got it. Check in with Lodestar employment tomorrow.'
'Thanks.' Dillon grinned. 'Hot synergy, this is great. I can't wait to get out to the islands.'
'Just one small helpful hint before you go.'
'What's that?'
Lucas surveyed Dillon's stylish Western Islands attire. 'Don't take those clothes with you. Nobody dresses like that in the islands. You'll get laughed out of Port LeConner. Wait until you get there and buy local.'
Dillon laughed. It was the exuberant laugh of a young man looking forward to an exciting future. It made Lucas feel good for some reason.
An hour later Lucas paused by a public phone on the way out of the restaurant. He dialed Amaryllis's number, hoping that she would still be awake. He wanted to talk to her. More and more he found himself wanting to share things with her. Tonight he wanted to tell her about Dillon.
Instead, he got a message on her answering machine: 'This is Amaryllis Lark. I am not able to come to the phone right now. If this is Lucas, I'm in Founders Square. Vivien called and told me she wanted to talk. Don't worry, I took a cab. I'll call and tell you all about it when I get home.'
'Damn.' Lucas slammed down the phone.
Dillon glanced at him. 'What's wrong?'
'I have to go to Founders Square.' Lucas headed for the front door. 'Don't forget. Report to employment tomorrow.'
'Don't worry,' Dillon called after him. 'I won't forget.'
Without warning, a fresh surge of fierce, questing talent swept out of the darkness behind Amaryllis.
This was a new talent, not the one that had been hunting her.
Strong power searched for a prism and
Lucas. He was somewhere in the building.
Amaryllis crouched between what seemed to be two large wooden crates and almost sobbed with relief. The brief flare of hot talent winked out of existence before she could unlock her own damped down power.
Frustrated by having missed the opportunity to link with Lucas, she fought the compulsion to rise to her feet and scream his name aloud. Even as the dangerous thought occurred to her, she experienced another brush from a slimy tongue of talent.
The killer was still here with her in the darkness.
Amaryllis forced herself to think. She had to let Lucas know that she was nearby. She readied herself so that she would be able to link with him the next time he sought her out.
It occurred to her that there might be some risk involved in using her prism capabilities to identify herself to Lucas.
She had no fear that the murderer would seize the link during those first few seconds of disoriented vulnerability. In spite of her affection for psychic vampire romances, she was too well schooled in the focus sciences to believe that a rogue talent could actually take control of her.
The real hazard in linking with Lucas right now was that the killer might be able to get an approximate fix on her location during those few seconds when her mind was open.
But she had to do something, Amaryllis thought. If Lucas did not find her with his psychic search, he might conclude that she had left the building. He would never know about the danger that was closing in on her.
Lucas's dark whisper of power unfurled through the shadows once more. Amaryllis mentally leaped for it, caught it as if it were a swinging trapeze, and formed the link. Talent surged through a prism in a display of chaotic light. Amaryllis wondered if this was the psychic color of relief or anger or frustration. There was no way to tell. But at least Lucas now knew she was nearby.
It was unfortunate that there was no such thing as telepathy, she thought. It would have been very useful to be able to have a quick chat with Lucas at that particular moment.
She was trying to think of a way to use the psychic connection to warn him of danger when the scent of a man's Cologne wafted toward her through the shadows. It shattered her concentration so completely that she dropped the link.
The booming music masked sound but not smell. The masculine fragrance drifted past her nose again. It was vaguely familiar. Definitely not Lucas. He did not use any Cologne.
The killer was close. Much too close. She wondered if he could smell the fear she knew she must be exuding like some dreadful perfume of her own.
She put out a hand, groping cautiously for something that she could use as a weapon. There was nothing on the floor beside her. With the music as a cover for any sound she might make, she rose slowly to her feet and felt for one of the crates.
The lid on the nearest one was open. There were objects inside. Hard objects.
Amaryllis selected one at random. She had no idea what it was, only that it seemed to be made of metal and it fit her grasp.
She sensed rather than saw something move in front of her. The smell of the expensive Cologne was very strong in her nostrils.
She swung wildly with the long, heavy object that she had taken from the crate. Her makeshift weapon thudded against flesh.
'Uuumph.'
Amaryllis did not wait to see the results of her handiwork. She dropped the metal object and bounded forward into the shadows. Her toe caught on something, a foot, perhaps. There was a muffled curse. She leaped aside and nearly fell.
She was totally disoriented in the darkness. The roar of the music was her only guide. She went toward it, hands outstretched to ward off any collisions with crates, stage props, or killers. She came to a jarring halt when one palm touched stone.
A wall.
Using her sense of touch, she made her way along the stone barrier. The music grew louder. She turned a corner and saw a sliver of light beneath a heavy blue stage curtain. The music was thundering in her ears now.
At that moment Lucas attempted another mind link. She knew from the strength of his energy thrust that he was very, very close. Amaryllis responded as she fumbled to find an opening in the curtain.
She felt a hemmed edge and yanked it aside.
Intense white light blinded her. The music was deafening.
Amaryllis blundered out onto the stage, blinking furiously against the brilliant light. The drummer saw her first. He shouted something at her, but she could not hear a word he said.
Two couples, one garbed in matching black leather and hoods, the other nattily attired in a few strategically placed silver sequins, simulated some very energetic sexual gymnastics at the front of the stage. Moans of excitement emanated from the audience.
Two handsome young men in red tights and flowing blond hair stood in one corner of the stage. Their faces were contorted with grimaces as they did an excellent impression of focusing the sexual energy that was being expended on stage.
It was obvious from the feverish sounds produced by the audience and the rising throb of the music that a climax, both literal and figurative, was close at hand.
Amaryllis ran to the front of the stage. The performers ignored her as she came to a halt in their midst. She frantically waved her arms to get their attention.
'Stop. Stop. There's been a murder. A killer is loose in the building.' She realized that no one could hear her above the relentless music. '
The audience, apparently concluding that she was part of the act, went into a frenzy. The performers rose to the occasion in several senses of the word. Sequins and portions of black leather underwear fell to the stage at Amaryllis's feet. The musicians redoubled their efforts.
Out of the corner of her eye, Amaryllis saw a figure stagger through the dark blue curtain and emerge onto the stage. He stood there, dazed and blinking in the unrelenting glare. He clutched his shoulder with one hand. His hair was standing on end, and his elegant suit was rumpled, but there was no mistaking his identity.
