Amaryllis

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I understand,” Amaryllis said in a subdued tone. “But as I told Clementine, I can’t bring myself to believe that Gifford is a murderer.”

  “Don’t rely too much on your prism intuition.”

  “Funny you should say that.” She gave him a strangely shuttered look. “I keep giving myself the same advice.”

  The evening did not go well after that. Conversation was stilted. The atmosphere was uncomfortably tense. Amaryllis was very polite, but it was obvious, even to a nonintuitive talent, that she was not happy. Lucas had a hunch that she was going to throw him out before bedtime.

  He knew that he had only himself to blame. Barring some miracle, he would sleep alone tonight. It no doubt served him right, but the prospect was, nonetheless, deeply depressing.

  At ten o’clock, desperate for something to break the lengthening silence between himself and Amaryllis, he picked up the television remote and switched on the evening news.

  Nelson Burlton’s square-jawed, clear-eyed visage materialized on the screen. The sight did nothing to elevate Lucas’s mood. Burlton was covering a political event. Behind him Madison Sheffield could be seen standing at a podium.

  Sheffield was speaking to a large crowd of people seated at circular tables. Lucas recognized the setting. It was a meeting of the New Seattle Business Association. He rarely attended the monthly gatherings himself.

  Burlton gazed lovingly into the camera. His hair was rakishly windblown, even though he was indoors. He was wearing his trademark Western Islands jacket, although everyone else in the picture wore suits and ties. His teeth were very straight and very white.

  “Good evening.” Burlton’s expression was devoutly sincere. “Once again the race for the governorship of New Seattle City-state tops the news. This evening Senator Madison Sheffield addressed the New Seattle Business Association. His theme, as usual, was a return to founders’ values.”

  The camera shifted from Burlton to Madison Sheffield, who was holding forth in front of the audience. Sheffield’s teeth were just as white and even as Burlton’s, Lucas noticed. His expression was even more sincere.

  “We have come a long way in the past two hundred years,” Sheffield intoned. “But even as we reach out to seize the future, we must not forget the bedrock values of our past. We need those values now, as we have always needed them. We face a world that is still largely unexplored. The recent discovery of the alien artifacts reminds us all of just how many unknowns await us. We must be prepared.”

  Amaryllis, perched on the sofa beside Lucas, studied the screen. “There’s no way Sheffield could be focusing charisma to a whole crowd of people.”

  “No,” Lucas agreed. “He could only use the focus in one-on-one situations. The rest of the time he has to make do with his natural political charm.”

  “He has his fair share of that, but I don’t think I’m going to vote for him, after all.”

  Politics was never a safe topic, Lucas reminded himself. Still, any conversation was better than no conversation, and he was very anxious to keep Amaryllis talking. “Mr. Founders’ Values? I would have thought he would have been your ideal candidate.”

  “He talks a lot about founders’ values, but a real First Generation founder would never resort to such underhanded tactics as Sheffield is using to get money for his campaign.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. I have a hunch that the founders didn’t survive by being nice guys.”

  Amaryllis whirled to confront him. “What a cynical thing to say. It was the values of the founders that enabled them to survive. Integrity. Justice. Courage. Honor. Determination. Those are the qualities that got the First Generation through the difficult times.”

  “You left out expediency,” Lucas said. “Something tells me that our exalted founders were very expedient when necessary.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “What’s more, I’ll give you odds that there were just as many Madison Sheffields in politics back in First Generation days as there are today. Some things never change.”

  Amaryllis simmered with righteous indignation. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened her mouth to utter something that would no doubt have scorched his skin, but at the last minute she apparently changed her mind.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Lucas punched the button on the remote, blanking the screen. “Because I’m trying to get your attention. I feel like you’ve been slipping away from me all evening.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? We’re supposed to be having an affair, but at the rate things are going, this will be one of the shortest relationships on record.”

  “Oh, Lucas.” Amaryllis moved into his arms and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, but this has been a difficult day.”

  “You can say that again.” Lucas wrapped her close.

  “What we have can’t last long. We both know that.”

  “I don’t want to talk about the future. I just want to enjoy the present.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence fell. Lucas felt the tension slowly ebb away into the night. Amaryllis was warm and soft and safe in his arms. For now, at least. He wanted to take her to a place where they could be alone together, far away from the rules and conventions of society.

  “Link,” Lucas said into Amaryllis’s hair.

  She said nothing, but he felt the moment of disorientation, and then he became aware of the prism taking shape on the psychic plane. It was powerful, strong, and clear. He eased psychic energy through it and began to shape an illusion.

  A grotto formed around the sofa. The television set, desk, and other furnishings disappeared behind banks of lush ferns. Curved stone walls framed a deep jungle pool. The water was a mirrored surface that revealed nothing.

  “Is this a real place?” Amaryllis’s voice was soft with wonder.

  “Yes.”

  “A special place in the islands?”

  “Yes.” Lucas added moss to the grotto walls and piled large rocks around the pool. He carpeted the floor with thick grass and draped streamers of brilliant yellow rose-orchids at various locations. He would have used amaryllises, but he had no idea of what a real, Earth-grown amaryllis looked like.

  Amaryllis gazed at the scene. “It’s beautiful. So peaceful.”

  “I found it years ago when I was a kid. I never told anyone else about it, not even Icy Claxby. Sometimes I went into the grotto and sat on the rocks looking down into the pool for hours at a time.”

  “What did you do there?”

  “Lots of things,” Lucas said. “I practiced controlling my talent. Sometimes I wondered if there were others like me around. I wanted to talk to someone else who understood what it was like to have so much power and to know that you had to keep it a secret.”

  Amaryllis snuggled closer. “I had a place like this, too. Not a jungle grotto, naturally. We lived in farm country. My hiding place was located in the barn loft. I remember how the sunlight filtered through the boards in the side walls. I could hear the animals moving about in their stalls. I used to go up there to think and read and just to be by myself.”

  “What did you think about?”

  “Lots of things.” Amaryllis’s smile was fleeting. “When I was very young, I wasted a good deal of time plotting revenge against my grandmother on my father’s side, Elizabeth Bailey. As I got older, I put my energies into figuring out how to get out of Lower Bellevue forever.”

  “Yeah? I thought you were a small-town girl at heart.”

  “For as long as I can remember, I wanted to escape to the city. I wanted to find a place where no one knew about my past. A place where people wouldn’t be secretly watching to see if I would grow up to humiliate my family the way my mother had done. A place where the kids didn’t point their fingers at me and call me names. A place where I could use my prism abilities to the fullest extent possible.”

  Lucas tightened
his arm around her. “Sounds like we both had secrets we wanted to keep.” He deliberately strengthened the illusion until the grotto seemed solid and real. The stone walls shielded the occupants of the sofa from the past and the future. He knew he had it right when he looked into the pool and sensed that it was bottomless.

  “Lucas?”

  “Hmm?”

  “It feels good to use our skills together, doesn’t it?”

  “Very good.”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that no one has ever documented a connection between sexual attraction and the act of holding a focus?”

  “I don’t think there is any true paranormal connection.” He raised her chin on the edge of his hand and looked down into her eyes. “I think that the two things happened to coincide in our case. Just being around you arouses me. It makes sense that linking with you has the same effect.”

  She smiled and put her arms around his neck.

  Lucas bent his head to kiss her.

  The shrill jangle of the telephone shattered the illusion as surely as a hurled stone shatters glass. Startled by the intrusive noise, Amaryllis broke the link.

  “That’s probably my aunt or uncle.” She untangled herself from Lucas’s arms and reached for the phone. “Hello? Yes, he’s here. Just a second.”

  “Sorry about this.” Lucas took the phone from her hand. “I left your number with my answering service.” He spoke into the phone. “This is Trent.”

  “Lucas?” Dillon Rye’s voice sounded strained. “Man, am I glad I finally located you. Listen, I’m in kind of a bind here. I hate to bother you, but I need some help. Fast.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a little hard to explain over the phone. The bottom line is that I sort of owe a guy some money and he, uh, wants to be paid right away. And I don’t have the cash. I was sort of wondering if you could make me a loan.”

  “Five hells.”

  “Lucas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t mean to push, but I need the money right now.”

  Chapter

  11

  “Are all prisms this stubborn?” Lucas deactivated the Icer’s engine with an impatient twist of his hand. He studied the lights of the casino on the other side of the street. “Or is this just the result of a small-town upbringing?”

  “I don’t know about other prisms,” Amaryllis said. “And I won’t presume to speak for all small-town residents. I insisted on coming with you tonight because you might need me. We’re partners, remember? You said it yourself.”

  Lucas turned his head briefly. Derision gleamed in his eyes. “I’m not likely to need a prism to get Dillon out of hock. All it will require is money. I wonder how much the young fool lost to Nick Chastain.”

  Amaryllis chose to rise above Lucas’s obvious irritation. The argument had been running since Dillon Rye’s phone call had interrupted Lucas’s grotto illusion twenty minutes earlier. When she had discovered what was going on, Amaryllis had insisted on accompanying Lucas on his mission to rescue Dillon.

  She leaned forward in the seat to peer at the brilliantly lit entrance of Chastain’s Palace. The drizzling rain blurred the colors of the jelly-ice lights, converting them into gaudy liquid jewels. The casino was not the biggest gambling club on the strip, but even Amaryllis had heard of it. She knew it had a certain cachet with the city’s swank set. It also had a reputation for big-stakes play that attracted high rollers from the other city-states.

  “Do you know this Nick Chastain person?” asked Amaryllis.

  “Let’s just say that Chastain and I have a few things in common.” Lucas opened the door and got out. He seemed oblivious to the light rain.

  Amaryllis opened her own door before Lucas could circle the Icer to assist her. She jumped out, tugging at the hood of her raincoat. “Why did Dillon call you? Why didn’t he call his father?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I suspect that Dillon doesn’t want his parents to know that he got himself into this mess.”

  Amaryllis nodded. “They probably wouldn’t approve of his gambling.”

  “That’s one factor.” Lucas took her arm and waited for a break in the clogged traffic. “The other is that they probably wouldn’t approve of what he intended to do with his winnings.”

  “What did he plan to do with them?”

  “Invest in some featherbrained scheme to locate fire crystal.” Lucas tightened his grip on her arm and drew her swiftly across the busy street.

  The revolving glass doors of Chastain’s Palace were in constant motion. A steady stream of well-dressed people came and went. Some were laughing. Several were not. A few had the grim, glittering look of desperation in their eyes. Many appeared to be at least partially inebriated.

  Two polite but hard-eyed looking individuals kept an eye on the crowd that milled around the entrance of the casino. One guard was male, the other female. Both wore formal evening clothes that did nothing to conceal their sturdy, muscled torsos.

  Lucas and Amaryllis gained the sidewalk and started to make their way toward the casino doors. A gaunt, longhaired figure dressed in a long, flowing black tunic loomed in their path. He took one look at Lucas and appeared to come to the conclusion that there was no hope in that direction. He chose to thrust his sign directly in front of Amaryllis. The message was written in large, crude, hand-drawn letters. It was simple and direct.

  WILL YOU BE READY WHEN

  THE CURTAIN RISES AGAIN?

  “Excuse me.” Amaryllis made to step around the longhaired man.

  “The curtain will rise sooner than you think, woman.” There was a feverish excitement in the man’s eyes. “Will you be ready for the return to Earth? Will you be clean enough in body and mind to return to the Utopia that awaits?”

  “Please let me pass, I’m in a hurry.” Most people were rude and impatient whenever they were confronted by a Return cult fanatic. Force of habit made Amaryllis more polite than many, but sometimes the persistence of the cult members tried even her patience.

  “The curtain will be forever closed to those who fall into the five hells of sin. Think about your future, woman. Only the pure of heart shall return to Earth.”

  “I appreciate your point of view,” Amaryllis said, “but there is no indication that the curtain had any religious or supernatural aspects. It was a natural phenomenon of some sort. An energy construct that appeared and then disappeared.”

  “It was designed by the superior beings of the home planet as a test for those of us sent to St. Helens,” the fanatic screamed.

  “If you would simply study the subject from a synergistically scientific viewpoint—” Amaryllis broke off as Lucas drew her firmly around the grimy, black-robed man.

  “There’s no point talking to those people.” He pushed her gently through the casino doors. “It’s a waste of breath.”

  “I know. But sometimes I just can’t help myself. Those Return cults do a lot of harm. I have a friend whose brother got caught up in one for a while. He turned his back on his family and his education to walk the streets carrying one of those ridiculous signs. Fortunately, he eventually came to his senses but it was a very near thing.”

  “You can’t save everyone, Amaryllis.”

  She glanced at him. “You should talk. What, exactly, are we doing here tonight?”

  “Damned if I know,” Lucas muttered.

  “The Ryes are the closest thing you’ve got to family, aren’t they?”

  “I can promise you that they don’t see it that way.”

  There was no bitterness in his words, Amaryllis realized. Just a bone-deep acceptance. Jackson Rye had once been Lucas’s friend and partner. In spite of all that had happened, Lucas still honored the old ties. That was why he was here tonight.

  The casino appeared to have been designed by an interior decorator who had been torn between decadence and outright garishness. Amaryllis noted a great deal of green velvet and a lot of gold tassels. The ceiling was mirrored and
so were all of the walls. The effect was confusing to the eye.

  “It’s like walking into a fantasy,” she muttered to Lucas.

  “That’s the whole point.”

  The subdued clang and clatter of various types of gambling machines created a background noise that infused the crowded room with a sense of frenetic energy. Beautifully dressed people hovered around card tables presided over by elegantly dressed croupiers. Gold-suited servers carrying trays of glasses circulated through the room.

  “This way.” Lucas guided Amaryllis around the perimeter of the gaming floor.

  They walked past more large guards with polite smiles and cold eyes. At the end of a mirrored corridor, they found themselves in a quiet passageway. A man stepped forward.

  “Mr. Trent?”

  “Tell Chastain I’m here.”

  The guard glanced at Amaryllis. “We were told that you would come alone, sir.”

  “As you can see, I didn’t. Miss Lark is a friend. If Chastain can’t deal with that, you can tell him for me that it’s time he visited a syn-shrink. He’s definitely getting paranoid.”

  The guard hesitated. Then he nodded once. “This way, sir. Ma’am.”

  Lucas and Amaryllis were ushered into a chamber that was thickly suffused with crimson, gold, and black. A small group of people were clustered near a massive carved and gilded desk.

  Amaryllis glanced around quickly and tried not to let her disapproval show. Taste was a personal thing, she reminded herself. But there was no getting around the fact that if the casino designer had been torn between decadence and garishness elsewhere, in this room he or she had definitely gone for full-blown tacky.

  Heavy red velvet curtains covered the windows. Ornate pillars framed the walls. The furnishings were all gleaming black lacquer and crimson velvet. The red, gold, and black carpet was so thick, Amaryllis was afraid she would trip on it.

  “Lucas.” Dillon Rye leaped to his feet. He looked very relieved and not a little embarrassed. “I am really glad to see you. I’m sorry about this. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”