I told them then, and though Mikey had a few questions, mostly they listened in intent silence.

When I finished, Mikey said, "What immediately comes to mind is what you overheard Colette saying in yesterday's vision. How did it go exactly?"

I recited, "'I suppose I'll need to return the one before I can have another. What a bother! I've made the trip twice now, and hoped never to risk a third.'"

We stared at each other, then Domingo spoke very slowly, very carefully, as if he feared to give offense.

"You said it seemed Colette was trying to steal not the baby, but the baby's reflection."

I nodded.

"And from what you overheard," Domingo continued, "it sounds as if she had been successful before."

"You mean that she had already stolen the baby's reflection," I said, feeling very strange. "And that she intended to do so again, but that for some reason she couldn't."

"Not for some reason," Mikey said firmly, "for the precise reason that she had already done so. You said the baby's image looked paler than the nurse's. It seems that on this last trip Colette discovered she could not take away the baby's image because she had already done so-and that she planned to return the first image in order to steal it afresh."

"That doesn't make sense!" I protested, though somewhere in my gut it did. "Why steal what she already had? Why take the risk again?"

"Why," Mikey said reasonably, "do we ever redo an action? One reason is because we enjoyed it the first time. Another is because we hoped to better our first attempt-like when people keep running the same marathon or playing the same golf course. Another reason is because we made some mistake the first time and want to rectify that error."

"Or," I said, with the insight of an artist, "you're just fascinated with a particular technique or view or whatever and can't help doing it again."

"I think," Mikey replied, "that we can leave out the last. Colette did say that this was something she had hoped not to need to do again-presumably, she didn't want to make the second trip either."

"Okay," I said, feeling oddly grumpy. "We'll discount that last. I think we can reject her doing it again because she enjoyed it. That also makes it unlikely she was trying to better some past attempt-unless there's some prize offered for what she did."

"Not that I've ever heard," Mikey said.

"Then that leaves trying to rectify some error-apparently some error in her own infancy," I said. "Do you think Colette was responsible for tuning her infant self to Phineas House? It's always been something of a mystery why it bypassed Nikolai for his daughter."

Domingo said in the same deliberate tones as before, "You are forgetting, Mira. Colette spoke of having to return the one before she could take the other. Take, not tune or tend. Take."

"So maybe she took the image so she could work her tricks on it elsewhere," I said stubbornly. "Maybe she took the image, messed up, figured she could do a correction on the original, then discovered she had to basically reset the experiment in full before she could make it right."

"I think it was something like that," Domingo said, "but I think that also we have no idea what her experiment was. Maybe it is, as you say, something like attunement to Phineas House. Maybe something else. How will we know unless we ask her?"

"There may be something in her papers," Mikey said. "There have been times when you've been asleep, Mira, that I've been tempted to go through them more thoroughly, but I didn't want to invade your privacy."

"Thank you," I said, my voice icy. "I appreciate that."

Mikey looked rather surprised at my hostility. "I told you I didn't look."

"I'm sorry," I relented. "I think the strain is getting to me. Let's go back to what Domingo just said. We're not going to find out unless we can ask Colette herself. I've been thinking about how we might do that."

"Oh? Another attempt with the kaleidoscopes?" Mikey asked.

"No," I said. "The kaleidoscopes show, sometimes in exquisite detail, but they don't seem to allow any interaction. I need to be able to talk to her, ask her questions."

Mikey's eyebrows raised. "Are you thinking of trying to duplicate Colette's trick-go back in time?"

I bit my lip. "Not in time. I don't think that's necessary. I think she's still alive, at least in a way, suspended out there in probability. I think that's the source of this block you sense. I think Phineas House doesn't know whether Colette or I am its proper-I hate the term 'master.' Not only is it sexist, but it makes it sound like Phineas House is a slave."

"Operator?" Domingo suggested. "Since Phineas House was designed as a tool?"

"That'll do," I said, flashing him a quick smile. "Operator. When I just muddle about the house, it's fine, but when I try and use Colette's things, inquire after Colette, the House gets conflicting signals-gets confused."

"I see your point," Mikey said, "so if you don't plan to use the kaleidoscopes how do you intend to find her?"

"By using Phineas House," I said with a decisiveness I didn't feel. "I think it's tuned both to me and to her. What I need to do is find a way to open a channel or pathway between those two points. Can you help me figure out how to do it?"

"I can try," Mikey said, "but, Mira, even if Colette is alive, even if you can reach her, do you realize that you would still be taking an enormous risk? She's been roaming the edges of probability for over forty years now. That's going to have stirred up all sorts of forces. It's also quite likely that after forty years in exile she's not completely sane."

"If she ever was." I shrugged. "It's either try or give up. I'm all for trying."

"But not today," Mikey said sternly. "Maybe not tomorrow either. You need to build up your reserves."

I met his gaze squarely. "I should think you would want me to hurry. After all, I'm keeping you away from your home."

Mikey shrugged. "I've taken business trips all my adult life. This isn't much different, and it's a lot easier than in the days when a long-distance phone call cost a king's ransom."

I didn't ask why he hadn't just used liminal space to commute home. Not only did I now have a realistic idea of the risks and costs involved, I could imagine the purely mundane complications of not being where you should be when some client came calling.

Mikey went on. "Let me have a day or two to tutor you. I'd like to promise that I could go with you, but frankly, this close to Phineas House the currents ..."

He shrugged. I nodded understanding. Even if the trustees did benefit somewhat from Phineas House's abilities, the House was not a reliable tool-and if my guess that Colette was in some way alive was correct, that reliability was going to be even more in question.

"I can't see how taking some lessons would hurt," I said. "As long as you don't mind being kept away from home ..."

"I can manage," Mikey said.

Domingo had sat silently listening to this rather esoteric discussion. Now he cleared his throat. "Not to change the subject, but I have something that might amuse Mira."

Something in the tone of his voice made me wonder if "amuse" might not be the best word to describe what Domingo meant.

"What?" I replied guardedly.

"I did some more family research," he said. "Your friend Chilton O'Reilly, the reporter, was a help to me with this."

"Research?"

Domingo indicated a large manila envelope resting on the table. "I thought you might like to see pictures of your family-my family, too, which is why I was curious. Like Mikey, I didn't wish to go through your library, and the one thing Phineas House seems to lack is the usual solemn portraits of ancestors gone by. Then I thought that such a prominent family in Las Vegas's history might well have appeared in the newspapers. Chilton was a great deal of help in finding what I wanted. I think he now dreams of doing a story ... ."

I thought of how the reporter kept spinning new story ideas from prior ones and laughed. "That sounds like Chilton. So you two dug up some old pictures?"

"A fair number," Domingo said, his face lighting in response to my laughter. "Take a look."

The envelope was filled with photocopied news-clippings. Where the captions did not make clear who was pictured, identification had been written at the bottom.

"So that's Aldo Pincas," I said, looking at the first. "He's a determined-looking fellow-severe."

"Part of that may have been the photography of the time," Mikey said, looking over my shoulder with interest. "Fast films like we have today weren't known, and photographers usually asked their victims to hold a pose or expression."

"This the only picture you've seen of old Aldo?" I asked.

"Not the first," Mikey said. "I think I've even seen this one. I do have to admit, he never looks much friendlier."

As I methodically worked my way through the stack, I noted that Domingo had included collateral members as well as the main line. He'd even found one of his line's founder, Aldo's son, Fernando. Few of the photos were candid, but members of Aldo Pincas's family seemed well-represented in various civic organizations, charitable institutions, and benevolent clubs. I wondered if they'd really been so public spirited, or if this was merely a way for a family with an odd reputation and peculiar habits to stay in good with the community in which it lived.

I was shuffling through the stack, enjoying myself greatly, when in the midst of a crowd scene I spotted a familiar face. The caption at the bottom noted that the men in the photo had been the organizing committee for a fund-raiser to benefit the local fire department. In blue ballpoint pen was written below: Nikolai Bogatyr, middle row, third from right.

I counted. That was the familiar face. I stared, disbelieving.

"Mira?" Mikey said.

When I'd started going through the pictures, he'd taken a seat on the chair to my right and I'd been sliding each copy over to him as I finished. I'd held on to this one, and was looking at the next one, my heart beating so fast I thought I'd choke. It was a solo shot of the same man, the same face depicted even more clearly. This time the newspaper's own caption identified him as Nikolai Bogatyr.

"Mira?" Mikey said. "What's wrong?"

I ignored him, looking directly at Domingo.

"This man, this photo," I said, pointing to the group shot, "how did you identify him?"

"The text of the article did so, quite plainly," Domingo said. "I suppose there were too many names to put in a caption."

I sagged, confusion replacing that heart-thumping moment of panic and fear.

"Mira," Mikey said, pulling the pictures out of my hand. "What's wrong? This is Nikolai Bogatyr, Colette's father, your grandfather."

"You don't understand," I said, my voice coming out choked and hoarse. "That's the face of the man the kaleidoscope showed me when I asked who my father was. I think that second picture is even one of the same pictures. How could my father be Nikolai Bogatyr?"

Mikey looked as astonished as I felt, but Domingo only looked troubled-and sad.

"I have been wondering," Domingo said slowly, "ever since you told us that the man in the picture was dressed in old-fashioned clothing, and that the images seemed to only last nine or ten years. I kept thinking about how Colette's father died when she was nine or so ... It seemed a great coincidence that your father, too, would die that many years after his daughter's birth. I asked Mikey questions about how long family members tended to live, about size of families, number of children ... ."

"And here I thought you were just interested in your own genetic heritage," Mikey chuckled, though his shock was still visible.

"You forget," Domingo said. "I know my family for many generations, but I could see why you did not wonder about my questions, and that suited me."

"Beware innocent questions," Mikey said. "They may hide devious purpose."

"Who said that?" Domingo asked.

"I did," Mikey said. "Doesn't make it less true, does it?"

I listened with half an ear, aware that the men had prolonged their banter to give me a chance to recover from my shock. I stared down at the pictures of Nikolai Bogatyr, found several more below the first two in the pile. There was no doubt. The man who the kaleidoscope had shown me was Nikolai Bogatyr. As much as I wanted to believe the instrument had been in error, that it had shown me my grandfather, not my father, I knew this was not so. There was a simpler explanation-and it wasn't incest.

"I'm her?" I said. "I'm really her?"

It was too much like my childhood nightmares to be believed easily, yet ironically, that earlier suspicion was at heart the truth.

"You're not Colette," Mikey said. "You're her reflection, her reverse, not her."

Domingo reached out and touched my hand. "Mira, however you started, you have lived your own life, had your own experiences. You are not your mother-no matter what your origin."

"But why?" I whispered. "Why did she do this? Is it because Phineas House demands continuity?"

Mikey's comment seemed a non sequitur. "It would be very interesting to know Colette's medical history. I wonder if she ever had an abortion."

I shook my head and looked at him. "What?"

"It is well-known that Colette had many lovers, but as far as we know, you are her only child. I wonder what her medical records might show."

"But an abortion?"

"Colette's adventures took place before there was reliable birth control," Mikey explained. "The likelihood that she would have become pregnant is high, but you are her only child."

I nodded, understanding, now. "You're wondering if Colette might have been sterile, aren't you?"

"That's right," Mikey said. "It is far from impossible. She was her parent's only child. We've speculated that Phineas House might have indulged in some special selection, but the answer might be easier-inherited low fertility."

"Or she might have suffered an illness or injury," Domingo said. "My Tia Maria had a high fever when she was a young woman, and after that ..."

He shrugged, too polite to go further into such personal detail. I looked back and forth between the two men.

"I suppose," I said slowly, "I might ask at the State Hospital to see if Colette's records are still on file. They might tell something. There might be copies of her medical records somewhere in the files in the House, too, but does it matter? We know what she did-or at least we can guess."

Mikey heaved himself out of his chair. "It will matter to you, Mira. Let's go look inside. If we fail to find anything, then we'll try the hospital."

I didn't have the energy to protest. Mikey was right. I needed to know-or rather, I wanted to know. I wanted to know anything that would help me understand the enigma that was my mother-although, as with everything else about Phineas House, it seemed the more I knew, the less I understood.

But that isn't true, is it, Mira? I asked myself. Finally, you are beginning to understand how the jigsaw puzzle fits together. The truth is, you don't like what you are learning, so you pretend to still be confused.

The three of us went inside, but though we methodically searched through files, desk drawers, books, and even a few boxes we found at the back of a closet, we found nothing related to Colette Bogatyr's medical history.

"Shall we call the hospital then?" Mikey asked, his hand half-reaching for the phone book.

I shook my head. "No. In the end, it doesn't matter-and we'd only be guessing anyhow."

"It doesn't matter?" Mikey asked. "I think it does."

I shook my head again. "I've been thinking about it all this time. It doesn't really matter whether or not Colette had a medical reason she couldn't bear a child. If she wanted to solidify her claim to Phineas House and the heritage of Aldo Pincas, there were other ways. She knew her relatives, remember. It wasn't like with me. She knew them-had reason to be grateful to them, especially to her trustees. She could have adopted a child, maybe had a series of children come through and see how Phineas House reacted to each one. You've said that the talent happens outside of the family, occurs even at random. Colette had lots of options, both within and without the Pincas bloodline-but she chose this."

I waved my hands in front of myself, as you might to draw attention to a new outfit.

"She chose this," I repeated. "We can guess why, but only she knows for certain why she did it."

Domingo looked from where he stood, a dusty file folder he was restoring to its place still in his hands.