Amaryllis

Chapter 9

"This is the second date that you've managed to ruin." Lucas stood next to Amaryllis in the deep shadows of the towering university library and studied the darkened en- trance of the building that housed the Department of Focus Studies. "Don't think I'm not keeping a running score."

"Stop whining," Amaryllis whispered. "I warned yon that you wouldn't want to come along."

"Yeah, you did. Funny, I never would have guessed that you had a hobby like this."

"Like what?"

"Breaking and entering."

Amaryllis pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck with an uneasy motion. The light from the twin moons lined her delicate profile. Her expression was serious and profoundly resolute. One glance told Lucas that he didn't stand a chance of talking her out of this crazy plan.

"I'm not going to steal anything," she said. "I just want to get a quick look at Professor Landreth's calendar."

Lucas heard the thread of apprehension beneath the bravado and felt a twinge of sympathy. "Do you think they'll drum you out of the Corps of Upright Ethical Prisms if anyone finds out about this?"

"I should think that you'd be more concerned with being laughed out of the Western Islands Adventurers' Club for failing to strike the right note of devil-may-care reckless- ness."

"There is no Western Islands Adventurers' Club. I dissolved their charter in a fit of pique years ago."

"There's no Corps of Upright Ethical Prisms, either. I think it was disbanded due to lack of interest." Amaryllis glanced around. "Come on, let's go. The sooner we get into the building, the sooner we can get out."

Lucas swallowed another remark, which Amaryllis would no doubt have deemed negative, and followed her across the brick walkway. To his great relief, she did not head toward the front steps of the Focus Studies building. Instead, she led him along a shrub-shrouded path and around a corner to the rear of the department.

A moment later she came to a halt at what was clearly a service entrance. She studied the jelly-ice lock.

"With any luck, no one's changed the code since I left," she whispered.

It would all be so simple if she were unable to open the door, he thought. "Your idea of luck and mine are two different things."

"Keep watch," she hissed.

Lucas morosely did as he was told while Amaryllis punched in a series of numbers. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, campus security was lax in the extreme. He had seen no sign of a guard since they had arrived, and there was no one around now to witness Amaryllis's debut as a B&E artist.

"Ah hah."

Her soft exclamation told him that the door had opened. She stepped into the dark hall and turned to beckon him.

"Hurry," she said.

"Don't worry. I'm right behind you." Lucas moved into the hall. He pulled the door closed behind him, cutting off the weak shaft of moonlight.

The darkness in the hallway thickened abruptly. Lucas heard a soft thud.

"Ouch," Amaryllis muttered.

"What happened?"

"I forgot about the coatrack back here."

Lucas dug out a pencil-thin flashlight and switched on the narrow beam. He aimed it at the floor. "Better?"

"Much. Very clever of you to think of bringing that flashlight along with us."

"As a professional sidekick, I try to make myself useful."

Amaryllis started forward. "Professor Landreth's old office is down this hall. I hope that no one's changed the code on that door, either."

"Given the general state of security around here, I think you can count on it."

"There's never been much of a problem with crime on campus." Amaryllis paused in front of a door that had a frosted glass panel.

Lucas played the light over the name scrolled in black on the front. Euphemia Yamamoto.

Amaryllis punched in another code. The jelly-ice lock dissolved without protest. The office door opened easily when the knob was turned. Lucas saw the orderly stack of boxes against the far wall when he followed Amaryllis into the room.

"Five hells," he muttered. "There's a dozen of them. It will take hours to go through each box."

"Mrs. Dunley is a very methodical person." Amaryllis crossed the room to where the boxes were stacked against the far wall. "I know her. She'll have organized everything very precisely. All I have to do is find the one that contains the items taken directly from the top of his desk."

Lucas aimed the flashlight at the labels on the boxes. They were all clearly dated and labeled in excruciating detail. "Landreth: Private Files--Focus Studies Research Reports," "Landreth: Private Files--Case Histories of Class-Two Talents and Associated Prisms."

Lucas moved the light beam to another row of boxes and discovered more helpful labels. "Landreth: Personal Effects--Desk Drawer Number One." "Landreth: Personal Effects--Desk Drawer Number Two."

"I see what you mean," Lucas said. "Talk about a clerical mentality."

"Be grateful." Amaryllis shoved a box aside to gain access to the one behind it. "Professor Landreth always said that Mrs. Dunley had a talent for organization. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together."

Lucas flicked the light upward to get a closer look at the portrait on the wall. "Is that the great man himself?"

Amaryllis glanced at the picture. Her face softened. "Yes."

"Vivien was right. He looks like a guy whose underwear is two sizes too small."

"Don't be disrespectful."

"Yes, ma'am."

Amaryllis tugged another box forward. "Here we go. This looks like a good candidate."

Lucas moved closer to get a look at the label on the box she had uncovered. "Landreth: Miscellaneous Items from Desk."

Amaryllis started to lift the lid and suddenly hesitated. Lucas glanced at her. There was just enough light to see that she was nibbling uneasily on her lower lip.

"If you're going to search that box, then do it fast," he said roughly. "If not, let's get out of here. I don't like this situation one damn bit."

Without a word, Amaryllis gingerly removed the lid and set it aside. Lucas raised the light and aimed the beam into the open box. Neatly bundled pens, pencils, and desktop accoutrements were packed inside. A large, handsome desk calendar bound in what appeared to be very expensive Green Specter snakeskin lay on the bottom.

"Looks like being head of the Department of Focus Studies paid well," Lucas observed as Amaryllis removed the calendar. "Green Specter snakeskin doesn't come cheap."

"We took up a collection and gave him this calendar a few months before I left." Amaryllis touched the bronze-green snakeskin with reverential fingers. "It was in honor of his thirtieth year in the department. I picked this out myself. Professor Landreth was quite pleased."

Something in her voice sent a jolt of alarm through Lucas. "You're not going to cry, are you? Amaryllis, we don't have time for that. Save it."

"I'm not crying." She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she carried the calendar to the desk. "Hold the flashlight so that I can see what I'm reading."

Guilt trickled through Lucas. He had to keep reminding himself that Amaryllis had actually been fond of Jonathan Landreth. "Sorry."

"Never mind." Amaryllis smiled wryly as she opened the calendar and started to flip the pages. "Mrs. Dunley and I seem to be the only ones who had any real affection for poor Professor Landreth. I hadn't realized until lately that most of the people in the department considered him a prissy, rigid martinet."

"I guess they just didn't understand him the way you did."

"He was brilliant, Lucas. He devoted his life to furthering the study of the principles of psychic synergism. He always said that there was so much more to learn, that the swift evolution of psychic talent in humans on St. Helens was unprecedented."

"Uh hub."

"What little information we have suggests that on Earth psychic abilities were either nonexistent or so undeveloped that they were frequently dismissed as manifestations of pure fantasy by most experts."

"Yeah, right." Lucas motioned with the light. "Could you save the lecture until some other time? I don't want to hang around any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Yes, of course. Sorry." Amaryllis concentrated on the calendar. "This section covers the last few days of his life. Let's see, he was killed on the thirteenth of the month. That was a Friday."

"Figures."

She turned another page. "Here we go. These are the entries for the thirteenth. I wonder if I should take a look at the whole last week, just in case."

Lucas glanced at the entries on the pages. They had all been penned in a painstakingly precise hand. "Why don't you just take the entire calendar home with you?" He was aware of a stirring sensation on the nape of his neck. "You can study it at your leisure."

Amaryllis gave him a shocked look. "I couldn't possibly remove the calendar. That would be theft."

"Excuse me, but I'd like to point out that you're already walking a pretty fine line just being in here tonight."

Her fingers clenched around the calendar. "I'm well aware of that. But I couldn't think of anything else to do. I told you that I had to act quickly because Mrs. Dunley said that one of Professor Landreth's relatives is going to collect the boxes first thing in the morning."

"Yeah."

"It was not an easy decision to come here tonight. But I finally decided that it was a question of priorities. I felt that the importance of the investigation of the professor's death outweighed--"

"Could you save that speech for later, too?"

"Lucas, is something wrong?"

"Other than the obvious?" Lucas let his senses float, widening his awareness the way he did when he was in the jungle. "Maybe. I don't have a good feeling about this."

"You're nervous. I knew I shouldn't have involved you." Amaryllis bent over the last entries in the calendar. "Most of these notes were made by Professor Landreth himself. I recognize his handwriting. He paid close attention to his schedule."

"Hooray for him. I let my secretary handle my calendar." He followed her fingertip as she read off the entries.

"Nine o'clock. Test Results Meeting." Amaryllis frowned. "That was a regular weekly event here in the department. Nothing out of the ordinary. Eleven o'clock, departmental budget review. Noon, lunch with Professor Wagner. Wagner is with the history department. An old friend. Three o'clock--"

Lucas glanced at the name that had brought Amaryllis to a screeching halt. Gifford Osterley. Before he could comment, a jolt of warning flashed through him. He switched off the light.

"Lucas?"

"Quiet. I think I heard someone. Security guard, probably." He took her arm and edged away from the desk.

Amaryllis did not argue. He heard her close the calendar very quietly. He plucked it from her hand and used his sense of touch to return it to the open box. Then, guided mostly by feel, he found the lid and replaced it.

He had good night vision, but even for him the secretary's office was as black as the inside of a cave. A light appeared through the frosted pane of glass in the door. Someone with a flashlight was coming down the hall. Whoever it was, he moved with the brisk, confident pace of a person who had every right to be where he was.

University security had finally put in an appearance.

With one hand wrapped around Amaryllis's arm, Lucas relied on his jungle-honed sense of orientation to guide him to the solid paneled door of the inner office. He had noted its location earlier, just as he had automatically made a mental map of the position of everything else in the room. After a lifetime in the Western Islands, a man got very good at that kind of thing.

A soft, scraping footstep sounded in the outside hallway. Lucas felt Amaryllis flinch. He drew her into the second office and gently closed the door.

There were windows in this room. A pale swath of moonlight slanted across the desk. Keeping his grip on Amaryllis's arm, Lucas urged her across the office. He set his teeth as he eased open one of the windows.

There was no squeak.

"Out," he whispered. "Hurry."

He bundled her through the window. She scrambled awkwardly but silently over the sill. He heard her land softly on the ground.

The door of the outer office opened. The beam of light appeared beneath the door of the inner office. Lucas put one leg over the sill. If the guard was the meticulous type, he would check the second office, too. Lucas figured he had about three seconds.

He slipped through the window.

Amaryllis grabbed his hand. Together they crossed the lawn, bugging the shadows of a tall hedge. Then they hurried to the safety of the leer, which Lucas had parked behind a large storage facility.

"Whew." Amaryllis collapsed into the passenger seat as Lucas got in beside her and activated the engine. "That was a close one. I didn't know that university security checked inside the buildings. I assumed that the guards just pa- trolled the grounds."

"You want a professional tip?" Lucas did not turn on the leer's headlights as he drove past the library. "Never assume anything when you plan a fun-filled evening like this."

Amaryllis didn't surface from the depths of her uneasy thoughts until Lucas drove through a set of elaborately designed gates. He guided the leer slowly down a narrow drive. It took her a moment to realize that he had not taken her home. She gazed around in wonder as the car wended its way through the heart of a strange garden.

Unfamiliar trees with massive leaves loomed on either side of the drive. They formed a thick canopy that blocked out most of the moonlight. The headlights revealed glimpses of exotic foliage that looked dense enough to serve as a wall. Plants with broad leaves edged with what looked like golden fringe dipped and swayed. Here and there flowers glowing with surreal colors appeared and disappeared in the lights.

"I've never seen anything like this," Amaryllis whispered. "It looks like a giant's garden. Everything is oversized. It doesn't look real."

"The last owner of the house was a class-seven horticultural talent. He used the gardens for his botanical experiments. I bought the place because it reminds me of the islands."

A colonnade of massive fern-trees ended in front of a house that was as bizarre as the gardens. Amaryllis studied it with open-mouthed amazement. Moonlight gleamed on delicate spires, fluted columns, and tall towers. The style was unmistakable. The mansion dated from the Early Explorations Period, which made it nearly a hundred years old.

The first long-distance voyages through St. Helens's un- charted seas had been undertaken during that era. Enthusiasm, optimism, and expectations had run high, and the mood of the times had been reflected in the soaring architectural styles.

Amaryllis eyed the elaborate waterfall of steps that led to the heavily carved front doors. This was Lucas's home. She had never envisioned him living in such a fantastical creation. And yet, in some strange manner, it suited him. He was a man apart, and his residence was definitely apart from the ordinary, too.

"How do you find the time to take care of this place?" Amaryllis asked.

He smiled fleetingly. "I don't. I pay people to do it. A team of gardeners handles the outside, and I have a staff of housekeepers who come in during the day."

Amaryllis blushed at her naïveté. "I keep forgetting you're rich." She cleared her throat. "I'm surprised someone hasn't tried to get you to open the house and grounds for guided tours."

"The Preservation Society made a stab at it. You know what those folks are like. Anything over fifty years old is an historical monument to them. I told them that if the bottom ever fell out of the jelly-ice business. I'd contact them and we'd talk about paid tours then."

Silence fell.

"I should go home," Amaryllis finally said. "I have to do some thinking."

"About Gifford Osterley?"

She froze. "You saw his name on the calendar?"

"I grew up in a jungle, remember?" His smile held little humor. In the shadows his eyes gleamed with watchful speculation. "I was trained to be observant at an early age."

"Naturally." She couldn't think of anything to say.

Lucas opened the leer's door. "Come inside, Amaryllis. I think we'd better talk."

"I don't know why his name was on Professor Landreth's calendar." Amaryllis paced back and forth across the high-ceilinged, old-fashioned living room. "I can't even come up with a likely explanation. According to my friends in the department, Gifford and Landreth had a major confrontation a couple of months ago. Gifford handed in his resignation because of it. Lucas, there are so many questions."

"Here." Lucas thrust a small glass into her hand. "Drink this."

Amaryllis frowned at the dark, intensely aromatic liqueur. "What is it?"

"Moontree brandy."

She hastily clutched the glass with both hands. "Good heavens, that must have cost a fortune."

Lucas's mouth curved faintly. "Don't worry, I save it for special occasions."

"Oh." She sniffed cautiously at the exotic brandy. "Well, thank you. You really shouldn't have."

Moontree brandy was a near-legendary liqueur, so far as Amaryllis was concerned. Certainly no one back home in Lower Bellevue ever had a bottle of it stashed in a cupboard. The production of the brandy was extremely limited be- cause the tree produced fruit only on the rare occasions when both Chelan and Yakima were in total eclipse.

The botanists had not yet been able to explain the exact nature of the synergistic reaction between the eclipsed moons and the tree. All attempts to grow the moontree under controlled conditions had failed.

"Sip slowly," Lucas advised. "The stuff has a kick."

"So I've heard." Amaryllis took a tiny taste--and promptly gasped for breath as a fierce rush of heat filled her mouth. The heady warmth was immediately followed by an equally luscious sweetness.

Lucas leaned back against a table and crossed one ankle over the other. "Like it?"

"It's... interesting." Amaryllis resumed her pacing.

"You're going to talk to Osterley, aren't you?"

Amaryllis stopped in front of the window. She looked out into the eerie garden. "Yes."

"I don't suppose it will do any good to tell you that I don't think that's a real bright idea."

"I have to talk to him, Lucas."

"Why?"

"Because he may have been the last person Professor Landreth spoke with before he died."

There was a clink as Lucas set his brandy glass down on the table. He crossed the room and came to stand behind Amaryllis. "This has gone far enough. Stay out of it. It's not your job to investigate Landreth's death."

"I can't stop now," she whispered. "Ever since I sensed that prism working with Sheffield, I've had a nasty feeling about this whole situation. Call it prism intuition."

"I prefer to call it a lack of common sense. I've said it once, and I know it probably won't do any good, but I'll say it again. Talk to the cops if you really believe that Landreth's accident needs more investigation."

"I can't go to the police until I have something substantial to give them."

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. "Are you sure there isn't another reason why you don't want to talk to the authorities?"

"What are you implying?"

"I think you want answers. But I'm beginning to wonder if you're afraid of what you'll discover. Are you worried that someone you know might be involved in this?"

"Do you really think that I'd avoid going to the authorities in order to protect someone?"

"If you cared about that person, yes." Lucas framed her face with his hands. His thumbs moved along the line of her jaw. "I think your sense of loyalty is even stronger than your sense of professional responsibility."

"This is not your problem, Lucas."

"The hell it isn't." He covered her mouth with his own before she could protest.

The following morning Amaryllis was ushered into Gifford's plush offices. At the sight of her, he rose politely from behind his desk.

"Hello, Amaryllis. This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Unique Prisms? Looking for a job?"

"No. This is a private matter."

"Interesting." Gifford motioned toward a chair. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you." Amaryllis studied him covertly as she took the chair.

She had always considered Gifford a handsome man, and nothing had changed in his physical appearance during the past six months. But for some reason, he no longer seemed nearly as attractive as he once had. There was an aura of weakness about his well-chiseled features, a languid, self- indulgent quality that she had not been conscious of when she worked at the university.

Perhaps she had been too much in awe of his research accomplishments in the old days, she reflected. Next to Professor Landreth, Gifford had been the most esteemed scholar in the entire department. No one could dispute his academic abilities.

His eyes were a riveting shade of blue. He had taken to wearing his light brown hair in the Western Islands style. It was tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of black ribbon. Amaryllis was beginning to think that Lucas was the only man in New Seattle who didn't wear his hair in the new fashion.

She had to admit that Gifford was in excellent shape, perhaps even leaner than when she had last seen him. She wondered if he still played golf-tennis on a regular basis. She glanced at his well-manicured hands and noticed that they also appeared soft. The only calluses Gifford had ever known were the ones he got from his golf-tennis racket.

My, she was getting picky these days, she thought wryly. There was a time when she would have found his hands attractive.

The biggest difference in his appearance was his attire. Gone was the slouchy jacket, the denim trousers, and the running shoes that were de rigueur among faculty members at the university. Today Gifford was a model of executive style in a silver gray suit and a pale gray shirt. A red bow tie added just the right note of whimsical, rakish elegance.

Amaryllis smiled. "You're dressing better these days, Gifford."

"I can afford it."

Amaryllis glanced around at her surroundings. The office complemented the man. A pale gray carpet and sleek black furnishings comprised a suitable backdrop to the power suit. Red flowers in a red vase provided an exclamation point to the room. The dramatic effect was not unlike that of the red bow tie on Gifford's silver gray suit.

"Congratulations." Amaryllis settled into the expensive office chair. "I take it business is good?"

"Very good." Gifford chuckled as he resumed his seat. "I don't miss academia, that's for sure. Should have left the faculty years ago. Don't know why I waited so long. What can I do for you, Amaryllis?"

"I'll come straight to the point. Did you see Professor Landreth the day of his death?"

Gifford blinked, clearly startled, then his expression grew thoughtful. "That's an odd question. Why do you want to know?"

"Last Friday night I got a phone call. Anonymous. The caller implied that there was some mystery surrounding Professor Landreth. I decided to look into the matter."

"Since when do you do security work? That sounds like a job for the cops."

"Their investigation turned up no indication of foul play."

"Most likely because there wasn't any foul play," Gifford muttered. "The only one who might think there was some- thing suspicious about Landreth's death was his secretary. Irene Dunley had a crush on him for years. She's probably having a tough time accepting the fact that he's gone."

It was Amaryllis's turn to blink. "I know Mrs. Dunley was very loyal to Professor Landreth. Fond of him, even. But what makes you think that she was in love with him?"

Gifford grimaced. "I walked into her office one day right after you left the faculty. She was in tears. She had just learned that Landreth had some kind of standing appointment with a sleazy syn-sex stripper who works in a club in Founders Square. I think she had found a note about one of his appointments and had been curious enough to call the number. You know what they say about curiosity."

Amaryllis was speechless.

Gifford was amused. "What's the matter? Can't imagine old Landreth with a syn-sex stripper? Don't you know that the prudish, straitlaced types always turn out to have the most interesting tastes when it comes to sex?" His mouth twisted. "Present company excepted, of course."

Amaryllis kept her shoulders very straight. She would not allow herself to be embarrassed by Gifford. He was the one who should have been ashamed of himself. "Will you please answer my question? Did you see Professor Landreth that day?"

"It's none of your business, but the answer is no, I did not see him."

"According to his calendar, he had an appointment with you for three o'clock."

"Did Mrs. Dunley tell you that?"

"No. I saw the calendar entry myself. Your name was written in Professor Landreth's own hand."

"Was it? I can't imagine why. He and I had absolutely nothing to say to each other. In case you didn't hear about it, the two of us nearly came to blows a couple of months ago. I resigned my position in the department because of that old bastard."

"Why did you dislike him so much?"

"Are you kidding?" Gifford raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let me count the ways. Landreth may have been a good researcher at one time, but he had been past his prime for years. He refused to move with the times. His methods were antiquated, to say the least. He wouldn't allow even minor changes in the way things were done in the department. And he was obsessed with his damned professional standards."

"He had every right to be obsessed with standards," Amaryllis retorted. "Professor Landreth virtually wrote the Code of Focus Ethics. He was almost single-handedly responsible for raising our profession to its present high regard. Why, if it hadn't been for him, you probably wouldn't be sitting behind that desk in this plush office."

Gifford shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit, have you. Pity. I would have thought that six months in the real world would have polished off some of the prissy naïveté."

Amaryllis clutched her purse tightly and stood. "You're certain you didn't see Professor Landreth the day he died?"

"Positive. Believe me, I would have gone out of my way to avoid a meeting with the old coot. He was the last man on St. Helens I wanted to see."

The world seemed to be full of people who had never cared for Jonathan Landreth. Amaryllis turned without a word and strode to the door.

"Amaryllis?"

She paused, one hand on the knob. "Yes?"

"I saw your picture in the paper. You were with Lucas Trent at the museum reception last Thursday night."

"What about it?"

Gifford gave her a knowing look. "I'm assuming it wasn't an agency date, although that was the implication. You and Trent aren't a very likely pair. So it must have been business. Were you focusing for him that night?"

"I don't discuss clients."

"So it was business." Gifford nodded, apparently satisfied. "I thought as much. Word has it that Trent is a class nine, but the poor guy's just a detector. What was it, some kind of security matter?"

"I said, I don't discuss business."

Gifford gave her a goading smile. "Did he suspect that some arch criminal talent was plotting to steal those artifacts he discovered? Or was it closer to home? I hear one of his vice presidents just left the company with no notice. Someone named Miranda Locking."

No one had ever said that Gifford was stupid, Amaryllis reminded herself. "You're awfully well informed."

"I make it a point to be informed," Gifford said softly. "It's good for business."

"Excuse me. I've got another appointment." Amaryllis opened the door.

"One more thing, Amaryllis. If you ever decide that you want to make some real money in the focus game, you're welcome to apply for a position here at Unique Prisms. I pay top dollar. You can make as much money in six months working for me as you'll make with Clementine Malone in a year."

Logic and intuition came together in a flash of under- standing. "It was one of your people who was working with Senator Sheffield the night of the reception, wasn't it?"

"How did you know about Sheffield?" Gifford's eyes narrowed. "Did Trent use his talent to spy on him?"

"I learned about Senator Sheffield's talent quite by accident." She could be cool and obscure, too, Amaryllis thought. "He's strong, isn't he? A class ten?"

"Who knows? He refuses to be tested." Gifford's smile came and went. "Claims it's an invasion of privacy. Says the founders would never have tolerated such a blatant intrusion on the rights of the individual."

"So, it was one of your people holding the focus for him that night. That explains a few things."

"What are you talking about?"

"I knew I recognized the prism's style and technique," Amaryllis said. "I thought at first that it must have been someone Professor Landreth had trained, but it could just as well have been someone you trained. Your techniques would have a signature very similar to Landreth's because Landreth trained you."

"You know, Amaryllis, you really should consider my offer of a job. We run a very exclusive service here at Unique Prisms. We're highly selective when it comes to our clients."

"Selective?" Amaryllis asked coldly. "Or unethical?"

Gifford gave her an inquiring look. "Are you accusing me of not upholding the code, my dear Amaryllis? I'm deeply wounded."

"One of your prisms helped Sheffield focus charisma the other night."

"Everyone knows that charisma is not a psychic talent. Just a personality trait." Gifford spread his hands. "What can I say? Sheffield has terrific voter appeal."

"You can call it anything you like. All I know is that Sheffield is a powerful talent. He may very well have been using that talent to get campaign contributions."

"So? That's what politicians do."

"He burned out his prism, Gifford. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"There are risks in every business. Prism burnout is a short-term problem."

"Focusing a talent with the intent to defraud is not just unethical, it's illegal."

Gifford's smile did not reach his eyes. "I repeat, charisma is not a talent. It's not listed in any professional directory of talents. It has never been documented as a psychic ability. It's just a personality trait. Rather like your prissy views on sex and prism ethics."

Amaryllis flushed. "I think I understand why you and Professor Landreth never got along very well, Gifford. Professor Landreth, after all, was a gentleman."

"Such a gentleman that he kept a weekly standing appointment with a syn-sex stripper?"

Amaryllis went out the door and closed it quietly behind herself.