The vision struck Trenton Dane as he stooped over a drinking fountain to relieve the parching effects of the August Southern California sun. For that was what he considered an encounter with a beautiful woman. Perhaps it was overly poetic, he thought, but as an artist he was required to stop and revel in the study of beauty wherever and whenever it appeared.

His acting career had afforded him vast opportunity in this regard, surrounding him with Hollywood’s most stunning examples of beauty. His most recent studies were conducted in the arms of model-turned-actress Giselle Roberts. Though he could not honestly say the vision now in his sights possessed the svelte, star-quality perfection of Tinsel Town’s bevy, the jolt her approach caused him was enough to send a gurgling stream of water straight up his nose. And that, he reasoned, had to mean something.

A whiff of breeze fanned droplets of water on his face, providing a moment of cool relief. The sandstone building in front of him radiated intense heat, wilting the numerous visitors lined up outside. Widely spaced overhead beams offered scant protection.

If this place insists on baking people in an outdoor oven, he thought, they should at least put in a misting system.

His attention returned to the attractive woman as he dried the dark sunglasses worn to conceal his identity. Rubbing the lenses absently on his jeans, he catalogued likely reasons for his reaction. She was not beautiful in the classic Hollywood sense, but a head-turner nonetheless. She was maybe chin height to his six feet, the virtual waterfall of hair cascading to her waist similar to the color of the custom paint job on his Porsche. Caramel Apple, they’d called it. A lacy knit top, and snug denims with tantalizing lace inserts exposing patches of newly tanned skin revealed a rounded, voluptuous array of curves quite unlike the near-anorexic condition Giselle maintained to beg the camera’s favor. Perhaps most striking, however, was the way this woman carried herself with an ethereal quality he admitted was only in part due to being backlit and glowing from the late afternoon sun. Her almost-angular face wore an expression of ease with the world around her, and faceted emerald eyes seemed privy to some secret that prickled the edges of his curiosity.

The vision floated by without noticing him. He was returning his sunglasses to their proper perch when his cell phone chirped.

"Babe?" The velvety, well-rehearsed voice Giselle Roberts used on everyone, including Trenton, greeted him. "Glad I caught you, hon. I have the most wonderful news! I got the picture!"

He shifted the phone to his other ear as he addressed water spray that had found the front of his silk Armani shirt. He didn’t reply, knowing Giselle couldn’t be bothered with such frivolities. He imagined her sitting in the cherry red Corvette, checking the tousled Jennifer Aniston hairdo she favored of late in the flip down mirror.

"Samuel loved my audition. Said I was born to play Johanna. I knew that as soon as I saw the script, but I’m thrilled he recognized it. So many directors can’t see past their long noses to the true talent sitting in front of them. Don’t know why Lorraine Corel was ever considered, she was all wrong. Probably why she dropped out at the last minute. Anyway, I’m on a plane to Paris in two days and I’ve scads to do. I can’t make your opening tomorrow night. I hope you aren’t too disappointed?"

Typical. The opening of his biggest picture and his girlfriend would miss it. It was the nature of the business, he knew. He felt a twinge of surprised guilt at the realization that not only was he not disappointed, he in fact felt rather relieved.

Since the pair had become a Hollywood "item" it grew more and more apparent that Giselle’s striking beauty truly ended with her looks. The self-centered starlet was obsessed with manicuring, polishing, and scrubbing the outer hull she used as the tool of her trade. Eight months of dating her had been, well, educational. While he didn’t pretend theirs was an ideal relationship, whose was these days? Especially around Hollywood. At least life with Giselle never circled the doldrums.

The guilt twinge subsided as she continued on. "Listen, if you’ll feel naked without some window dressing on your arm tomorrow you can call up my friend Samantha. Oh, I just pulled up at the spa; I have to have Juliette do a seaweed wrap before I go. I’ll call you from the airport before I board. Any word on the new picture before I run inside?"

That was the cue to sum up his life in one minute or less. "Wardrobe fitting next month, shooting starts in January. I’m out in Buena Park doing a little character research right now."

"That’s great. I know you’ll do fine in the role. Talk to you before I leave. Kisses!"

The call clicked off and he strode toward the growing line in front of the Knights of the Round Table Dinner Theater. The female vision stood at the end of the line, now herding inside with the urgency of a cattle drive before a tornado. A group of people started past him, spawning an inexplicable urge to run...and claim the spot in line behind her.

His determination to catch up with the line spurred him into a near run by the time he ducked inside. Damn, it was dark inside! He was halfway to snatching off his sunglasses when he bumped into someone, hard.

"Sorry, I–" The automatic-pilot apology stopped short as a tingling jolt coursed down his spine. The darkness melted away...into a series of images flashing before him.

He saw the womanly vision from earlier, bent over a sewing machine. Somewhere deep inside himself he heard a whisper. Success.

Another image flashed into place over the first. It was the same woman, laughing and clapping with a child. He sounds just like Elvis, Mommy!

The images receded as fast as they came, leaving one final, indelible echo behind...a woman, crying out Trenton’s name. In passion.

As he came back to the darkened room, he realized with some discomfiture that he was pressed against his unintentional victim, hands grasping her shoulders. What happened? Had he hit his head somehow?

The sound of his own voice seemed distant. "What the hell was that?"

"I believe that was you plowing into me," the caramel-haired woman replied over her shoulder.

"No, not that–I meant...never mind. Sorry about that. Really." Despite the embarrassing proximity, he was surprised to note neither of them made any move to extricate themselves. He was keenly aware of the woman pressed against him; the shock of contact still coursing through him was almost as jolting as the vision itself.

"No problem," she said. The voice was satin and cautious, matching that of the echo still tingling along the outer edges of his mind. "It’s so dark in here I almost did the same thing myself a minute ago." Her voice was calm, but he could hear the note of trepidation floating just beneath.

Move, he ordered himself. Before she thinks you’re a creep and yells for security.

As if in answer to the silent command, the line started forward again. She fell into step, and they separated. Then, almost in afterthought, she added, "Oh, and that knight you’re looking for? You won’t find him here."

The casual statement–delivered in a matter-of-fact tone one would attach to a comment on the weather–seemed to startle her as much as it did him. She snapped her peach-glossed lips together and spun around, picking up her pace in line.

He rushed to her side, grabbing her arm. "What did you say?"

She yanked away, clearly rattled. "Nothing! Forget it."

The line again halted, leaving her no place to go. He waited her out with an uncomfortable stare.

"I’m sorry," she said at last, hugging her purse tight enough to squash appreciable cleavage. "I know it’s crazy, but sometimes I get weird ideas about things. I just kind of blurted this one out. Feel free to ignore me."

He pushed several locks of hair off his forehead. "Not a chance. Tell me about this knight?"

She shook her head. "It doesn’t make sense, anyway. I don’t even know you, so I shouldn’t have seen anything." She looked flustered, like a nervous filly ready to bolt.

She saw something, too? He was intrigued. "You saw the knight? Like a vision or something?"

The enchantress sighed, and as the line pushed forward yet again he feared he wouldn’t get an answer. Instead, she looked at him from under a sweeping lock of hair and explained. "Sometimes when people touch me I see...flashes of things. Just now I saw a knight and felt you are looking for him, but he isn’t here. You’ll find him inside yourself. When you do, it will bring you great success." She stopped for a moment, eyeing him as if to gauge his reaction. "I know, pretty crazy."

The conversation took them to the front of the line. First the woman, then Trenton stuck tickets at a young man dressed as a knave, who took them and ushered the pair through a curtained doorway with a wave of his feathered cap. Inside the amphitheater they were herded past rows of stadium seats, each fronted by a long wooden table. Everything overlooked an oval arena with a dirt floor and tall, colorful banners. Large wrought iron chandeliers provided dim, but serviceable light.

A woman in lusty medieval attire waved them over to a seat.

Trenton stayed close behind and slipped into a seat beside the woman. "So you can see the future...like a gypsy?"

She stiffened, but remained silent until a waitress donning a wench costume finished serving pewter mugs of iced tea. "Not like that. No crystal ball, and I can’t make it happen. I only see things I will know myself later, like my memory fast forwards. But it only happens with people I know well, and rarely at that. So this shouldn’t have happened. I’ve never met you."

The volume of conversation and clatter increased as the auditorium filled and waitresses began the efficient process of serving a multiple-course meal of crusty bread, steaming bowls of spicy beef soup, and huge legs of turkey.

"Maybe not officially," he conceded, "but you might know who I am."

She was in the midst of assuring him otherwise when he removed his expensive Oakley sunglasses. He noticed a pulse pounding for attention along her delicate throat as she took in the features hailed just last week by Star Facts magazine as his "chiseled jaw, smoldering brown eyes, and thick mane of jet black."

Though not a mega star yet, it was more than enough. Her eyes flew open in recognition. "Oh! Mr. Dane? I didn’t realize."

Is she blushing? He had bet himself this beauty couldn’t get any more nervous than she already was, but as he watched softly sculpted features zoom through an admirable range of emotions, he knew he’d lost that bet. He hadn’t intended on letting himself be recognized here, but the temptation of seeing what effect he could have on her got the better of him. The experiment had been worth it; he was quite certain the results were far more entertaining than the show he was about to see.

Yes, he was enjoying this far too much.

"So," he said, "since you do seem to know me, that would account for this, right?"

"I. . .well no, actually. "I don’t know you, just of you. I have to know the person fairly well." She shifted in her seat as far away from him as she could get, poking a finger through one of the tantalizing panels of lace on her jeans to scratch her calf.

Though her proximity bordered on intoxicating, warning klaxons sounded in the back of his mind. She’d been skittish before she knew who he was; he didn’t want his celebrity status sending her into a fit of schoolgirl hysterics. Still, he wanted answers. "But you did see something," he said.

She shrugged and gave him a helpless look. "I can’t explain it. It was probably nothing."

He stared into those amazing green eyes. "I wouldn’t call my career nothing, though some of my critics might argue the point. Maybe you should come to the movie premiere, see for yourself if this premonition turns out to be real."

She held his gaze for a long moment and he marveled at the sensation. Her eyes reached deep into him, as if searching his very soul. His heart skipped one–no, two–beats before she broke contact, suddenly preoccupied with her mashed potatoes.

The whole thing was ludicrous, yet it had to be true. How else could she know he was here to "find" a knight? She seemed confused by the thought, but he knew what it meant. After all, he’d come to find inspiration for his next character–a knight. It could be a hoax, but she seemed genuine about not having recognized him. More importantly, his casting in Seven Days and a Knight had not been announced yet. She couldn’t have known.

Besides, there was the little matter of the images he’d seen; she couldn’t have faked that. Her gift must extend both ways. Did that mean that he would have other visions when he touched her?

The thought intrigued him.

"What about the people you touch?" he said. "What do they see?"

The last half of his question was drowned out by a loud fanfare trumpeting through the theater. The house lights dimmed as dramatic spotlights shone on the arena, and a clop of galloping hooves heralded the entrance of gleaming knights on horseback. The show was on.