"The eyes are windows to the soul." Blake's lips twitched in an ironic smile.

"Our philosopher." Talbot lifted his tiny cup of Turkish coffee in the air.

"Just what do you mean by that?" Jim asked, ignoring Talbot as he leaned farther over the tiny table.

Blake shifted his gaze to Jim, an older man studying the folly of youth.

Jim challenged him with his stare, daring him to answer, demanding treatment as an equal.

"Merely something I heard in the bazaar today." Blake turned his bland blue stare to the sinuous dancer weaving magic in the sultry night.

"Blake hears every last odd rumor spoken by the natives," Talbot said flippantly. "His real problem is he believes what they say. Been here too long, old chap." He pointed at Blake, who ignored him.

Jim shot him an annoyed look. "What if you truly could see into someone's soul? Would you?" Jim's intense gaze drew Blake's eyes back to the table.

"Lighten up, Jimmy boy." Talbot nudged the younger man with his elbow. "Have a drink." He poured more of the syrupy coffee into Jim's cup. "Heathens. No alcohol," he muttered with a sigh.

Blake ignored Talbot as he searched Jim's boyish face. "Would you want to see the darkness lurking in your own soul, or have it bared for another?"

"Nothing in my heart I'd be ashamed of." Jim thumped his chest with his fist.

"You're certain of that?"

Jim nodded, although a trickle of unease crept across his neck. It was as if Blake could almost read his mind, see his soul in the hot, heavily scented darkness.