“A will sounds like death. That’s thrown a pall.”

“But everyone should make a will.”

“I know, Mother.” Kate smiled ruefully. “A thought crossed my mind. I thought of all your kin coming in angrily to break such a will as this. You can’t do this.”

“My poor little girl, is that what’s bothering you? I have no folks. As far as I know I have no kin. And if I did have some—who would know? Do you think you are the only one with secrets? Do you think I use the name I was born with?”

Kate looked long and levelly at Faye.

“Kate,” she cried, “Kate, it’s a party. Don’t be sad! Don’t be frozen!”

Kate got up, gently pulled the table aside, and sat down on the floor. She put her cheek on Faye’s knee. Her slender fingers traced a gold thread on the skirt through its intricate leaf pattern. And Faye stroked Kate’s cheek and hair and touched her strange ears. Shyly Faye’s fingers explored to the borders of the scar.

“I think I’ve never been so happy before,” said Kate.

“My darling. You make me happy too. Happier than I have ever been. Now I don’t feel alone. Now I feel safe.”

Kate picked delicately at the gold thread with her fingernails.

They sat in the warmth for a long time before Faye stirred. “Kate,” she said, “we’re forgetting. It’s a party. We’ve forgotten the wine. Pour it, child. We’ll have a little celebration.”

Kate said uneasily, “Do we need it, Mother?”

“It’s good. Why not? I like to take on a little load. It lets the poison out. Don’t you like champagne, Kate?”

“Well, I never have drunk much, it’s not good for me.”

“Nonsense. Pour it, darling.”

Kate got up from the floor and filled the glasses.

Faye said, “Now drink it down. I’m watching you. You’re not going to let an old woman get silly by herself.”

“You’re not an old woman, Mother.”

“Don’t talk—drink it. I won’t touch mine until yours is empty.” She held her glass until Kate had emptied hers, then gulped it. “Good, that’s good,” she said. “Fill them up. Now, come on dear—down the rat hole. After two or three the bad things go away.”

Kate’s chemistry screamed against the wine. She remembered, and she was afraid.

Faye said, “Now let me see the bottom, child—there. You see how good it is? Fill up again.”

The transition came to Kate almost immediately after the second glass. Her fear evaporated, her fear of anything disappeared. This was what she had been afraid of, and now it was too late. The wine had forced a passage through all the carefully built barriers and defenses and deceptions, and she didn’t care. The thing she had learned to cover and control was lost. Her voice became chill and her mouth was thin. Her wide-set eyes slitted and grew watchful and sardonic.

“Now you drink—Mother—while I watch,” she said. “There’s a—dear. I’ll bet you can’t drink two without stopping.”