"I see." I picked up the rose-colored kaleidoscope. "When I used this and found your message, I certainly wasn't trained, so I was going on raw talent?"

"That's right. You mentioned how doing so wore you out so much that you fainted. That's because you didn't know what you were doing and, for lack of a better analogy, pulled a muscle."

"Pulled a muscle? Playing a violin?"

"That was only a comparison," Mikey said, "and the dangerous thing about comparisons is that they can be taken literally. Let me use a more physical one. Think of the kaleidoscopes as skis."

"Like for sliding down hill on snow."

"Right. Again, anybody can strap skis on their feet and slide over the snow, but an amateur is going to fall, pull muscles, and wear himself out, even on the bunny slopes. In contrast, a professional will perform far more ambitious acts and hardly break a sweat. Even a potentially talented skier needs to learn how to balance, how to shift his weight, how to push off right ..."

"Do you ski?" I asked, eyeing his soft, flabby body with distrust.

"I do not. I have weak ankles. However, I have spent many hours drinking hot cocoa and watching various family members exert themselves." Mikey grinned. "Now, do you understand a bit more about the nature of magical items?"

"It sounds to me like they're not magical at all."

"Remember Phineas House," Mikey said. "Tools created to conduct forces sometimes acquire virtues in themselves."

I thought about it, "Like a favorite paintbrush or whatever will seem to work better for you, even though there's no particular reason."

"We'll leave it there," Mikey said. "I'm fresh out of clever analogies. As long as you understand that using these marvelous kaleidoscopes and teleidoscopes will not be like turning on a radio, I am content."

"Okay, I accept that."

Mikey gestured toward the Cabalistic Seven. "These seven kaleidoscopes were created for specific purposes, and that may make them easier for you to use. Think of skis again."

"I'd rather not," I laughed. "I've never skied in my life. I think I see where you're going, though. It's like paintbrushes. There are different brushes for different purposes, and the differences don't just have to do with width and length of the bristles. Bristle materials make a huge difference, so does quality, so does the angle at which the brush is trimmed. A long time ago, I was advised to buy the best brushes I could for a specific task because what I'd spend in money, I'd save in effort, clean-up, and even paint."

"Wonderful!" Mikey said. "I've never painted, either, but I'll have to add that one to my list of examples. Very well. Since these seven kaleidoscopes have been crafted to make certain types of inquires easier to do, in using them, you will save effort. However, you will lose generalities."

"Generalities?"

"Do you remember card catalogs?" Mikey asked.

"Sure."

"Well, computer databases are wonderful, but the one thing you lose when doing a computer search are the generalities. The computer takes you to a specific point, whereas in leafing through the card catalog you would see the surrounding entries. Sometimes, at least in my experience, these would be as useful as the one you had intended to find."

I grinned. "I know exactly what you mean. Especially when I'm researching something nonfiction, I write down the numbers for the topic and then scan the entire shelf, looking for what else I might find. That's why I don't like researching something new over the Internet. Even the best search engines can't match what my own curiosity might find."

"And that will be the limitations of these kaleidoscopes," Mikey said. "Let's see, today is Wednesday, right?"

"Right." I'd grabbed the appropriate volume of Aunt May's mythology dictionary on our way up, and looked up the entry for mirrors. "Wednesday is Mercury, crystal, and money. So if we looked into it and inquired after Colette, we'd get nothing."

"Right," Mikey said. "Is there one that is meant to help with finding lost objects?"

I scanned the entry. "Saturday. Lost articles and secrets. Let me guess. If we tried it today, we'd get nothing."

"I'm afraid so. That limitation is one of the prices of precision. What are tomorrow's and Friday's?"

"Thursday might be interesting," I said. "Jupiter, tin, and probable success. Friday probably won't be much help. It has to do with Venus and love."

I thought about Domingo, and wondered if I might take a peek on Friday, run a search, so to speak, for my true love. Would that be fair?

"Friday might be more useful than you imagine," Mikey said. "You might be able to inquire after your father by inquiring after Colette's love."

"She had lots of lovers," I said dismissively, "and there's no proof she loved my father, just got a child with him. Mikey," I said, deliberately changing the subject, "you keep saying 'you.' Aren't you going to use the kaleidoscopes? After all, I may have some talent, but I have no training."

Mikey shook his head. "I could, I suppose, but you are the one who needs to find Colette. I had planned to coach, but I think you would have a better chance of getting good information."

"That mother-daughter bind you mentioned yesterday?"

"That, and that these are her tools, and this is her house, and many other things that I can't go into without being confusing. Suffice to say that the probabilities are better if you do the scrying."

I started to protest, but stopped. Liminal space was supposed to be useful for probability analysis. Had Mikey already made some inquiries? I thought, too, about how Mikey had been able to place his message where it would intercept me. Had Colette-or her abductor-placed barriers against pursuit? Might my relationship to Colette be sufficient to enable me to move those barriers?

Instead of protesting, I nodded. "I accept that, Mikey. However, I'd appreciate some training, if you can give it. Last time I fainted and slept like I was dead for over ten hours. If I'm going to be useful at all, I'd better not pull any more muscles."

Mikey gave a crisp bob of his head. "That's wise. Unless you're interested in inquiring after money ..."

"I'm not."

"Then why don't we put these away. Keep one kaleidoscope out, one you haven't looked at much, and that will be it for now."

I chose a kaleidoscope whose stained-glass barrel held hues ranging from deep teal to a sea foam so pale that the greenish hues were almost lost in the white. Its object case was, appropriately, one of those in which the items within were suspended in a thick liquid. The images here would shift even without my turning the case, but slowly, like dancers in a dream.

The rest of the day drifted by in a fashion that itself seemed rather like a dream. Mikey was right. There simply aren't words to explain the sensation of drifting between things, riding with that betweeness without forcing it to become something by your use. It's hard. More than once I concentrated so intently that I solidified a line, a sensation rather like being inside water as it freezes, though not in the least cold.

I grew tired, and ate a late lunch that would have satiated a football player. I napped, and woke up ravenous. Mikey and I continued my training until late afternoon, then he invited me to an early dinner.

"You shouldn't have to cook, after all of that. Tell me, would Domingo Navidad be interested in joining us? I'd like to get to know him better."

"We can ask," I said. "He's usually out back around this time, watering the garden. The painters usually knock off in late afternoon to give them time to clean up."

"Let me go ask him," Mikey said. "You rest."

I was tired enough to agree, leaning back in the leather chair in the office where we'd been working. When I heard the soft clink of a glass onto the coaster on the desk, I said, "Thank you," without opening my eyes.

"You're welcome, Mira," said a soft, female voice.

I opened my eyes quickly enough to see one of the silent women leaving the room. She used the door, just like any person would. Was that habit or necessity? I didn't seem to have the energy to worry about an answer.

Dinner, which we had at the Landmark Grill in the Plaza Hotel, did a great job of restoring my energy. Over dinner, Mikey and Domingo carried most of the conversation, discussing home repairs and restoration, mostly. Mikey's hobby was carpentry, and I enjoyed listening to the two men talk. They did so without the one-upmanship that is so common in man-to-man conversations among near strangers, each feeding the other's tale with one of his own.

After a while, I started participating, for although I hadn't done much renovation work until I came to Phineas House, I was a builder in my own way. We chatted through dessert and coffee. Then Domingo, after glancing at me and assuring himself that I was no longer on the verge of collapse, suggested we go for a stroll around the Plaza.

"There are some very interesting buildings there," Domingo said. "I worked on a few."

Mikey agreed, though I suspected that a stroll around the Plaza area would be just about his limit. He really was in astonishingly bad shape, but I put that down to living where the weather was cold enough to make Ohio seem tropical. If you didn't like winter sports, just how much exercise could you get?

Domingo gave his tour-guide spiel much as he had done for me, though with more attention to specific details of structures rather than to local history. I trailed behind, enjoying seeing the buildings again, my gaze scanning the Plaza for a structure that shouldn't be there.

I found it. The windmill overlaid the gazebo and other structures, complete in every detail, but translucent. Paula Angel sat on the base, swinging her long legs beneath her ruffled skirt. Without saying anything to the two men, I walked over to her, marvelling that as I did so everything became more solid, so that by the time I reached the ghost's side, the modern Plaza was less substantial than the windmill's rough wood.

"Hey," Paula said. "Walking out with a couple guys. Not too bad."

"Not too bad," I agreed. "How are you?"

"Making do, making do. Not a hell of a lot changes here, y'know. I drift."

"Drift on over to my place some time," I said. "You've got to get bored here. I could use some girl talk."

"Girl talk is about guy talk," Paula said with a laugh. "You gotta guy you can't figure out?"

"Something like that," I admitted, "but mostly I remembered what you said about being bored. You helped me out with what you told me about my mother. I guess I wanted to help you in return."

"I'll remember that," Paula said. "Hey, the fat guy. He looks familiar, but I don't know why. He been around here before?"

"He has," I said. "Seems to know you. Calls you Pablita, not Paula, though."

She narrowed her eyes, her lips curving in a sensuous smile. Then she laughed.

"I remember that one. Mikey, he called himself. Fat kid. Shy with the girls. I told him a few things. Tell him to come visit some time."

"I will," I said. "I'd better get back before they miss me."

"Oh, they miss you," Paula said. "One more than the other, I think."

She laughed again, mocking, wicked, innocent, and faded away wherever ghosts go when they're not where you can see them.

Thursday, Mikey suggested that I practice with the Jupiter kaleidoscope. I was hesitant.

"Success seems like a strange thing to augur for," I protested. "Abstract. At best I keep imagining one of those Magic Eight Ball toys: 'Answer cloudy, try back later.'"

"Well," Mikey said. "That would be useful, wouldn't it? I doubt you'll get anything so clear."

"I know," I said. "That's why I'm not sure that I'm up to it. Something more concrete would be easier."

"Like your true love's face?" Mikey asked mischievously, fingering the copper case of the Venus kaleidoscope. I'd polished it since my initial discovery, and now it glowed as warm and welcoming as a lover's kiss.

I made inarticulate sounds of protest and Mikey laughed.

"Relax, Mira. I was only teasing. Honestly, love is probably the first thing anyone ever augurs for. Did you ever think about how many little rituals there are for it-from pulling petals from a daisy to those intricate games that involve counting the letters in your name and rearranging them to find the initials of your future sweetheart's name? I bet the first question you ever asked one of those Magic Eight Balls was whether some fellow liked you."

"I think it was about whether I'd passed an exam," I fibbed. "Still, we weren't talking about auguring for love, but for success. How would I scry for something so tenuous?"

"If it were me," Mikey said, "I'd find some very precise way of phrasing the question in my mind, then I'd look into the kaleidoscope with the intention of seeing the answer as a visual image."

"You do it then," I said, childishly stubborn.

Mikey laughed and shook his head reprovingly. "I told you, Mira, you are more likely to learn something than I am."

I drummed my knuckles lightly on my forehead as I considered this. What, after all, did I have to lose?

Certainty that you will find out what happened to Colette, came the answer, drifting from the depths of my subconscious. If you don't get an answer, you will fear that success is beyond you. If you do ... well, then you're committed.

I turned the kaleidoscope in question over and over in my hands. The outer case was pierced tin through which gold shone softly. I recalled that the colors within were dominated by azure and blue, that little figures of lightning bolts were mixed in with the more usual gems and irregularly shaped pieces of glass. It hadn't hurt me to look through it then. Certainly, it couldn't now.

"Okay," I said. "I apologize for being difficult. I'll give it a try."

"Thank you, Mira," Mikey said seriously. "Actually, I prefer your reluctance. Usually, when I tutor someone in these arts my problem is the reverse-too much eagerness, too little thought."

Tutored others? I thought. Of course he has. Didn't he say that these talents are inherent in almost everyone, but that they can run stronger in families? He's a descendent of Aldo Pincas, too, so obviously he has gifts that he could pass on to his own children and grandchildren.

I raised the kaleidoscope almost to my eye, then lowered it again as I thought of a question.

"Mikey, would I have managed to learn these things if I'd never come to Las Vegas?"

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. Much would have had to do with your frame of mind. Frankly, as long as you were blocking yourself artistically, I think you would have blocked yourself in other ways, too. If you had ever let go and expanded your potential, I suspect you would have found yourself taking a lot more unexpected shortcuts or having insights into things. Whether you would have realized you were employing liminal space to do this or not ..."

He shrugged.

"I might have just ended up one of those 'wise' people," I said, "or maybe lucky in my finances and relationships, except it wouldn't have been luck at all."

"And you might not have always had true visions," Mikey said. "There are all sorts of edges out there, and not all of them are the edges between what might happen and what will, some are simply between mights."

"You're making my head ache," I said with a laugh.

"So look through the kaleidoscope and see what you see," Mikey said. "Give yourself a rest from questions."

I lifted the kaleidoscope, and this time I did as Mikey had commanded. I relaxed, studying the shifting images, looking as I had learned to do for the unique element amid the shifting multiplicities. As I did so I repeated over and over in my mind: "I want to find out what happened to Colette. Will I succeed?"

Amid the drifting lightning bolts I found one that wasn't like the others. I focused in on it, watching as it grew within my line of sight. The others had been represented like jagged lines, longer top to bottom as lightning bolts rain from the skies. As I focused on this one, it drifted onto its horizontal axis, the jagged length transforming into a road that jolted violently across a dark landscape.

Then, even as in my dream of a few nights before, the roads multiplied: two becoming four, four eight, eight sixteen, sixteen thirty-two, thirty-two sixty-four. Each road was the violent blue-white of a lightning strike in a summer storm, each seared my retina with a vivid black afterimage, so that the jagged roads multiplied even more.

I struggled to focus in on one road, the road I thought was the original, watched as it stretched on to the horizon. I realized that this road and its multiplicity of fellows were curving slightly downward, each jagging back and forth, back and forth, but bending slowly and almost imperceptibly down. Before it happened, I knew what they would do.

The roads joined again at a hub an infinity of distance below their point of origin, the whole pattern forming an enormous globe, fit together puzzle-piece tight, puzzle-piece perfect, fusing into one eye-achingly blue-white ball and its dark afterimage. The roads went nowhere but to themselves, to their source.

The image held for a long moment, then either I lost my concentration or the show was done, for the twin globes vanished and I was again watching the shifting patterns of gentler blue and white mingled into pretty mandalas ornamented with stylized lightning bolts.

"So what did it mean?" I asked Mikey after I'd taken two aspirin, and told him as precisely as I could what I'd seen. "Yes or No?"

"I'm not certain," he said somberly. "Iconography is very personal, but usually there are enough common symbols that I can interpret visions. This one started out clearly enough. You saw a road, but that multiplying ... you say you saw something similar in a dream?"

"I did. Colette and her gig going down a bunch of identical roads."