Lucas deactivated the Icer’s engine with an impatient twist of his hand. He studied the lights of the casino on the other side of the street. “Or is this just the result of a small-town upbringing?” “I don’t know about other prisms,” Amaryllis said. “And I won’t presume to speak for all small-town residents. I insisted on coming with you tonight because you might need me. We’re partners, remember? You said it yourself.” Lucas turned his head briefly. Derision gleamed in his eyes. “I’m not likely to need a prism to get Dillon out of hock. All it will require is money. I wonder how much the young fool lost to Nick Chastain.” Amaryllis chose to rise above Lucas’s obvious irritation. The argument had been running since Dillon Rye’s phone call had interrupted Lucas’s grotto illusion twenty minutes earlier. When she had discovered what was going on, Amaryllis had insisted on accompanying Lucas on his mission to rescue Dillon. She leaned forward in the seat to peer at the brilliantly lit entrance of Chastain’s Palace.
