St Helens 01 Amaryllis

by Jayne Castle

  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?"

  "Of course not. That's why they call it fiction, Mr. Trent."

  "I don't read much fiction. I prefer nonfiction."

  "I'm not surprised that we have different tastes." Amaryllis gave him a grim little smile. "There's an old saying that high-class talents and full-spectrum prisms generally have nothing in common except the ability to hold a focus."

  "True." His eyes moved over her as if he were assessing all the various ways in which they differed. "Shall we go?"

  "Certainly."

  The phone rang just as Amaryllis turned to lead the way toward the door. She ignored it.

  "Feel free to answer it," Lucas said easily. "We're in no hurry."

  "You're sure?"

  "Believe me, I'm not in a rush to spend the evening sipping green wine punch and eating soggy hors d'oeuvres."

  Amaryllis went to the phone and lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

  "Oh, hello, dear." Hannah Lark's voice sounded warm and cheerful, as it always did. She was a doctor, and her bedside manner stemmed from a genuinely caring nature. "I'm glad I caught you."

  "Well, actually, Aunt Hannah, I'm just on my way out the door." Amaryllis slid a quick glance at Lucas who was now studying her collection of music discs. "Can it wait?"

  "This will only take a moment," Hannah assured her. "I'm filling out the marriage agency forms for you, as we agreed, and there are one or two questions I thought I'd bounce off you."

  "Not now, Aunt Hannah, please."

  "Do you have any strong preferences when it comes to physical appearance?"

  "Uh, not really."

  "Height? Weight? Eye color?"

  "No, Aunt Hannah. It doesn't matter."

  "You're sure, dear?"

  "I'm positive."

  "Good, that makes things much simpler. Now, then, intelligence and education are critical, of course. I've already made a note of that. What about mutual interests? How picky do you intend to be in that area?"

  "Very picky. Compatibility is a must. Listen, Aunt Hannah, someone's waiting for me. We'll have to do this some other time."

  "Who's waiting?" Hannah's voice sharpened with interest. "A man?"

  "Well, yes, as a matter of fact."

  "Someone from work?"

  "Sort of. I'll tell you all about it later."

  "You're avoiding me, Amaryllis." Hannah sighed. "This happens every time I try to get your attention long enough to complete this form. You can't make excuses forever. The Synergistic Connections agency is the best matchmaking service in the city-state. They only handle a certain number of select clients. Their list was already filled for the next six months. It wasn't easy convincing them to make room for you. I had to pull a few strings."

  "I know I'm lucky that you were able to get me registered with Synergistic Connections. I promise I'll call you tomorrow so that we can fill out the form together, but I can't do it now. I really have to run."

  "All right, we'll do it first thing in the morning. There's no excuse for waiting any longer. By the way, where are you going tonight?"

  "The reception at the museum."

  Hannah gave a delighted gasp. "Are you serious?"

  "Very. Talk to you later, Aunt Hannah. Good night." Amaryllis dropped the phone back into the cradle before her aunt could recover from her shock. She looked at Lucas. "Let's go before she calls back."

  Lucas's gaze was unreadable as he followed her to the door. "You're registered with Synergistic Connections?"

  "My aunt insisted." Amaryllis grimaced. "She says it's the agency that matched her and my Uncle Oscar."

  A glimpse of genuine understanding appeared in Lucas's eyes. For one brief, shining moment, Amaryllis felt an unexpected sense of mutual empathy flash between them. She and the Iceman might be polar opposites in some ways, but when it came to the business of marriage, they comprehended each other very well.

  Marriage was a serious matter. It had been since the founders, faced with the task of creating a colony that could survive the rigors of being stranded on an alien world, had deliberately set out to promote a strong family structure. Their historical and psychological research had convinced them that only a society founded on the firm support of rock-solid families could meet the challenges that lay ahead.

  The institution of marriage was regarded as a permanent commitment. It bound not only two people but two extended families. Under the guidance of the founders, the monumental weight of social pressure and the enormous power of the law had been brought to bear in order to enforce the unwritten as well as the written rules that governed the social order.

  Amaryllis knew those rules only too well.
Her parents had not been married. She had not only lost both her mother and her father when she was less than a year old, she had paid the price of their indiscretion.

  One of the most unpleasant fates that could befall a child in such a family-oriented society was to be born out of wedlock. The shame and the humiliation cast shadows for years, especially in small towns such as the one where Amaryllis had been raised. She was well aware that she had been very fortunate, under the circumstances. Many bastard children did not fare so well.

  Hannah and Oscar Lark had taken her into their home after her mother's death. From birth, Amaryllis had been surrounded by a host of loving relatives. There was little the Larks could do about the cruelty of her classmates or the whispered gossip of adults, however. Nor could anyone make up for the fact that her father's family, the wealthy and influential Baileys, chose to ignore Amaryllis.

  For her part, Amaryllis had vowed early on never to embarrass her aunt and uncle or any of the rest of her mother's relatives. She knew her duty and her responsibilities. High on the list was the necessity of contracting a proper, agency-sanctioned marriage when the time came.

  She had put off the inevitable as long as possible. She had finally run out of excuses.

  Sooner or later, almost everyone, gay or straight or in-between, got married. Same-sex alliances, known as permanent partnerships, were as binding as heterosexual unions and had equal status as well as equal responsibilities to the community. Divorce was virtually impossible.

  Given the legal ramifications, the expectations of families, the pressures of society, and the permanence of marriage, very few people attempted to find their own mates. It was understood that judgments made in the heat of passion were not to be trusted, which was not to say that passion was forbidden. On the contrary, affairs were quite common before marriage and were known to occur after the event as well. Discretion was expected from everyone involved.

  The guiding principle behind the actions of responsible people was Don't Embarrass the Family.

  The founders had been far more concerned with the stability of the social structure than with individual happiness. Nevertheless, for the sake of the institutions they valued so much, they had tried to ensure a high percentage of reasonably contented couples.

  To that end, they had established marriage agencies staffed with trained synergistic psychologists to help individuals choose mates wisely and well. Although marital alliances based on such ancient considerations as property and family connections occasionally took place among the very wealthy, most people registered with matchmaking agencies when the time came to get serious.

  It was considered remarkably stupid to even consider contracting such a formal and terribly permanent alliance without the assistance of a good counselor and a respected agency.

  Lucas followed Amaryllis out the front door. "I'm registered with Synergistic Connections myself."

  "I'm not surprised." Amaryllis paused to activate the jelly-ice lock on her door. "It's not as though either of us has a lot of choice, is it? There are only a couple of agencies in New Seattle that handle high-class talents and full-spectrum prisms."

  Lucas slanted her an enigmatic glance as he guided her to the sleek sports car parked at the curb. "No one will suspect you're a full-spectrum prism tonight. After all, I'm a class nine, and everyone knows that no agency would match a nine with a strong prism."

  Amaryllis smiled very sweetly as she got into the car. "High-class talents are notoriously difficult to match with anyone, prism or non-prism. They tend to be arrogant and overbearing."

  "It's common knowledge that full-spectrum prisms aren't any easier to match," Lucas said. "Too damn picky."

  Chapter 3

  Lucas stood with Amaryllis at the far end of the museum hall and tried to keep his attention on Miranda Locking and Merrick Beech. It wasn't easy tracking their progress through the crowded room. The task was turning out to be ten times more complicated than it should have been because Amaryllis's dress kept moving. She looked as if she were enveloped in a cloud of brilliant butterflies. Every move she made distracted him from his mission.

  The fluttering dress annoyed Lucas. He had contracted to pay an outrageous sum for a trained, experienced prism. In his considered opinion, Amaryllis was anything but professional this evening. She looked provocative, enticing, and, on top of everything else, she smelled good.

  "Have you spotted Miss Locking?" Amaryllis asked as she bent to examine the artifacts in one of the display cases.

  "They're on opposite sides of the room, but they're making their way toward each other."

  She peered at one of the strangely shaped objects in the case. It was made of a silvery green metal. Shaped something like a flashlight, it had no obvious light source. "Let me know when you're ready to link. In the meantime I'm going to get a good look at these relics. I can't believe I'm lucky enough to be among the first people to see the exhibition. I thought I'd have to wait months to get tickets."

  "I'm glad one of us is having a good time," Lucas muttered.

  "Once in a while my job brings a few really terrific fringe benefits," she said cheerfully. "This is definitely one of those occasions."

  "Nice to meet someone who enjoys her work."

  "Oh, I do. When I left my position at the university six months ago, I wasn't at all certain that I would ever be happy in business. No offense, but I assumed that the commercial world would be rather uninspiring."

  "It has its moments."

  She glanced at him, her eyes wide and unexpectedly intent. "It certainly has had a few interesting moments for you. You've lead a very exciting life, Mr. Trent."

  "Lucas."

  She smiled. "Call me Amaryllis."

  "Amaryllis. Don't tell me, let me guess. Your parents got caught up in the craze for old Earth flower names, right?"

  To his surprise, the glow of interest in her eyes faded. It was replaced by an expression of cool politeness. "My aunt once told me that my mother chose Amaryllis because she wanted a name that would be exotic enough to make me dream my own dreams."

  "And have you dreamed your own dreams?"

  Amaryllis lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "Sometimes one has to pay for other people's dreams."

  "I'm not big on cryptic statements. What in the five hells does that mean?"

  "Nothing." She gave him a bracing smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get deep and mysterious. Maybe these relics are having an effect on my mood."

  Lucas frowned. "Why did you leave the university?"

  "You know how it is." She turned back to the display case. "People change. I felt it was time to try a new direction in my career."

  Lucas was the first to acknowledge that he had no great gift for intuition, but he had a strong suspicion that there was a lot more to the story than Amaryllis implied. He wondered if a man had been involved. Then he wondered why he should care if the answer was yes.

  Wrong place, wrong time, wrong woman.

  "What is Miss Locking doing now?" Amaryllis asked.

  Lucas scanned the crowd and spotted Miranda. "She just stopped to shake Madison Sheffield's hand."

  The professional detachment vanished from Amaryllis's gaze in a heartbeat. "Madison Sheffield is here tonight?"

  "Just one thrill after another when you focus for me."

  She ignored the sarcasm. "Where is he?"

  "Who? Sheffield? Over there by the buffet table." Lucas gave her a sidelong glance. The keen interest in her face irritated him. Everything about her was beginning to bother him, he concluded. The sooner this evening was over, the better. "You can't miss him. He looks like he's trying to sell used cars."

  "Don't be rude." Amaryllis stood on tiptoe in an effort to see over the heads of the crowd. "Madison Sheffield will very likely be our next governor."

  "Probably won't be any worse than the present governor," Lucas said philosophically.

  He was well aware of who Madison Sheffield was. His secretary had instructions to toss t
he unending stream of solicitation letters from the ambitious city-state senator's office. It was nothing personal. She also had orders to chuck the campaign fund requests from the incumbent, Tyler Wingate. Lucas was not particularly interested in politics or politicians.

  But he was not surprised to learn that Amaryllis was excited by the sight of Madison Sheffield. It figured, he told himself. Sheffield was just the sort of politician who would attract the vote of an upright, prissy little prism who was overly concerned with ethics and other vague academic matters.

  Sheffield was making a bid for the governor's seat on the Founders' Values ticket. He was running on a platform that emphasized a return to the supposedly sterling virtues of the First Generation colonists. People were responding to the Sheffield campaign in droves. The man had charisma.

  "He's even more impressive in person than he is on television," Amaryllis declared.

  Lucas eyed the senator. It was fair to say that Sheffield was tall, lean, and possessed of a nose and brow that would have done credit to any founder. His aquiline features gave the impression of a man who was ascetic in his habits. His expensively styled brown hair was tinged with just enough silver to add a distinguished touch.

  Sheffield's tailor had taken care of the rest.

  Amaryllis's dress fluttered again. Bored with the sight of Sheffield shaking hands, Lucas found himself distracted by the movement. The rational, intellectual side of his nature considered the perplexing question of how the gown could both reveal and conceal at the same time. It was a frustrating problem, one which only served to heighten his irritation.

  Apparently having lost sight of Madison Sheffield, Amaryllis came down off her toes and turned back to the array of artifacts in the display case.

  "These are incredible," she said. "Whatever the metal is, it survived, which is saying something. The alloys and high-tech materials that the founders brought with them from Earth rotted away within months. They had to learn to use native materials. I wonder why these didn't disintegrate."

  Lucas forced himself to stop watching the drifting scarves long enough to glance down at the silvery relics. "The researchers don't have a clue."