Amaryllis (37 page)

“In my dressing room. I'm between performances. I don't go on for another hour and a half. Take a cab. That way you won't have to park on the side streets. Gets a little dangerous
around here after dark, y'know. But you'll be safe enough so long as you stay on the main strip.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can get a taxi.”

Amaryllis cut the connection and then dialed the number of a cab company.

She was on her way out the door a few minutes later when she remembered that Lucas would be calling to tell her that his dinner with Dillon was finished. He would worry if she failed to answer the phone.

She dashed back into the living room, grabbed the phone, and recorded a new message into her answering machine.

When she was done, she ran back to the door and opened it. The cab was waiting at the curb.

The strip that marked the heart of Founders Square was thronged, as usual. Although it was nearly ten o'clock, the gaudy jelly-ice lights of the clubs and casinos blazed brighter than the sun at high noon.

Amaryllis got out of the taxi in front of the SynCity Club. She glanced at the long line of cruising cabs that clogged the street. There would be no problem getting one to take her home when she had finished talking to Vivien.

“Thank you,” she said as she handed the driver his fare and what she considered a reasonable tip. “No need to wait.”

The driver scowled at the money she had thrust into his hand. “Don't worry, I won't.”

Amaryllis chose to ignore the rudeness. She had more important things on her mind. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, she made her way through the crowd to the narrow alley that led to the stage door entrance of the SynCity Club.

The massive guard who had blocked the door last time was not at his post. At least she was to be spared an unpleasant discussion about a bribe. That was fortunate. She only had a few dollars in her purse. She needed to save some cash for the cab fare home.

Amaryllis opened the stage door and stepped into the cramped corridor.

The outer door closed behind her. She paused, allowing
her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A dull rumble reverberated down the ugly green hallway. The floor trembled beneath Amaryllis's feet. It took her a moment to realize that what she heard and felt was the rumble of the music being played on stage in the club.

She turned and went down the corridor, mentally counting off the doors. The thunder of the music grew louder as she moved deeper into the bowels of the SynCity's backstage environs.

The door with the glowing purple star on it was closed. Amaryllis knocked once. There was no response.

“Ms. Huggleston?” Amaryllis put one ear to the door. “Vivien? It's me. Amaryllis Lark.”

There was still no response. The muffled roar of the music rose and fell in a throbbing wave of sound and vibration. Amaryllis wrapped her hands around the doorknob and twisted cautiously.

The door opened without protest. Amaryllis caught a faint whiff of smoke, as if someone had just lit a jelly candle.

“Vivien? I'm here.” She peered around the corner of the door.

There was an untidy bundle of purple veils lying in the middle of the threadbare carpet. It looked as if Vivien had discarded her stage costume in a hurry and left it on the floor.

Then she saw the feathery, high-heeled slippers sticking out from beneath a cascade of gossamer purple fabric. Vivien's feet were in the shoes.

“
Vivien
.” Amaryllis started forward. Her first thought was that the stripper had fallen and knocked herself unconscious.

The dressing room door swung shut behind her as she crouched beside the fallen woman. “Vivien?”

Amaryllis heard a faint squelching sound. The carpet was wet. She glanced down and saw the dark stain.

A scream rose in her throat

Blood soaked the thin carpet and several layers of veils. The puddle had its origin in the terrible black hole in the center of Vivien's forehead.

Amaryllis snatched back the hand she had been about to
place on the dead woman's shoulder. She managed to stagger to her feet. Her stomach churned. The room started to spin gently. The noise of the pounding stage music shook the walls.

She turned and ran for the door. She had to get help.

But when she opened the door she found only darkness in the hallway. Someone had turned out the weak overhead lights that had illuminated the narrow corridor.

Then she felt a faint, not unfamiliar, trickle of awareness on the psychic plane.

It was gone in an instant but not before Amaryllis recognized it. What she had sensed was the brush of a strong but unfocused talent instinctively seeking a link. It was the sort of spiking surge of energy that often occurred when a talent was tense or anxious or under stress.

Someone waited for her out there in the shadowed corridor.

In the endless heartbeat of time that it took Amaryllis to realize that there was someone lying in wait for her, she realized something else. She made a juicy target silhouetted in the dressing room doorway.

She leaped back into the tiny room and slammed the door shut. Her fingers were trembling so violently that it required two or three tries to activate the lock.

Not that it would do much good, she thought when she finally heard the bolt slide into place. The door of the dressing room was so flimsy that she could have put her own fist through it. Anyone bent on kicking his way into the room would have little trouble.

She whirled around and braced her back against the thin door, trying not to look at Vivien's body as she searched the tiny cubicle for a way out.

Her gaze fell on the bathroom door. She remembered what Vivien had said about having to share the facilities with Yolanda. There had to be a another entrance to the bathroom from the adjoining dressing room.

Amaryllis took a deep breath and made her way cautiously around the blood-soaked puddle of purple veils. She
reached the narrow bathroom door and unlatched it. The smell of smoke was stronger inside the tiny cubicle.

There was another entrance on the far side of the small functional room.

Amaryllis turned off the lights behind her and stepped into the bathroom. She shut the door to Vivien's dressing room and fumbled for the latch on the opposite door. When she opened it she found herself in darkness.

She stepped carefully into the deep shadows of the adjoining dressing room and promptly struck her foot against the leg of a table. The pounding rhythms of the music muffled both the thud and her gasp of pain.

Not daring to search for a light for fear that it would show beneath the door that opened onto the hallway, Amaryllis groped her way across the room.

Her searching fingers brushed against a knob just as a wisp of powerful talent flickered somewhere nearby. The unnerving sensation reminded Amaryllis of a film she had once seen that depicted a bat-snake using its tongue to taste the air for the scent of prey.

She wondered if the killer was deliberately using his unfocused psychic energy to try to locate her in the darkness. That fear elicited another. If she could sense his power, he might well be able to sense hers. She was a prism, not a talent, but psychic energy was psychic energy, and she produced a great deal of it when she was working. Her mind no doubt gave off whispers of power under stress, too, just as the minds of strong talents did.

She could not dither here in Yolanda's dressing room much longer. All her instincts warned her that she was being hunted. The terror of being trapped in the small chamber threatened to swamp her. She had to make her move.

She crouched low, gripped the knob, and waited until the music reached another thunderous crescendo. When the wall shuddered, she held her breath and cautiously opened the dressing room door.

Dense darkness spilled into the dressing room, mingling with the shadows that already swirled around her. The corridor lights were still off. Whoever was out there wanted the cover of night.

The urge to jump to her feet and run was a compelling one, but Amaryllis resisted it for another few seconds. She had to move slowly and she had to stay low. The killer would be as blinded as she was by the darkness, but if he sensed that she was running away down the narrow passageway, he might well try a blind shot with the gun that he had used to murder Vivien. He would most likely aim at chest height.

Trusting to the noise of the music to cover any sound she might make, Amaryllis moved out into the corridor on her hands and knees. The killer was no doubt blocking escape via the alley stage door. That left only one choice.

Amaryllis turned left and started to crawl along the dark passageway. She had no idea of where she was headed, but she knew that sooner or later the corridor had to end.

Another whisper of psychic energy slithered across her nerve endings. The killer was on the move behind her. Fear snaked through Amaryllis. She told herself she must not let it turn into panic. She had to get to safety.

The floor of the hallway pulsated with the beat of the music. The grit on the shabby carpet ground into her palms. Her knees began to burn.

Another snakelike tongue of talent flickered. Amaryllis sensed that the power was weaker this time. Different somehow. A sputtering candle compared to what she had felt earlier. She reminded herself that the ability of a talent and a prism to seek each other out for a link diminished rapidly with distance.

Amaryllis crawled faster. She willed every trace of her own power to the farthest depths of her mind.

Dillon smiled ruefully at Lucas from the other side of the restaurant table. “I told Dad the whole story.”

“I know.” Lucas cut into the slab of copper-colored fish on his plate. “Your father came to see me.”

“I was afraid of that.” Dillon's smile faded. “What did he say?”

“Tried to pay off your debt. I told him that the arrangement
was between you and me and that he wasn't involved.”

Dillon straightened in his chair. “Same thing I told him. He was pissed.”

“You want my opinion?”

“What's that?”

Lucas forked up a bite of the fish. “I think he was also impressed. Don't get me wrong, he was still furious about the debt. But he seemed to accept the fact that you had gotten yourself into the mess and intended to get yourself out.”

A gleam of hope appeared in Dillon's eyes. “You think maybe he's coming around?”

“I don't know.”

Dillon's jaw tightened. “Lucas, I want to ask you something.”

“I was afraid of that.” Lucas put down his fork. “Before you get too carried away, you should know that I'm not known for the depths of my intuition and understanding of other people. If you want to ask me about the best way to deal with your parents, be advised that I have zero experience in that kind of thing.”

“My parents are my problem. I want to ask you for a job.”

Lucas eyed him for a long, considering moment. “You're sure?”

“I'm sure. I've got to pay off my debt, and going to work for Lodestar is the best way to do it. I really want to do this, Lucas.”

“What about your parents?”

“This is something I have to do. I'll tell them my plans and hope for the best. If I wait for their approval, I'll wait forever. Dad might eventually understand, but I don't think Mom ever will. She'll always blame Lodestar Exploration for Jackson's death.”

Lucas hesitated. “Your mother will probably hate my guts if I give you a job.”

“So what else is new?” Dillon asked softly. “Let's face it, she's hated you since the day she got word that Jackson was dead.”

The bluntness of the words hit Lucas with the impact of a cold wave. “She hates Lodestar.”

“You
are
Lodestar Exploration. You always were. It was your company before Jackson met you, and it was your company after he died. She will never be able to separate the two.”

“Yeah, I know.” Why should he care, Lucas wondered. He had never really been a member of the Rye family. Just an acquaintance and business partner. Beatrice Rye's superficial kindnesses to him in the past had been acts of expediency, nothing more.

“I'm sorry, Lucas.”

“Forget it.”

“Try not to take it too personally. You know how mothers are.”

Lucas let that slide. “All right, if you want a job and you're prepared to take the heat from your folks, you've 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.