Amaryllis

"Great advertising for Psynergy, Inc.," Byron declared. "The phone's going to be ringing all day. Every talent in town will want to hire Amaryllis."

"They can't have me," Amaryllis said. "At least not for a couple of days. Clementine said I'm not to accept any assignments today, remember? And I'll be out of town tomorrow and most of the following day."

"Oh, yeah." Byron frowned as he scanned the story of Amaryllis's adventures. "You're going to your great-aunt's birthday party, aren't you? Bet your family will be excited when they hear what you've been up to in the big city."

"Not as excited as they're going to be when I tell them that I'm getting married," Amaryllis murmured.

Byron's head snapped up abruptly. "You've been matched already?"

Clementine looked thoughtful. "Not likely. There hasn't been enough time for the agency to find a good selection of candidates for you. What are you up to, Amaryllis?"

Amaryllis braced herself. This was only the beginning, she thought. It would get worse before it got better. No one approved of runaway marriages. "I'm going to marry Lucas."

"Trent?" Clementine's jaw dropped. "Are you crazy? He's a class nine."

Byron's eyes widened. "Holy synergy. What will your family say?"

"I'll find out tomorrow," Amaryllis said.

Clementine propped one hip on Byron's desk and crossed her arms. She regarded Amaryllis with troubled eyes. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

Clementine cleared her throat. "Passion is a tricky thing. I hope you're not making the mistake of thinking that it's always linked to love. Marriage is forever, you know. You don't want to take any risks--"

The office door opened before Clementine could finish her lecture. Grateful for the interruption, Amaryllis turned to see who had entered. She stifled a small sigh when she saw Gifford.

"Good morning." Gifford was dressed in his customary silver gray suit, but his red bow tie appeared a little wilted. He nodded stiffly to Clementine, ignored Byron, and turned immediately to Amaryllis. "I've got to talk to you."

Amaryllis took a sip of coff-tea. "The last time you said that, you stuck me in the back of a limousine with a murderer."

"What's this?" Clementine gave Gifford a sharp look.

"Never mind," Amaryllis said. "It's a long story. Come into my office, Gifford."

Clementine glowered ferociously at Gifford. "Touch her and you're a dead man."

Gifford tugged slightly at his drooping bow tie. "I just want to talk to her, Clementine. It's personal. Not business. Don't worry, I won't steal her away from you."

"He knows I would never go to work for Unique Prisms," Amaryllis said.

Clementine favored Gifford with a steely smile. "Damn right, she wouldn't. Amaryllis has standards, unlike some people we could mention. She prefers to be employed by a reputable agency."

Gifford flushed and hurried past the reception desk. He followed Amaryllis into her office and closed the door with a groan of relief.

"Synergistic hell, Amaryllis, how can you stand working for an eccentric character like Clementine Malone? I can see you at Proud Focus, maybe, or even True Focus, but not this place. Malone has all the social graces of an alley cat-dog. And her taste in clothes is abominable. Worse than yours."

"I'm quite content here, Gifford. As Clementine said, I prefer a reputable agency."

"Reputable. Give me a break." Gifford rolled his eyes as he sat down in the nearest chair. "Clementine Malone can be difficult, but she is a businesswoman, I'll say that much for her. If Madison Sheffield had walked into this office looking for a prism, I have a strong hunch Malone would have found one for him."

"I disagree," Amaryllis said firmly. "Clementine runs an ethical business." She went behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands on the neat, polished surface in front of her. "Now, what was it you wanted, Gifford?"

"The cops were waiting for me when I got to my office this morning."

"I'm not surprised. They probably wanted to ask you a few questions about your association with Sheffield."

"That's putting it mildly. They grilled me." Gifford's mouth tightened. "I had to do a lot of explaining. I hope you realize that this mess could really hurt me. I've got my reputation to consider. Unique Prisms has found a very special market niche. We guarantee discretion. This kind of publicity is not good for business."

Amaryllis felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you got dragged into it."

"So am I," Gifford said with great depth of feeling. "Why the hell did you have to get involved in an investigation of Landreth's death?"

"I did what I felt I had to do. Questions arose and had to be answered."

"Only you would give a damn about the answers. Landreth was an obnoxious old busybody. Nobody liked him."

"I liked him. And so did his secretary, Irene Dunley."

"Well, let me tell you, the two of you are probably the only people on St. Helens who cared about the old bastard."

"Gifford, the man died under mysterious circumstances. Last night a woman was murdered. You can't just ignore these things because the publicity might be bad for business."

"We pay the police to look into this kind of stuff, not nosy little prisms who think they have to personally see to matters of truth, justice, and the St. Helens way."

Amaryllis sighed. "If you came here to argue synergistic ethics with me. I'm afraid you've wasted your time."

"That's not why I came here." Gifford got to his feet and began to move restlessly around the small office. "I want to ask a favor."

"What sort of favor?"

"I told the cops the basic truth about my connection with Sheffield. I said I provided him with prisms. I told them that Sheffield had not provided a certification of talent, but that I only hired full-spectrum prisms, so I assumed there would be no risk to any of my employees. How was I to know that he would start burning them out?"

"Indeed."

"Hell, that's not the point. The police aren't particularly interested in whether or not Sheffield was properly matched with the prisms he hired. It's not a crime to bum out a prism."

"True. But it's not very pleasant for the prism."

"But no permanent damage is done," Gifford insisted. "And no one is sure just what Sheffield was focusing, anyway. Even the prisms he worked with have a hard time describing his talent. Personality traits aren't psychic powers."

"I don't know about that," Amaryllis mused. "Do you recall how Professor Landreth once theorized that strong personality traits might be manifestations of psychic energy?"

"Please." Gifford held up a palm. "Don't mention Landreth's name to me. The point is. I'm an innocent victim in this situation."

"Innocent?"

"Not only innocent but a damn good citizen. I was trying to help the Founders' Values candidate. The man who would have been the people's choice for governor. Sheffield was a city-state senator who had refused testing on principle. Why should I doubt his word when he told me that he estimated his own strength at around a class nine?"

"Gifford, I don't think there's much point in this conversation. Perhaps you had better leave. I've got work to do and I'm sure you do, too."

"No, wait. I'm not finished." Gifford jerked at the knot of the red bow tie. "Look, Amaryllis, I'll level with you. I told the cops the truth this morning, I swear it. I provided Sheffield with qualified prisms. That was my only connection to him. I'm asking you as my friend and former professional colleague not to drag me any deeper into this thing."

For some reason, perhaps because she truly did bear some responsibility for involving him in the situation, Amaryllis felt another twinge of guilt. "I have no intention of doing that."

Gifford spun around, hope in his eyes. "What about Landreth's calendar? You said that the last entry indicated he had made an appointment with me. Remember? That was how you got me into this mess in the first place."