Orchid (25 page)

“I see.”

Silence descended. Rafe listened to it while he watched the play of emotions across Orchid's face. It should not have mattered so much that she believe him, but it did.

It did.

“How sad,” Orchid said eventually.

Rafe relaxed slightly. “From Selby's point of view, maybe it's sad. From mine, it's a major pain in the ass.”

She startled him with a grin. “Rafe, you were born to deal with major pains in the ass. In fact, I'll bet you're bored stiff when you're between pains in the ass. What do you do to amuse yourself when you don't have a pain in the ass to keep you busy?”

“Recently I've experimented with having an affair with an ice-prism.”

She gave him an ingenuous look. “Talk about a major pain in the ass.”

“On the plus side, I'm never bored.”

“Sounds a bit like dating a strat-talent. What did you accomplish on the home front today?”

Rafe's spirits were rising so quickly that he spoke before he considered his words. “I think I found the talent-prism team who tried to kill your friend Lambert yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes.” Rafe was chagrined to realize how much he enjoyed the blatant admiration in her eyes.

“That's fantastic.” Orchid leaped out of her chair and tumbled into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Brilliant work. You really are good at this kind of thing. Tell me everything.”

He grunted as her soft weight settled on his thighs.
She made an extremely pleasant lap-full but her enthusiasm warned him that he had possibly made a serious miscalculation. He had intended to handle the illusion-talent and the prism accomplice by himself. Now, he suspected, that was going to prove difficult.

“Whistler called a few minutes ago. He says there are a couple of guys who could be the ones we want working at a club in Founders' Square. I, uh, thought I'd go down tonight and catch their act. See if they're the right ones.”

“Good idea. When do we leave?”

“Not we,” he said deliberately. “Me.”

“You'll need me,” she said complacently. Then she frowned as a thought apparently struck her. “We've only seen these guys in their ski masks. How will we recognize them on a stage?”

“That won't be a problem,” Rafe said. “I'm a strat-talent, remember? I'll recognize them.”

The Icy Dicey Casino was located on one of the darker side streets of Founders' Square, well away from the brightly lit strip. On an average night Rafe would have had serious misgivings about escorting a lady into this part of town. But tonight the Founders' Day celebration was in full swing in the square. The maze of seedy lanes and shadowy alleys were unusually crowded with loud, raucous revelers.

A street band played bad ice rock on the corner. More music poured from the open doors of a nearby syn-sex club. Clusters of people dressed in first generation costumes thronged the street, making their way from one bar to the next.

As he guided Orchid through the milling crowds, he automatically assessed the attire of those around them. Without consciously thinking about it, he checked to be certain that he and Orchid fit into their surroundings. His strat-talent instincts favored camouflage and shadows.

Neither he nor Orchid wore the homespun, colonial
costumes many of the revelers favored, but Rafe was satisfied that he, at least, did not stand out in the crowd. In his dark jacket, black open-throated shirt, and black trousers he knew that he could fade into the shadows of any convenient alley on a second's notice.

He was less content with Orchid's appearance. Theoretically she should have been as unobtrusive as himself in her jeans, black T-shirt, and rumpled blazer. But he knew that he could never overlook her in a crowd or an alley and he worried that no one else could either.

He brought Orchid to a halt in front of the casino and glanced at the poster advertising the magic act of one Mr. Amazing. It was a full-color shot of a man with the too-pretty look of a fashion model. He was dressed in a snug-fitting, blue, spangled body suit and a red satin-lined cape.

The magician's flowing hair fell in rippling waves to his shoulders. Rafe figured he probably went to a high-priced hair salon. There was no way that particular shade of blonde could be natural on a man.

“Hmm.” Orchid peered closely at the center portion of the larger-than-life picture. “Mr. Amazing is pretty amazing, all right.”

Rafe realized that her attention was on the large bulge clearly revealed by Mr. Amazing's skintight blue pants. “Don't forget, he's billed as the Master of Illusion.”

“You mean I can't believe everything I see?” she asked innocently.

Rafe chose to ignore the amusement in her eyes. “We're here on business, if you will recall. I want your word of honor that you will do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“Sure.”

The too-glib response worried him. “We have an agreement, remember?” he said as he shoved open the glass doors of the casino.

“Sheesh, calm down, will you? I've promised you three times already that I'd let you take the lead
tonight.” She gave him a sidelong glare. “What's the matter with you? You sound nervous.”

“I am not nervous.” The sensation he was experiencing at the moment was merely a wholly justifiable sense of caution, Rafe told himself.

There was no reason to expect any trouble tonight. This was, in effect, a simple reconnaissance mission. They would be here only long enough for him to identify the illusion-talent and the prism while both were safely occupied on stage.

Rafe eased Orchid through the mob that clogged the gaming floor. The artificially cheerful clang and tinkle of gambling machines mingled with the reverberating throb of the music.

When they reached the entrance to the shabby show lounge, Rafe tipped the usher enough to ensure that he and Orchid would get seats reasonably close to the stage, but not in the front row. The darkness of the chamber as well as the fact that the magicians on stage would be working with the lights in their eyes would provide ample concealment, he decided.

“Do you suppose this will be one of those magic acts in which the magician chooses someone out of the audience to assist in the show?” Orchid whispered.

“Do me a favor. Don't volunteer for anything. Things could get a little awkward if the illusion-talent selects you from the audience, realizes who you are, and decides to make you disappear.”

She smiled demurely. “Would you look for me?”

“Yes. But you would not be happy to see me when I found you. I would not be in a good mood.”

The show lounge filled quickly. When Rafe took the seat next to Orchid on the aisle he could feel the excitement simmering in her. He was mildly annoyed to feel echoes of that same excitement in himself.

Orchid leaned close to murmur in his ear. “I can see why the illusion-talent and his pal are taking on
part-time work. Judging from the looks of this place, they aren't making their fortunes in the magic business.”

Rafe briefly surveyed the theater. The jelly-ice lights were turned down low for reasons other than atmosphere. The gloom hid some of the threadbare quality of the curtain and disguised the fading paint on the walls. The thin velvet cushions on the seats were stained with several years' worth of spilled drinks. He did not need para-sharpened senses to smell the underlying odor of stale beer, cheap green wine, and the unique aura of frenzied desperation that seeped in from the gambling floor.

The lights faded all the way to black. A spot blazed in the center of the red and gold curtain. An expectant hush settled over the audience. The small band struck up a brisk musical introduction. A man garbed in a flashy tux trotted out from an opening on the left-hand side of the stage.

“Happy Founders' Day, everyone,” the announcer roared at the small crowd. “The Icy Dicey Casino is proud to present our own master of illusion, Mr. Amazing with his special Founders' Day extravaganza. Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be…
amazed.”

The spotlight winked out. When it came back on a few seconds later it revealed Mr. Amazing in all his spangled glory. His long hair cascaded in thick waves to the high standing collar of his sparkling red cape.

Rafe leaned forward and rested his folded arms on his thighs.
Right size, right build. He even moved the right way.

“Rafe? Can you tell if it's him?”

He did not look at her. He was too intent on studying his quarry. “Got to be certain. Link.”

He sent out a short, probing pulse of psychic energy. His strat-talent senses fluttered. He felt the familiar wave of brief disorientation that always accompanied an initial quest.

Orchid said nothing but out on the psychic plane the
very special prism took shape. Crystal clear. Powerful. Unique. Made just for him.

With an intense feeling of satisfaction that was equaled only by the sensations he felt when he made love to Orchid, Rafe sent power through the prism.

Psychic energy sharpened all of his senses. The quality of the atmosphere around him altered. Suddenly he could see in ways that he could not explain, ways that felt utterly natural.

Ways that he had never been able to savor for more than a few seconds at a time before he met Orchid.

The darkened showroom assumed countless new dimensions. Objects that had been little more than shadows in the gloom could now be clearly discerned, not just through sight but in another, less easily described fashion. Smells sharpened and separated, revealing subtle nuances. The perfume worn by the woman in the next row made Rafe wrinkle his nose. He tuned it out. At the same time he was intensely aware of Orchid's nearness. It felt right to have her at his side, not just because they were temporarily linked on the metaphysical plane but because…

Because it felt right.

Rafe made himself push the awareness of Orchid and all of the other sensation in the lounge into the background. He concentrated on his quarry.

On stage Mr. Amazing raised his gloved hands high in a dramatic gesture, lowered them quickly and suddenly a curtain of what appeared to be crackling bands of energy materialized on the stage behind him. It shimmered grandly in an invisible breeze. Sparks snapped in the darkness.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Amazing announced in a deep voice augmented by a hidden microphone, “I give you, the Curtain as it must have looked to our noble Founders just before it closed forever.”

The semi-inebriated audience was suitably awed.
Oohs
and
aahs
rippled across the rows of seats.

Rafe listened to the voice of Mr. Amazing with para-sensitive hearing. He filtered out the distortion created by the microphone.

The same voice. He was sure of it.

“And now,” Mr. Amazing intoned, “let us see what our Curtain reveals.”

The magician moved his hands in a melodramatic gesture. A woman with long green hair materialized out of the Curtain. She wore only a silver thong and a matching bra made of translucent silver mesh. The audience was treated to the sight of a pair of enormous breasts tipped with gaily painted nipples.

“Talk about an illusion,” Orchid muttered.

Rafe ignored the comment. The woman's breasts did not interest him. His quarry was the only thing that mattered. He sifted through the scents that flowed around him in a vast sea, searching for one that was familiar.

In the world of para-heightened awareness, scent was one of the most reliable of all stimuli—easily identified, virtually impossible to disguise. The magician was already sweating in the glare of the stage lights.

A second later Rafe caught the unmistakable taint of an illusion-talent. A talent that was strikingly similar to the one he had fought the other night outside Theo Willis's house. It had to be the same man who had trapped Orchid in Morgan Lambert's kitchen with the fire illusion.

This was the enemy.

Eagerness coursed through Rafe. A deep yearning to give chase came over him. He recognized the instinct and squelched it quickly. It probably would not be a good idea to bound up onto the stage and pound Mr. Amazing into the floor in front of Orchid and the rest of the crowd. A little too primitive.

“Rafe?”

He sensed the aura of Orchid's sudden unease and knew that she had picked up some sense of his elemental desire to bring down his quarry. He hoped she wouldn't
hold it against him. She was more understanding than anyone else he had ever met when it came to the nature of his psychic talent. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure she would take a dim view of him entertaining himself with a little happy mayhem.

“It's him,” he muttered, feeling somewhat defensive.

“You're sure?”

“Of course I'm sure.”

“You don't have to snap at me.”

“I didn't snap at you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Before Rafe could think of a suitable rejoinder another assistant walked out on stage. A man this time. He was slightly shorter and not as solidly built as Mr. Amazing. His features were thin and sharp. He wore his dark, curly hair cropped close, and his costume resembled formal black evening wear.

Rafe concentrated intently for a few seconds. A sigh of anticipation escaped him when he caught the telltale traces of a familiar scent.

“The prism,” he said very softly.

The music swelled as the assistant displayed a case of throwing knives. The lady in the translucent brassiere arranged herself in an artful pose against a colorful target. Mr. Amazing selected a knife and threw it with confident skill. The point sank into the target near her head. The audience gasped. The woman smiled.

Mr. Amazing selected another knife.

Rafe cut the focus link.

“What do we do now?” Orchid whispered.

“We leave.”

Under cover of a burst of applause, Rafe reached out, took her hand, and got to his feet. He led Orchid back up the aisle to the curtained entrance of the show lounge.