"Interesting." She swallowed heavily.
"I've been working on this hybrid for some years now." Newton looked pleased with himself. "In its natural habitat a spike-trap is rather small. The thorns can only pin insects or small birds. But my experiments have produced this version which could easily fell a medium-sized rabbit-mouse."
Zinnia eyed the massed thorns. "And do serious damage to anything larger."
"Indeed, indeed." Newton beamed. "As I said, the trick to enjoying my garden is to avoid touching anything unless you know exactly what you're doing."
"I'll keep that in mind." Zinnia made certain that she was standing in the very center of the green passageway. "Have you ever heard any rumors about Chastain's last expedition journal?"
"Journal?" Newton paused reflectively. "There must have been one, of course. After all, Chastain kept a journal for the first two expeditions. He was very meticulous in such matters. But the journal for the Third was no doubt lost when the aliens snatched him."
Zinnia had a feeling that Nick would not appreciate her informing Demented DeForest that the journal of the Third Expedition had turned up recently. She was reluctant to admit it, but it was obvious that she was wasting her time with the professor.
"You've been very helpful, sir. Thank you for answering my questions. I really should be on my way now."
"Oh, you mustn't leave before you've seen the heart of my maze, my dear. It's a very special place, if I do say so, myself."
"What's at the center?" she asked uneasily.
"My water plant grotto, of course." Newton chortled as he ambled off down a dark green passage. "Come along, my dear. I'll show it to you. I'm very proud of my aquatic specimens."
Zinnia's palms suddenly felt damp. She dried them on her jeans. "I don't have a lot of time, Professor."
"Oh, you'll have time for this, my dear." Newton disappeared around a corner. "I love to show off my grotto. Besides, you can't get back to the house without me."
"Professor DeForest, wait-"
"This way, Miss Spring." Newton's voice grew fainter.
Zinnia looked back the way she had come and realized she was completely lost. She could not identify which of the twisting corridors of green foliage had brought her to her present position. There was no choice but to follow Newton.
"Professor DeForest, I really can't stay long," she said in what she hoped was a firm voice.
"I understand, my dear." His voice grew fainter.
Zinnia took one last glance over her shoulder. It was hopeless. She would never be able to find her way out without Newton.
"Hold on, Professor, I'm coming. I can't wait to see your grotto."
She hurried around a corner and nearly collided with Newton.
"Ah, there you are." His eyes crinkled with cheery pleasure. "This way." He turned and trundled down another path. "Remember, don't touch anything."
"Believe me, I won't." Zinnia followed reluctantly. "How do you find your way through this maze?"
"Quite simple, my dear." He glanced back at her with his twinkling blue eyes. "I know my garden. Be careful of that Curtain plant. You wouldn't want to be standing too near when it closes."
Zinnia edged around a heavy, drooping cascade of leaves. She thought she heard water bubbling somewhere in the distance. An unpleasant smell of rotting vegetation wafted past her nose.
"Here we are, my dear," Newton said as he turned one last corner. "Lovely, isn't it? I spend so many enjoyable hours sitting on that stone bench over there."
Zinnia walked cautiously around the corner and saw a rocky grotto covered in slimy green moss. A pool of dark water swirled around the opening of a stony cavern and disappeared into the black interior.
Large evil-looking plants hunkered around the perimeter of the pool like so many hungry predators waiting for prey. Zinnia supposed that, given the general theme of the garden, that was not an overly imaginative image.
Greasy-looking vines trailed across the entrance of the grotto. More vegetation floated on the surface of the dark pool. Zinnia glimpsed something large and tuberous inside the cave.
"Most unusual," she said.
Newton glowed with an almost paternal pride. "Thank you, my dear. I have devoted years to my plants. They are all unique. So nice to be able to show them off once in a while."
Zinnia was about to suggest once again, in a tactful manner, that she had to leave. She paused when a thought struck her. "Professor, you must have made some notes in the course of your research."
"Indeed, indeed. A great many. Haven't looked at them for years. They're filed away in the special place where I store all of the mementos of my career in academia."
"Where is that?"
"Beneath the house in the family crypt, of course." Newton gave her a wistful smile. "The perfect place for that sort of thing. My career in academia, after all, is as dead as my relatives. And, frankly, between you and me, my dear, I much preferred my career to my family. Nasty lot."
A vision of Aunt Willy popped into Zinnia's mind. "I can sympathize with that feeling, Professor. I have one last question."
"What's that, Miss Spring?"
"You said that the University of New Portland officials were quite willing to believe that Bartholomew Chastain committed suicide."
"They accepted the story without a qualm."
"Why is that? Did Chastain have a history of psychological problems?"
"No. But he was rumored to be a matrix-talent. Everyone knows how odd they are."
It was after ten when Zinnia stepped out of the elevator and started down the hall to her loft apartment. She was exhausted. The late focus assignment had gone on much too long, as was often the case with matrix-talents. They had a tendency to lose themselves in the patterns they generated on the metaphysical plane. When that happened they enjoyed themselves so much that Zinnia hated to interrupt them. Unfortunately for them, Psynergy, Inc. billed by the hour.
This evening the client, a matrix working in the field of biological synergism, had obsessed on an elaborate array of biosyn statistics. When Zinnia had gently reminded her of the passing time, the researcher had brushed the interruption aside. She had promised that the lab would cover the cost.
Clementine would be pleased at the high bill the matrix had run up, Zinnia thought as she let herself into her loft. But right now, bed sounded far more exciting than a bonus in her paycheck. It had been a very long day.
She yawned as she reached for the light switch.
A shadow shifted in the darkness near the fireplace. Zinnia stopped yawning and prepared to start screaming.
"Tell me," Nick said from the heavy Later Expansion Period reading chair. "What in five hells made you think you would get away with it?"
"What?" She was so stunned, she could barely speak. Her hand fell away from the light switch, leaving the loft in darkness. "What do you mean?"
"It's a very well-done forgery, I'll give you that much." Nick's eyes gleamed in the shadows. "But it's a fake from first page to last."
"What are you talking about?"
"The journal, of course." His voice was infinitely soft, infinitely dangerous. "The one you so generously arranged for me to buy from Polly and Omar last night. It's a complete fraud."
Zinnia took a step forward and paused. She was too dazed to think very clearly. "How do you know that?"
"How do I know? This is how I know."
Power slammed across the metaphysical plane, a great raw surge of it.
Matrix-talent seeking a prism.
Demanding a prism.
Hunting a prism.
Summoning a prism.
Zinnia stopped breathing when she felt the questing presence of the psychic probe. There was something disturbingly familiar about it. Something that called to her as no other talent ever had. Instinctively she responded with a crystal-clear prism.