"My son," said Mrs. Pruitt. She leaned forward over her purse and dropped her voice. "My real son."
The hair on the back of Bryan's neck stood up as his crazy meter started going off. This was so not what he'd expected. He looked at little Oscar, right-side up now and, except for his pleasant smile, the spitting image of the woman who seemed to be denying he belonged to her.
"You mean you gave up a son for adoption?" Alex tried hopefully.
Mrs. Pruitt shot him a glare Bryan doubted Alex had seen the likes of very many times, at least not from female eyes.
"No," she said crisply. "Oh, I know this one looks like me, but he's not mine. Oscar." She snapped her fingers at the little boy. "Do one of your tricks for these men."
For the first time Oscar looked less than content with his circumstances. He slid out of his chair and onto his feet with a .thump. "You told me I'm not supposed to, Mommy."
"Well, this time I'm telling you you should."
Still unsure, the boy stuck his index finger in his mouth.
"Come on," his mother said.
Oscar gave Alex and then Bryan a worried look. Bryan responded with a smile, trying to reassure him they knew his mother was a few cards short of a deck. The message failed to communicate. Oscar didn't stop looking scared.
"A little trick or a big one?" the boy whispered.
"Just do it," his mother snapped.
The boy closed his eyes, and all at once the air in the office changed. It was cooler and thicker, and now it wasn't just the hair at the back of Bryan's neck that stood up. His whole body prickled as a rustling noise met his ears, like a dozen heavy books having their pages flipped. Movement caught the corner of his eye, and then—with a jolt like a mule lacking adrenaline into his chest—Bryan noticed that the contents of their inbox had begun to levitate. He stared in amazement as, one by one, invoices and memos slid off the stack and flowed around their office in a conga line. It would have been funny, if it hadn't been impossible.
Caught off balance, Bryan gasped for air as his heart pounded with something deeper than shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but he couldn't disbelieve it, either.
This little kid was making paper fly.
"That's enough," said his mother, and every sheet dropped to the floor.
In the silence that followed, Bryan's breath sounded in his ears like a thunderstorm.
"I can put them back," Oscar offered in a small, guilt-stricken tone.
"That's okay," said Alex, then cleared his throat, his voice having come out raspier than usual. Bryan's partner was stroking his tasteful silver tie like a worry stone, up and down, up and down, as if stopping might pose a threat to his sanity. "That was… quite a trick."
Alex was by no means a kid person, but he put his hand on Oscar's wheat-colored head. "That was fine. You did good."
"You see what I mean," said Oscar's mother as Oscar fled back to his chair and curled up. "He isn't normal. People like him don't get born to people like me. My family is normal. My husband's family is normal. For heaven's sake, we go to church!"
Alex looked at Bryan, an obvious and unprecedented plea for help.
"Um," said Bryan, not about to let him down. "I know your son's gift is a little odd, but surely these things can pop up in any family."
"The hospital switched them," Mrs. Pruitt said, the insistence in her words hard to listen to without wincing. "One of those weird Fairyville families has my son."
This time Bryan couldn't resist his urge to glance at Alex. Having given up on fondling his tie, he was now gripping the edge of the desk so hard you'd have thought he was bracing for an earthquake. It was a challenge for a lifelong Arizonan to look pale, but Alex was giving it a shot.
"You're from Fairyville?" he asked carefully.
"Of course I'm not!" Mrs. Pruitt huffed. "I was passing through on my way from Santa Fe to Phoenix when I went into early labor in that freak show they call a town. I hud to go to their hospital, and that's where they stole my boy!"
Bryan was fighting a serious compulsion to apologize to Oscar on his mother's behalf, or at least remove him from the room. "I assume you've had genetic testing done. To confirm whether or not Oscar is your son."
Mrs. Pruitt twisted her mouth in scorn—as if genetic testing were on a par with casting horoscopes. "Those doctors stick together. They're not going to admit one of their own snatched my boy. Please." She choked the handles of her purse again. "You have to find out what happened to my child. My husband and I hardly sleep for worrying what this one's going to do next. I don't dare send him to school anymore, and I'm too embarrassed to bring him to family parties. We used to be so close to my relatives, and now he's ruining our lives!"
Mrs. Pruitt dissolved into quiet tears, no doubt grieving over missed barbecues. Oscar regarded her solemnly. He didn't look half as upset as his mother, but Bryan still strode across the room and lifted him onto his hip.
The boy stared up at him, trusting but surprised. Bryan could see he wasn't used to the idea of being protected.
"Let's go out and meet our secretary," Bryan said. "Charlene has a boy about your age, and I'm pretty sure there's a fire truck in her bottom drawer."
Bryan stayed in the reception area long enough to ensure that Oscar was comfortable with Charlene. Bryan's expression must have been strange, because two of their interns did a double take as he passed their desks. Bryan ignored them. This particular interview wasn't going to be discussed with them.
When he returned to the office he and Alex shared, Mrs. Pruitt wasn't just recovered, she was radiant. Bryan walked in as she was clasping Alex's right hand in both of hers.
"Thank you," she said, her entire body vibrating with gratitude. "I can't tell you how this sets my mind at ease."
Bryan's mouth fell open, but the event that couldn't be happening apparently was.
"We'll do our best to find the truth," Alex said. "That much I promise you."
He escorted Mrs. Pruitt out, pointedly avoiding his partner's incredulous stare. The second he returned, Bryan's protests burst out.
"You can't have taken this case! It's totally without merit!"
Alex shrugged out of his suit jacket, draped it over a chair, then bent to pick up the trail of fallen paper Oscar's trick had left. To Bryan's surprise, his crisp striped shirt was damp under the arms. "She wrote a check for our retainer. If it clears the bank, the case is ours."