She had an old soul. He could sense that immediately about her without having to rely on old tricks. He had<i>seen</i>just the same, but it was also in the way she carried herself; sometimes you didn’t need mind games and magical trickery to be able to read a person. She was solemn for a young woman of twenty three, suggesting maturity that didn’t typically come out until much later. Idly, he wondered just what her home life was like. But then –<b>she </b>was the psychology major, and while he had dabbled in it sometime in the early nineties, it hadn’t appealed to him nearly as much as the budding age of technology and science.<b>Magic </b>in its essence was a dying thing, replaced instead by recreational magic learned from the minds of great men. There was nothing special in a geneticist’s blood that caused him to discover the mystery of splicing DNA and creating 3D copies of a liver. That was just<i>smart. </i><br/><br/>Where he had come prepared to fabricate an entire story about himself, he instead felt compulsed to be candid with this young woman. It was a sobering thing, for him, to have his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth like it was. Hell, even he was aware that he was acting strangely around her – and he usually embraced the biting deviancy that made up too much of his personality.<br/><br/>It was why he backed away quickly like he did and shot a glance over to<i>Steve </i>with a jeering smile as he popped around the corner to check on things. He even waved his fingers in the other man’s direction as his very sister dismissed him. To add a jibe to the insult, he even cast a leer over to the petite blonde before turning his attention back on the other man.<br/><br/>“Bye, Steve,” he called after the guy, who still didn’t seem too sure about the situation at hand. Smart man. “Don’t wait up for us, OK? It’s probably going to be a late night.”<br/><br/>He chuckled as he turned his full attention back to Lane, his grin slowing down to pursed lips and a smirk as he studied her growing stormy disposition. “You’re pretty when you’re mad. Has anyone ever told you that before? It’s usually the other way around: you should smile more; you’re pretty when you smile,” he gloamed on, if only to feed the fire that was rising in her eyes. “And, my dear, I am<i>already </i>trouble. It’s not a matter as to whether I’m going to be.”<br/><br/>Still, she had a good point. He elicited another chuckle once she called him out on his strange behavior. For his part, he merely slid his hand around the crook of her elbow and tucked her hand inside his own. “We have a few things to talk about, Ms. Lane Barnes. Join me for dinner – or coffee, ladies choice, and we can talk it over.” It wasn’t even a question with him, merely a statement. Confirmed by the fact that he was already leading her away from the shelf, reluctant or otherwise. He did stop by the shelf that she had indicated that the Kava would be. That, at least, had been a real necessity and Kava, while inducing some of the same side effects as alcohol, did not come with any of the after effects. Tasted like shit – but so did tequila.<br/><br/>“I’m James,” he finally offered. “And I like to skip the small talk. Most of the time it’s unnecessary and just there for filler when the company that you’re in has nothing better to say other than words to fill in the empty spaces. No one really cares about the weather; we all have smart phones nowadays that if it becomes an issue, we can look it up by clicking an app on our phone. Talking is just something we humans do to hear our own voices. No other animal chatters like we do unless they need something, or are distressed.”<br/><br/>He grinned at that, then added, “But I guess that means I need something from you, doesn’t it?”<br/><br/>He stopped then, whether by her own volition or his, and stared down into her face with an expression turned serious. He gathered her hand again, this time in his, and raised it to his lips. The motion was less a kiss and more of a touch, as was – once upon a time ago – the polite thing to do. “I knew your great, great, great, great grandmother. Let’s call her a very good friend of mine. You have an eerie resemblance to her that I can’t quite put my finger on. I guess you could say that there are things in this book that I helped her to compose, and things she composed all by herself, and now I’m interested in reviewing these things again. Things that a good little itchy witch like yourself would have no interest in, I promise.”<br/><br/>And then she unleashed the storm winds in one rush. He had been watching it build up on her face, and once it did unfurl, it spiked his grin on his face and had him standing up straighter. “Careful. I like my women mouthy and a little feisty. So if you don’t want to be a normal, good little witch, what do you propose you’re going to do with your life? Enlighten me – over dinner.”<br/><br/>He once again urged them in the direction of the door.