Amaryllis (27 page)

“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.”

“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.

“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.”

“Hello, Dillon.” Lucas met the eyes of the man seated in regal splendor behind the desk. “Chastain. It's been a while.”

“Good evening, Trent.” Nick Chastain's smile was cool. His emotionless eyes flickered toward Amaryllis. “You must be Miss Lark. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Amaryllis nodded brusquely. “Mr. Chastain.”

She decided that she did not like Nick Chastain. He was a lean, cold-eyed man who looked to be about the same age as Lucas. He gave the impression that he was a good deal more dangerous than any of the hired muscle who worked for him.

“What do you think of my decor, Miss Lark?”

“It's unusual,” Amaryllis said cautiously.

“Presumably that is a polite euphemism for tasteless, outrageous, and gaudy. Thank you. I supervised the interior design myself.” Chastain's eyes gleamed. “You must admit that it's a step above Trent's monstrosity of a house.”

“Lucas's home is virtually an historical landmark,” Amaryllis
retorted sharply. “It's a splendid example of the Early Explorations Period. It reflects the exuberant style and vitality of the era. There is no way it can be called tacky. It's beautiful.”

Lucas raised one brow but said nothing.

Nick looked at him. “She's either in love with you or she has very bad taste.”

Amaryllis blushed furiously. “You, Mr. Chastain, have exceptionally bad manners.”

Nick smiled briefly. He kept his attention on Lucas. “I'm a little surprised to see you here, Trent. I expected young Dillon to call his father.”

“Disappointed?” Lucas asked dryly.

“Somewhat,” Nick admitted.

Amaryllis glowered at Nick. “Lucas is a friend of the family. He has every right to deal with this unpleasant situation.”

Dillon's eyes flickered nervously from Lucas to Nick. “I don't get it. Why do you care who gives me the money to make good on my debt, Mr. Chastain?”

It was Lucas who answered. “Chastain prefers to take his money from people who consider themselves his social superiors. He gets a great deal of satisfaction from the fine art of putting very important people in his debt, don't you, Nick?”

Nick shrugged. “I'll admit it's a good deal more amusing than taking your money, Trent. You've never tried to pretend that you were anything but what you are, a man without family or background, just as I am. Everything you have today you earned the hard way. The Ryes, on the other hand, have always traded heavily on their family's position and connections. They prefer not to deal with our sort. Unless, of course, it's financially rewarding.”