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.
Chapter 16
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 dark- ness. 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 passage- way, 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.