After a brief struggle, however, he managed to subdue the heady sensation long enough to get himself as far as Zinnia's kitchen sink.
"Don't you feel it?" he asked.
"What? The focus link? Sure." She reached for his hand and held it under the running water. "You're very strong, aren't you?"
"Yes." He had meant the feeling of intense intimacy, not the power of the link. Perhaps she didn't experience the connection the way he did. The possibility that the shattering sense of closeness was only happening on his side triggered a wave of melancholy. "I don't know what class. The official paranormal spectrum scale isn't accurate for matrix-talents."
"Speaking as a full-spectrum prism who's had a fair amount of experience with matrix-talents, I can tell you that you're way over a ten." She met his eyes. "As I'm sure you're well aware."
There was no point trying to pretend that he was normal. "I guess so." He leaned back against the counter and savored the flow of his own power on the metaphysical plane while Zinnia rinsed his hand.
He watched, enthralled, as she cradled his fingers in hers. Her hand was beautiful. A model of exquisite evolutionary forces. He could trace the whole history of human development in the pattern of the delicate bones beneath her incredibly soft skin.
"I assume you've never been tested?" Zinnia asked crisply.
"No." He was fascinated by the pattern of the pooling water in the bottom of the sink. "Some researcher probably would have leaked the results. Wouldn't have been good for business."
She smiled wryly. "I don't doubt that. Being a matrix is questionable enough in the eyes of most people. Being an off-the-chart matrix is the stuff of psychic vampire novels."
"Yes." He pushed more power through the prism and deliberately used it to study the intricate design of the drops of water that splashed onto the tile around the sink. He could see an entire mathematical universe in them.
"Speaking of which," Zinnia continued. "I've read every psychic vampire romance Orchid Adams has ever written but you're the first genuine PV I've ever worked with. If Clementine finds out about this, she'll want me to charge extra."
He jerked his eyes up to meet hers. She couldn't possibly be joking. "Reading novels about mythical monster matrix-talents and rolling dice at a casino run by one are two entirely different things," he said.
"True. Most people would be extremely wary of gambling in a place where the owner was capable of tampering with the laws of chance."
"Don't have to tamper with them," he muttered. "They naturally favor the house. Just ask any synergistic probability theorist."
He took a deep breath and was able to reassert some of his normal control. Thankfully, the slightly inebriated sensation was fading. He was still moving power through the prism at full charge, but he was no longer quite so enthralled with himself. The disturbing sense of intimacy persisted, however. He had a fierce erection.
"I believe you." She turned off the faucet and handed him a paper towel. "I'm sorry the journal was a fraud, Nick. But I had nothing to do with it. I was only trying to help. I don't appreciate your attitude tonight. I don't like people trying to intimidate me."
The prism began to fade. Nick realized that she was cutting the flow of her own power. "No, wait." Instinctively he tried to surround the prism with chaotic waves of unfocused talent.
"Don't you dare try to jump me the way you did the other night in the casino." Zinnia glowered. "I don't know which one of us is the stronger but I'm in no mood to find out tonight."
"And you say I'm intimidating." He wrapped the paper towel around his hand and reluctantly stopped projecting his talent. He watched wistfully as the beautiful prism winked out on the metaphysical plane. "I'm sorry about what happened the other night. You took me by surprise."
"I took you by surprise? How do you think I felt?"
"It won't happen again," he promised.
"It better not."
He looked at her. "What was it you did to the prism when you tried to get free?"
She hesitated. "To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It was instinctive. I didn't think about it."
"You twisted the focus somehow."
She shrugged. "Maybe it's the flipside of being able to focus for matrix-talents in the first place. A built-in defense mechanism."
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"
She smiled as she turned away to pour more wine. "Because I know you aren't crazy."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"Probably has something to do with the fact that my own type of psychic energy is weird. I told you, I'm not a normal prism. I can only work comfortably with matrix-talents, so out of necessity, I've become something of an expert on them. Maybe the only real expert in the world. Thanks to Psynergy, Inc., I've had an opportunity to work with more matrix-talents in the past year or so than most researchers see in a lifetime."
"You didn't answer my question. What makes you think I'm not crazy?"
She handed him a glass of wine. "It's hard to explain. I can feel things when I work with a matrix. Things most prisms aren't able to detect when they work with one. I once tried to hold a focus for a matrix who was certifiably bonkers. Believe me, I can tell the difference. He was only about a class-three but he scared the living daylights out of me."
"How? Did he try to take control of the prism?"
"Yes, but he was much too weak to do it. That wasn't the scary part. The frightening stuff was the talent, itself. It was-" She frowned. "Not normal. I don't know how else to describe it."
He held her eyes. "You think I'm normal?"
"I don't know if I'd go that far. There is nothing real normal about you, Nick. But you certainly aren't a wacko."
He took a sip of the weak green wine. "You'd know, huh?"
"Oh, yes. I'd know." She watched him intently. "Your father was a matrix, wasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Are you obsessed with finding his journal because you want to know if his talent drove him to suicide? Are you afraid the same fate awaits you?"
She was too damn perceptive. It was dangerous to continue any kind of association with her, let alone risk the intimacy of either a mental or sexual liaison. But she was part of the matrix now. He saw no escape. He did not even want to escape.
Perhaps she was his fate.
But he was not ready to face her blunt questions head-on. It would force him to confront some things he preferred to sidestep.
"How did you learn that my father was a matrix?" he asked instead.
"Professor Loony mentioned that the reason no one questioned Bartholomew Chastain's suicide was because it was strongly suspected that he was a matrix and people have so many misconceptions about matrix-talents."
"Professor Loony?"
Zinnia made a face. "Newton DeForest. Retired history professor. Maniacal gardener."
"You went to see Demented DeForest?" Nick was disgusted. "Why the hell did you do that? I told you he was just an old crackpot."
"I'm not going to argue with that assessment. DeForest is about as stable as a deposit of jelly-ice. You should see his garden." She shuddered. "He's a horti-talent who specializes in carnivorous plant hybrids. A matrix friend helped him design a maze full of them. It's positively gruesome."
"What in five hells were you doing in DeForest's garden?"
"I still think Morris's murder may be connected to the journal. My brother, Leo, is studying synergistic historical analysis. He told me that DeForest is the only person who ever actually researched the Third Expedition. I had an appointment to talk to DeForest today."
"Damn." Nick set the wine glass down on the tile counter with enough force to make it ring. "You should have told me that you were going to talk to him."
"You made it clear that you were only interested in the journal." She smiled coolly. "Of course, that was before you realized I was a cunning scam artist and that I had masterminded a diabolical scheme to set you up for a major con job."