by Cutter, Leah
Hamlin pushed out and up in the little terrier body, filling all the space, his heart and courage bigger than the commanding presence in front of them.
When Tilgard spoke sharply, Lukas dropped down to all fours and yipped playfully, rear up, tail wagging, as if this were a game, though his heart raced and he panted.
If he’d been in human form, he knew he’d be sweating.
“Change back!” Tilgard commanded in English this time.
Lukas stopped playing and backed away, his eyes wide and his ears flattened.
“No, no, I won’t hurt you,” Tilgard assured them.
Lukas stayed where he was, wary.
“Please, change.”
Lukas looked around the room, as if noticing it for the first time, sniffing the air.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you need to quit, now.”
Lukas continued to ignore the hound master, only looking at him when he said something sharply. Maybe he could go play outside soon. He teased apart the scents in the air, seeking even the edge of the woods, the metal gate miles away. When he was in Hamlin’s form he could smell it; now, only his imagination supplied it.
Tilgard left and returned first with Felix, then with Oma.
Nothing would make Lukas change back, no pleas or threats, as he and his grandmother had planned. He watched her carefully, impressed with her fine acting. She still had much to teach him.
Finally, the three of them left him alone in the classroom. Lukas curled up in a dog bed in the corner, exhausted with the effort of disobeying, his little body shaking.
Relax, he told Hamlin as he closed his eyes. No guard tonight.
Hamlin shuffled closer and curled up with Lukas, glad for the rest.
When they awoke, Lukas was human-shaped again. The traditional cloak lay folded next to him, the one he’d worn two years before, the first time he’d transformed.
As soon as Lukas put on the cloak, Tilgard came back in the room. “Was that some kind of game, son?” the hound master thundered.
Shaking, Lukas turned to him, remembering to make his eyes wide and scared. “No,” he whispered.
He must have gotten the play-acting right because Tilgard pulled him into a tight hug.
“My boy, my boy,” he said softly, kissing the top of Lukas’ head. “We’ll think of something, eh?” he added, pulling back.
Lukas nodded solemnly, knowing they wouldn’t. Oma had seen to that.
In two weeks’ time, Lukas would have to show his forms to the court. Since Hamlin looked like a mongrel, the only way for Lukas to prove his royalty was by showing that he could take more than one form, on command.
And he would. He would easily go through all the breeds of hounds dictated by the court.
But then he’d stick in the last one, hiding in plain sight, away from the shadows.
His dreams, and Oma’s, had foretold that there was the only way he’d survive into adulthood: By staying in hound form.
# # #
The next time Lukas played at getting stuck, he stayed that way for over a day. Hamlin guarded him in his sleep so he didn’t accidentally change back.
It was nice not to dream of the shadows.
The next morning, at breakfast, Lukas pretended to be shamefaced at the dining table.
It wasn’t all play acting—Da and Mama carefully didn’t talk about it, or even look at him, as they buttered their toast or passed the orange juice. They all sat together in the new breakfast nook, just the four of them; Oma had taken her breakfast in her room—another test, Lukas was certain, to make sure he’d performed well.
Lukas wanted to tell his family, but he also didn’t want to tell them. He’d grown so used to keeping secrets over the years—about his breed, about the shadows, about the hidden signals he and Oma passed, about the ancient stories of other guardian hounds that weren’t in the regular recitations—and this was just one more.
After Da and Mama had left, Greta stayed at the table, stirring her tea. She wore a long-sleeved white blouse buttoned up to her neck though it was summer, along with a nice black skirt. Lukas had teased her when she’d first come in that she looked like a secretary.
“What’s it like?” Greta finally asked, pushing her blond curls out of her face to stare at Lukas. “Is it scary, getting stuck like that?”
Lukas shook his head. “No. Being a dog…it’s fun.”
Greta nodded. She wasn’t a full member of the hound clan; it was usually only men who could change. She’d never seemed jealous of Lukas’ ability, though. “You always do seem happy,” she said.
“Yeah.” Lukas had read that only hounds experienced pure joy. Though disobeying was thrilling, staying as a dog and romping as much as he wanted was a reward by itself. No school or studying, either with Felix or in secret with Oma.
“You only have to change into other forms once more. For the court,” Greta added, looking back at her tea-cup.
“It’ll be fine,” Lukas assured her, though he knew it wouldn’t be. He only had a few more days like this, in his human form. Then he’d stay as a hound for a year, maybe two. Oma hadn’t been really clear on how long he’d have to stay hidden. But it wouldn’t be that bad, being a hound all the time. He wouldn’t have to study anymore.
“If you do get stuck, I’ll do everything I can to help find a cure,” Greta said in a rush.
“What, as a secretary?” Lukas teased.
“Scientist. Idiot.”
Lukas grinned at her, then made himself continue smiling, even when it started to hurt. He’d give anything to be able to really say goodbye to his sister, Mama, and Da.
But it wasn’t safe. He had to pretend he was stuck, and he couldn’t give away their plans.
If his family knew about the shadows, the shadows would take them, and Lukas would never be able to rescue them. Only by hiding his human form, staying stuck in dog form, could he keep them safe.
It was sometimes so difficult not to tell them.
# # #
Lukas followed Oma into her room, his little Scottish terrier body shaking, small whines creeping out of his throat.
Yes, there was joy in being a dog all the time.
But he was also a boy, and after two weeks, it was getting harder not to change back. Being a hound all the time wasn’t any more natural than being a boy all the time. As a member of the hound clan, he needed to do both regularly.
Plus, Tilgard watched him all the time. Lukas couldn’t change back, even for a night, when he was being spied on that way.
Lukas had dreamed of being a boy again the previous night. He’d woken to find the hound master waiting patiently beside him.
It wasn’t hard to figure out that Lukas’ scent had given him away.
So he’d come whining to Oma, following her back to her room.
A tiny bed, more like a cot, was shoved into one corner near the door. It didn’t look comfortable at all. A small, three-drawer dresser sat next to it. Smells of bitter herbs, moldy paper, and bright flowers flowed around him. Shelves filled the rest of the room, standing out from the walls at all angles, reaching all the way up to the fifteen-foot ceilings. Just a path lay between the shelves, wide enough for the crooked ladder Oma used to reach the top.
Not just books lined the shelves. Though Oma wasn’t a hound, she had magic, more than any other human the hound clan knew. She’d created all the protection charms in the castle and had taught magic to generations of hounds. She’d said once it was why the shadows had come bothering her as well: They were attracted to her magic.
Lukas never liked it here. It was too closed in, too much like a library or a laboratory, not like a bedroom at all.
Oma sat down on the little dog bed she’d put next to hers, soft and dark blue, and smelling only of Lukas. He jumped immediately into her lap. Oma knew just how to use her nails along his back to soothe him, how to skritch along his ears where his hind legs really couldn’t reach. It helped him settle into his skin, at
least for a little while.
“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she whispered, bending her head to his, her nose in his hair. “But you need help, don’t you?”
Lukas nodded. He was trying so hard to be good, to always stay a dog and to act more like one, as though he only had dog thoughts in his head, but it was hard.
“I can make it easier,” Oma said.
Lukas pushed harder against her chest. Yes. Better. Now.
“Normally, a hound soul circles the human one, rising only when called. For a while, I can change that. Make your human soul circle your hound soul.”
Lukas shivered. It sounded scary, making his human soul go away.
Hamlin pushed forward, leaning on him, assuring him that Hamlin would keep them safe.
Lukas nodded.
“Good. That Tilgard suspects something. You need to hide better.”
Lukas stilled. What was Oma asking of him now? Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t deny her anything. They shared too many secrets.
“I’m going to smuggle you away, out of here.”
Lukas dropped his head and gave a great sigh. Away from the castle, away from Da and Mama and Greta and everything he’d ever know….He’d be lonely, but he suspected it would be easier to stay in one shape, away from them.
Plus, if he and Hamlin were far from the hound master, maybe he could change back into a real boy at night.
Slowly, Lukas nodded, giving his consent. It would only be for a year or two, right? Though that now seemed like an eternity.
“Good, good. Rudolf Von DeWhite will be your guardian. I trust him. Rudi. Not with all your secrets, but he’ll keep you safe. He’s a scent hound, not a sight hound.”
Lukas understood what that meant: Rudolf wasn’t part of the court. Lukas thought he remembered Rudolph from a visit once.
“There are others, too, whom I have trained, who will hide your true location, confuse the search,” Oma continued, whispering. “So, first, a potion to put your human soul to sleep. Then, tonight, the full spell.”
Why did Oma sound so sad at that? Lukas twisted in her lap, leaning up to lick at her nose.
Oma put her hands around Lukas’ head and looked deeply into his eyes. “I’m only doing this because I must,” she said almost soundlessly. “Believe me.”
Lukas didn’t know why she was so worried.
Hamlin didn’t either, but he would guard them both and make sure nothing bad happened.
# # #
The potion stank of dank seaweed and bitter, early roots. Without being told, Hamlin memorized the signature, teasing apart the components so they’d always be wary of them.
Though Oma had added good meat broth, Lukas had a hard time lapping it up. The bitter taste curled around his tongue, slimy and oily, and even the large bowl of water that he lapped up next couldn’t chase it away.
By the time Lukas finished the water, his little Scottish terrier body could barely stand. The room moved, even when he kept perfectly still, the floor tilting up.
“Sleep now, good boy, sleep,” Oma crooned.
Hamlin rose up to guard them, and Lukas slipped into the comforting dark.
For the first time since he’d taken dog shape, Lukas dreamed of the shadows that night. He stood alone and human in his room, grateful to be a boy again, to stand and stretch. He could reach his bed without jumping, and wear clothes again.
Then the shadows attacked. Buzzing like gnats, stinging like nettles, they tried to invade him. He had to keep his mouth shut or they’d crawl inside him, and he had to breathe shallowly as well. There was no place he could go and hide; he couldn’t outrun them, not in human form. They stole his life as he stood there, making him feel tired and old.
They talked to him, in the dream, told him lies. If only he’d let them in, just have a part of him, just a little. It would all be fine. They’d stop hurting him, and they’d never hurt anyone else, either.
But he knew that if he let them in, they’d take over not just him, but all the hounds, then all the world, turning everything dark and stripping away all the laughter and joy.
As soon as Lukas shrank back down to a little Scottie dog, the shadows left him alone. He shook them off and left, looking for Oma.
But the shadows were already in the castle, in every corner of the court, hazing the tall ceilings and staining the windows. Even the garden and the woods were infected with noxious mushrooms and web-like vines. Only after Lukas had squeezed through a hole under the wall and run away did the shadows leave him alone.
Lukas didn’t really wake up the next morning. He knew he slept, but it was a comfortable, easy sleep. He sensed Hamlin was near, standing guard over them.
At noon, Lukas rose, seeing out of their shared eyes only for a minute or two before slipping back down into darkness.
At midnight, Lukas rose again. Like the last time, it was only for a short while, though it was long enough for him to wonder briefly if this was what it was like for Hamlin before sleep claimed him again.
The next day, Lukas woke at noon, then at midnight again. But this time, when Lukas rose up, Oma and a stranger sat before him. “Rudi will keep you safe,” Oma said, over and over again.
Lukas nodded, catching a quick glance of the man. He had silver hair standing all on end, bushy eyebrows over dark eyes, a solid chin with a cleft in it, and a ready smile.
“I’ll guard you with my life, Prince,” Rudi said quickly.
Lukas nodded again before he went back down.
He woke next in a tight, closed-in space. A gate was immediately in front of his nose.
A crate.
But he smelled Rudi nearby. Peering through the slats in the side, he found Rudi sitting beside him.
Hamlin showed Lukas the crowds and the long passage they’d come through, how Rudi had more than seat, so Lukas was here and not on the floor.
Lukas knew from movies he’d seen that they were flying somewhere, far from the court.
Safe.
Before Lukas could be sad that he wasn’t really awake for his first plane ride, he fell back asleep.
Lukas kept track of the days and the times he was awake better than Hamlin. His hound soul knew seasons; dividing them up into more pieces was a human thing. So Lukas knew that it was about two weeks before the potion started to wear off and he began to be awake longer than just a few minutes. It took almost two months before Lukas felt more like himself and could be awake for most of the day.
Rudi lived in a rambling house, all one story, with a large grassy yard that sloped up a small hill. The fence was high enough that even Hamlin would have problems jumping it. But there were many trees, squirrels, and birds. Lukas spent as much time outside as he could outside, reveling in every scent the wind brought him.
Rudi did some kind of work on the computer, and sat in an office overlooking the backyard all day. But he stopped frequently to play with Lukas, throwing a ball or going for long rambling walks, often driving out of the city to reach the nearby woods. Lukas had his own soft bed and all the chew toys he could want.
It was the perfect life for a dog, but Lukas wasn’t really a dog.
At night, Lukas took to prowling the house, guarding his territory, memorizing every scent so well he could run at full speed with his eyes closed from one room to the next—racing from the faint overlay of smoke from the fireplace in the living room, to the new-glue scent still attached to the dining room chairs, past the heady spices and rich coffee smells of the kitchen, into the metallic tang of Rudi’s office, then back again.
One night, Lukas noticed that Rudi had left a magazine open on the coffee table. Lukas jumped up and realized that even in this form, he could read. It hurt his eyes a little, focusing on the small print, and he had to back up to see more clearly. But now he could keep track of what was going on in Germany beyond what he could catch on the radio and TV. Plus, it would pass the time on the long nights, when he missed his family and his home.
He didn’t
need Oma to tell him that he needed to be careful and always keep one ear cocked for Rudi, and that he needed to leave everything just as he’d found it.
Lukas waited another two months, scenting the air carefully every day and every night, making sure no hound or shadow was near, before he decided to try changing back into his human form, just for a break.
The night was quiet; only the occasional truck rumbled on the far-off highway. Rudi slept soundly and no neighbors were stirring.
Lukas stood behind the big elm tree in the backyard, hidden from the house and all the windows, before he finally let loose of his hound form.
It felt like stretching after a long night’s sleep, standing up to his full height. His human form had grown, he realized, even though it had been only four months. He opened his arms to the night air, breathing deeply, his nose dull but his skin alive. The ground felt cold underneath his bare feet. How odd it was to wiggle his toes.
Then the shadows attacked.
Like in his dream, they buzzed around him like gnats, seeking to violate him. He shivered in shock, looking around the garden. Where had they come from, and so quickly? Neither he nor Hamlin had scented them at all.
Down, down, Hamlin commanded.
With a last desperate stretch, Lukas obeyed, wrapping his arms across his chest as he shrank down, changing back into his Scottie dog form, shedding shadows with a final shake. Even the short attack had exhausted him, and he stood on trembling legs, panting.
Hamlin held their nose high in the air, untangling the scent of the shadows.
It was still a wet smell, sand and mold and ash, but something else threaded through the scent, something he’d only smelled once before but had sworn to remember.
It came to him slowly.
Oma. The potion he’d taken.
Now he knew why she’d looked so sad.
She’d cursed him with shadows so he’d never be able to change back to human form, not until she lifted it.
Why had she cursed him with the one thing that he was destined to destroy? Was it to make him more familiar with them? Or had they tricked her, somehow?
Deep inside, Lukas howled, shaking with anger and fear.
