Джейн Кренц: Orchid

"What is that?"

"You could try dropping a few of your extremely narrow personal requirements."

Exasperation shot through Rafe. "I do not consider my personal requirements excessively narrow. I'm not choosy about eye or hair color or even bra size. I thought I made that clear."

"I refer to your insistence that your wife be a full-spectrum prism, among other things."

"I realize that a lot of matchmaking agencies don't think that full-spectrums and high-class talents make good matches, but as we just discussed, I'm only a class six. There should be no problem on that score."

"No, no, that's not the issue." Hobart flapped one be-ringed hand in a dismissive motion. "As it happens, I have recently confirmed two very successful matches involving full-spectrum prisms and very high-class talents. I no longer place much credence in the old theory that the two types never make good marital alliances."

Rafe raised one brow. "I'm acquainted with Lucas Trent and Nick Chastain. I attended both of their weddings."

"I see. Then you do understand."

"I understand that they each found their own bride but that you later verified the matches, Batt. You signed off on them even though many professional matchmakers would have hesitated because of the old thinking on the matching of unusual talents and prisms. That's one of the reasons I requested your services. You're supposed to be the best and you're willing to accept new data."

Hobart looked gratified. "I like to think that I'm good at what I do. Indeed, I consider my work a calling. And my experiences with Mr. Trent and Mr. Chastain did teach me to keep an open mind when it comes to some of the more traditional thinking on the subject of scientific matchmaking."

"So my request for a full-spectrum prism shouldn't bother you too much, Batt."

Hobart grimaced. "I might be able to find you a full-spectrum prism, although I confess I have no idea why it is so important to you."

It was important, Rafe thought, but he could not explain why to himself, let alone to Hobart. His inner certainty flew straight in the face of the results of all of the syn-psych research on the subject as well as conventional wisdom.

It was assumed, not without some evidence, that there was a natural antipathy between high-class talents and full-spectrum prisms. Powerful talents were vaguely resentful of full-spectrums. They did not appreciate the fact that nature had made them dependent on prisms for extended, full range use of their own, personal psychic energy.

Most full-spectrum prisms, on the other hand, found high-class talents arrogant, rigid, and demanding. In addition, full-spectrums were said to be extremely picky when it came to choosing spouses.

But for some time now, Rafe had become increasingly convinced that he needed a woman who could link with him on the metaphysical as well as the physical plane. All of his strat-talent instincts urged him to that conclusion. That was one of the reasons he had been driven, albeit reluctantly, into a state of celibacy for the past several months. He was tired of the self-enforced loneliness but he could not work up any enthusiasm for a casual affair. In some fundamental, primitive manner he did not want to investigate too deeply, he knew that it was time to find a mate.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Paranormal abilities were supposed to be gender neutral. The rules of the metaphysical plane were different than the rules that applied to the physical plane. Any prism could focus for any talent without any sense of sexual or even personal intimacy on either side.

Or so the theory went.

But Rafe had long suspected that the exotic nature of his power made him different in this area, too. Perhaps it was because his psychic energy was so closely allied to his physical senses. He only knew that the yearning he felt for a mate extended into the metaphysical realm.

There was another, more pragmatic reason for insisting that his future wife be a full-spectrum prism. It was one thing to conceal his off-the-chart talent from business acquaintances, casual friends, marriage counselors, and even some members of his family. But there was no way he could hide the extended range of his paranormal abilities from a wife.

Bluntly put, he had to find a woman who would not completely freak out when she discovered that she was married to what some would call a psychic vampire. Based on the recent experience of his two friends, Nick Chastain and Lucas Trent, he had concluded that a full-spectrum prism was his best bet.

Rafe could not think of any diplomatic way of explaining that unique need to Hobart, however, so he focused on a different issue.

"What's wrong with having a few personal requirements in a wife?" he said. "After all, I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life with her, whoever she is."

Hobart gave him a look of polite reproof. "You don't think it's just a bit limiting to demand that, in addition to being a full-spectrum prism, your future wife must be an admirer of meta-zen-syn philosophical poetry?"

"It seems perfectly reasonable to me that she share my literary tastes."

Hobart glared. "What about your requirement that she also be a practitioner of classic meta-zen-syn meditation and exercise? Few people outside of that ivory tower think-tank crowd up in Northville have even heard of meta-zen-syn."

"It's not that uncommon," Rafe said defensively.

"And then there's your demand that she be an admirer of Later Expansion period architecture." Hobart cast an exasperated glance around the fire-lit chamber. "No offense, Mr. Stonebraker, but very few people admire this particular style anymore."

"It's an acquired taste."

"Which almost no one acquires," Hobart retorted. "Any realtor will tell you that mansions such as this one are almost impossible to move when they come on the market."

Rafe followed Hobart's gaze around the room. It was true that the gothic elements that characterized Later Expansion period mansions were not to everyone's taste. He could not even explain why they were to his taste. He only knew that the arched doorways, the intricate patterns in the tile work, and the elaborately molded ceilings pleased something deep inside him. He had even gone so far as to restore the original jelly-ice candle fixtures and fireplaces, although he had also installed discreetly concealed modern lighting, heating, and air conditioning as well.

For a few seconds he tried to see his home through Hobart's eyes.

Fifty years ago the somber, overwrought architecture of the Later Expansion period had been extremely fashionable, an overreaction, perhaps, to the excessive ebullience of the Early Exploration period that preceded it. But the demand for the dark, brooding style had quickly faded.

Today many of the old houses in the district were shuttered and locked. Faded "For Sale" signs sagged from the massive gates that barred the long, elegant drives. Weeds sprouted where skilled horti-talents had once tended exotic gardens. Windows remained dark after the sun set. The sidewalks that lined the street were cracked.

No doubt about it, the neighborhood had gone into a slump.

Most of the dynasty-founding business families who had once made their homes on this particular hillside overlooking the city had moved to newer, more fashionable hills.

Hobart was right, Rafe thought. His home would not appeal to a modern, sophisticated woman.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe I could give a little on that last requirement. My future wife doesn't have to like this house."

Hobart raised his eyes briefly to the ornately decorated ceiling. "Very gracious of you, Mr. Stonebraker."

"Look, if you can't do the job, Batt, just say so. I'll register with another agency."

Hobart squared his discreetly padded shoulders and got to his feet. "There is no other matchmaking agency in New Seattle that could give you better service. You'll simply have to be patient. You must accept the fact that it will take time to find the right match for you."