No one had ever accused Conan of being poor at observation. It was usually the opposite. And he found it every bit as irritating.

He knew that the wise choice right now would be to turn her down flat and leave. It wasn't like fortunetelling was real. At best it was just a hoax used to fleece money out of the gullible.

But as always, he couldn't resist the urge to prove someone wrong. There was no such thing as fate, and even if there was, there was no way someone could read it.

Grumpily, he climbs up onto the chair and crosses his arms as he stares at her. "Fine, I'm in the chair. Now what?"