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ELIZABETH
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THE TINSELHOUSE’S DYNAMICS had altered once more, and not only because there were only three us there now—Brian, Luna and myself. Brian had gotten a job. In the search for efficient ways to revitalize the town, the Copper Ridge Council had established the Urban Development Office and appointed Brian as its head.
The following weeks had been the happiest time of my life. If someone had told me before that domestic routine could be so wonderful, I wouldn’t have believed it. But there I was, enjoying every moment of our easy and pleasant life in the tinselhouse.
Brian would go to work around eight a.m. I’d work for several hours on the Baker Block project. Just before noon, I’d drive to town to have lunch with Brian. We’d go to one of the restaurants near City Hall. Sometimes Rowena and Ahmed would join us; other times Astrid and Jack.
Brian would continue working until three p.m. I would either go back home or walk to the Castle, where Lily and I would work on preparations for the auction of Brian’s antiquities, scheduled for summer. If she was off that day, Lani would often join us. The local people would stop by to say hello, to bring us coffee or a snack, or to offer to help.
The more I knew about the people of Copper Ridge, the more I liked them. They were friendly and generous. If they had been curious about me or my relationship with Brian, they didn’t show it openly, considerate of my human sensitivities. Even though the novelty of having a vardanni among them had worn off, the affection and respect they showed hadn’t changed.
They had tremendous respect for Brian, not only because the Red Cliffs former einhamir had chosen Copper Ridge for his permanent address, but also because he put his money, time and knowledge into rebuilding their town. “And last but not least, for dating their beloved vardanni,” Brian said once I’d mentioned it. “I’d better not screw up.”
Two or three times a week, Gerd Falkenstein’s string quartet would meet in one of the two music classrooms in the Castle to practice for the concert in the fall. Maybe because of Gerd’s contagious enthusiasm, maybe because we all loved the music we played—Mozart, Bach, Haydn, Beethoven, Vivaldi—we soon started sounding mighty fine for four amateurs. I caught myself looking forward to our next practice.
Brian and sometimes Lani, who once studied the theory of music and helped Gerd with the adaptations, were our only audience.
The friendship between Lani and me deepened. There was rarely a day when we wouldn’t spend some time together, having coffee, shopping, or simply taking a stroll through the lovely park near the town center. I sensed a mysterious bond between us. It went beyond sharing a similar worldview or the compatibility of our personalities. I had a distinct feeling that somewhere, somehow, our lives had touched before.
Only to her could I confide my feelings for Brian. I could tell her my doubts and my frustrations. Rick and Alain had been my closest friends for many years, but even though I could talk to them about my most intimate thoughts, there were things that only another woman could understand. Since I’d come to Rosenthal, and later to Copper Ridge, I discovered the wonder of having the best girl-friends in Lottie and Lani.
Speaking of Lottie, she and Jacob stayed in Copper Ridge until the hearing was over. Sam had gotten full custody of his son. As a non-custodial parent, Jacob’s mother had been granted unsupervised visitations, as long as she came to Rosenthal to see him.
Thanks to our love for classical music, and maybe to the connections between our ancestors, Gerd Falkenstein and I had become close friends.
One evening, after one of our first music practices, he had invited Lani and me to his place for a drink. I was curious to see the painting of my many-times-great-grandmother and the great love of his emperor grandfather.
The painting that hung on the wall of Gerd’s sitting room was almost identical to the one I had. In both of them, Countess Matilda—Ildi—wore the same silvery blue gown in the shade of her eyes. Both portraits testified about her arresting beauty.
But Brian was right when he said that the emperor had gotten the better deal. The painting that he’d commissioned from Franz Gottemeyer had uncovered the real woman behind that perfect face and those famous ash blond curls. It’d brought up the very essence of Ildi, which was only hinted at in my painting: her deep sensuality, her intelligence, her sense of humor. Her smile, innocent and passionate at once, was revealed more in her eyes than on her lips. Her fair skin glowed with some inner fire; the dance of light and shadows made her chest look like it was slowly rising and falling, as if she was breathing. It was remarkable.
“No wonder the poor emperor was swept off his feet. She was exquisite! Don’t you agree, Dr. Falkenstein?” Lani said as the three of us stood in front of the painting.
“Exquisite indeed.” A tiny pause, a husky lilt in his voice, a discreet side-glance. “Miss Blackwell.”
I turned my head to hide my smile.
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BRIAN ALSO SEEMED TO enjoy our temporary domestic bliss. His leg had completely recovered. After twenty-six years, the injured bones had finally healed and grown back to their normal length. As a result, his limp had disappeared. He had more control over his transformations. Even though he still had to change shape every morning, he was able to change back to human form after a short while and by his own will.
I was usually asleep when Brian would turn, but one morning I decided it was time to see it. We went to the stable, where Brian undressed. “I can leave my clothes on. It’s only mildly irritating,” he explained, “but I prefer to remove them.”
“Even if my mind could grasp human-to-animal body shifting, I can’t comprehend what happens with inorganic materials during the process, such as fabric, leather and metal,” I said. “How come they stay unchanged? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Brian chuckled. “Neither to me nor to anyone else. It’s just how it is. We don’t question it. Are you ready?”
I nodded, my eyes glued to his gorgeous naked self. “Aren’t you cold?”
“I am, but I’ll warm up as soon as I shift. Why don’t you take a horse? That way we can both have a nice run.”
“Okay,” I said and turned toward the stalls. “I know you’ll be able to hear me, but there isn’t a way for me to hear your thoughts. Am I right?”
“Correct.”
“If I ask you something, blink once for no and twice for yes, okay? That’s how we can have basic communication.”
“No. I’ll lick your face once for no, twice for yes and three times for maybe.” He laughed and started shifting.
Mesmerized, I watched his transformation, which started from his feet and continued up, in a smooth fashion, as if he was putting on a costume, or rather, a wolf skin. It lasted only for a few seconds until he lowered himself onto his front legs and stretched, before turning his head to me and giving me a wolfish smile, motioning with his head for me to follow him.
A bit shaken but determined not to show it, I mounted Breeze. Brian started running with such speed that she had trouble following his pace. As we reached the woods, I lost sight of him and slowed down, trying to locate him. Unnecessarily, I’d quickly realized. Neither Brian nor Breeze had trouble seeing or smelling each other, so they knew where the other was at any moment.
The forest felt familiar, and not only because I had wandered through its edges once or twice before. I’d never been so deep into it. As we reached a small meadow and a creek running through it, I knew I had come to the place I had visited in my dreams.
I should have been surprised, but I wasn’t. I’d spent my daily quota of shock when I saw Brian change. My father’s words came to me, and I repeated them aloud, “Just because we don’t understand, it doesn’t mean it isn’t so.”
Brian stopped and looked at me. His eyes shone, in spite of the dark.
“My dad used to say it,” I explained. “I recognize this place. From my dreams. Once it was covered with snow, and I was a wolf, the next time I remember soft grass under my paws.” I smiled. “The very first time when I dreamt about this forest, we were both human, but you pretended to be Victor Hugo.”
He bared his teeth in a wolf smile, and I suspected he may have recollected our very first telephone conversation that had prompted that particular dream.
As a wolf, I realized, Brian was more relaxed and, strange as it was, younger than his human counterpart. He was big and strong. The vitality and energy that always fascinated me in his kind were even more prominent. He was bursting with life. He was strong and huge; his back stood at least four feet high. When I stroked his fur, I could feel his stone-hard muscles under my hand. His legs were powerfully wrought, his paws bigger than my feet. Like Brian the dyn, Brian the blaidd was strikingly beautiful, with his dark, shiny fur and turquoise eyes. Their slant was more notable, as it was among wolves, yet the spirit and mind in their depths—they were unmistakably human.
He ran with incredible speed and agility, moving his powerful body with some instinctive and primal sense of his surroundings. Since he couldn’t communicate verbally, I talked only when it was necessary, trying to experience him with my human senses and instincts.
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AFTER THAT DAY, WE often went to the woods together.
One morning Brian lay on the grass and, looking at me, motioned to his back. At first, I didn’t understand what he wanted.
“Do you want me to stroke your back?” I asked.
He turned his head and licked me once.
“You want me to walk beside you, not in front of you?”
One more lick, followed by the same movement of his head toward his back.
“You cannot possibly want me to sit on you?”
A smile-like snarl and two licks.
So, I climbed on his back. He stood up and started walking, first at a slow pace, and then a little bit faster. The moment I closed my arms around his neck, he broke into a run. I felt the wind on my face and the forest blended into a green blur.
It was impossible to explain the incredible feeling of running through the woods on the back of a giant wolf, but if I had to describe it in one word, it would be freedom.
I told it to Brian when we finally stopped, on the edge of the forest, not far from the tinselhouse.
“Yes, freedom,” he said a bit later when I mentioned it while he was putting on his clothes. “You still can’t experience it in full, of course, but you got a glimpse of it through me. It’s the absolute connection with the world, the unity with it, on all levels. That’s why it’s so incredible.”
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OUR MORNING STROLLS and runs through the woods had become a routine until we discovered something equally fun: staying in.
It was the end of April; the entire area was hit by one of those early spring snow storms which looked dramatic at the beginning but would quickly lose their bite. Brian didn’t want to hear about me going with him. “It’s ugly outside. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said.
“You don’t have to. Change here and stay with me.”
“Why not?” he said after a short consideration and started shifting. Once done, he stretched his huge body in front of the fireplace. I snuggled beside him and, breathing in his masculine scent, fell asleep, safe and secure.
As per some unspoken agreement, Brian and I kept away from certain topics: the future of our relationship, his divorce from Eve and my imminent departure. Sooner or later, we would both need to make some serious decisions, but for now, we’d chosen to live carpe diem—and even more, carpe noctem.
Seize the day, seize the night.
As long as it lasted.