Amaryllis (5 page)

Clementine grimaced. “Sure. And it's theoretically possible that the Return cult kooks are right when they say that the curtain will reopen one of these days and we'll all go back to Earth.”

“Get serious, Clementine, Trent's not crazy the way the cultists are.” Byron turned back to Amaryllis. “I know he's a class nine. He told me that much when he made the appointment. But what kind of talent is he?”

“He's a detector,” Amaryllis said. “He can sense when other talents are working.”

“Is that all?” Byron was clearly disappointed.

“According to his certification papers.” Amaryllis straightened the forms on her desk. “A class-nine detector.”

“Class nine.” Clementine whistled in awe. “What a waste. All that psychic power and no useful talent to go with it. Sort of like putting a hot engine in a big, souped-up ice-cycle and then putting it up on blocks.”

“Bad synergy, all right.” Byron shook his head. “Just imagine what it would be like to know that you had a high-grade talent, but the only thing you could do with it was detect other people when they used their talents.”

“Must be frustrating for him,” Clementine agreed. “No wonder the news reports have never said much about his psychic abilities. He probably doesn't like to talk about them.”

“You know,” Byron pursed his lips. “I thought for sure he'd have some really interesting talent.”

Amaryllis glanced at him. “Such as?”

“Well, they call him the Iceman because he's so good at finding jelly-ice, right? I thought maybe he'd at least have a talent for locating valuable ore and mineral deposits or something.”

“Apparently he did his prospecting the old-fashioned way,” Amaryllis said. “Detailed research and a lot of grueling fieldwork. He has a degree in Synergistic Crystal Mineralogy.”

Amaryllis did not know much about the complex process involved in the search for jelly-ice, but she knew it was difficult, sometimes dangerous work. It was also vital, high-paying work.

Jelly-ice was slang for the substance known in technical circles as semiliquid full-spectrum crystal quartz. Jelly-ice had a multitude of strange properties including a weird, jellylike consistency when it was in its natural state. But the most important fact about the stuff was that it could be made to produce energy. Clean, efficient, inexpensive energy.

Lucas Trent had made his fortune by locating several
extremely rich deposits of jelly-ice in the Western Islands. The company he had founded, Lodestar Exploration, was one of the most successful in the business.

“I don't give a damn how he goes about finding jelly-ice,” Clementine said. “All I care about is that it's made him a very important person here in the city.” She leveled a finger laden with several steel rings at Amaryllis. “I'm counting on you to convince him that even if there's no psychic vampire hypno-talent involved in this case, he got exactly what he paid for from Psynergy, Inc.”

“Right, boss.”

Clementine stood and planted her hands on her hips. “Trent is contracting for a professional, highly skilled prism, and that's just what we'll give him. Whatever answers he gets when he links with you are his problem.”

“I trust you'll remember that when it's time to hand out the yearly bonuses,” Amaryllis said politely.

Clementine gave a crack of laughter. “Don't worry, you've already earned your bonus. Hell, I couldn't lure a class-nine talent through the door until you came to work for me. Nines are snobs to the bone. They insist that any prism they work with must have a string of diplomas and degrees. Even eights are awful damn fussy.”

Byron made a face. “Too bad Trent's talent is such a boring one, huh, Amaryllis? The job might have been kind of exciting under other circumstances. I mean, this is real security work. We don't get a lot of that.”

“Mr. Trent's particular talent may not sound thrilling, especially since we're highly unlikely to uncover a real, live hypno-talent at work,” Amaryllis admitted. “But I think the job will be quite interesting in its own way. At least it will be a change of pace for me. This will be the first time I've gone undercover.”

Byron brightened at that news. “Where will you be working?”

“I'm going to hold a focus for Trent on Thursday night at the reception that the New Seattle Museum is hosting to celebrate the opening of the relics wing.”

“What's this about working undercover?” Clementine
frowned. “I thought this was just a straight security check gig. No one said anything about undercover work.”

“It's no big deal,” Amaryllis assured her.

Byron refused to be discouraged. “I'll bet Trent has arranged for Amaryllis to masquerade as a member of the catering staff at the reception. That way she'll have an excuse for being nearby when he wants to link.”

Clementine's brows rose. “I can see her now in a snazzy little black and white server's outfit carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Let's be sure to get a photo before she leaves for the assignment. We can frame it and hang it in the reception lobby. Put a little slogan under it. You know, something along the lines of We Go All Out to Serve Our Clients.”

Amaryllis drew herself up very straight in her chair. “For your information, I won't be serving canapés or champagne on Thursday night.”

“No?” Clementine eyed her with grave interest. “Is Trent going to get you into the reception as a journalist or as a member of the museum staff?”

“Not exactly.” Amaryllis tried to look calm and composed. “I'm posing as his marriage agency date for the evening.”

The effect was immediate and not especially gratifying, in Amaryllis's opinion.

“You're going to the reception as a marriage agency candidate for Lucas Trent?” Byron looked stunned. “I don't believe it.”

Clementine whistled soundlessly. “Hot synergy. Who'd have thought of that?”

“What's so strange about it?” Amaryllis angled her chin. “Mr. Trent happens to be in the process of registering at a matchmaking agency. He told me so himself.”

Clementine's eyes danced. “Talk about life's little ironies, huh? What would your aunt and uncle say?”

“Aunt Hannah and Uncle Oscar don't know about this, and I have no intention of telling them.” Amaryllis fixed Clementine and Byron with a warning glare. Her aunt and uncle, together with most of the rest of her family lived an hour's drive from the city in the rural farm town of Lower
Bellevue. There was no reason for any of her relatives to ever learn about Thursday night's activities. “Furthermore, if either of you blabs, I will personally exact a terrible vengeance.”

Byron held up both hands, palms out. “Don't worry, Clementine and I won't breathe a word.”

“We won't have to,” Clementine said dryly. “The museum reception will be heavily covered by the media. You can bet that a lot of the out-of-town papers will carry the story. Nelson Burlton himself will probably be there. Trust me, Amaryllis, on Friday morning your aunt and uncle will open the
Lower Bellevue Journal
and see a lovely picture of their precious niece clinging to the arm of one of the richest men in the city.”

“Oh lord.” Amaryllis dropped her head into her hands. “I forgot about the press.”

Byron's eyes danced with mischief. “This assignment is starting to sound more interesting by the minute.”

Amaryllis glowered. “That's enough out of you, Smyth-Jones.”

Clementine held up one hand for silence. “That's enough, boys and girls. We're trying to run a business around here. Save the squabbling for later. Amaryllis, you'd better take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“Why?”

“Because in about forty-eight hours you'll be attending the major social event of the season in the company of one of the most important businessmen in the city. Something tells me that you haven't got a thing to wear.”

Panic assailed Amaryllis. “Good heavens. I've got to go shopping.”

Byron eyed her with critical appraisal. “Try one of the new flutter dresses. Green would be good on you.”

“He's right, Amaryllis.” Clementine paused in the doorway. “Try that boutique on Fifth Avenue. That's where Gracie does a lot of her shopping. Tell the store to send the bill to Psynergy, Inc.” She winked. “The dress will definitely be a business expense.”

“The best part,” Byron said with unconcealed envy, “is that you'll get to ride in his car.”

“What's so special about that?” Amaryllis asked.

“It's an Icer. I saw it parked outside. What a beauty.”

With any luck, she would finally exorcise Lucas Trent from her mind tonight.

Amaryllis slipped the new flutter dress over her head and watched in the mirror as it floated into place. Experimentally, she took a few steps, watching her reflection. The green, jewel-toned scarves that comprised the cleverly designed gown wafted gently with every move. The silky material seemed to be in constant motion. When she turned slightly, it clung briefly at hip and thigh. When she walked, it drifted around her legs and danced on the air.

She took two quick steps, pirouetted, and whirled around to peer at her image in the mirror. The scarves settled demurely into place. She touched the neckline, wondering if it was just a bit too low, and then reminded herself that this was an evening affair. Many of the gowns would be cut much lower than hers. She checked closely to be certain that the straps of her white bra did not show.

It was a sensible, functional, well-made bra, designed for long wear and many trips through the washing machine. She had bought it during the semiannual underwear and foundation sale at a major downtown department store. It was a practical, serviceable piece of clothing. She had half a dozen others just like it in the top drawer of her dresser. But she knew that it was not the sort of bra that one wore under a flutter dress. She wished she had a silky little scrap of lingerie to go with the gown. Something in black lace, perhaps.

On the other hand, she would probably never have an opportunity to wear the flutter dress again, so it was just as well that she had not invested in a fancy designer bra to go with it. It would have been a waste of money.

Pleased with the dress and with the fact that she was ready ten minutes before Lucas was scheduled to arrive, Amaryllis walked out of her bedroom. She felt calm and collected, just the way a good prism was supposed to feel before an intensive focus session.

Then the reality of what was about to happen hit her again. She was going to spend the evening with Lucas Trent.

She clasped her hands very tightly together and took several deep breaths. She was annoyed to note that her palms were damp. She had tried to ignore the nervous anticipation that had been building within her, but things were getting worse. It was ridiculous. She had to get a grip, she told herself.

She came to a halt in the middle of her small living room and gave herself a stern lecture. To focus effectively for a high-class talent, a prism had to be composed and in command. A prism who could not control herself could not control a strong talent. She had to do a good job tonight, if not for herself, then for the sake of Psynergy, Inc.

As usual, thoughts of duty and responsibility had a wonderfully calming effect on Amaryllis's nerves. She was relieved to feel her pulse slow. The cool mantle of professionalism descended upon her.

Much better. Almost normal. This was a working evening, she reminded herself. She was under contract. This was not a social event. The fact that she had been anxious for the past two days must not be allowed to affect her performance.

The fact that she was going to focus for the Iceman was irrelevant.

The doorbell chimed.

Lucas had arrived.

She would walk, not run, to the door, Amaryllis told herself.

The bell chimed again as she went down the short hall. Somehow the usually mellow tones seemed to have been infused with an imperious note. High-class talents were an impatient lot, Amaryllis thought. They were difficult, demanding, and arrogant. That was the principal reason why they rarely got along well with full-spectrum prisms.

For some reason, although she had taken her time getting to the door, she felt a little flushed when she finally opened it. Lucas stood on the front step.

“You're early,” Amaryllis said.

Lucas frowned. He glanced at his black wrist watch. “It's exactly seven o'clock.”

“Is it? Imagine that.” Amaryllis summoned up a smile. “Sorry. Guess my clock is slow.”

Lucas was dressed in conservative, formal evening black. Black shirt, black jacket, black trousers, and black tie. Not a hint of khaki in sight, Amaryllis noticed. She wondered what he thought of the current fad for Western Islands gear. Not much, judging from the fact that his dark hair was cut short and brushed back in a crisp, no-nonsense style.

Lucas surveyed her from head to toe. “Something wrong?”

Good grief, she was staring. “No, of course not.” Amaryllis hurriedly stepped back into the hall. “Come on in. I'll just be a minute. I have to get my purse.”

“There's no rush.” He walked through the door. “I allowed plenty of time.”

The implication that he had expected her to keep him waiting annoyed Amaryllis. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

She went into the bedroom and snatched her purse off the dresser. When she returned to the outer room she found Lucas examining the contents of her bookcase. He had a copy of Orchid Adams's newest release,
Wild Talent
, in his big hands. He glanced at Amaryllis with an odd expression.

“Don't tell me you like these psychic vampire romance novels,” Lucas said. He sounded wary, not derisive.

“As a matter of fact, I enjoy them very much.”

“But you don't really believe there are off-the-scale talents who can take over helpless prisms do you?”