-state pleasures, merely compartmentalizing them. Thus, the hotel room in New-NJ, and the anonymous call to a Tantric s.e.x Pract.i.tioner.

He came wearing apricot and smelling of apricots, She wore a holo-veil to ensure confidentiality. They a.s.sumed facing lotus positions on the floormat, and began rubbing scented pheromones on each other's pliant skin in preparation for a luxurious six hours of transcendent s.e.xual bliss.

Fifty minutes but only seven o.r.g.a.s.ms in, she felt the Kundalini energy building at the base of her spine and stopped breathing to heighten the effect. Her nameless lover produced from nowhere a silver something resembling an old-fashioned laser pointer and touched the lambent blue end to her left temple .. . and the Universe cracked open in a dazzling bloom of transcendent light.

The light was alive, it was love, it was everything.

And nothing else mattered. Not love, not s.e.x. Not even money.

Dawn O'Leary took the call at her office monitor.

"Murrillo here." His voice was raw.

"We just lost Chung to a Kundalini breakthrough. She's under police guard, wearing only her birthday suit and a spuckled smile."

"Impossible. I foresaw Friday--" "And that twice-d.a.m.ned Smith promised us Richard Castle."

"I don't understand. Smith is the best astrologer this side of--"

"Screw the moon, stars, and planets. We're down to a small handful of candidate victims. Continue monitoring them. It's a matter of a month or so before we catch this madman in the act."

"Or we lose our top bankers. Global markets have been off seventeen percent on rumors- We can't keep the lid on this much longer."

"Stay mind linked with Friday Farrell until further notice," snapped Murrillo.

"I'd like to check back with Smith."

"Do it on your own time. I don't trust that nicotine sucking stargazer." The monitor screen imploded into a gray void.

Dawn settled back into her chair, popped 0.3 milligrams of prescription-strength St. John's Wort and slipped into an Alpha trance.

Punching up a mande la screen-saver, she focused on it. The lines blurred, and she fell into its field. She was Fawn now.

As Fawn, she cast her mind back to the interview with Smith. His tattoo surfaced on the placid pond of her still mind. She had noted it only in pa.s.sing. A feminine M. A first name? An old girlfriend's initial?

Concentrating, she brought the exact contours to mind. An M with an extra loop. It resembled the glyph for Virgo--no, for Scorpio. They were similar, she recalled.

Fawn clearly visualized a tail instead of a closed loop. Odd. Why would a Capricorn have the glyph of Scorpio tattooed to his hand?

Fawn popped out of Alpha. She punched up a number.

"Tantric s.e.x," a thin voice said.

"Is Smith available?"

"Out today. Would you like an appointment?"

"No. I would like his address."

"We do not provide personal information."

"This is an FBI request."

"Sorry."

"Give me his first name, then."

"As far as we know. Smith is his first name."

Fawn changed tactics.

"Would you know his sign?"

"We do not give out confidential information, either," the woman said frostily.

Frowning, Fawn disconnected. Touching her throat mike she said: "Birth Records check."

The system beeped.

"Name?"

"Smith. First Name Unknown. Global." Then she settled back in her chair as every living Smith born in Beta territory was sorted and displayed in long, tedious chains of text. It was going to be a long day .. .

Gil Murrillo was making explanations to the Director of the FBI. The Director was having none of it.

"No more astrological hunches. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And have that Smith picked up. n.o.body makes the Bureau look spuckle-faced. Clear?"

"Clear." Murrillo disconnected. The handset chirped instantly.

"Murrillo."

"Dawn here. I have something. Remember the name I received clairaudiently--Mel Drum?"

"Yeah."

"Global search turns up a Meldrum Smith, born October 27, 2011 at 7:48 UGT, Bo-MA."

"So?"

"A man born at that time would be a Scorpio Sun, with his moon, ascendant, Mercury, and Venus all in Scorpio. In short, a super-Scorpio. Those conjunctions are very rare."

"Forget it. The Director has instructed me to abandon all astrological investigations."

"Listen! The astrological profile Smith described fits this Meldrum Smith. He could be our spiritual terrorist."