by Jasmine Walt
Marris looked slightly troubled by my warning, but after a moment’s consideration, he shrugged. “That may be so, but Abbsville is such a tiny town that the Federation won’t be looking this way,” he insisted. “But if you want, I can change out these coins for real ones. It might take me a couple of days, though.”
I shook my head. “No need,” I said, finally placing the last coin into my tunic pocket. “I shall accept these, just this once.” After all, I was perfectly capable of adding the magical scent to these coins, though I could not tell Marris that. “But be sure to pay me with genuine ones next year.”
Marris eagerly agreed, then thanked me for accepting the coins and agreeing to keep his secret. As I watched him leave, I wondered just how long this secret would stay under wraps. From what I understood, this entire region had suffered from a bad harvest, and if Abbsville was the only town in the area where everyone could pay up, that anomaly could draw the interest of the state’s tax inspectors.
“I guess I’d better go doctor these coins now,” I muttered, heading back inside. I could only hope that the tax inspectors would be too happy about the money to look closely, but that didn’t mean I could take any chances with my own payment.
11
Mina
Rain drummed on the rooftop of my house, matching the staccato of my fingers as I tapped them against the tabletop. In my right hand I held a pen, the end of which I chewed absently as I considered the tax report I was filling out.
A plaintive meow from across the room had me setting down my pen. There on my sofa sprawled a little black-and-white kitten—a tom I’d taken in the other night when he showed up on my doorstep, soaked and shivering from the sudden downpour that had assailed Abbsville. Feeling sorry for the small creature, I’d taken him in and fed him, with the intention of finding him a new home.
“I can’t spend all day scratching your ears,” I told him, picking up my pen again. “I have work to do, you know.”
The kitten only meowed again, this time lifting his head imperiously. From the way he sprawled across my furniture, I could tell the little tom already thought he was home.
“Perhaps I should give you a name,” I mused, still staring at him. The cat held my stare, unblinking, then hopped off the couch and padded toward me. “What about Felix?” I asked as he wound his way around my legs, purring far too loudly for an animal of his size. He rubbed his chin against my ankle as if in response to the suggested name, and I giggled as the motion tickled my exposed skin.
“Oh, but I can’t name you, can I?” I said with a sigh, scooping him up and putting him in my lap. If I named him, I would have to keep him, and since I was moving in two years, if not earlier, that didn’t seem like a wise idea.
“You are very cute,” I told him as I scratched beneath his tiny chin with the nail of my forefinger. “I should have very little trouble finding a home for you. Some little girl is bound to take one look at you and fall in love.”
The cat purred louder, angling his chin against my finger. As I continued to scratch him, my mind drifted back to my current predicament—whether I should wait out my last two years in Abbsville or attempt to start over in another town. It would have been convenient if I’d learned transmogrification before running away, I reflected, looking out the window at the pouring rain. If I had that skill, I could create gold like any full-fledged mage, though I would have to do it secretly and in small amounts. Then I could afford nicer furniture instead of the creaky chair I sat upon and the scarred wooden table upon which my tax papers lay. I might very well have been the one to leave presents of gold for friends in need rather than the mysterious donor who had popped up all of a sudden. It still seemed too much of a coincidence to me that this happened just as Fenris moved into town, but I couldn’t see how he would know who to leave gifts for.
Then again, I thought, if I had not run away, and had managed to complete my apprenticeship, I’d be allotted a certain amount of gold every year simply for being a mage. That didn’t seem very fair, not when the residents of Abbsville worked so hard and received so little, but it would have made my life much easier. I worked myself to the bone just to make ends meet—I’d stayed up until four in the morning with a colicky horse last night, and had woken at eight to patch up a dog that had gotten into a nasty fight with a stray cat. As the only veterinarian in town, I could hardly turn away pet owners in need.
But even with all the hours I worked tending the pets and farm animals of Abbsville, I made so little in ready cash that I did not have to pay taxes, for which I was grateful. I was still required to hand the form in to the tax mage when he came to town, but at least I did not have to hand over any of my hard-earned coin.
Using my left hand to pet the kitten, I finished filling out the form with my right, then signed it and put it in an envelope. I attempted to stand, but the kitten purred louder, snuggling deeper into my lap. Smiling, I settled back down and instead reached for my cup of tea. As I sipped, petting the cat and staring out at the empty, flooded streets, a sense of peace overcame me. I loved evenings like this, where I could sit inside and curl up with a cup of tea and a good book—or, in this case, a cuddly cat.
I’ll wait another year, I decided, and see how I feel about moving then. Yes, things had gotten a bit uncomfortable recently, but I would not let a busybody like Mrs. Roor get the better of me. Besides, if I fled town now, so soon after these accusations, it would only make me look guilty. It was better to go about my business like normal and make myself useful. Apart from Mrs. Roor, nobody in Abbsville really wanted to get rid of the local veterinarian—I was far too valuable, in the grand scheme of things.
Besides, life wasn’t really so bad here, was it? I had my cozy little house, clothes on my back, and enough food to keep my belly full at night. What more did I need? Many people in the Federation had far less. Since my father’s forebears had been among the first mages to settle in the southern state of Innarta and had received generous land grants, I’d grown up amongst opulent wealth. I had every intention of enjoying that wealth again once I reached my majority and could claim my inheritance. Two years wasn’t that long to wait. Knowing it was only temporary, living modestly was fun in its own way.
You should be proud you’ve managed to make your way in the world all alone, I thought. You left with hardly any magical training or money to your name, and yet you’ve managed to establish a career and identity for yourself. That’s more than many can say, regardless of their race.
The piercing whistle of a steam vehicle jarred me from my thoughts, and I peered out the window again, pressing my nose to the glass. A pair of headlights nearly blinded me as a massive steamtruck rumbled right up in front of my house. I was forced to throw my hand in front of my eyes to block the glare.
The kitten hissed at the noise, digging his claws into my leg.
“Ouch!” I lifted him off my lap, ignoring his protests. “You can’t hog me forever,” I told him as I sat him down on the floor. “This could be an emergency.” For some reason, they tended to occur in the most beastly weather, but that was all part of my job.
I opened the door just as my unexpected visitor began to knock and blinked in surprise to see Fenris standing at my doorstep. What in Recca was he doing, coming for a visit in such awful weather? My heart beat a little faster at the sight of his yellow shifter eyes glowing from beneath his hat, slightly eerie in the gloom outside.
“Good evening,” I said, stepping aside reflexively—he was dripping wet, and I was certain he did not want to stand out in the cold. “What are you doing out in all this rain?”
“Apologies for the intrusion, but it’s urgent,” he said as he came in. Rain dripped off his oilcloth coat, and he was careful to remain on the front door mat so that it would not get all over my floor.
“Urgent?” I echoed. “Has someone been hurt?”
Fenris nodded. “I was just over at Marris’s farm, having dinner with his family, when their old mastiff had a fit.”
His yellow eyes were grave. “She was still half-comatose and shivering uncontrollably when I left to fetch you.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Oh no! They’ve had Tira ever since she was a pup,” I said, familiar with Marris’s dog. She was nearly thirteen now, and I’d already seen her several times in the past year for age-related ailments. I reached for my own coat, hanging from the rack, and slung it on. “I guess I’d better come,” I said with a small sigh.
“Yes. They’re quite distraught. Marris would have come himself if he had not been so loath to leave the dog.”
I shoved my feet into my rainboots, grabbed my umbrella, and tucked the kitten back into his cage. “Don’t give me that,” I scolded as the kitten protested loudly. “You’re not litter-box trained, and I can’t trust you in the house by yourself yet. I’ll be back before you know it.”
The kitten glared balefully at me before raising one of his hind legs and embarking on the very important task of cleaning himself. “He’s rebuffing you,” Fenris said, his expression lightening briefly as he chuckled.
“Cats are cheeky animals,” I said as I followed him out into the rain. I thought I heard him mutter, “Don’t I know it,” but it was hard to be sure with the deafening downpour. Even with my umbrella snapped open, I still got wet—the wind smacked me in the face with dozens of raindrops as Fenris and I hurried to the truck.
“Any idea what might have triggered the dog’s sudden illness?” I asked as Fenris slammed his door shut. He started the engine, and we set off down the road with a lurch. Fenris drove carefully through the pouring rain, with the lights turned on full—he seemed competent enough, taking his time with the muddy road but calm despite the storm. I wondered if shifters usually drove vehicles—I’d seen a few on steambikes back home, but the ones I’d known in veterinary school preferred to travel on foot or paw, depending on which form they were in at the time.
“I’m afraid not,” Fenris said. His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “There wasn’t any way to examine the animal myself—they begged me to fetch you immediately. But given the dog’s age, I am not optimistic about her chances. It could be a heart problem. If so, you might, at best, only be able to alleviate the symptoms with your magic.”
I bristled at that. “And just how would you know what I can and cannot do with my magic?” He was right, unfortunately—I had yet to save any animal with a serious heart condition, but he didn’t need to know that. I didn’t like that he was making assumptions about my abilities after knowing me for such a brief time.
“I have spent a large portion of my life studying magic,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He pressed down gently on the brake, and we slowed as the wheels navigated through a shallow ditch.
I gaped at him. “That’s impossible,” I sputtered. “Shifters are not allowed access to any of the texts mages study. Besides, as far as I know, magic is a wide, complicated field with many sub-disciplines and even its own special language.”
“Indeed.” Fenris arched an eyebrow, momentarily turning his gaze from the road. My shoulders tensed as those glowing yellow eyes met mine, speculation brewing in their depths. “And just how much do you know about magic, since you are clearly the expert here?”
My cheeks flushed at that, and I looked out the front window. Thankfully, the gate to the Dolan Farm loomed right in front of us, sparing me from having to respond. The moment we rolled up to the house, I threw open the passenger door and rushed inside.
“Mina,” Mrs. Dolan cried as I burst through the front door, Fenris on my heels. She was crouched in front of the fireplace where the dog lay on a rug, still shivering. Marris, Dana, Roglar, and Decrin, her children, were all crowded around the dog as well, and they jumped to their feet at my approach.
“Please,” Dana said, grabbing my hand with both of hers. Her body trembled beneath the thin, floral-print dress she wore, and her heart-shaped face was stained with tears. “You must help her, Mina. She can’t die yet. It’s not her time to go.”
“She is so much more than just one of our animals,” Mrs. Dolan said, her voice raw. “She has always been a part of the family, and twice saved Decrin’s life.”
“I will do my best, but you all must give me space,” I said gently. I gave Dana’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then approached the dog. “Fenris, please take Mrs. Dolan and her family to the kitchen and get them to make some tea.”
Normally, I wouldn’t think to order around the matron of the house, but Mrs. Dolan wasn’t in much better shape than her daughter, and I desperately needed them out of the way. Marris seemed to have a better handle on himself—he took his mother by the shoulders and began guiding her to the kitchen, murmuring soothing words. I nodded my thanks at Fenris as he herded the family out of the room, then focused my attention on the dog.
“There now,” I said, stroking the trembling animal. “Come, it’s not so bad now. We’ll have you back up to speed soon enough.”
I continued to murmur soothing words as I stroked the dog, feeding her tendrils of healing magic with each touch. Minutes passed as I gradually lifted her suffering from her body and took it into my own. I gritted my teeth, bearing down on the acute pain. Eventually, her trembles ceased and her fur began to warm again. But I could tell it wasn’t enough—the sickness was still deep inside her, and my limited skills were not able to penetrate or permanently heal it.
The door to the kitchen creaked open behind me, and I turned to see Fenris and Marris re-enter the room. “How is she?” Marris asked quietly, crouching next to me. Hope sparked in his eyes as he slipped his hand into the dog’s fur and she turned her head to look at him. “She’s stopped trembling.”
I nodded. “I’ve eased her pain a bit with some medicine, but I’m afraid she won’t survive more than a couple of days.”
Marris stiffened. “But she’s doing so much better already.” His voice cracked on the word “better,” and my stomach clenched as he turned pain-filled eyes toward me. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”
I swallowed against a sudden lump in my throat. “I think you may want to prepare your family for the inevitable.”
Nodding, Marris stroked the dog one last time, then went back into the kitchen. I met Fenris’s gaze. He had been standing just off to the side, watching. The lines in his face were taut, and he looked as though he was fighting some internal battle. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was thinking, then closed it again when he strode over and got down on his knees.
“What are you—” I began as he laid his hand on the dog’s side.
“Shhh.” Ignoring me, he began to lightly pat Tira down, his eyes scanning her body as if he was searching for something. The sight stirred a familiar memory, and my mouth dropped open. I’d seen mage healers do this sort of thing—they used a special spell that allowed them to see inside the body and pinpoint injuries or sources of illness. I’d even attempted the technique a time or two myself, without success. It was beyond the scope of my abilities.
So then how is it that a shifter is able to do it?
“As I suspected, her heart is failing,” Fenris murmured, jarring me from my startled thoughts. “I can mend it, but I will need to borrow some of your power to do it.”
I stared at him. “You mean to tell me you can use my magic to heal her?”
Fenris merely held out a palm. “If you wish to save her, then take my hand.”
I hesitated, staring down at his outstretched palm. It was much wider than my own, the skin roughened by outdoor work—there were some recent blisters that told me he’d been getting acquainted with the glamorous task of mucking out the stables with a rake. For some reason, the thought of Fenris doing such a normal, everyday task made me relax, and I placed my hand in his. He might be different from the rest of us, but from everything I’d seen, he had a good heart.
Besides, what is there to lose?
Fenris’s fingers tightened around my hand, sending a zing of electricity
up my arm. My breath caught in my throat as I felt a tug deep within my chest, and it was as though a dam had burst inside me, opening the floodgates to my magic. A gasp flew from my lips as power surged in my veins, and for a moment, I worried I might light Fenris on fire, just as I’d done to my lover’s sheets years ago.
Fenris narrowed his gaze on our joined hands, his grip steady. Instead of exploding outward, my magic flowed smoothly into him at an even pace—enough for him to fuel the spell, but not enough to drain me. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned back to Tira and placed a hand on her head, stroking her. The dog’s eyes drifted shut, and her body relaxed into a deep sleep.
As I sat there, trying to process the fact that Fenris had just used a sleeping spell on Tira, he pressed his hand on her ribcage. The moment he did so, my vision altered. Suddenly, I could see past Tira’s chest, through skin and bone and muscle, to the beating heart that lay beneath.
Torn blood vessels, I thought dumbly, staring down at them. These were the source of the heart trouble. Not only could I see them, I could also see my magic, guided expertly by Fenris. The glittering strands of power twined around the vessels, gently coaxing the fibers together with a deftness I could never have managed myself.
As the magic did its work, I heard Fenris’s voice chanting strange words in my head, though his lips were not moving. Is that Loranian? I thought, nearly reeling in shock. Fenris’s grip tightened on my hand, as if he sensed my distress, and I forced myself to calm down. The last thing I needed to do was distract him while he was performing a delicate operation.
But how is he able to do this? What I was seeing defied explanation. This level of healing was clearly the result of years, perhaps even decades, of practice. What shifter was able to do this? Even one who had studied magical texts would not be able to—studying was not the same thing as practical experience, and it was obvious Fenris had that in spades.