Zinnia

'Such as your trying to see his good side when it's obvious to everyone else that he doesn't have one. You know how you are when it comes to matrix-talents. You always feel sorry for them. God knows why.'

'Don't worry about me feeling sorry for Nick Chastain. I'm well aware of the fact that he can take care of himself. I promise I'll watch my step.'

'Zin, I don't want you fooling around in a murder investigation.'

'If I find anything I'll go straight to the cops. Now, enough about that. How are things going with you?'

Leo frowned at the change of subject. He raised one shoulder in a small shrug. 'Okay.'

'That doesn't sound like okay to me.'

Leo groaned. 'Uncle Stanley came to see me yesterday. Took me to lunch. Said he wanted to talk to me man-to-man.'

'Oh, dear. Same song and dance?'

'Yeah. Asked me when I was going to give up the academic world and start concentrating on preparing myself for the real world of business. Went into his usual routine.'

'You mean he pointed out that there was no serious money in teaching?'

'Yeah. Reminded me that the Spring family roots were in business. Said you were being difficult about fulfilling your responsibilities to the clan. That if you refused to contract a suitable marriage, there would be no one left but me to restore the family fortunes. Blah, blah, blah.'

'Don't listen to him, Leo.' Zinnia reached across the table to touch his sleeve. 'You're going to be a brilliant synergistic historian. It's what you were born to do. You've got a powerful psychometric-talent and an aptitude for research. It would be a crime to give up your dreams.'

Leo's mouth twisted. 'And besides, we both know I'd never make it big in the business world. Spread sheets, bottom lines, and five-year financial forecasts bore the socks off me. But the family is going to keep pushing both of us, Zin.'

'We'll stand firm.'

'Easier said than done.'

'I know.' Zinnia sighed. 'I know. But we've made it this far. We can hold out for the duration.'

'Don't count on it.'

Zinnia and Leo exchanged troubled glances. When push came to shove on St. Helens, family almost always won.

'What is it, Feather?' Nick did not look up from the computer screen on his desk.

Feather's voice emerged from the intercom only slightly more gravelly than usual. 'Hobart Batt is here, boss.'

Nick stared at the screen full of financial data in front of him. He should have been pleased that Batt had apparently moved quickly to start the matchmaking process, but for some reason, he felt a chill in his gut.

'Damn,' he said softly. 'I forgot about him. Give me a couple of minutes, then send him into the red chamber, Feather.'

'Sure, boss.'

'By the way, Feather?'

'Yeah?'

'When I'm through with Batt, ask Rathbone to come see me for a few minutes.'

'You want to talk to the head chef, boss? Something wrong in the Palace dining rooms?'

'No. It's a private matter.'

'Private?' Feather sounded confused.

'Tell him to bring some sample menus for a picnic for two.'

'A picnic?' Feather was beyond confused now. He was beginning to sound uneasy. 'You going on a picnic, boss?'

'A classy picnic. The kind you see in movies. You know, where they serve a bottle of good wine and pate and tiny little sandwiches.'

'I never been on any picnics like that.'

'Neither have I. But I'm sure Rathbone can handle it. Any chef who can get the tri-city-state award of excellence four years in a row and who could please the Founders' Club members for a decade should be able to put together a decent picnic.'

'I'll tell him you want to see him, boss.' The intercom went silent.

Nick reluctantly blanked the computer screen and got to his feet. He went to the wall and pushed the button that opened the secret panel. It slid aside with the hushed mechanical whir of a hidden motor to reveal the gilded red-and-black chamber.

Batt could not have come up with any matches yet, Nick assured himself. There were forms to be filled out. A battery of syn-psych tests to take. Everyone knew that the marriage registration process was a lengthy thorough- going business. No reputable syn-psych counselor could produce a match after a single interview.

It was too soon.

What the hell was he thinking, he wondered as he walked toward the gleaming obsidian-wood desk. He wanted Batt to move quickly. Why the cold chill?

It didn't take a matrix to answer that, he decided grimly. He took his seat behind the ornate desk. For all his planning and unwavering intentions, he didn't want to think about his future wife now that he was involved, however tenuously, with Zinnia.

The door opened. Feather's gleaming skull reflected the soft glow of the jelly lamps. He ushered Hobart, who was nattily attired in a fashionable, well-cut gray suit and a pink bow tie, into the room.

'Come in, Hobart.' Nick did not rise. 'Please sit down. I assume you're here on business?'

Hobart cleared his throat and walked nervously to the chair in front of the desk. 'I brought a questionnaire. You'll have to fill it out before I can proceed.'

'Of course. Let me see it.'

Hobart perched primly on the edge of the chair and opened his briefcase. 'It asks for details about your personal preferences, your hobbies and uh-' He glanced around the chamber with ill-concealed dismay and swallowed heavily. 'Your tastes.'

'Don't look so worried, Hobart.' Nick smiled as he took the questionnaire. 'I'm sure you'll find me a lady who won't mind my tastes. And I have no hobbies.'

'No hobbies?'

'I don't have time for unimportant pursuits.' Nick glanced through the thick questionnaire. 'Running a casino keeps me fully occupied.'

'I see.' Hobart drew himself up. 'Mr. Chastain, we really must discuss your business occupation and your unusual psychic talent.'

'What's to discuss?'

'You must understand that both are serious impediments to a successful match, especially since you have insisted upon limiting your selection to registrants from a certain social class.'

'Don't worry about it, Hobart.' Nick closed the questionnaire. 'I'm sure you'll find someone suitable for me.'

'There is one other thing, sir.'

'Yes?'

Hobart took a deep breath. 'You mentioned that you were an untested talent.'

Nick raised his brows. 'What of it?'

'Sir, I work for a very reputable marriage agency. Synergistic Connections adheres to a code of ethics. We simply cannot attempt a match unless both parties have been rated and assigned a position on the paranormal power spectrum.'

'In that case, I'm afraid you'll have to handle this match off the record, Hobart. It will be our little secret.'

'How am I supposed to convince a respectable lady to consider a match with an untested matrix-talent? It just isn't done. No family would permit such an alliance. No woman in her right mind would even think of taking such a risk.'

'You're forgetting my one great asset, Hobart.'