Beltaine played by Jane Winter.

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The kitten's fur was soft and sun-warmed under my fingers. A butterfly drifted across the garden, and the purring bundle wriggled, then jumped from my arms in pursuit. I got up from the grass and followed it. It disappeared through a gateway in the hedge, and into a grey stone corridor. A door stood ajar at the far end, and I was in time to see my furry friend disappear through it. And there was that feeling again. The one that tells me a dream is going to be more than a dream. A few more steps would take me there. Quite suddenly, I didn't want to know. The sight of that plain, ordinary door filled me with unease. Still - the kitten...

"Come back..." I whispered, but no small furry shape re-emerged.

Well, what would you have done?

Through the door, I found myself on a balcony. The room below was huge, stretching off into seething darkness, crowded with people I knew...or almost knew. Deirdre, Tamarind, Altair and what - I swear - looked like Damien's twin brother with breasts. Bleys, Tristan, Ibrahim... ...others, known and unknown, fading into the distance, swallowed by the living dark.

Over and around each and every one shimmered the ghostly outline of Fiona.

"What's happening to you?" I whispered.

"This is all your fault," Deirdre's shade accused me. "You saw the vision. You made it so."

"You made it so," chorused the ghosts in perfect, horrible unison. "You made it so."

"No...I...never meant..." my voice was lost in theirs, and I backed away on unsteady feet.

It was getting darker...I couldn't breathe...couldn't scream...couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe or move because I was tangled head to foot in the sweat-soaked quilts of Damien's guestbed, hot as hell and shivering just the same. I stayed there for a long time, trying to make excuses for myself and not finding any convincing ones.

It was all true.

I had killed Fiona, killed her as surely as if I had been the one wielding the blade, and whatever harm came of her death would come because of me. Because of my stupid link to the invisible world, and the arrogance that made me think I could play safely with a power I didn't understand. That no one understood. Because of me, more people were going to die. I curled tighter under the coverlets, stuffing one corner of the silken quilt between my teeth to keep from sobbing out loud.

I was still there when Damien came to find me.

Throughout breakfast (shared with Sebek) Damien tried to reassure me that you couldn't make things true just by seeing them. Maybe he was right, but I just wasn't in a reassured mood. Too worked up for common sense and reason to have much of an impact, I guess.

"And another thing," I wept. "I can walk through bloody walls now - watch! What the fuck is that about...?"

I had my first drink right about then.

And then I went along with things...

Oh what a good kitten. Have you been waiting long? You shall come to Amber and be a kitten Princess, and have cream and fish every day, and balls of wool to play with and silk cushions to sleep on.

Yes, Tristan I know we're supposed to be scary fascists, but I don't see why Miss Kitty can't come too. I bet I can have a kitten and still be scary...

...see, that man looked pretty scared...

Not fair. Didn't mean to set her on fire. Only touched her with a bit of magic. Just a teeny bit. Not my fault.

they said it was all my fault

Miss Kitty is hungry now. Finished all her milk.

what have I done...?

Wha...Tamarind just, like, disappeared...

all

Told you. Shadow of Fiona, bad thing happen. Stands to reason.

my

I can make sugar dormice out of moonlight.

fault

And walk through walls, Miss Kitty.

didn't mean to

...no, Tamarind, I don't want to go to sleep. Not going to sleep ever again. Not ever. Want coffee...

My head hurt.

The purple background theme suggested we were in Haven.

Tried going translucent - didn't help the headache.

Tamarind offered me a goblet of...something, and I drank it down.

My head stopped hurting. The day was a blur. But I felt better. I drank some more of the purple pick-me-up, and felt a lot better. Ready for anything.

I was even getting over my guilt trip. I'd decided to blame dad. After all, he was the one who had landed me with a Power Beyond Mortal Ken and then died before providing an instruction booklet. No way was that my fault. Bastard.

All in all, I was feeling pretty confident again when Tristan said we really needed to talk to Bleys. So I said I'd go with him.

Bleys looked a lot more pleased to see me than he had last time. Of course, maybe he just approved of the whole Shadow Moro, Barbie-does-Bondage look, which I hadn't got round to losing. Some stray part of me liked that he approved. Couldn't blame dad for that.

I was feeling relaxed and yet wired by whatever I'd consumed in Haven. In the mood to explore...diplomatic options. Not Tristan, though. Suddenly he couldn't wait for us to leave.

Bleys had ordered coffee - and there's no such thing as bad coffee. But Tristan wasn't waiting even that long.

"Have to go - sorry..." Tristan sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

I sighed and got to my feet. Bleys solicitously helped out, then held onto my hand and kissed it.

Tristan looked like he might have a heart attack, and damn near dragged me through a Trump contact to Amber. Where he explained that Bleys seemed to have not only a double lifeforce suggesting he was possessed by Fiona, but a contaminated double- (triple-?) lifeforce that suggested Fiona was still possessed by Anurerishkigal.

Ah.

I called Damien and Tamarind: "Come back."

They came.

Tamarind reported that Bleys appeared to be chatting to Llewella over the Trumps.

Caine backed this up - not that anyone cared - and said he couldn't eavesdrop unobserved.

A general gathering up of the Family commenced, interspersed with Damien filling people in on last night's vision. I tried to pretend I wasn't listening.

Benedict wanted to know what the plan was.

"Group Trump?" suggested Tamarind brightly.

"Oh, yeah," I sighed, "that worked out so well last time..."

Benedict left.

I felt I should say something positive. "You know, Bleys could have killed Tristan and me when he saw Tristan had worked things out, but he didn't...wish you had warned me, though, Tristan. I wouldn't have let him kiss me goodbye..."

Now Damien looked as though he might have a heart attack.

I decided to just shut up. Positive wasn't working well for me today.

Family continued to arrive - we dragged Esmée out of a nightclub, Caleb off a beach and Julian, Flora and Margot out of bed.

Julian admitted that Bleys had recently contacted him with a view to some kind of joint vengeance-taking. Llewella, contacted though diplomatic channels (well, Damien and Tamarind) admitted the same, and said she turned him and whatever was sharing his psyche down.

The conversation grew long, and then circular.

I didn't share my thoughts, which were basically that Julian looked surprisingly good in his white dressing gown, though not nearly so good as Bleys had in the red silk. Didn't think it would add much to the discussion. I was beginning to think my time in what Brand had called a 'chrysalis' had done something scary to my hormones. Still...Julian in the robe, Margot in a dressing gown and Esmée in that outfit. Who could be expected to concentrate? Far too many members of this family are far too attractive, so sue me if I enjoy the scenery from time to time.

What the hell was in that stuff Tamarind had given me to drink?

I sound like the world's biggest slut, which I don't mean to at all. Part of it was the making-up-for-fifteen-lost-years thing. Part of it was wondering if a real relationship with a real person would make me feel more like part of the real world. Or at least like one of the grown-ups. And part of it was the fact that I believed deep down that Bleys (or Bleys-and-Fiona) was likely to kill me reasonably soon, and it seemed a shame to be going to die a virgin. Especially with all this loveliness around. Like starving to death in a sweetshop.

When I was ten or so, I had very clear ideas about relationships. I was going to grow up, and then I was going to marry Uncle Tristan, to cheer him up a bit. Then, a few years later, I had a massive teen crush on Esmée (who was perfectly sweet about it), and swore off love forever when she started sleeping with Damien. It was just something that normal people had, and I didn't. Let's face it: most people prefer their partner not to be the daughter of Satan, and not to turn transparent once a month.

And a few years after that, I ended up in a Bubble. Between the Circle of Fire and the Chrysalis, I had spent more years imprisoned than free. It hadn't left much time for working on my social life.

Oh well. At least if I were going to die soon, I wouldn't get to hit the hereditary insanity stage.

Anyway.

Amber was on full alert. Rebma also. And we had still not a clue what to do to make ourselves feel useful.

So we decided to try Trumping Bleys and Fiona in an attempt to separate their two minds.

Tamarind decided to bring Benedict back; Tristan and I wondered aloud what the point was?

"Show some respect!" growled Gerard.

"Ah - why, exactly?" we asked. Politely, though.

At first, we all tried to reach Bleys, which got us nowhere, even using Tamarind's frame. Then we divided forces, with Damien, Caine, Tristan and Tamarind all still trying to reach Bleys.

Which left me and Brand to concentrate on Fiona's. How had I let that happen? I really didn't want him anywhere near my mind. But I also really didn't want to miss any chance to put things right.

I concentrated until I could see little bright lights in front of my eyes. Around me, I was vaguely aware of people pulling out of the attempt. I could hardly see the card by now, but I couldn't give up.

Not when it was

...all

...my

...fault...