Amaryllis

Chapter 15

"Amaryllis, my dear, I hear today is the big day." Gracie Proud paused in the doorway of Amaryllis's office. "Clementine tells me you've got an appointment at four for your marriage agency interview."

Amaryllis looked up from the notes she was making for a client's final bill. She managed a wan smile. She liked Gracie, but so did everyone. Gracie was one of those warm and charming individuals people gravitated toward instinctively.

She was Clementine's opposite in many ways, tastefully fashionable where Clementine was defiantly outrageous in her choice of clothes and hairstyle; soft-spoken where Clementine was loud and brusque; even-tempered where Clementine was inclined to jump to conclusions or fly off the handle.

Today Gracie was dressed in one of her trademark pastel business suits that fit her elegant figure like a glove. Her dainty high-heeled shoes and stockings were carefully toned to match the pale blue jacket and skirt. Clementine had once told Amaryllis that Gracie had all her suits made by a tailor in New Portland.

"Hi, Gracie." Amaryllis put down her pen. "Yes, this is the day."

Gracie raised her finely drawn brows. "You don't appear to be too thrilled about the whole thing."

"To tell you the truth. I'm a little nervous."

"Don't worry, everyone is. I practically had an anxiety attack right there in the counselor's office on the day of my interview." Gracie smiled reminiscently. "Of course, that was nothing compared to my reaction when the agency introduced me to Clementine and told me it would be a perfect match. I very nearly had heart failure on that occasion."

"What's this?" Clementine loomed in the doorway be- hind Gracie. "For crying out loud, don't terrorize her, Gracie. She's already a nervous wreck."

"I was about to point out that the agencies generally do an excellent job," Gracie said smoothly. "Certainly much better than most people could manage on their own. Just look at you and me."

Clementine grinned. "Yep, here we are, about to celebrate fifteen years of happy camping. It's a sure bet that you and I would never have gotten together without the aid of a good matchmaking agency. Left to my own devices, I would have run a mile the first time I saw you. I'll never forget that ridiculous little pink suit you wore that day."

Gracie gave Amaryllis a reassuring look. "Clementine and I are walking testimonials to the fact that occasionally opposites do attract, and the syn-shrinks at the agencies are shrewd enough to figure it out. When's your appointment?"

"In half an hour." Amaryllis glanced at Clementine and then switched her attention back to Gracie. "Any last words of advice?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have," Gracie said. "Don't try to fake it. The counselors are all trained syn-psych talents working with strong prisms. They'll be able to tell immediately if you're trying to make yourself look like something other than what you really are."

"There's a time and a place for cheating," Clementine said cheerfully, "but this interview ain't it, kid. Your whole future is at stake."

The bottom fell out of Amaryllis's stomach. She jumped to her feet and headed for the door. "Excuse me, I have to get to the restroom. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Well, now, Mr. Trent, that takes care of the portion of the interview that covers your attitudes toward vacations and hobbies." Hobart Batt glanced up briefly as he turned the page. His eyes sparkled behind the lenses of his round glasses. Hobart obviously loved his work.

The counselor was a small, dapper man who apparently had a penchant for vividly patterned vests and heavy gold jewelry. The prism who was focusing for him this afternoon was an older woman who sat quietly nearby.

During the grueling interview, Lucas occasionally felt the erratic twinges of awareness which told him that Hobart was focusing his syn-psych talent.

Without Amaryllis to construct a prism and hold the focus for him, there was no way for Lucas to tell just how much Hobart was relying on his psychic skills. Lucas didn't care. He was not in a good mood. He felt trapped. He could almost see the door of a large cage slowly closing on him.

"Let's go on to the section that details your feelings about sex, shall we?" Hobart asked brightly.

"Sex?" Lucas stared at Hobart. "What about it?"

"Do you enjoy extensive foreplay or do you prefer to engage in the sexual act with a minimal amount of the preliminaries? In other words, would you call yourself a touchy-feely sort of person?"

Lucas glanced at the prism. "Do we have to discuss this in great detail?"

"Don't mind Mrs. Drake," Hobart said. "She's been through hundreds of these interviews. Now, about fore- play."

Lucas thought about the indescribable intimacy of the focus link that he experienced with Amaryllis. Sex would never be as good again without it.

"Foreplay's okay," Lucas said.

Amaryllis watched with morbid fascination as the syn-psych counselor turned the page.

"Now, that takes care of vacations and hobbies." Mrs. Reeton, a pleasant, competent woman in her early forties, looked at Amaryllis. "Let's proceed to the section on sexual attitudes."

Amaryllis blushed and glanced at the prism seated next to Mrs. Reeton. "Is this part necessary?"

"Don't be shy, Amaryllis, we're all professionals here." Mrs. Reeton gave her a reassuring smile. "And I assure you that sex is a very important part of marriage. Do you enjoy extensive foreplay?"

"Foreplay?" Amaryllis thought about the deeply sensual feelings that flowed through her whenever she was with Lucas. She cleared her throat and avoided the prism's serene gaze. "Yes, I think foreplay is very important."

Hobart Batt turned to the next page with a crisp movement of his beringed hand. "Do you agree or disagree with the following statement, 'Marriage is forever but the occasional affair is an acceptable diversion, so long as it is handled discreetly and does not embarrass the family.' "

Lucas remembered the cold emptiness he had felt when he had realized that Dora had gone to another man. "Disagree. Strongly disagree."

Mrs. Reeton waited, pen poised, for Amaryllis's response to the question she had just asked.

Amaryllis thought about the parents she had never known. She recalled a photo she had once seen of a laughing, green-eyed man named Matthew Bailey. He had gotten her mother pregnant although he was not free to marry. Another image followed on the heels of the first, a picture of her mother, Eugenia, carefree and careless at eighteen. They were both locked in Amaryllis's memory, the two people whose affair had produced repercussions that had haunted two families for years.

Are you my grandmother?

You have no grandmother. You're a bastard.

A sudden sharp pain made Amaryllis glance down. She saw that she had made a fist with one hand. She was sinking her nails into her palm.

"I strongly disagree with that statement," she said softly.

Lucas glared at Hobart Batt. "What the hell do you mean, how do I deal with anger? I get angry, that's how I deal with it. Damn it, how much longer is the stupid interview going to take?"

"I feel that people should communicate their emotions freely in a relationship," Amaryllis said. Then she thought of all the taunts and name-calling she had endured as a child. "But they should exercise self-control and restraint so as to avoid hurting the other person's feelings."

"Food?" Lucas thought about it for approximately three seconds. "I like home cooking best." Home cooking presupposed a real home. "I don't care what it is, just so it's cooked at home."

"Food?" Amaryllis frowned in thought. "It's all right to eat out in restaurants once in a while, but most of the family's meals should be prepared at home. The food we eat directly affects the various synergistically aligned systems of the body. The only way to assure a proper balance of fresh, nourishing fruits and vegetables in the diet is to do most of the cooking in the home."

Mrs. Reeton smiled. "How would you describe your attitude toward money, Amaryllis?"

Amaryllis heaved a small sigh of relief. This was an easy one. "I believe that a household should have a disciplined, comprehensive budget. Every source of income and expense should be carefully monitored and recorded. A certain percent of the income should be put into savings every month. All the bills should be paid on time. There is no excuse for receiving past-due notices. Credit is to be avoided except for very rare, extremely large, and important purchases such as a house."

"Let's move on to the topic of money." Hobart chuckled. "I'm sure that's an important subject for you, Mr. Trent. Any man who's made as much money as you have will no doubt have some definite opinions on the matter."

Lucas thought about it. He had never set out to get rich. He had searched for jelly-ice because he was good at it and because it gave him an excuse to lose himself for days or weeks at a time in the jungle, where he could be alone with his maddening flashes of talent.

At first, the money had simply been a way to keep score. It paid for the next exploration trip. But somewhere along the line it had taken on a life of its own. He needed it to support the rapidly increasing number of people who depended on him. Icemen and their families looked to him for a livelihood. Contracts had to be filled. Young, enthusiastic syn-gineers kept asking for more research and exploration funding.

One day Lucas had looked around and realized that the entire economy of the Western Islands had become completely dependent on Lodestar Exploration. He had obligations.

The money had come with the package, but in and of itself, it had never meant very much. No amount of it would ever fill the void in his life after Amaryllis married another man.

"Easy come, easy go," Lucas said.

Amaryllis felt utterly drained when she walked through her front door shortly before six. The interview had been an ordeal she hoped she never had to repeat. Every question had been an excruciatingly painful reminder that her affair with Lucas was doomed to be short-lived.

She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket in the closet. With some vague notion of making a salad for dinner, she trailed listlessly down the short hall and went into the kitchen.

The first thing she saw when she opened the icerator was the bottle of green wine that she had put there that morning. It looked considerably more therapeutic than the lettuce beside it.

She removed the bottle and set it on the counter. It took a while to find the corkscrew. Lucas had stored it in the wrong drawer. It figured. He did not have her organized approach to housekeeping.

Well, she wouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing much longer, she thought as she went to work on the cork.

She poured a glass of wine and hoisted it in a silent toast to the scientific wonders of modern matchmaking techniques. The only way to go, she reminded herself as she took a swallow of the green wine.

She heard the front door open just as she prepared to take a second sip.

"Amaryllis?" Lucas sounded as if he had just come home from a very bad day at the office.

But he had not just come from the office.

Amaryllis poured a second glass of wine and carried it out of the kitchen. She stopped when she saw Lucas.

He closed the door of the hall closet and turned to look at her. The bleak expression in his eyes tore at her heart. Wordlessly, she held out the glass of wine.

He came toward her, took the glass from her hand, and downed half the contents in a single swallow.

"No need to look so forlorn." Amaryllis summoned a shaky smile. "As my boss said earlier today, it's just your whole future at stake."

"Yeah. Right. My whole future." Lucas put the glass down on a nearby shelf and reached for Amaryllis.

His arms closed around her with a fierce gentleness. She pressed her face against his shoulder and bugged him with all of her strength.

After a moment she opened her mind to a focus link and found him there, waiting for her on the psychic plane. She created a prism and Lucas poured energy through it in a glittering, chaotic pattern.

They stood there in the hall, holding each other for a very long time.

Monday afternoon Lucas had no sooner hung up the phone when his private line warbled again. He eyed the instrument with impatience. Perhaps it was time to get a new private number. Too many people seemed to have his present one.

"Trent here," he growled into the phone.

"Lucas?" Amaryllis sounded startled. "Is that you? Are you all right?"

"Sorry. I was just going to call you."

"With a report from Mr. Stonebraker, I hope?"

"I haven't heard from Stonebraker."

"Hah. I knew it. I thought he was supposed to be a real hotshot investigator. You said he could find just about anything."

"Amaryllis, we just asked Stonebraker to find that damn file. It's only Monday. Give him a chance."

"He could probably work a good deal more efficiently if he didn't keep weird hours."

"I'll pass along your advice." Lucas lounged back in his chair and gazed out the window. "That's not what I was going to talk to you about."

"So? What's up?"

"Dillon just called. He asked if he could have dinner with me tonight."

"Maybe his folks have decided to let him go to work for Lodestar, after all," Amaryllis suggested.

"I doubt it. Dillon probably wants some advice, and I don't know what the hell to tell him."

"Just let him talk. From what you've told me, he views you as a substitute for his older brother."

"You don't mind?"

"If you have dinner with Dillon? Of course not. I've got some things to catch up on at home, and I've been looking for an opportunity to start reading a new book I bought. Don't worry, I can entertain myself for one evening."

"I'll call you when Dillon and I are finished. If it's not too late, maybe I could drop by your place." Lucas rubbed the bridge of his nose. There were going to be so few nights together. He could not bear the thought of missing a single one.

"That will be fine," Amaryllis said gently.

Something was wrong. The link was intensely personal, incredibly intimate. The essence of his masculinity was inescapable. It excited all her senses. It enveloped her, a flowing cape made of midnight colors.

His desire for her blazed through the prism in a near-blinding pattern of light. It was disturbing, erotic, and, Samantha suspected, probably quite dangerous.

It was not supposed to be this way, she thought as his mouth came down on hers. She had focused many times for many people. It had always been an impersonal connection, no different than shaking hands.

"Do not be afraid," he whispered against her mouth. "You create the prism. Without you I can do nothing. You control the link between us."

But Samantha was no longer so certain that she was in command of the mind link. She felt his power coiling around her. He was so strong, she thought. She had never met any talent as strong as Justin.

What if the legends were right? She wondered as he deepened the kiss. They said a psychic vampire could chain a powerful prism with mental bonds and use her for his own dark purposes.

If she did not burn out beneath the fierce flames of his psychic energy-- and she showed no signs of doing so-- then she might be in very grave danger.

The power in him surged through the prism. She knew in that moment that Justin St. Clair could take control of her mind the way he took control of her senses.

"It is desire that links us," Justin said. "Surely you do not fear it?"

But she did fear it. Samantha knew that she had to act before it was too late.

The ringing of the telephone interrupted Amaryllis before she discovered just how the heroine of Orchid Adams's latest novel intended to deal with Justin, the psychic vampire.

She marked her place, closed the book, and reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Amaryllis Lark?" The voice on the other end of the line was vaguely familiar, although it was barely above a whisper.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's me, Vivien Huggleston."

"Vivien Huggleston? I don't know anyone named--"

"Vivien of the Veils," Vivien muttered. "You came to see me after one of my shows. You asked me some questions about Jonny Landreth."

Amaryllis sat up swiftly on the sofa. "Yes, of course, Vivien. What is it? Did you remember something important?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. I never actually forgot anything. I just didn't see any reason to tell you everything I knew that first time. I had my reasons, y'know? But now I think I'd better explain about me and Jonny."

"I'm listening."

"Jonny gave me something to keep. He said he didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

Amaryllis gripped the phone more securely. "Was it a file?"

"How did you know?"

"Never mind. Have you still got it?"

"Yeah, that's what I want to talk to you about. It's in a safe place, but I think I better get rid of it. Things are getting a little out of hand. Look, can you come and pick it up? I don't feel right about just bumin' it. It was real important to Jonny."

Amaryllis glanced at her watch. "I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Come alone. I didn't much like the looks of that guy you had with you the last time. He made me nervous."

"He sometimes has that effect on people. Don't worry, I'll come alone. Where are you?"

"In my dressing room. I'm between performances. I don't go on for another hour and a half. Take a cab. That way you won't have to park on the side streets. Gets a little dangerous around here after dark, y'know. But you'll be safe enough so long as you stay on the main strip."

"I'll be there as soon as I can get a taxi."

Amaryllis cut the connection and then dialed the number of a cab company.

She was on her way out the door a few minutes later when she remembered that Lucas would be calling to tell her that his dinner with Dillon was finished. He would worry if she failed to answer the phone.

She dashed back into the living room, grabbed the phone, and recorded a new message into her answering machine.

When she was done, she ran back to the door and opened it. The cab was waiting at the curb.

The strip that marked the heart of Founders Square was thronged, as usual. Although it was nearly ten o'clock, the gaudy jelly-ice lights of the clubs and casinos blazed brighter than the sun at high noon.

Amaryllis got out of the taxi in front of the SynCity Club. She glanced at the long line of cruising cabs that clogged the street. There would be no problem getting one to take her home when she had finished talking to Vivien.

"Thank you," she said as she handed the driver his fare and what she considered a reasonable tip. "No need to wait."

The driver scowled at the money she had thrust into his hand. "Don't worry, I won't."

Amaryllis chose to ignore the rudeness. She had more important things on her mind. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, she made her way through the crowd to the narrow alley that led to the stage door entrance of the SynCity Club.

The massive guard who had blocked the door last time was not at his post. At least she was to be spared an unpleasant discussion about a bribe. That was fortunate. She only had a few dollars in her purse. She needed to save some cash for the cab fare home.

Amaryllis opened the stage door and stepped into the cramped corridor.

The outer door closed behind her. She paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A dull rumble reverberated down the ugly green hallway. The floor trembled beneath Amaryllis's feet. It took her a moment to realize that what she heard and felt was the rumble of the music being played on stage in the club.

She turned and went down the corridor, mentally counting off the doors. The thunder of the music grew louder as she moved deeper into the bowels of the SynCity's backstage environs.

The door with the glowing purple star on it was closed. Amaryllis knocked once. There was no response.

"Ms. Huggleston?" Amaryllis put one ear to the door. "Vivien? It's me. Amaryllis Lark."

There was still no response. The muffled roar of the music rose and fell in a throbbing wave of sound and vibration. Amaryllis wrapped her hands around the doorknob and twisted cautiously.

The door opened without protest. Amaryllis caught a faint whiff of smoke, as if someone had just lit a jelly candle.

"Vivien? I'm here." She peered around the corner of the door.

There was an untidy bundle of purple veils lying in the middle of the threadbare carpet. It looked as if Vivien had discarded her stage costume in a hurry and left it on the floor.

Then she saw the feathery, high-heeled slippers sticking out from beneath a cascade of gossamer purple fabric. Vivien's feet were in the shoes.

"Vivien." Amaryllis started forward. Her first thought was that the stripper had fallen and knocked herself unconscious.

The dressing room door swung shut behind her as she crouched beside the fallen woman. "Vivien?"

Amaryllis heard a faint squelching sound. The carpet was wet. She glanced down and saw the dark stain.

A scream rose in her throat.

Blood soaked the thin carpet and several layers of veils. The puddle had its origin in the terrible black hole in the center of Vivien's forehead.

Amaryllis snatched back the hand she had been about to place on the dead woman's shoulder. She managed to stagger to her feet. Her stomach churned. The room started to spin gently. The noise of the pounding stage music shook the walls.

She turned and ran for the door. She had to get help.

But when she opened the door she found only darkness in the hallway. Someone had turned out the weak overhead lights that had illuminated the narrow corridor.

Then she felt a faint, not unfamiliar, trickle of awareness on the psychic plane.

It was gone in an instant but not before Amaryllis recognized it. What she had sensed was the brush of a strong but unfocused talent instinctively seeking a link. It was the sort of spiking surge of energy that often occurred when a talent was tense or anxious or under stress.

Someone waited for her out there in the shadowed corridor.