imprison it with his own talent. The experts said it could not be done. It was only in novels that powerful talents could become psychic-vampires capable of holding a prism captive. But in that moment Nick was willing to try anything to hold on to this amazing creation.
He exerted every ounce of will and psychic energy he possessed. Power flooded the psychic plane in rippling waves of energy, surrounding the prism.
He had it.
The prism no longer continued to fade. Nick secured it with manacles of raw energy. It was his. He could not believe his prize. Awe swept through him.
'Mr. Chastain?' Hobart blinked several times and got to his feet. 'Mr. Chastain, are you all right?'
Nick ignored the interruption. He was fully occupied holding on to his precious captive. The prism suddenly glittered with a furious energy, as if the person who had crafted it had realized the peril. But it did not vanish. It could not vanish. He held it fast in psychic chains.
He poured talent through the crystal construct, exulting in the rush of raw power. He had never been able to use his talent at full strength this way. It felt incredibly good, incredibly satisfying.
He could go on like this all night, not using his talent for any particular purpose, simply enjoying the process of exercising it. His fears of impending insanity vanished. This link felt right.
Without warning the focus shifted ever so slightly. The facets of the prism twisted and realigned themselves. The energy waves that Nick was forcing through it were suddenly skewed.
Psychic pain crashed through him. He realized that the woman who had created the prism had to be in similar agony.
What in the name of the five hells was he doing? Rational thought finally cut through the whirlpool of sexual and psychic hunger.
He was no vampire.
He forced himself to cut off the flow of talent. The prism winked out of existence.
The reality of the physical plane settled around him.
'Don't worry, Mr. Chastain.' Hobart was halfway to the door. 'I'll fetch help.'
'Sit down.' Nick closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.
'You're having an attack of some sort. I really think I should call someone.'
Nick narrowed his gaze. 'Sit. Down.'
Hobart's hands trembled. He made his way slowly back to his chair and sat down.
'There's nothing wrong.' Nick pulled himself together and glanced surreptitiously around the chamber.
Everything appeared to be normal. He certainly did not feel crazy. He wondered if these things started with brief flashes of madness and slowly grew worse over time.
No, damn it, he was not going insane. He felt fine. Never better, in fact, if he discounted the lingering ache of sexual desire. His memory was perfectly clear. His brain was sharp. He could summon his matrix-honed powers of logic and reason and self-control without effort.
No problem.
He analyzed the situation quickly. Obviously his psychic probe had accidentally brushed up against a very, very powerful prism. Whoever she was, she was so strong that she could link with him even though she was not in the immediate vicinity.
Furthermore, she was an extremely rare type of prism, one that could tune itself perfectly to matrix energy waves.
She had to be somewhere nearby, Nick thought. Right here inside the casino. No prism could be strong enough to reach him from the street outside.
Nick shoved his fingers through his hair and forced himself to analyze the logic of the matrix. They weren't supposed to exist, but he knew for a fact that there were a few off-the-scale talents. He was one of them. He also knew that there were some prisms whose powers went beyond full-spectrum, even though the experts denied it. A few months ago his friend Lucas Trent, a super-powerful illusion-talent, had found himself just such a prism named Amaryllis Lark.
Tonight, Nick knew, he had discovered another. He had to find her.
The casino security system was first-class, he reminded himself. One of the cameras would have caught the mysterious prism when she entered the building. The thought that he had her face on tape brought a wave of relief.
One way or another he would discover her identity.
Things were under control.
In the meantime, he had to deal with the business of getting himself married. Nick clamped down the iron restraints of his willpower and looked at Hobart.
'Mr. Batt, you force me to tell you some details of my situation that I would have preferred to keep confidential.'
Hobart looked more nervous than ever. 'Details?'
'You have asked me why I don't simply go downtown to the offices of Synergistic Connections and register like other people. There are some reasons why it would not do me any good to go the normal route.'
'I see.' Hobart coughed slightly. 'What reasons would those be, Mr. Chastain?'
Nick smiled humorlessly. 'For starters, you may have noticed that I own and operate a casino. How many of New Seattle's fine, upstanding families would want one of their daughters to marry a man in my profession?'
Hobart flushed. 'I admit your, uh, choice of occupation would not be acceptable in some circles. But, uh, unless you intend to confine your search for a bride to the daughters of the most socially prominent families-'
'I do, Mr. Chastain. I most certainly do intend to marry a woman from one of New Seattle's most elite families.'
'Oh, my.'
'I have a few other small problems, Mr. Batt. I trust you will view them as challenges.'
Hobart closed his eyes. 'Yes, Mr. Chastain?'
'I'm an untested, unclassified talent,' Nick said gently.
Hobart did not open his eyes. 'Would you consider getting yourself rated?'
'No.'
Hobart groaned and opened his eyes. 'Synergistic Connections only handles classified talents and prisms. Psychic-power-level compatibility between two people is just as important to a successful marriage as other types of compatibility.'
'You'll have to work without a rating for me.'
Hobart's hand fluttered. 'But it will be extremely difficult to find anyone who will marry an untested talent.' He brightened. 'Unless, of course, you know for certain that you possess only a minimal amount of power.'
'I'm afraid I'm not a weak talent.'
'I see.' Hobart gripped the arms of his chair. A hunted expression appeared in his eyes. 'Precisely what sort of talent do you possess, Mr. Chastain?'
'I'm a matrix.'
Hobart collapsed in despair. 'A powerful, untested matrix-talent who wishes to marry into prominent circles. Impossible. It can't be done. No offense, sir, but no one in the better social classes will want you in the family.'
'I find that money can often smooth the way in those circles just as it does at every other social level.' Nick paused. 'I have a great deal of money, Batt.'
Hobart licked dry lips. 'You said there were other problems?'
'Challenges, Hobart. Not problems. A marriage counselor must think positive. The last of the challenges I expect you to overcome is that I'm a bastard.'
'I'm well aware of that-' Hobart broke off abruptly. He turned an unpleasant shade of pink. 'I see. You meant it literally?'
'Yes. My parents were never married. My father was a Chastain. He died before I was born. I'm related by blood to the Chastains of Chastain, Inc. here in New Seattle but they like to pretend that I don't exist. I have no respectable family connections at all.'
'Good grief.'
