St Helens 01 Amaryllis

by Jayne Castle

"Well?" Clementine Malone, owner and sole proprietor of Psynergy, Inc., strode into the room. Her shrewd, dark eyes gleamed as brightly as the metal studs on her black leather jacket and pants. Her short, stark white hair, cut to resemble a stiff brush, seemed to actually bristle with anticipation. "Did you get Trent's signature on a contract?"

  "Right here." Amaryllis waved the signed forms. "I'll be working with him on Thursday night. But I think I'd better explain something, Clementine. There are some problems with this job."

  "We can handle 'em." Clementine plucked the contract from Amaryllis's fingers and scanned the signatures. "Nice going. Very nice, indeed."

  "Thanks." Amaryllis watched her boss flip through the short contract. The knowledge that Clementine was pleased should have given her a good deal of satisfaction. Lucas Trent was, after all, the most important client Amaryllis had signed up since she had come to work for Psynergy, Inc. six months ago. She knew it was not only an important step in her new career as a professional prism, it was also a coup for the firm.

  Clementine glanced up from the contract. "I knew you could do it. I was just saying to Smyth-Jones that this contract will put Psynergy, Inc. into the big leagues. Proud Focus can eat our exhaust,"

  Proud Focus was Psynergy, Inc.'s chief competitor. There were a number of firms that offered psychic focus services in New Seattle, but the rivalry between Proud Focus and Psynergy, Inc. had a personal twist. Proud Focus was owned and operated by Clementine's personal permanent partner, Gracie Proud. Amaryllis knew that although the two women had been living together in a blissfully happy union for some fifteen years' duration, they were enthusiastic rivals when it came to business.

  "Sorry, Clementine." Amaryllis reached across the desk to take back the contract. "I'm afraid you won't be able to brag about this deal too loudly. Mr. Trent wants it kept quiet. Security work, you know."

  "Sure, sure." Clementine winked as she propped one leather-sheathed hip on the edge of the desk. The steel hoop rings in her ears swung gently. "But word has a way of getting around in Trent's circles. If he's pleased with our services, he'll recommend us to others. And the next thing you know, we'll be the most exclusive agency in town."

  "We already are the most exclusive agency in town," Byron Smyth-Jones, Psynergy's Inc.'s combination receptionist and secretary, said from the doorway. "How many times do I have to tell you that, Clementine? You have to think big in order to be big. Attitude is everything. Vision precedes reality."

  Clementine eyed Byron with mild disgust. "What in the name of the five hells ever possessed me to send you to that positive synergy management seminar last week?"

  "You sent me because you know I'm destined for the top." Byron gave her a complacent grin.

  He was in his early twenties, lean, good-looking in a youthful way, and painfully trendy, in Amaryllis's opinion. His long, blond hair was pulled back and tied with a black leather cord. He wore khaki trousers and a matching shirt. Both garments were festooned with countless epaulets, buckles, snaps, and pockets. An artificially weathered leather belt and deliberately scuffed boots completed his ensemble. He could have served as a model for an ad featuring the Western Islands look.

  The style had exploded onto the fashion scene a year earlier when popular news anchor Nelson Burlton had gone on location to the Western Islands to cover the discovery of the artifacts. For nearly a week, Burlton, looking attractively rugged in Western Islands gear, had appeared nightly on the evening news. He had not only focused public interest on the alien relics, he had done wonders for the khaki manufacturers.

  The young males of the three city-states had gone wild for what had come to be known as the Western Islands look. To date, the fad showed no signs of waning. A new wave of public excitement generated by the impending opening of the relics gallery at the museum had only served to fuel the rage for the style.

  "Destiny is a function of synergy and can be easily altered," Clementine intoned.

  Byron made a face. Then he grinned at Amaryllis. "Don't you just hate it when she starts quoting some old dippy philosopher?"

  "She's quoting Patricia Thorncroft North," Amaryllis said, automatically slipping into her academic persona. "North was not some old dippy philosopher. She was one of the discoverers of the Three Principles of Synergy. If it had not been for North and her work, you might not have your present cushy job with Psynergy, Inc."

  Clementine gave a snort of muffled laughter.

  Byron groaned and put a hand to his forehead as though he had suddenly taken ill. "Please, not another lecture, Amaryllis, I beg you. I'm still recovering from the one you gave me yesterday."

  "But she's so good at them," Clementine murmured.

  Amaryllis flushed. She was still not accustomed to the phenomenon of office humor. There were too many occasions when she could not tell the difference between good-natured teasing and more serious remarks. Things had been different at the university, she reflected. Sometimes she missed the sober, serious-minded atmosphere of the Department of Focus Studies. But only sometimes.

  "The point here," Byron continued in the painstakingly exaggerated tone one used to explain basic synergy to a child, "is that you have landed one very big fish for good old Psynergy, Inc., Amaryllis. I'd ask for a raise right now if I were you. Timing is everything in business, you know."

  Amaryllis smiled wryly. "I appreciate the advice, Byron. But I think I'd better hold off asking for a raise. I have a feeling Mr. Trent is not going to be a happy, satisfied client when this job is finished."

  Clementine's eyes widened in alarm. "What the hell are you talking about? Why shouldn't he be a satisfied customer? I know he's a nine, but you can handle him. Hell, you're a full-spectrum prism. You're certified for tens."

  "It's not that." Amaryllis studied the contract unhappily. "There won't be any problem focusing his talent. But he's looking for answers, and I don't think he's going to get the ones he wants."

  "So?" Byron frowned. "He has to pay the same fee, whether he gets his answers or not."

  "Yes, but he probably won't go away happy," Amaryllis said. "You know how it is with high-class talents. They tend to be arrogant and difficult. When they don't get the results they want, they usually blame the prism who worked with them. They claim the focus was of poor quality or not strong enough to handle their psychic energy."

  Clementine's gaze sharpened. "You said it was a security job. What's Trent looking for?"

  Amaryllis sighed. "Brace yourself, because you're not going to believe this. He thinks a strong hypno-talent has used psychic suggestion to force one of his executives to steal proprietary information from Lodestar Exploration."

  "A hypno-talent?" Byron's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

  "That's ridiculous." Clementine scowled. "That kind of thing never happens except in films or an Orchid Adams novel."

  "Psychic vampire," Byron whispered in a voice laced with theatrical dread. "Able to seduce innocent lady prisms and turn them into love slaves."

  Clementine grimaced. "Sounds like Trent may have spent a little too much time out in the jungle."

  Amaryllis regarded the contract with morose foreboding. • "I tried to talk him out of it."

  "What?" Clementine nearly fell off her perch on the corner of the desk. "You tried to talk him out of the contract? Are you crazy? He's the most important client we've ever had."

  "I'm afraid he's going to be the most dissatisfied client we've ever had," Amaryllis said. "That's not going to be good for business, Clementine."

  "Damn." Clementine pursed her lips, obviously weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

  An air of gloom settled on the small office.

  "Hey, look on the bright side," Byron said after a moment. "They call Trent the Iceman. He's a living legend. He didn't become one by being stupid. He must know the hypnosis thing is very improbable. Maybe he just wants to check out all possibilities before he makes his move. A super strong hypno-talent who could force someone to act against his o
r her will is at least a theoretical possibility, isn't it?"

  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 semi-liquid 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 shoppin
g. 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.