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mental ward, he feared even more the prospect of losing the incredible prism.
    Against all reason he made a mental grab for the glittering psychic construct. Fumbling wildly, he tried to imprison it with his own talent. The experts said it could not be done. It was only in novels that powerful talents could become psychic-vampires capable of holding a prism captive. But in that moment Nick was willing to try anything to hold on to this amazing creation.
    He exerted every ounce of will and psychic energy he possessed. Power flooded the psychic plane in rippling waves of energy, surrounding the prism.
    He had it.
    The prism no longer continued to fade. Nick secured it with manacles of raw energy. It was his. He could not believe his prize. Awe swept through him.
    â€œMr. Chastain?” Hobart blinked several times and got to his feet. “Mr. Chastain, are you all right?”
    Nick ignored the interruption. He was fully occupied holding on to his precious captive. The prism suddenly glittered with a furious energy, as if the person who had crafted it had realized the peril. But it did not vanish. It could not vanish. He held it fast in psychic chains.
    He poured talent through the crystal construct, exulting in the rush of raw power. He had never been able to use his talent at full strength this way. It felt incredibly good, incredibly satisfying.
    He could go on like this all night, not using his talent for any particular purpose, simply enjoying the process of exercising it. His fears of impending insanity vanished. This link felt right.
    Without warning the focus shifted ever so slightly. The facets of the prism twisted and realigned themselves. The energy waves that Nick was forcing through it were suddenly skewed.
    Psychic pain crashed through him. He realized that the woman who had created the prism had to be in similar agony.
    What in the name of the five hells was he doing? Rational thought finally cut through the whirlpool of sexual and psychic hunger.
    He was no vampire.
    He forced himself to cut off the flow of talent. The prism winked out of existence.
    The reality of the physical plane settled around him.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mr. Chastain.” Hobart was halfway to the door. “I’ll fetch help.”
    â€œSit down.” Nick closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.
    â€œYou’re having an attack of some sort. I really think I should call someone.”
    Nick narrowed his gaze. “Sit. Down.”
    Hobart’s hands trembled. He made his way slowly back to his chair and sat down.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong.” Nick pulled himself together and glanced surreptitiously around the chamber.
    Everything appeared to be normal. He certainly did not feel crazy. He wondered if these things started with brief flashes of madness and slowly grew worse over time.
    No, damn it, he was not going insane. He felt fine. Never better, in fact, if he discounted the lingering ache of sexual desire. His memory was perfectly clear. His brain was sharp. He could summon his matrix-honed powers of logic and reason and self-control without effort.
    No problem.
    He analyzed the situation quickly. Obviously his psychic probe had accidentally brushed up against a very, very powerful prism. Whoever she was, she was so strong that she could link with him even though she was not in the immediate vicinity.
    Furthermore, she was an extremely rare type of prism, one that could tune itself perfectly to matrix energy waves.
    She had to be somewhere nearby, Nick thought. Right here inside the casino. No prism could be strong enough to reach him from the street outside.
    Nick shoved his fingers through his hair and forced himself to analyze the logic of the matrix. They weren’t supposed to exist, but he knew for a fact that there were a few off-the-scale talents. He was one of them. He also knew that there were some prisms whose powers went beyond full-spectrum, even though the experts denied it. A