Amaryllis (19 page)

“Nonsense. You don't really believe that.”

“We'd still be trying to get through the stage door entrance if I hadn't bribed the guard,” Lucas said. “But given the fact that you and I are never going to see eye to eye when it comes to personal philosophies, let's move on.”

“To what?”

“I'll grant you that this evening has had its interesting moments, but things have gone far enough. Think about it logically, Amaryllis. If there had been anything strange about the circumstances of Landreth's accident, the police would have pursued an investigation.”

“Talking to Vivien has given me an idea, Lucas.” Amaryllis sounded as if she had not heard a word he'd said. “It might not be a bad idea to talk to a few other people who saw the professor just before he was killed.”

“I was afraid of this. What is it with you? Looking for answers is one thing. Getting obsessive about them is another.” Lucas sensed the movement in the deep shadows of the alley before he saw the two men. “Damn. Just what I needed to make this evening perfect.”

“What are you doing?”

He didn't respond. Lucas used his grip on Amaryllis's arm to shove her behind him as he pivoted to face the gaping mouth of the alley. There was a clattering noise as she fetched up against a heavy metal garbage can.

“Oh, dear,” Amaryllis said in a very small voice.

A rustling sound announced the indignant departure of some small animal that had been dining on the contents of the overflowing trash container.

“Lucas?”

Lucas heard her quick, sharp intake of breath. “Stay between me and the wall. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

The first man emerged from the alley. He moved with the sinuous glide of a practiced street predator. He was followed by a slightly shorter man who approached with a crablike gait. In the weak light of the streetlamps Lucas saw that both men were dressed in Western Islands gear. Each wore his long, greasy hair tied with a leather thong. The first man wore the designer version of the fashion look. He was covered with an array of zippers, pockets, epaulets, and gadget loops.

But the smaller man wore the real thing.

Lucas glanced at the knives in the men's hands, and then he concentrated on watching their eyes.

“Nice outfits,” Lucas offered politely.

“Ain't they, though?” The tall man in the fancy gear snaked closer. “Me and Dancer pride ourselves on being stylish, don't we, Dancer?”

“Yeah, Rand, stylish. That's us.” Dancer's teeth glinted in a savage grin.

“Something we can do for you two fashionable gentlemen?” Lucas asked.

“Well, now that you mention it, there surely is.” Rand motioned with the knife. “You can start by handin' over your wallet.”

“And then you can hand over the lady.” Dancer licked his lips. “Been a long time since I had a chance to crawl between the legs of a pretty little thing like her.”

“What a disgusting little creep you are,” Amaryllis said loudly.

“Quiet, Amaryllis.” Lucas did not take his eyes off the approaching men.

Dancer spit on the sidewalk. “Don't worry, I like 'em feisty. More fun that way.”

“You are both a disgrace to the clothes you wear,” Amaryllis informed Dancer and Rand.

“Huh?” Dancer's face screwed up into a tight frown.

“You're wearing Western Islands frontier gear, but it's obvious that neither of you has ever been anywhere near the islands. I suspect you wouldn't last five minutes in a real jungle. You lack the fortitude to live on the frontier.”

Rand scowled at Lucas. “You better shut her up real fast.”

Lucas shrugged. “That's easier said than done.”

“You're frauds, both of you,” Amaryllis declared. “A couple of city street punks playing at being real brave frontiersmen.”

“Stop her right now.” Dancer's voice rose with alarming suddenness. In the blink of an eye he was losing whatever control he possessed. “Hear me? Make her be quiet.”

Rand cast an uneasy sidelong glance at his companion. Then he grimaced. “Better do as he says,” he advised Lucas.

“Sorry,” Lucas said briefly. “I've got better things to do.”

He knew that this was the best chance he was going to get. He summoned energy and poured it into the illusion.

He had no way to focus, so he could not generate a solid, substantial image, just a ghostly apparition. Without a prism he could not make it last for more than a few seconds. But after all the years of practice, he had enough control and enough power to create a brief distraction. With any luck, that was all he and Amaryllis would need.

Lucas readied himself. He felt the stirring of a cold wind. It was a familiar sensation. It often preceded his use of talent, especially when he was attempting to control it without the assistance of a prism.

“What the hell?” Rand swung toward the figure of a policeman that had coalesced in the shadows near a gate. “Where did he come from?”

“What are you talkin' about?” Dancer shifted his attention toward the figure in the shadows. “I don't see nothin'.”

The policeman winked out of existence. Lucas moved at the same instant that he lost the ghostly image. He lashed out with his foot and connected with Rand's knife hand. Bone cracked.

Rand grunted with pain and dropped his weapon. He clutched at his injured wrist and stared at Lucas, eyes slitted with fury. “Get him, Dancer. Get the bastard. Hurry. We got money ridin' on this.”

Dancer was already moving forward with his peculiar gait. His knife wove an intricate pattern in the air. Lucas recognized the fighting style. And the talent.

“You were wrong, Amaryllis,” he said softly. “Dancer has spent some time in the islands. Long enough to pick up the Knife Dance. Isn't that right, Dancer?”

“Damn right. I was there three years ago.” Dancer's eyes glinted. “Nearly took the islands, we did. If it hadn't been for you, Trent, me and the others would've been runnin' the whole show by now.”

“He knows who you are,” Amaryllis whispered.

“Stop talkin' and rip him open,” Rand screamed. “We won't get paid if we don't finish this.”

“With pleasure.
Link.”
Dancer leaped at Lucas. The knife darted about in dazzling, almost hypnotic movements.

Lucas estimated that Dancer was a class-five or perhaps a six talent. He was more than just a skilled knife dancer. He had a gift for hand-to-hand fighting techniques. Rand was obviously working as his prism tonight.

“Dear God.” Amaryllis had apparently just realized that they were facing a talent-prism fighting team.

“Run,” Lucas ordered. He kept his full attention on Dancer. “Get out of here, Amaryllis. Head for the strip.”

The trick to dealing with a knife dancer was to ignore the blade. The movements were calculated to be simultaneously terrifying and entrancing. The snakelike motions held the attention of the victim until the dancer was ready to slash.

Lucas edged back a few steps. He switched his gaze to Dancer's feet in order to avoid the entrancing movements of the knife. He groped for and found the metal lid of the garbage can.

Lucas swept the can lid around in a wide arc just as Dancer leaped. The knife blade clashed dissonantly against the makeshift metal shield.

Dancer hissed and tried to scramble back out of reach. Lucas gave him no chance to recover his balance. He went in low and fast, using the lid as both armor and weapon.

“Bastard. I'm gonna kill you, Trent.” Dancer tried and failed to sidestep the garbage can lid. It caught him on the shoulder with enough force to cause him to stumble.

Lucas discarded the lid and seized Dancer's knife arm. He twisted hard. Something cracked.

Dancer screamed in pain. The knife clattered to the pavement. Lucas slammed a fist into Dancer's jaw. The knife dancer crumpled.

“Lucas,” Amaryllis called. “Behind you.”

A roar of rage made Lucas spin around. He saw Rand bearing down on him. The irrational glitter in the man's eyes was visible even in the weak light. Rand's face was contorted into a grotesque mask. He had another knife in his fist.
Must have grabbed it from his boot
, Lucas thought.

Lucas braced himself, but at that moment Amaryllis took a step forward, away from the brick wall. She raised a large object that she had apparently retrieved from the garbage can. It looked like a small wooden packing crate.

She waited until Rand's maddened charge had carried him one step past where she stood. She raised the packing crate on high and then brought it down hard against the back of Rand's skull.

Rand lost his footing and sprawled forward. His face made forceful contact with the sidewalk. He twitched but did not move.

Lucas glanced at Rand, aware of the adrenaline flowing through his veins. He remembered the sensation all too well. He looked at Amaryllis and grinned. “We make a good team.”

Amaryllis ignored him. Her gaze was riveted at a point just beyond Lucas's shoulder.
“Lucas.”

Lucas heard them. He turned his head to glance briefly at the three figures who were sauntering cautiously out of the shadows of a doorway. The noise of the skirmish had drawn would-be opportunists in the same way that the struggles of a wounded animal drew hopeful scavengers.

Lucas grabbed Amaryllis's hand. “Time to leave.”

“Definitely.”

She ran with him toward the car, which Lucas judged to be closer than the safety of the main strip.

He risked another glance over his shoulder as they pounded down the street. The new arrivals were still milling about, apparently trying to decide upon a course of action. He hoped that they would opt to go through Rand's and Dancer's pockets rather than try to run down the escaping prey. A tough decision, but someone had to make it.

He spotted the two men lounging against the fender of the Icer when he and Amaryllis were still half a block away.

“Five hells.” This whole thing was starting to look a little too organized for his peace of mind. The tactics were not unlike the ones the pirates had used in the islands. He wondered how many of the riffraff had escaped after the main force had been routed.

“This way.” He yanked Amaryllis around the corner of a building.

“There they go.” One of the men leaning against the Icer straightened. “Shit, they're getting away. After 'em.”

Lucas drew Amaryllis past several darkened doorways. She was breathing quickly, but she was keeping up with him. They bred them for endurance in the country, he reflected. He would have been dragging a city-born lady along the sidewalk by now.

He spotted the deep darkness of a nearby alley. He hesitated briefly, but when he heard the sound of pounding footsteps closing in swiftly from behind, he knew he had to evaluate the limited options. He wasn't president of a major corporation for nothing. He knew how to make executive decisions.

He pulled Amaryllis into the alley. It took approximately three seconds for him to realize that there was no opening at the far end. By then it was too late. The footfalls of their pursuers were too close.

Then again, Jackson had always told him that he wasn't executive material.

“We're trapped,” Amaryllis breathed.

Lucas pressed her back against the nearest brick wall. “I hope you're as good as you keep telling me you are.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Link.”
Lucas grabbed her hand. He needed all the power he could get.

“What good will that do? I hate to be a wet blanket, but your ability to detect other talents, impressive as it is, isn't going to be of much use here, Lucas.”

“Don't move, don't say a word, don't even breathe if you can help it. Just give me a clear prism so that I can focus.”

Amaryllis did not hesitate. A few seconds of blind seeking, a slight sense of disorientation, and then a crystal-clear prism formed out on the psychic plane.

He sent the raw energy of his talent through it and watched with a sense of satisfaction as it separated itself into colored beams. He chose the darkest band.

And then he went to work crafting a solid brick wall across the entrance of the alley.

He heard Amaryllis draw in her breath when she saw what he was doing. He knew she must have been shocked, but her concentration did not waver.

The wall materialized out of the dark night. It matched the walls of the buildings on either side.

The running footsteps were very close now.

Lucas was torn between the necessity to work quickly and the equally urgent need to work carefully. The danger was that he could easily overwhelm Amaryllis's ability to focus if he used too much of his talent. She was full spectrum, but he was off the chart.

He was already pushing her harder than he had ever pushed a prism. But she did not waver. He used a little more talent. He knew he was going beyond the range of a class ten now.

The focus stayed steady.

Lucas took a chance and eased more power through the prism. The illusion of a brick wall became increasingly solid. It blocked the entire entrance of the alley. Lucas could no longer see the street, which meant that their pursuers could not see the alley.

The nature of an illusion was such that even a good one could not completely block out direct light. The effect was that, viewed from the alley side, the wall glowed because of the light from the street lamps. But since there was no light from the alley to pass through the illusion, the wall would appear solid when seen from the sidewalk.

At least, Lucas hoped that it appeared solid.

The other potential problem with the effect was that the “wall” had no substance. If someone tried to lean against it, he would tumble straight through and find himself in the alley with Lucas and Amaryllis.

Lucas felt sweat trickle down his back. At any second he might overpower Amaryllis. If that happened, things were going to get nasty. But even in that dire moment, a part of him took a surging pleasure in being able to use the full range of his talent for an extended period of time. The experience was intense and incredibly satisfying. Lucas reveled in it.