Pain crept over her, grew with her consciousness. She hurt everywhere: her belly, legs, shoulders, arms. She sobbed. The pain was in her hands, fingers, jaw, cheeks; everything about her ached and burned.
She thrashed, moaned for the pain to end; it had to end, it wasn't possible to continue like this.
The pain subsided sluggishly. She lay on her back, panting, seeing the same sunlight and boxes through tears. She could move but preferred to soak up a few moments of stability. The world unblurred. She could make out the uneven box tops and, level with her eyes, thin black lines. Wires.Aubrey sat up. In one dizzying moment, she realized she was in a cage, and she was naked. She folded arms across her chest as she heard herself whimper, sob.
I wasn’t. I was—
—at a ball, being served punch from Lady Bradford’s huge silver punch bowl and then—
Running, trying to escape, a long, gray creature close to the ground.
She huddled, rocking against the memory of of distorted senses, incredulous cries. The cage trembled.
From the other side of the boxes, a voice called, “Awake, puss?”
A face loomed over the box tops; a man of fifty-odd with scraggly gray hair stared down at Aubrey, jaw slackening.
“Who? How did you—?” and then, almost reverently, “You are her? Aubrey St. Clair? Yes? Yes?”
“Yes,” Aubrey said faintly. “What’s happened?”
She couldn't cover herself, and the old man would not stop staring. She hunched forward, legs against her chest, trying not to imagine what else he might see. She pressed against the abrasive wires.
“Human,” the man said. “A reversion. I knew it.”
“Where am I?”
“Guess Academy magicians don’t know everything.” He sidled around the boxes, knelt before the cage, and untwisted a wire. “Come on. Get out. You must be hungry.”
She whispered, “I haven't any clothes.”
He laughed, and she cringed.
“Nice thing about animals: no putting on airs. Come on, come out—”
His hands reached for her. She hated those hands, feared them, but she let them haul her upright and drag her out of the room.
They crossed a hall and entered a small parlor. A young man sat at a table, reading, the book in his hands bent to the lamplight. A handsome young man with dark hair, and she was naked and couldn't stop him from seeing her.
The old man said, “She's human,” and the young man lifted his eyes, then rose abruptly, the book tumbling to the floor.
“I thought the spell deteriorated—”
“I was right. I knew I was right.”
Aubrey gazed about uncomprehendingly. She didn’t know these men. She’d never been in this place before. The parlor with its faded rug, worn antimacassars, and dirty oil lamps was nothing like her friends’ elegant parlors or even her family’s furnished apartments.
She said, “May I have a blanket, please?”
The young man fetched one from a divan and draped it over Aubrey’s shoulders, his eyes creased by a smile, while the older man pushed aside chipped tea cups on the table. Watching him, Aubrey thought, I know him, his mannerisms: the queer way he jerks his hand back before he touches an object, the soft whistling between his teeth.
“Sit there.” The older man motioned to Aubrey, and she sat beside the round table in a straight-backed chair.
The young man pulled up another chair, saying, “How about an introduction? I'm Dmitri, and this is my uncle, Mr. Kev Marlowe.”
“Are we in Sommerville?”
“Great and glorious Kingston.”
“But I was in Sommerville when—Lady Bradford’s ball—”
Kev said, “There was a potion in the punch—a philter.”
Dmitri said, “Academy magicians playing a prank—”
“Testing,” Kev insisted. “For the military.”
“Unsuccessfully.”
“It transformed her.”
“Only her. And she didn't exactly become a talking beast like they wanted.”
“Her transformation lasted longer than any transformation on record. I was right to procure her. Lord Simon—”
Dmitri rolled his eyes and turned back to Aubrey.
She said, “I was bespelled.”
“That’s right,” Dmitri said with heavy patience. As if from a great distance, Aubrey felt faint irritation. She pushed it aside. He’s trying to help. “Into a cat.”
“Let her explain,” Kev said, but all Aubrey could remember was her brother Richard kneeling down to crawl under Lady Bradford’s front steps; she’d tried to say, “Richard, help me,” but could only mew pitifully. She wasn’t human. She was cat, and Richard, face expressionless, had scooped her up and carried her to a carriage.
She said, “My family—”
Dmitri and Kev glanced at each other over the table.
Kev said, “They’re probably in Rostand for the spring.”
“Spring? How long—?”
Dmitri said, “You were a cat for eight months.”
Aubrey said, stunned, “I've had a birthday.”
“And that makes you?” Kev said.
“Eighteen.”
“Really,” Dmitri said softly. “Quite the little lady.”
Kev frowned at him, and Aubrey felt a rush of gratitude. Kev was older, he would stop Dmitri from—
She said, “I need clothes. Please.”
“Of course, of course. Dmitri will go.”
This time, Dmitri frowned, but he went out the parlor’s second door, his feet thumping. An outside door banged.
Kev said, “How did you feel when you reverted—changed back into a human?”
“I hurt,” Aubrey said. “All over. My family—”
“But it passed?”
“Yes. Do they know where I am? You’ll tell them I’m better?”
“Of course. We’ll send a message.”
“Can’t we go to them now?” Aubrey said.
If she could just get home, back to Mother and her brothers, Richard and Andrew. If she could just get away from these strangers, from the pain of her wakening—
Kev was leaning towards her over the table, hands clasped. His teeth worried his lips. His fingers fidgeted.
He said, “It’ll be better if they fetch you directly. In case something happens—”
Aubrey’s mind blanked.
She said in a remote tight voice, “I might change back?”
She didn’t like the sudden flare of eagerness in Kev’s face. She felt her body gathering itself to shrink, to disappear, to run.
“No, no, I’m sure you won’t change,” he said, but Aubrey thought he was responding more to her white, strained face than to what he believed--or wanted to believe.
“I'm tired,” Aubrey said desperately, though truthfully. “Is there somewhere—?” a room where she could lock the door, shut out this man’s avid gaze, and untangle the stretched feeling in her chest.
“I'm sorry” she said, not sure why she apologized; she wasn't the type to apologize for vague wrongs.
“Let me show you your new room.”
Her new room was a curtained alcove off the parlor. Kev scooped boxes and books off a cot, kicked newsprint and vials under it.
“There you go. Much nicer than that storage room.”
Which made her wonder, after Kev had gone, why they had put her in the storage room in the first place.
At least I’m not in the cage.
The cage might be safer—only, she was human now, and humans didn’t belong in cages. She was . . . restored.
I was a cat. Eight months. Over half a year.
But philters never lasted so long. Magicians were always trying to perfect them. Aubrey had seen men drink philters and transform into rats, seen giggling girls do the same and levitate. She’d even seen Lady Promfret’s poodle vanish after lapping a potion from a bowl.
But always only for a few minutes.
I guess this one worked better.
Because here she was. Dmitri and Kev Marlowe talked about Academy magicians. Perhaps they knew some of the students, even the same ones that her brothers knew. Perhaps they’d send a message to one, and he would tell her family where they could find her.
I’ll be home soon. My brothers will josh me about my adventure. My friends will visit.
She laughed softly while the odd stretching fear went on and on, unamenable to reason or argument.
This will all be behind me soon, like the spell. I just have to be patient, to sleep.
She folded herself into a corner of the musty cot, pressed her hands to her chest to still its pounding. She couldn’t close her eyes. Voices sounded beyond the curtains. She tensed. Doors banged. Quiet seeped into the parlor. Her eyelids lowered.
Feet shuffled outside the alcove; Aubrey's muscles clenched. The shuffling stopped finally—had the person left or was he lurking, motionless? She held her breath, heard nothing. Someone spoke far off. An outside door banged. Nothing moved in the parlor.
She gave up trying to sleep and sat on the cot, the fusty blanket a tent around her body, her arms circling her knees.
“Here you go,” Dmitri said, his voice too close, too loud.
She gasped. Dmitri laughed and clucked:
“Now, now, kitty. Just bringing you a new pelt,” and he handed a packet through the curtains.
She unwrapped a thick, brown frock of cool damp material and lay it on the cot. Glancing towards the closed curtains, she let the blanket slide to the floor.
Her body had matured, she realized. Her hips had widened; her breasts were heavier under her hands. She stared down at herself and saw that thin red lines covered her skin: scarlet crosses on her chest; long, skinny marks on her legs and arms.
All over. Shaking, she pulled on the dress which just reached her knees. The thin scars continued past the dress's hemline to her ankles, spread web-like over her feet.
She sat on the bed and forced herself to calm.
These are effects from the philter; that’s all. I changed back. Once my family learns I’m better, someone, Richard, will fetch me. I'll leave this place behind.
She edged into the parlor. Dmitri sat at the table with his book while his free hand caressed a glass of dark liquid. She stood silently by the alcove curtains, studying him: the slanting mischievous brows, the dark tousled hair. Light from a table lamp stroked his cheekbones and the book's page.
“Hello,” Dmitri said, bringing her eyes to his.
She neared the light.
“The scars,” she said and held out her arms.
He shrugged. “A reaction to the transformation. They'll fade. How does the dress fit?”
Not at all like her blue-green frock the night of Lady Bradford’s extravaganza. It had been the last party of the summer. In a few weeks, Aubrey would have joined other debutantes at a coming-out ball in Kingston. But Mother let her attend dances in Sommerville.
She said to Dmitri, trying not to sound angry or distrustful, “Has Kev sent my family a message?”
“Of course. We didn't know you would revert, you know. Didn’t even know you could. Nobody did. Your family thought you’d be a cat forever. Kev agreed to look after you.”
Answering the questions she hadn't dared ask. He was smart and nice and handsome.
“Much more grown-up,” Dmitri said softly.
Which compliment left her strangely tight and scared. She'd never been missish. But his eyes saw her naked; his voice stripped her reserve. She flinched, her body aching.
Fear followed her into her dreams, dreams of her skin pinned back—“notice the dilation of the pupils”—the cold touch of instruments against her heart and lungs, blood on her fur, on the table—“look at the organs: far larger than usual, wouldn't you say”—while she thrashed feebly—“don't touch the head. You never know.”
The scars had not faded in the morning.
Continued in Chapter 2 "Relics" on August 23, 2013 . . .
©
Katherine Woodbury
