by Emma Coal
She peered up at the mezzanine. That at least seemed just as disheveled as she remembered and the grassy, masculine smell of the wolf fey was thick. Grace steeled herself, a thrill of fear running through her at the scent. Though she had resolved to properly make Phelan’s acquaintance, her instincts would not be suppressed and they told her to run. She stepped through into the garden and walked along the house until the Pegasus came into view. Cautiously, she approached, peering around the pedestal.
Her nostrils twitched and Grace froze. Unsteadily she turned and found herself face to face with the wolf, his emerald green eyes as wide as hers.
“Hi,” she said unsteadily. She reached out a hand.
The wolf considered her and then she screamed as he leaped upon her, pushing her down. Grace hissed and bopped him on the nose. The wolf looked confused and sniffed her as she stared wide-eyed up at him. Eventually satisfied, he sat down. Grace crawled out from under him and glared, her arms crossed and her legs bent to one side in an attempt at propriety despite the situation.
“Can’t you take on human form? You’re being rude,” she said, her heart pounding and anger tainting her words.
The great verdant wolf regarded her, head tilted. Grace remembered that he hadn’t seemed able to understand her before and when he’d spoken it had been some tongue she wasn’t particularly familiar with. She felt a mix of shame at her presumption and anxiety that she and the wolf man wouldn’t ever be able to understand each other even if they were able to develop some sort of comradery.
The wolf changed, returning to the form he’d worn briefly the night before. She examined him in the diffuse sunlight. His features were lupine even in this form. His nose was strong as was his jaw but his face was long, creating the illusion of a muzzle. His narrow green eyes were the only thing that was exactly the same. He seemed only a little taller than the average man. That meant that if they were to stand Grace would come up to just below his shoulder. A perfect height differential for dancing, Louise would say.
“I’m sorry if rude. I don’t speak usually.”
Grace stared. “I thought you didn’t speak my language?”
The man shrugged long slim shoulders. “I remembered how.”
Grace took this in stride.
“I read about how you came here. The house gave me a book or, a journal, perhaps that told of it.”
“Oh.”
They regarded each other awkwardly, Phelan sitting splayed legged and appearing extremely at ease though he seemed very intent upon her and Grace trying to maintain her ladylike pose and feeling entirely out of her element.
“Perhaps this was a mistake.”
“No, I’m lonely. Are you lonely too?” he asked, leaning towards her.
Grace usually felt like pulling away when a man leaned towards here, disliking even that shallow form of intimacy but this time she didn’t.
“Yes, I’m lonely. You’ve been here, wherever or whatever here is, for much longer than I have so you’ve been along much longer. I’ve only been here for two days, I think.”
Phelan smiled. “I was lonely before I came here.”
“I…was as well.” Grace felt the brilliant shock of the realization. She hadn’t connected with anyone for so long.
The man stood. Grace couldn’t help but gasp at his speed and coordination. She regarded him with open mouth as he went over to stand in front of her. He held out one hand and she noted the fingers were quite slim. Belatedly, Grace realized he was trying to help her up. She put her hand in his. It was quite small in his grasp which she disliked. She wasn’t a very large woman and, despite his grace and how long and lean his body was, he was fairly large.
In one smooth movement, Phelan moved his hand down to grasp her upper arm gently and pulled her up to stand beside him. Grace felt out of breath and was suddenly very aware that her head was less than a hands breath from his chest. Uncharacteristically, she felt her cheeks warm.
Phelan stared down at her smiling slightly, his nostrils flared. Grace felt ashamed. Both of them had a strong sense of smell. He could smell her feelings. To her relief, he stepped away and held out one arm.
“Would you like to go for a walk? The fog is thin today. The sun is even shining through in some places. It hasn’t done that for a very long time.”
“I would love to,” Grace hooked her arm in his, appreciating that he hadn’t embarrassed her or pressed his advantage.
“Have you taken note of the roses?” asked Phelan. He gestured to the flourishing mass of roses and vines which clung to the first floor of the house.
“Yes, they had come to my attention,” said Grace dryly.
As he led her away to tour the grounds, she spared a glance back at the substantial blooms, for the first time regretting her situation.
Chapter Nineteen: Emerald
Lupine scent wafted. She felt like she was bathing in it. The cat opened her eyes and stopped short, her gaze obscured by thick green hair. It smelled of wolf. Immediately awake, her little heart pounding, she backed slowly way from the pelt. It shifted and she crouched, hissing. The wolf turned and stared at her. She jumped up on the chair and perched there shivering.
The great, big, disgusting beast changed. She thought he’d disappeared and peered around panting but then she saw movement in the flickering firelight and sniffed the human there. She felt a shock of recognition but she couldn’t place it. Her nose twitched as the man reached out towards her and the smell coming off of his hand was the same terrible scent. With a yowl, she leapt off the back of the chair and bolted out of the room, running until she found an open window. She slipped through but when she landed something caught her tail.
In a panic the ginger cat turned upon the thing, clawing and wrenching her body until it released her. Belatedly she scented the rose petals which lay at her feet along with the shredded vines. There was importance to these things but she shook her head and hurried off, eager to leave the wolf’s territory.
Phelan ran after her. He didn’t know what had happened but he did understand when something was wrong. Grace had shape changed before so he’d assumed she was like him but now it seemed it was an enchantment or a geas. Soon he found the open window.
“Why?” he asked the house angrily.
He received an impression of confusion and chagrin. The house hadn’t known why there was a feral cat within its walls and had acted to remedy the situation. It was astonishing how many squirrels it had needed to scare away so the action came automatically. Phelan peered outside, noting the flower petals littering the ground. He wondered if she had gotten scratched. With a sigh, he left the room and began to walk. He found himself retracing her scent back to the study and stopped beside the hearth to breath in deeply. She really had been interesting and the only one he’d talked to in a very long time, even though she didn’t speak welsh.
Phelan stopped dead in his tracks. Why was he thinking in the past tense, because she’d left the house? He only stayed on the mores because of choice. He rubbed his shoulder and then shook his head. No, his encounter with those pirates had been a very long time ago. He had been little more than a pup. There was no good reason for him to continue hiding from men dead the same night of his wounding. It had been so long that, had they survived and lived long lives, they would have been long deceased anyway.
Phelan held onto the top of the chair for support. He took a deep breath of the girl’s scent and then addressed the house.
“She said you let her read my story. Does she have one?”
Two books dropped neatly onto the flowered fabric of the chair seat. One small volume bopped Phelan on the head and he caught it before it fell to the ground. He examined the little book. Useful Spells for the Fey among the Humans. He turned to the other two. One was entitled in Latin, Metamorphosis Procerus. The other had no cover title and no cover page. Within it he found a story he soon recognized as his own though the point of view seemed impossibly written. It was probably enchantment, he rea
soned, thinking no more of it. He flipped further and found another chapter, this one titled by human hand but as he watched the writing changed to text and the point of view adapted. He began to read.
The chapter was short but informative. Once he’d finished he turned to the book in Latin. They house blew the pages to the right location. He began to read, recognizing some of it. The Queen had liked to watch human plays and stories. It didn’t take long to understand why he was reading.
Galanthis had insulted a goddess and as a result she’d become a cat. This version didn’t stop with Galanthis living in the house hold of Alcmene. Eventually she tired and found another home, as cats do. This one was with a florist who enjoyed waving the roses in front of her face. The florist eventually gave her a collar and fed her regularly though Galanthis came and went as she pleased, still attending to Alcmene and her son up in the palace. One day the florist, frustrated at the fickleness of a cat, tried to strike a bargain with her, mostly in jest.
“Oh, beautiful creature. You eat my offerings and deign to play with me and yet you slink away for days on end. I want more. I offer you this rose of deepest pink. This rose, the offspring of Aphrodite’s tear, the symbol of love, will be yours if you agree to stay within my household loyal to me and mine and never leave for long.”
To the flower merchant’s surprise, the cat listened, peering at him with copper eyes. Once he had finished his speech she reached out with one paw, toes outstretched and placed it upon his hand and also upon the flower stem. With her eyes still upon him she meowed with surety, the faint cry becoming rich like a bell tone.
The merchant suddenly found himself facing a naked woman with flowing red-gold hair sitting upon the sill where the cat had been. She explained what had happened and took the rose then demanded to know when they would be married
Phelan stopped reading and closed the book, a strange expression on his face. A rose would bring her back coupled with some sort of bargain, that much was clear. It was also clear that the bargain wasn’t permanent and that the geas had been going on for a very long time. As a Cwn Anwnn he didn’t have much of a grasp of time and isolation hadn’t helped, in fact, he’d been functioning without thinking for centuries in the fog, but he knew that the Roman empire was before his time and it went without saying that the Greek was as well. This sort of magic was perplexing to him and probably would have been even if he was better informed.
He adjusted until he was sitting cross legged on the carpet before the hearth and began to flip through the little book the house had dropped on his head.
Chapter Twenty: Strawberry
Phelan found Grace curled up in the tree where they’d first crossed paths, when she’d only seen him as a monster in the fog. He regarded her and she looked at him, curious at first and then fearful.
“Grace, I brought you a dress to change into.” He held out one of the dresses the house had provided, this one a cheery mustard yellow but she only batted angrily at the fabric.
Phelan shook his head. He hadn’t thought it would be so easy as asking her or satisfying her modesty. He steeled himself and took a rose from the basket the house had materialized. A lot of time and effort had gone into its selection. He gathered what he was going to say.
“Dear Grace, I know I have not had your acquaintance long but I’m fond of you. I offer you this rose in exchange for you staying as part of my household, though you don’t need to provide any service but your company.” He proffered the rose to the fearful creature.
She slapped it away and leapt from the tree. She set off at a dead run into distance.
Phelan sagged and went to pick up the rose. No, he supposed, it couldn’t be that easy. Though the flower merchant had been partially joking, a bond had formed and Grace’s mother had no doubt been given the rose which kept her human before she changed completely, not to mention there had probably been a courtship. Grace’s father had kept Grace the way she was because they loved each other. Regardless of what might happen between them, the most that she could feel for Phelan was interest.
He followed after the cat, wondering what to do when he encountered her again. He suddenly remembered something and opened the wicker hand basket. After some rummaging since any container the house had was usually more spacious than it seemed, he pulled out the book which told both his and Grace’s story. He remembered Galanthis and thought about her line. He knew how it had begun and he knew where it had gone but he didn’t know how it had continued in between.
He found the chapter. It continued much the way the other book had but didn’t stop. Galanthis had children, the eldest of which was born a kitten but when her father played with her with a rose and then gave it to her as a gift, she changed immediately. Her wedding was early and her wedding gift was a bouquet. Phelan hurriedly turned the pages to the next eldest girl, Astor and her story. He laughed out loud. It was all in the fine print, wasn’t it. He felt a fool to even call himself a fey.
The cat didn’t know where to go and she didn’t like how her paws felt against the cool moss. She followed her instincts and padded along the cliffs where it was a little less damp. She paused to clean herself and watch the water coming and going. It was mesmerizing, so she regarded it for a while.
Eventually, she stood and continued to walk. There were scents of people and the much greater scent of gutted fish not very far away. She was hungry and humans left things around that were nice to eat. She would go oblige them with her presence and accept their offerings.
It took some time for her to make it to the bluffs which overlooked the town. With a sigh, she made her way down and began to prowl amongst the houses eventually finding the docks. She discovered a bucket filled with fish innards and cautiously reached her paw down towards them, even her nose wrinkling at the stench. Fish guts were tasty, yes but she preferred them fresh.
“Ere kitty, kitty. Ere little golden moggie!”
Cautiously, the cat looked up towards the sound. She was nearly smacked in the face by a small herring for her trouble. She hissed at the man and then crept forward and snatched the silvery fish. In her hunger she didn’t realize anything was wrong until it was too late and she was grabbed around the middle and yanked up. She fought and snapped and tried to scratch but then had to go limp when a hand clamped on the scruff of her neck. The man held her up and smiled at her.
“We don’t need cats out on the docks. I’ve got a better place for you, m’dear. Locked up in my barn keeping things neat and tidy. It’s good you’ve got spirit. Them rats’ll eat you alive.”
He examined her, heedless of her hissing.
Oh, you’re a girl moggie, aren’t ye? Good thing toms don’t care about looks because you’ll be scarred by th end of th week.”
The ginger cat blinked her great big blue eyes and then struck the man square on the nose.
“Damn-!” he swore and dropped her she bolted out of the town and towards something she sensed would be more familiar.
The farm yard was dusty and the cat sneezed. She regarded the house for a moment but turned about to head for the fence. She hopped up on a post and then jumped down and went over to sniff the great, big, white, spotted goat there. They touched noses and the goat bleated in recognition. She heard a shrill meow and bristled as another cat, a female, landed in front of her, fur out. They regarded each other, two pairs of blue eyes watching for movement. The cat sniffed then and so did the other cat. They sat, their coats flattening and then approached each other.
There was something about family in the scent, as if they were blood related. Litter mates? Cousins? The red-blond cat meowed and the orange cat licked her on the bridge of her nose. She began to try and groom the blond cat but the blond cat wasn’t that interested in being bathed so she hissed and left the enclosure, heading for the house.
The cat wandered into the kitchen but the cook loomed and shooed her away.
“No cats in the house, mind. Besides, we already have a tabby cat.”
The cat
slunk around the house and hopped up on a window sill. Curiously, she peered in. An older man with longer grey hair and a large belly lay fully clothed upon a bed. He held a mirror. Two young woman sat with him. One snatched the mirror away when he waved it emphatically.
She shook it at him and said angrily,
“No, don’t pretend you can see her.”
The other older girl spoke quietly, taking the mirror from the younger girl and holding it carefully.
“She’s gone.”
The old man sighed and turned his face away from them. Grace stared through the window intently, she wanted to be near him and comfort him. Their eyes met and the man tried to sit up, gesturing towards the window and speaking breathlessly.
“She’s here, she’s back.”
The cat scratched at the window.
The older girl went to the window and opened it. The cat tried to slip through, mewling desperately but the blond girl shoved her away and off the sill.
The cat jumped back up and the younger one yelled at the old man.
“Silly old man. How can that be her, you’ve gone nutty!”
The younger girl, the brunette, charged out of the house and towards the cat and the cat leapt from the windowsill and ran behind the shed, terrified. She couldn’t stand that girl. She sat there panting with anxiety.
When the scent of wolf assaulted her nostrils it was too late, Phelan had her by the scruff of her neck and stuffed her in the basket.
“Grace,” he crooned and the basket stopped shuddering.
“Grace, I’ve come to get you.”
A confused meow emanated from the wicker.
Phelan patted the lid, as if that would help.
“Can you understand me? I think you can. Please listen.”
Listen, Grace,” he put power in his words.
“Do you understand?”
“Meow.”
