“You don’t actually ‘see’ auras?” Dafydd asked, his voice oddly far away.

Jim shook his head. “I can, but I get stronger impressions as touch.”

“Interesting,” was Dafydd’s only response.

Jim didn’t need his eyes to tell Dafydd’s aura from Paul’s. The younger man’s felt light, a mix of puppy fur and the deep-rooted strength of an ancient oak. He had an old soul, and Jim felt the quick twinge he’d learned to associate with someone he’d met in a former life. A clean smell, like ozone after a summer storm surrounded him, which told Jim that Dafydd was free of undue influence.

There was a link between them, but he felt no malice or compulsion in it. Instead it was like a fresh...

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