Zinnia (33 page)

Rexford gritted his teeth in rage and threw a roundhouse punch.

“Nick, look out,” Zinnia yelled.

Someone at the wine bar screamed.

A familiar figure leaped out of the hallway that led to the restrooms.

“Totally synergistic,” Cedric Dexter said happily. He raised his camera and grabbed the shot.

The flash exploded just as Nick crumpled dramatically to the floor.

Zinnia gazed steadfastly at the closed doors of the elevator that was carrying them to the parking garage twenty floors below. “I can't believe it. A brawl in the hallowed halls of the Founders' Club.”

“Hey, these things happen even in the best places.” Nick straightened his black bow tie. “No harm done.”

“No harm?” She was nearly speechless. “That picture that Dexter took will be on the front page of
Synsation
tomorrow.”

“We've been there before,” Nick said. He looked remarkably cheerful.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. “What about your plans to become respectable?”

He smiled as the elevator glided to a halt. “I keep telling you, respectability is a commodity. I can afford it.”

Zinnia watched the doors slide open to reveal the dark confines of the third floor of the underground garage. “For the record, I want it noted that this time, it was not my fault. You started that scene.”

“I had help.” Nick's eyes were wickedly amused. “I thought we worked well together, partner.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder as she stepped out of the elevator. “You deliberately took that fall. Eaton missed you by a mile.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Is Rexford Eaton's nephew really in hock to your casino?”

“Yes.”

“I'll bet you set him up,” she accused. “What's more, I'll bet you planned that whole confrontation with Eaton and his wife and Daria Gardener.”

“Now, Zinnia, how could I have known we'd run into them tonight?” Nick followed her out of the elevator.

“Maybe you didn't know it would happen tonight. But you knew that sooner or later we'd encounter them if we went to functions like this one. What's more, you knew that Rexford would very likely threaten to sue when it did happen.”

“It was a possibility.”

“So you arranged to make sure that his nephew was in an embarrassing financial position with your casino before you made your move tonight.”

“You're getting pretty good at this conspiracy-theory stuff,” he said approvingly.

“It comes from hanging around you.”

“The
lights.”
The laughter vanished from Nick's eyes in the space of a heartbeat.

“What?”

“Zinnia, come here.” Nick reached for her.

“What's wrong?” At that instant it hit her that all of the lights in this section of the garage were out.

By then it was much too late to retreat to the safety of the elevator.

She heard the rapid footsteps behind her and whirled around to see two men leap from the deep shadows between the parked cars. There was just enough light spilling from the crack between the closing doors of the elevator to see the scarves around their faces and the knives in their hands.

“Don't move,” one of them shouted. “Don't nobody move.”

“Oh, my God, Nick. Look out.”

Nick went past her in a smooth, silent, utterly lethal rush. She saw the two muggers halt in shock and confusion when they realized that one of their victims was attacking.

“He's crazy,” one of them shouted.

“Not as crazy as he's gonna be.” The other man slashed wildly with his knife.

And then Nick was upon him. Zinnia heard a knife clatter on the concrete garage floor.

“Get him.” The second man reeled backward and fetched up hard against the hood of a car.

“It wasn't supposed to go down like this,” the first man yelled.

Zinnia watched in horror as the shadows of the
three men merged. She looked around desperately for a weapon. She could barely make out the shape of the metal trash bin stationed beside the elevator.

She seized the lid and dashed toward the struggling men. The dim glow filtering from the far end of the garage enabled her to distinguish Nick from his two assailants.

One of the attackers was on the floor, groaning. Zinnia saw that he was clutching his groin. The other one rolled heavily past her feet and scrambled erect. He lurched backward toward the elevator.

Nick came up off the floor in pursuit.

Zinnia saw something gleam in the shadows. “Nick, he still has his knife.”

The man who had been groaning and clutching himself tried to stagger to his feet. He lunged for his fallen knife.

“Forget it,” Zinnia said. She swung the lid hard against his head and shoulders. He flopped back down to the floor and lay there, moaning.

She kicked the knife under a car and whirled back around. She heard a sickening thud as Nick shoved his quarry up against the wall. The knife fell from the man's hand.

Nick smashed a fist into the mugger's midsection.

Zinnia heard the sound of shattering glass and a faint hiss.

“Enjoy, sucker. Compliments of the house.” The man's voice was slurred but unmistakably triumphant as he slithered to the floor and collapsed.

Nick stood utterly still in the shadows, staring down at the fallen man. He said nothing.

“Nick?”

A great terror unlike anything she had ever known swept over Zinnia. Something was very, very wrong.

“Nick.”
She dropped the trash-can lid and rushed toward him. “Are you hurt? Did he cut you?”

“No.” His whisper was barely audible, impossibly remote. “He didn't cut me.”

The elevator doors opened at that moment. Two couples made to step out.

“What the hell happened to the lights?” One of the men demanded.

“Oh, my God,” a woman whispered.

All four people stared in shock at the sight of the two men lying on the garage floor.

“What's going on here?” the other woman demanded. “George, call the police.”

Zinnia ignored them. She stared at Nick's stark features. In the light that poured from the elevator cab she could see the last traces of a white mist that had enveloped him for a few seconds. It was dissipating rapidly but the stunned horror in his eyes looked as if it would last forever.

“Nick, what is it?” She reached him, grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him. It was like trying to shake a mountain. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“Crazy-fog. He broke the pod in my face just as I hit him. Must have been very pure stuff. I got a huge dose of it.”

“Nick, it's all right, you won't die from an overdose of crazy-fog. I'll get you to the hospital.”

“No. I won't die.” His eyes glowed with dread. “It'll be much, much worse.”

“What is it?” She wrapped her arms tightly around him. “What's the stuff doing to you? Tell me. Tell me, damn it.”

“I can see the chaos,” he said softly. “In another few seconds I'll be in the middle of it. And there is no way back. I'm going insane, Zinnia. Contact Feather. He'll know what to do. He has instructions.”

Zinnia nearly choked on her rage and fear. “Instructions for what?”

He caught her hand in his and crushed her fingers. “Promise me you'll call him quickly. Promise me.”

“Yes. I'll call him.”

“Something I want to tell you.”

“Save it.” She pushed him toward the elevator. “I'm taking you to the emergency room.”

“No. Got to tell you now. While I still can.”

“What is it?”

“I love you, Zinnia.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The chaos rolled toward him, a tidal wave of darkness that would consume the matrix of his soul. Zinnia's face was the only point of reference that he had left. He knew he would not have it for long. He wished she would smile just once more. He wanted to hold the memory close as the storm swept over him.

But she was glaring at him.

“Nick, Nick, can you hear me?”

He tried to reach out to touch her face but his hand would not obey the command. His fingers folded into a tight fist instead. He tried to use the fist to fend off the whirling lights but there were too many.

Zinnia's face vanished into the depths of the night. The panic that he had been trying to cage broke free. He lurched toward the place where she had been a second earlier, but she was not there.

“Zinnia.” His scream echoed in the winds of chaos. He did not know whether he had uttered it aloud or if the sound he had made was only in his head.

Crazy. He was going crazy. He stared into the depths of the dark waves hurtling down on him and
he realized that he was looking at the forces of his own psychic energy whirling out of control.

“Nick, listen to me. Don't you dare slip away from me. Do you hear me?”

Zinnia was yelling at him. Her voice reached him through the thunder of meaningless noise. That was Zinnia for you. Nothing could hold her down for long. When she had a point to make, she made sure it got heard.

“Damn you, Nick, pay attention. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

He could not figure out how to give the instruction to his fingers.

“Nick, hang on. The ambulance is here now.”

More lights appeared in the storm. Meaningless.

No doctor could save him from the sea of chaos. He tried to anchor himself, but there was nothing that he could hold. The world itself was no longer stable.

The matrix was coming apart, fracturing into millions of bits of meaningless data. No connections. No links. No pattern.

The truly terrifying thing was that in another moment he would no longer be able to frame such a logical coherent thought. He would not be able to contemplate his own madness.

In another few seconds he would be trapped forever in chaos.

“Nick, pay attention. I want you to link with me.”

He knew the voice belonged to Zinnia, but he could no longer comprehend the words.

“Link, damn you. Do it now.”

Something appeared in the spinning darkness. A stable glowing object. Clear as crystal. He gazed at it with hungry longing. A great need arose within him.

“Focus your talent through the prism, Nick. Don't think about anything else. Just send your power through the prism. I'll keep it safe.”

Safe. He would be safe if he could just figure out what the voice was talking about.

The prism shimmered, untouched by the storm that howled around it. Nick fought his way toward the crystal. If he could just touch it, he would be safe.

It was the longest journey of his life. In the midst of it he forgot why he was battling his way through the raging tides of uncontrolled energy. He only knew that he had to get to the prism. It compelled him with a power that could stand against chaos.

“Come to me, Nick. Focus the energy through me. Channel it into the prism.”

One more faltering step and he managed to put his hand on the crystal. At last he had something solid to cling to in the spinning darkness that enveloped the metaphysical plane.

The winds of psychic energy shrieked around him, trying to tear him away from the crystal.

Rage blossomed. “No. I am the master of the matrix.”

Somewhere in the darkness he heard a faint response.

“Yes, Nick. You are the master of the matrix. You control the energy. It does not control you. Not unless you let it. I've given you a prism. Use it. Use it, damn it.”

He would not be torn from his anchor. With savage determination he clung to the prism. He chose the closest wave of ravenous energy and fed it to the glowing crystal.

To his amazement, it obeyed his will. It slammed through the prism and emerged as a band of controlled energy.

He reached for the next crashing wave. It, too, entered the prism as a piece of chaos and was transformed into a controllable band of power.

He grabbed another.

And another.

A new fear replaced the old. What if the prism could not handle so much raw energy.

But the crystal did not waver or weaken as he shoved power through it.

Slowly the chaos faded. The psychic talent that slammed through the crystal and roared across the metaphysical plane was as powerful as ever, but thanks to the prism it was a force that could be controlled.

As long as it was controllable, he would not be swallowed up by chaos. He would not go crazy as long as he kept feeding energy to the prism.

“He seems to have calmed considerably during the past hour,” the doctor said. The name tag on her jacket read D
R
. M
ILDRED
F
ERGUSON.
Her dark brown skin glowed warmly in the lights of the bedside monitors.

The overhead lamps had been turned off in an effort to create a more soothing environment for the patient. Standard procedure in cases of crazy-fog overdose, Dr. Ferguson had explained. Zinnia was not certain that Nick would have noticed, one way or the other. As far as she could tell, he was unaware of anything except the battle for survival that he was waging on the metaphysical plane.

Dr. Ferguson glanced at Zinnia. “We may be through the crisis.”

“You aren't certain?”

“Crazy-fog is unpredictable stuff.” Dr. Ferguson's brown eyes were kind but troubled. “It just appeared on the streets a few months ago and we don't know much about it yet. We have learned that it affects people in different ways, depending on the syn-psych profile of the patient.”

“Nick is a matrix.”

“So you said. To be frank, we've never seen a
matrix-talent under the influence of fog, let alone a high-class matrix. We don't know what to expect.”

“I understand.” It wasn't easy talking to Dr. Ferguson while she held the focus on the metaphysical plane. There was so much power pouring through the prism now that Zinnia could barely concentrate on anything else.