The Human Alchemy

Michael Griffin

 

 

The first time Aurye saw the home of Reysa and Magnus Berg, she thought it resembled a castle that must have stood for centuries, fixed to the rock of the snowy mountainside. Though she’d often imagined what the place might be like, she couldn’t believe the grandeur, all towering stone walls and high windows. Pale streaks of cloud behind gleamed against the sky’s darkening background, trailing off the shoulder of the sloping ridge.

Reysa at the wheel, the gray Range Rover climbed the snowy drive, and veered toward the high peaked entryway. The amber glow of interior light made stone and ice appear golden. Snow covered a roof broken by two chimneys, and at the very summit of the place, an angled square of clear glass, something like an enormous skylight, stood clear of snow.

Likewise at ground level, a rectangle of textured concrete outside the front door, sheltered beneath the peak of the gabled entry, was bare of snow. Reysa parked, explaining, “There are heating coils underneath.”

“Such a beautiful setting,” Aurye said. Impressive lodges and chalets weren’t rare up on the mountain, even million-dollar places that sat empty all but a weekend or two per year. Even compared to such homes as those, the Berg place was beyond Aurye’s expectations.

“Magnus will love hearing our home made an impression. He was worried you’d take it wrong, him staying behind while I drove down to pick you up. I told him not to worry. He was so excited, I left him arranging his new stereo setup.”

“A stereo?” Aurye wasn’t sure why this should be surprising. She felt overwhelmed, almost breathless about it all.

“The old-fashioned kind, only two speakers. Just for music, Magnus said, not surround sound. I think he’s trying to impress you.” Reysa winked, looking bright and glamorous as a 1950s movie star. She killed the ignition. “Come on.”

It seemed crazy to Aurye, this suggestion that either Berg might wish to impress her. She was the one who’d been nervous all evening, wondering how this would go, what they’d think of her outside the familiar setting of Midgard bar. Both were older, Reysa a youthful thirty-six and Magnus a decade older, both successful physicians, so worldly compared to herself. Aurye knew them from her role behind the bar at Midgard, the mid-mountain restaurant where the Bergs frequently dined and drank. Midgard was the only restaurant in the village frequented by people like them, the rest catering to the burgers and brews crowd, snowboarders in winter and mountain bikers in summer.

Upon climbing out, the scope of the landscape struck Aurye. Beyond the dry, bare section, a frozen sheet sloped away. “Your place. I just can’t believe…” She ventured onto the ice, careful to keep her feet under her center of gravity. “When you said, come up, see our lodge, I didn’t picture…”

Reysa remained back, nearer the house. “What did you picture?”

“Nothing as grand as this. It’s like a castle from an old movie.”

“That was the idea,” Reysa said. “Of course, there were no actual Gothic castles existent on the mountain. Magnus and I decided to build one.”

As impressive as the house was the setting. The broad white expanse fell away into darkening mist until it reached an abrupt edge. Aurye felt herself drawn nearer the cliff overlook. Wind etched the ice into jagged coarseness, edges glistening like blades of polished diamond. Everything was pristine, so unlike the dirty, snowplowed village below, where she lived and worked. Soon Aurye stood near the edge of a precipice, swaying there, afraid to move. The gaping openness exerted a pull. Beyond the initial steep drop, the canyon flattened into a convex snow field and rose again to the next ridge. Behind that, the lowering sun glared white, emanating wild, swirling tendrils of mist, backgrounded by a sky diminishing blue to black.

“Let’s go inside,” Reysa called.

Her words broke the spell. Aurye turned, found Reysa standing well up the slope, clutching her narrow frame in an exaggerated show of shivering. She looked tiny, waiflike in her dark green cloak-style coat with oversized monk’s hood. A thick zipper cut diagonally across her chest like a scar. Aurye hurried back up, too aware of the deadly attraction below.

They stamped snow off their boots on the spiral-patterned coir entry mat inside the double doors.

“You know the hardest thing, living on the mountain full-time?” Reysa took Aurye’s black peacoat and green and grey patchwork scarf and hung them on a branch of their coat rack, a leafless silver metal tree. “Wearing clothes that feel pretty, when outside it’s all freezing wind, icy roads and snowfields.”

“Layers are the thing.” Aurye indicated her own dress, thin and white with antique lace trim. “I could never wear this alone, but with tights and boots… not thin yoga pants either. These are fleece.”

“That’s what I meant. It’s tricky, managing to look like a girl up here, but you do.” Reysa pulled off her boots, left them beside the mat.

Aurye’s face flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She’d always found Reysa so elegant and stylish. “You need waterproof boots, with a good sole. Like you said, the trick is finding some you feel good in.” Aurye lifted one foot, modeled her knee-high boots, shiny black leather with a diamond quilt pattern. She untied laces, slid off one boot at a time, and left hers beside Reysa’s. “When I came back from school, all I had were red suede Fluevogs with three-inch stacked heels. They looked really cute around campus, but hopeless up here.”

Her own exit from college was a subject Aurye wished she hadn’t opened, hoped Reysa wouldn’t want to talk about. Reysa let it pass, flipped back her hood to reveal mid-length blond curls which bounced as if they’d just been styled, and never held down under the hood. Beneath the coat, Reysa wore a white wool long-sleeved dress over charcoal leggings, barely lighter than Aurye’s. “You always look feminine, but mountain-appropriate,” Reysa resumed. “I just wanted you to know I got some great ideas, watching you at Midgard.”

Though flattered, Aurye couldn’t quite accept the idea. Had she really provided fashion inspiration to someone as polished and glamorous as Reysa? The Bergs had been regulars long enough to strike up a sort of friendship with Aurye, but the relationship was unequal. Their conversations ended in Reysa or Magnus handing an Amex across the bar, then calculating Aurye’s tip.

The entry floor was slate tile, and from a black ceiling hung a sculpture of clear and frosted glass, within which orange-glowing elements radiated heat and light. A single piece of framed art dominated each side wall. The silver-framed square to the left was an extreme close-up of a woman’s face draped in black fishnet. Her skin was unnaturally white, eyes gem-blue, lips vivid red and hair intense yellow-gold. The colors were saturated to such a rich, exaggerated degree, Aurye first took this for a painting. “Who is she?” she asked, and only then realized it was a photograph.

Reysa seemed surprised. “She… was me.”

Aurye thought the image looked nothing like Reysa, but didn’t say so. Maybe the picture was old. All women aged; it would happen to Aurye. But the woman in the picture wasn’t merely younger. Reysa Berg was every bit as beautiful and striking as the woman in the photograph. Thinner now, with prominent cheekbones, more natural coloring. Reysa’s face had not so much aged as shifted, taken on a very different character.

Aurye’s attention shifted to the opposite wall. The mural there, in contrast to the photograph, was a grid combining four pieces of very old symbolic art, subtly colored ink linework. Most of the arcane signs were unrecognizable, though a few were traditional, symbols for male or female. Others reminded Aurye of astrology.

“Engravings by Jakob Bohme,” Reysa explained. “A very interesting mind. He believed Adam, the Adam of Christian myth, was both man and woman at once, able to birth his own children by parthenogenesis. Can you imagine? No need for Eve.”

No response came to mind, so Aurye changed the subject. “Thank you for inviting me up. And for driving down to get me. It sounded fun, spending time with you and Magnus. I haven’t seen you much at Midgard, lately.”

“Oh yes. About that.” Reysa seemed uncharacteristically flustered. “The truth is, we bought the Midgard. We were afraid it was failing. I mean, imagine if the only nice place in the village went under, just as we shifted our lives up here.”

So, the Bergs were her employers. The news was a shock, but she knew better than to voice the many questions that spun to mind. “That explains about Tolliver, at least.”

Reysa looked confused.

“When I asked for tonight off, at first, Tolliver said no. Then I mentioned you’d invited me up here. His face got all red, and he couldn’t look at me. He just said, of course you can go.”

From inside the house came footsteps. Aurye and Reysa turned.

Magnus approached from the next room, shoeless in jeans, grey wool socks, and a form-fitting black sweater with diagonal white slashes across the front. His salt and pepper hair, long on top, was closely undercut on the sides. Aurye almost commented on how different Magnus looked, but caught herself. Better not to say. Probably the difference was that he was more casual at home.

“Aurye.” Magnus came to embrace her, moving as if about to kiss her mouth. Aurye felt a flash of surprise, and in that instant decided to accept it, as if nothing were strange. But Magnus shifted, kissed her on the cheek. He was inches taller than she remembered, even shoeless.

“Why that look?” Magnus touched the frames of his eyeglasses near the hinges. “Is it these? They’re new.”

Aurye looked around for Reysa, just approaching with two glasses of ruby dark wine.

“We love the same things,” Reysa said, “so I know you won’t turn down a good Pinot Noir. This one is excellent. A gift from a client of Magnus’s.”

Strange, a doctor saying “client” to describe a patient, but the Bergs were unusual in many ways, despite their taste and easy elegance. They did things their own way. Smiling, Aurye accepted the glass. “Impossible to refuse.”

“From Switzerland, believe it or not,” Magnus added.

The taste was startling. After three years working at Midgard bar, Aurye knew hundreds of wines, but mostly from Pacific Coast winemakers. This Pinot was unusually full-bodied, complex. “Wow. Almost gamey. Smoked meat, black raspberry and pomegranate.” Aurye struggled to articulate the rest of what the wine conveyed. More than just flavor. A suggestion of exoticism, of deep time and distant locales, worldly pleasures Aurye had never known. In fact, she’d never really spent much time anywhere but this mountain, other than trips to Portland, and a year and a half in college in Eugene. Aurye could imagine nothing so suggestive of a better life, altered potentialities and pleasurable indulgences, than a strange, excellent wine. The taste of age and memory, of earthy desires. Even lust. Her powers of description fell short here. If anything, the taste reminded her of the Bergs. She wondered what Reysa and Magnus thought, watching her sip. How did they perceive the wine? Maybe such spicy, exotic flavor had become routine to their tastes.

All three looked at each other, unspeaking. Aurye was first to turn away.

The enormous central room was more open hall or great room than living room. To the left upon entering was an open dining area and chef’s kitchen, then an unused fireplace and a wide curving staircase up. On the opposite wall, between two large windows, a heap of wood burned in a second fireplace.

“We’re still decorating,” Reysa said, as if to explain the mostly empty room.

Magnus headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get myself a glass.”

Reysa showed Aurye toward the windows.

“Like Citizen Kane.” Aurye indicated the stone fireplace. “You could stand inside there.”

Even twenty feet away, the fire radiated intense heat.

“Might be a little warm.” Reysa guided Aurye toward the rightmost window. The extraordinary view overlooked a different drop-off and canyon opposite the one Aurye had seen outside. The grade swooped away steeply, flattened and rose again across the canyon. Tips of evergreens barely penetrated the deep snow.

Before the window was a heavy black book on a stand, like an old bible or dictionary, open near the beginning. The pages drew Aurye’s curiosity. What did the Bergs feel important enough to display? She leaned in, read aloud. “Of all created things, the condition whereof is transitory and frail…” Aurye stopped, feeling someone approaching behind. She glanced up to find Magnus standing back, looking out the window, sipping from his glass.

Magnus began to recite. “The common matter of all things is the Great Mystery, which no certain essence and prefigured or formed idea could comprehend, nor could it comply with any property, it being altogether void of color and elementary nature.” He paused, seeming to look for Aurye’s reaction.

“Are you reading from this?” she asked.

He continued. “The scope of this Great Mystery is as large as the firmament. And this Great Mystery was the mother of all the elements, and Grandmother of all the stars, trees and carnal creatures.”

Reysa approached from the other side, stood so the Bergs flanked Aurye.

“As children are born of a mother,” Magnus went on, “so all created things whether sensible or insensible, all things whatsoever, were uniformly brought out of the Great Mystery.”

Aurye twitched reflexively, half-aware of a kind of spell being cast. More likely it was the wine than Magnus’s incantation. She glanced again at the page, recognized words he’d recited from memory. The mystery fascinated her. The Bergs had never seemed religious types, not the least dogmatic.

“It’s Paracelsus, from Liber Primus,” Reysa said. “You know Paracelsus, the Renaissance alchemist and mystic?”

“Alchemist?” Aurye asked. “Isn’t that turning lead into gold?”

“Alchemy is creation by combination.” Magnus gestured down the wall to their left. “I’ll show you.”

In such a large room, each section felt vastly separate. Magnus proceeded along the outer wall, past windows, toward the arrangement of stereo equipment. Two tower speakers flanked an aluminum stand upon which electronic components stood ranked, facing a trio of low-slung black leather chairs. Magnus gestured Aurye into the middle chair.

She sat, wondering why three seats, and tried to read the nameplate on the two identical black metal slabs beneath the stand. Each was the size of a small coffee table, with finned heatsinks along the left side. “Krell.” Amplifiers, each connected to one speaker with a white cable thick as a garden hose. Aurye was tempted to mention she’d dated an audiophile in college, but didn’t want to talk about him. Anyway, she’d never learned much about the equipment.

Magnus selected a CD from a small stack and inserted the disk into the tray of a player with a glossy white faceplate. He pressed a button, adjusted a volume knob on the walnut and brushed stainless steel box on the shelf, and handed Aurye the CD case. He sat to her left.

The sound began, an intricate flurry of violin gestures repeating in varied agitation. Culmination and pause, then a piano took over. The effect was quieting. Aurye and Magnus leaned forward in their chairs, Reysa standing beside Aurye. At the edge of this cavernous room, not far from windows overlooking the grandest view, this hushed music narrowed the atmosphere. A feeling of closeness verging on intimacy.

On the CD cover, the words Arvo Pärt / Tabula Rasa hovered over snow fields wind-blown into sculptural shapes.

“It’s incredible,” Aurye said, still listening. “These hunks of steel, all glowing tubes and fat copper cables, making such delicate sound. So pure.”

Reysa took the seat to Aurye’s right.

“Blank slate,” Aurye said, and at once regretted it. The Bergs didn’t need her help translating basic Latin.

Magnus looked nothing but pleased. “Tabula Rasa is one of my favorite things.”

“I never noticed before, your eyes are mismatched,” Aurye told him, before she could stop herself. Aurye wondered how she’d never noticed. Not only different colors. Irises of different sizes. Like two people watching her. Two minds.

“Tell about Aurye Feuer,” Reysa said. “We know a few details. Tell us something new.”

Aurye felt an ache of infatuation. She wanted to know Reysa better, to let Reysa know her. Magnus, too. Why did she feel so strongly that being closer to the Bergs might remedy her problems? In the course of their dining and drinking at Midgard, Aurye had mentioned her intention to return to college, try to rediscover herself. This had seemed to intrigue them, for some reason. More than anything, she hoped to learn what they found so interesting about her. Aurye felt a sense of auditioning, but didn’t resent their attention. She was willing, even glad to reveal herself.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Aurye said. “I like you both so much, and this is the best wine I’ve ever tasted. Probably the best I ever will.”

“I doubt that,” Reysa said. “You’ll have greater pleasures ahead, I’m sure.”

Aurye wondered where to begin. “You know I was in college.”

“It’s rumored you were pre-med.” Magnus paused. “I think Reysa and I would both tell you medicine is a field to avoid, if you possibly can. We couldn’t.” He smiled, as if implying something more.

Aurye knew she’d mentioned college, but never pre-med. “I never got that far, just lots of Bio and Chem, before I flamed out. That’s why I didn’t mention it. What’s the point of bragging about my two years? You’re successful surgeons.”

Magnus grinned at Reysa. “You hear that? She thinks we’re successful.”

“Don’t tease.” Reysa touched Aurye’s arm. “Why not go back, finish?”

Aurye felt a twinge of pain in her side. Her hand moved toward that spot, but she commanded herself not to draw attention. “I’m saving up, most of what I earn, but it’s hard. Since I came crawling home, I live at my mom’s. She stays with her boyfriend in Rhododendron, so I have the place to myself, for free. Maybe I’ll save enough, go back. Not U of O, but somewhere.” She sighed. Being honest felt good, but she should stop. “The truth is, it’s hard to imagine starting again.”

Reysa leaned in, looked close, as if some key were to be found in Aurye’s face. “Shame to quit, once you started.”

“It was stupid, embarrassing.” Aurye looked away. “Just… a boy.”

Reysa looked at Magnus. “Isn’t it always a boy?”

“Except when it’s a girl,” Magnus replied.

“Well.” Reysa stood, straightened her dress. “I’m sure we’re not finished talking about boys and girls tonight.”

Reysa herded them toward the dining area and kitchen. Magnus followed, after raising the music’s volume. A large, circular gray wood dining table was surrounded by eleven black bucket chairs. Six wine bottles and three glasses rested on a central black spinner.

Magnus pulled out three chairs. Reysa ran her fingers through her hair. The blond waves were longer than Aurye had realized. How much time had passed since she’d seen the Bergs? Both seemed indefinably changed.

Reysa selected two bottles. “Which do you prefer, the Swiss or Argentinian?”

Magnus offered his glass, conveying his preference to Reysa without words. She poured from the left-hand bottle, then held up both for Aurye to choose from.

Aurye shrugged. “Either for me.”

“Ever flexible and accommodating.” Reysa’s mouth angled in suppressed amusement. “You’re not at work tonight. You’re with friends. You must speak your true mind.” She poured Aurye brim-full, then finished the bottle herself.

Aurye tasted. “This one’s peppery. Leather, coriander and tobacco leaf.”

Reysa sat on the table edge. “Aren’t you nimble with the tasting notes.”

“Everybody at Midgard seems to appreciate quick reference points to help them choose.”

“I find,” Magnus pronounced, “most people prefer being told what to do.”

Aurye wondered if agreement might reveal too much of her own inclination. “Me, too.”

Reysa held up two empty bottles and peered into the openings like binoculars. “Only two? I thought we had more.”

“Three.” Magnus indicated another empty hidden among full bottles. He stepped nearer the women, and leaned against the table. “That’s enough for Aurye to tell why she dropped out. Talk about the boy.”

Reysa bit her lip. “He cheated?”

Aurye couldn’t move, or think of what to say.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Magnus turned, as if sparing Aurye his scrutiny. “We’ve both been hurt that way.”

“As an idea, love is glorious, but we’re cynical. These human vessels are unfortunately flawed.” Reysa adjusted her sleeves, as if some vulnerable part of herself might be exposed at the wrists. She crossed arms, angled her head.

Aurye wondered what she was hiding. Scars? “Infidelity wasn’t the whole story. It was complicated.”

“It always is.” Reysa selected another bottle, started opening.

“I’m not giving up,” Aurye insisted. “It’s not hopeless. You two seem happy. So, your cynicism surprises me.”

Reysa eyed Magnus, then refilled glasses. “We are happy. Well matched, truly in love. We’re even faithful. But that isn’t how we’re made. Human nature is laziness, dishonesty.”

Magnus’s eyebrows lifted. “People take the most crucial things for granted.”

“No.” Aurye protested, though she couldn’t say they were wrong. The Bergs were so attractive, so successful, so appealing in every aspect, she couldn’t understand how their prior partners could have rejected them. But she realized the very same thing had happened to her. “It wasn’t the cheating. He pulled away. First I was beautiful, everything he wanted. Then he got to know me, and discovered… things that disgusted him. About me.”

“Aurye, no,” Reysa said. “There’s nothing about you less than beautiful. Not one single imperfection.”

Aurye squirmed. They didn’t know. She wanted to tell them, wanted to show—

“Actually,” Magnus interrupted loudly, seeming to sense Aurye’s discomfort, “for both of us, what triggered the final breakdown of prior marriages was a crisis.”

“Crisis?” Aurye asked, relieved her turn for storytelling seemed to have passed.

“For me, a car crash,” Reysa said. “Tearing metal, cutting glass. My face was disfigured, my neck, one of my breasts. This was before Magnus and I. We were married to others, all working in the same hospital. After the crash, Magnus was my surgeon. He created this face. My own husband, he did not love this face. Or more likely, he’d already fallen out of love with me. This face was only his excuse.”

Aurye scanned Reysa’s skin, looking for scars. She was smooth, symmetrical. “What about you, Magnus?”

“My crisis? It was something I made. A creation of my own.” He looked away, distant.

Aurye looked to Reysa for elaboration.

Reysa stood. “We’re going to fall over, drinking so much without food.” She slipped away to the kitchen.

Aurye felt herself swaying, affected by the wine.

“People hurt by rejection become pathologically terrified of it,” Magnus said. “I was driven mad by fear. It’s something I admit. There’s no shame in having suffered. My first wife abandoned me in my moment of greatest need.”

 

Reysa returned with two gold leaf platters, each bearing three black plates. “Steamed and chilled mussels with black lava salt, half-shell oysters, and aged gouda. And here, wild mushroom truffle tarts, kalamata tapenade, and the best fucking baguette I’ve ever had. All from Portland, this morning.”

“See, Aurye?” Magnus said. “We might try to rescue ourselves, but more likely someone else does it for us.”

“You weren’t kidding, I really will fall down if I don’t eat something.” Aurye took some food. This intoxication was hard to distinguish from excitement, but she knew she might crash if she drank too much without eating.

“There are great advantages to marriage,” Reysa said. “Partnership. Not just one fling after another, but a bond that can last for life. But if we remain with a single type, no variety, always the same body shape, the same face, same color of skin, we get bored. Overfamiliarity creates temptation to revisit the new.”

“I don’t have energy for that,” Aurye protested. “Constantly shuffling through different boyfriends. My friends who do that, they end up with nothing to rely on.”

“That’s what she’s saying,” Magnus said. “We’ve known polyamorists. It’s a term that most often seems to mean indiscriminate openness, as you said. Constant shuffling. I believe, we believe, a person is meant to be with one other.”

“But you said—”

“That is,” Magnus continued, “if we do something to remedy that inborn need.”

“Humans require a variety of stimulus,” Reysa added. “We’re prone to boredom. By we, I don’t mean myself and Magnus. Everyone. You. Human nature, like it or not.”

Aurye saw their point, understood it derived from personal experience. In fact, it fit what she knew from her own small bank of relationship data. The problem was, she preferred not to think that way, even if it might be true.

“I see that look,” Reysa said. “We won’t push. But one thing we share is willingness to question received wisdom.”

Aurye smiled. “I count myself an atheist, rebel and deviant.”

Reysa laughed. Magnus joined in.

“Ours is a transgressive philosophy,” Reysa said carefully. “Desire is important. Lust.”

“But what does that mean?” Aurye asked, heart pounding.

“Come. We’ll show you.” Reysa took Aurye’s hand, and she stood.

As they walked toward the stairs, Magnus took Aurye’s other hand. Aurye wanted to ask what was happening, though she thought she knew.

When they reached the cold, unused fireplace, Reysa surged ahead, pulling Aurye by the arm, trying to run. Aurye in turn dragged Magnus along, all of them laughing in a chain linked by hands.

“I think I’m drunk,” Reysa shouted.

Magnus jogged to keep up. “I think you are, too.”

“Aurye too,” Reysa said.

“All of us!” Aurye wailed laughter.

Reysa veered away from the foot of the stairs. The three gained speed, all running together, none resisting. Reysa’s laughter infected the others, as they played an energetic game of whiplash momentum, pulling and swinging against one another, whirling and gaining speed. Reysa led their circuit of the room, between stereo and chairs, past picture windows and the great hot fireplace, the entryway, kitchen and dining table, and finally back to the cold fireplace and the sweeping curve of the staircase. With a shriek Reysa fell. Aurye tried to jump over, but tripped and crashed. Magnus stumbled, almost regained footing, only to sprawl at the foot of the stairs. He lay on his back, moaning. Reysa still laughed madly.

Aurye tried to find herself. Was she in pain? She felt joy, the excitement of belonging, not fear. It occurred to her, breathing hard, looking at the high ceiling, that she may have an advantage after all. She’d felt disadvantaged ever since Reysa picked her up. Clearly the Bergs held some agreed-upon plan, which Aurye didn’t know. But maybe she had a clearer idea than they realized. Was it possible they believed her completely unaware, when in fact she understood all but the details? Reysa and Magnus expected her to be cautious, but she was a woman of experience beyond her years. She was tired of playing by imposed rules. If an opportunity came to jump to a new realm of experience, she’d take the chance. What better fix for stagnant life than to destroy it?

Still she wondered. Was their secret as simple as she guessed, some of experiment in transgressive intimacy, or something weirder? She kept thinking of three new chairs by the stereo. Maybe they wanted to invite her in. Of course this was presumptuous, but they didn’t need to know what guesses played in her mind.

Aurye looked up, found both Reysa and Magnus watching, clearly guessing at her thoughts. She looked between them, intending to convey understanding and acceptance. “I have to admit something,” she began, feigning confidence, trying to bluster through. “I think I’ve guessed why you invited me up. Were my assumptions wrong?”

Reysa looked amused. “I could probably guess your guess.”

Magnus popped himself up on his elbows. “Yet still you came.” His glasses having fallen off, the difference between his eyes was more pronounced.

Aurye looked away, covered her mouth, then realized she was only playing coy and girlish. She didn’t want to convey anything but what she actually felt. In fact, she hadn’t realized how receptive she actually was until that moment. Though nervous, she was unafraid. “I don’t know exactly what, not specifically. But I assume there’s some kind of proposition. I just don’t understand how it fits with what you said about faithfulness.” She sat nearer Reysa than Magnus, and Reysa was the one most focused upon her. “Whenever you look at me, both of you but especially Reysa, I feel you trying to figure me out. Studying me.”

“So that was it?” Reysa asked. “We convince the comely twenty-two-year-old to frolic with one of us, or both?”

Magnus looked amused. Reysa laughed, leaning against her husband, sprawled comfortably against him in the languor of intoxication.

“Isn’t that it?” Aurye asked. Any frustration or confusion dispersed as she joined their ridiculous laughter. She felt both relief and disappointment at once. “Well, then what?”

“You’re almost completely wrong,” Magnus said.

“We do have something in mind,” Reysa clarified. “An offer. An arrangement we’ll explain soon enough.”

“Sorry, I just thought I’d try being blunt, or direct.” Aurye felt slightly embarrassed, but couldn’t help noticing the Bergs still looked at her with the same eager curiosity. “At least our game doesn’t seem to have ended.”

“No,” Magnus said. “And your flexibility of mind comes as a relief.”

“Blunt directness is a virtue,” Reysa said.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink,” Aurye said. “Not my first time here.”

“I’m the one who poured gallons of wine, and led us around the room like a madwoman,” Reysa said. “Anyway, when the time comes for us to be blunt and direct with you, I hope you’ll keep that open mind.”

“You plan to be direct with me,” Aurye noted. “Just not yet?”

“Not quite,” Reysa said.

“So then.” Aurye looked again at the staircase. “What were you going to show me?”

Reysa was first to stand. The trio gathered at the bottom of the stairs, each seeming to ponder the eventuality of going up. Such a prospect seemed momentous, at least to Aurye. All the answers must wait above.

“Are you sure you want this, to know more?” Reysa asked Aurye. “Such things we could show you.”

“You know I sort of idolize you both. You have so much figured out. Just, seem to be living exactly right.”

“But you don’t know everything,” Magnus cautioned.

Aurye nodded. “That’s true, I really only know a little. And we all tend to idealize people based on too little information. But you have each other. This incredible home, and property. And success in your careers.”

“Success, that’s nothing solid.” Reysa shook her head. “It’s a cloud. Not something you attach to.”

“Past failures weigh me down,” Magnus said, “so much more than successes have ever lifted me.”

“I don’t even know what kind of medicine you practice, but I think you’re being over-modest.” Aurye looked between the two of them. The Bergs possessed so many pleasures, not just luxuries and money, but simple things.

Reysa stepped to the first stair as if prepared to climb, but stopped, turned. “If anyone understands the way people judge by appearances, you do, Aurye. They assume you must be a certain way, without knowing your mind, how it feels to be you. People notice your appearance right away, see the confident way you hold forth behind the bar, and what do they think? That girl, she’s beautiful. Confident, has this killer body. Aurye’s perfect. She possesses everything. Lacks nothing.”

Aurye was stunned, wanted to protest. There was so much they didn’t—

“That’s what people think,” Magnus added. “But is that you?”

“I know how people regard me, their assumptions. You’re right, of course I hear it. Pretty face, that body, and she’s supposedly smart, too. What’s she doing in this shitty little village? At her age, why doesn’t she get out, go into the world and… What? I don’t know. Life is complicated. I want more from…” Aurye didn’t know what. She wanted Reysa and Magnus to tell her what to do. The way they acted toward her, alternately flirtatious and protective, as if they held some secret they might tell, or something to ask. Now they’d invited her to their home, filled her with wine, unfurled this unorthodox philosophy.

She still wasn’t sure what they wanted to offer, or to take. When Aurye had dressed to come up here tonight, she’d believed anything might happen. Now she didn’t know, wished she understood. The pain in her gut burned anew, a pain Aurye knew wasn’t really present. At least it didn’t have to be. The ache came and went, depending on her mind.

Aurye took the first step. Reysa climbed ahead, paused at the first half-landing, and lifted the bottom of her smooth cream-white dress, peeled it up over her head. Underneath she wasn’t naked, still wearing the grey tights, and on top an ornamented silver brocade camisole or tunic, with white and black beads in a sort of constellation. In this reduced attire, Reysa led Aurye and Magnus the rest of the way.

The upper landing mirrored the square entry below, one side open to the great room, art displayed on two side walls. The broad double doors on the fourth wall must open on something, not the snowy outdoors, like below. What lay behind them? Instead of a coat rack, here the lone accessory was an antique divan, covered in a silky light gray. Reysa reclined, like a Norse goddess adorned in her strange ceremonial top, like a chainmail camisole. Aurye thought it was a little surprising, Reysa pulling off her dress, but she wasn’t naked. Layers, that was the word Aurye had used. She was still clothed.

Aurye looked down, taking in the entire lower hall at once. Magnus stood to one side. Clearly he and Reysa wanted to show Aurye their art.

“Prometheus,” Reysa announced.

In the painting, a large man, naked beneath a dramatically flowing gold wrap, reclined on a rock. Prometheus was not relaxing, but in agony. A giant eagle loomed, eating from a gaping wound in his belly.

“Prometheus created mankind from clay,” Magnus said. “Formed a shape from mud and water, and bestowed life. We are his creations. While other gods and titans warred in their struggle for power, Prometheus opted out.”

Aurye had to look away. The wound, open to the world. Why were they showing her this? What did they know about her?

“Prometheus stole fire from the gods,” Reysa said. “Made it a gift to mortals.”

Aurye vaguely remembered the myth from school. “It’s striking, but I…” She guessed she might be missing the point, too distracted by the gory mess. The guts of a god on display.

Magnus gripped Aurye’s shoulder. “Prometheus disregarded the law. He created men and women, and gave us fire. Others didn’t. He dared. And because he dared, he was punished, the eagle feasting on his liver, forever.”

Aurye knew they wanted her to see, but she couldn’t bear to look at the painting any more. She wasn’t squeamish about most things. The wound was too specific, too familiar. She turned to the opposite wall.

“Pandora?” Aurye asked.

“Yes,” Magnus said.

Reysa sat up, watching Aurye’s reaction before the second painting.

A woman knelt, barefoot in a wild forest, leaning over a small container. A hand concealed one of her eyes. She bent forward, mouth open, on the verge of discovery.

“What connects Pandora with Prometheus?” Aurye asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“We all learn, then forget,” Reysa said. “If we’re lucky, we learn again. Pandora was the gods’ punishment for Prometheus’s gift of fire. Pandora was the first human woman, created to bestow suffering, which would spread forever. She opened her jar, and our weaknesses flowed. Jealousy. Vanity.”

“She’s the reason we take for granted any good we ever gain,” Magnus said. “Our punishment for Prometheus.”

Reysa stood, came to Aurye’s side. “You can’t forestall death, but you can fight the poisoning of love.”

Aurye turned. “But how?”

“We shift our minds. Transform language, every way we speak or relate. Alter habits, remake every routine. Constantly change places we go, foods we eat. We constantly trick one another into thinking we are both someone new.”

“Is that all?” Aurye asked. “That simple?”

“Not entirely,” Reysa said. “Other means exist to transform the self, means abandoned by the science of our age. So we look to the past for various powers that have been forgotten, or suppressed.”

“A blend of science, alchemy and occult magic,” Magnus said. “For radical self-transformation.”

“In a couple, the partner is our second self. Do you understand, Aurye?”

“Yes, some,” Aurye said. “But you’re making my head spin.”

“How far would you go, to create an entirely new self?” Reysa asked.

“I wish I could. It sounds…” Aurye trailed off, overwhelmed by how appealing it sounded. Was this possible?

“I hope you don’t think we’re deranged,” Magnus said.

“Deranged?” Aurye laughed before she could stop herself.

Reysa looked at Magnus.

“No, don’t worry,” Aurye assured them. She felt the wine again. “Hell, I’m the one who’s deranged. What I think is you might be, just maybe, more than the usual amount detached from the mainstream.”

Reysa smiled. “Detached from the…” she began, seeming to taste the words as she spoke. “Actually, I like that.”

“That means it’s a good thing, then?” Magnus asked.

“You must not know me very well yet,” Aurye said.

“We’re getting there,” Reysa said. “We’re all learning. All of us.”

“What I started saying was, it sounds incredible.” Aurye spoke slowly, with reverence. “The possibility of building a new self.”

“Almost anything’s possible,” Magnus said with assurance.

“Speaking of medicine,” Aurye asked, “how can you still practice, living sixty miles out of town?”

Reysa blinked at the reversal. “I keep a condo outside Southeast Portland, ten miles from the hospital.”

“What do you specialize in?” Aurye turned to Magnus. “I heard you’re a plastic surgeon.”

“You heard?” He appraised Aurye over his wine glass. “So, it’s not just Reysa asking around about you?”

Aurye considered whether she should just tell them now about her situation. Her hand twitched as she consciously prevented it from moving, giving her away. Of course they didn’t know, couldn’t possibly assume. Only if she told them.

Magnus smiled. “It’s true, I specialize in reconstructive plastic surgery. Burn victims, disfigurements, birth defects. I have no interest in working on the insecure, those who only want to eradicate distinctiveness, to look more like some bland ideal. Beauty matters, but more important is to believe oneself appealing. I wish we didn’t always seek beauty of the most mundane, unchallenging variety. Trimming down an interesting nose, making it less noticeable. How boring.”

Aurye understood his ideal, but felt confused “But if you’re a plastic surgeon and don’t believe in making people more beautiful, then what?”

“I’m willing to rebuild, to sculpt. Form reveals character. Personage manifests not only in personality, but arrangement of body and face.”

“You said you made errors,” Aurye said. “Had some kind of problem.”

Reysa spoke up. “Failure, he said.”

“I made an aesthetic error. Disfigured someone, apparently.” Magnus shrugged, as if everything had been told.

Reysa elaborated. “He repaired the arm of a teenage girl. The limb was mangled. The way Magnus rebuilt it was more aesthetic, functional. Magnus believed it matched the other limb. The problem was, it looked different than before.”

“My patient was displeased,” Magnus resumed. “Her family claimed to be shocked. To be fair, probably were shocked. The girl herself became suicidal. Her parents sued.”

“What happened?” Aurye asked. “It must have worked out. You’re still practicing.”

Neither Magnus nor Reysa answered.

“You lost the lawsuit?”

“Lost, no,” Reysa said.

“My malpractice insurer settled,” Magnus said. “The limb was superior. Functionally better, more interesting.” He stood, went to the rail and looked over. He leaned out over the edge, as if pulled. Aurye remembered this feeling, outside, at the cliff.

“But you’re fine,” Aurye insisted. “You can still practice.”

“He could,” Reysa said. “Malpractice insurance is vastly expensive now.”

Magnus turned to face the women. “I learned a lesson, the need to rein myself in. No more idealism. It’s not my place to make limbs more interesting, to sculpt intriguing shapes. If I want a mainstream practice, it can’t be to please myself. The person I must please is the customer, the owner of the limb, or face, whatever. The path forward was obvious. I could do the uncreative work of restoring bodies and faces to the way they used to look. Give people what they expected. Creative sculpture was something I needed to keep to myself. Hush hush. I’m lucky I have a woman like Reysa.”

Reysa stood, went to his side. “Lately he’s moving from standard clientele to more of a niche. Clients willing to pay extra for flexibility and discretion.”

“Openness of mind is valuable,” Magnus added. “One piece of outside work earns more than a year in the clinic.”

“Many clients come to stay with us here,” Reysa explained, “to avoid any risk of being seen while healing. We’re so isolated, often snowbound, it’s perfect.”

“What about your specialty?” Aurye asked Reysa.

“Orthopedic surgery.”

“If I’m mostly face, hands and skin,” Magnus said, “Reysa is the real meat and bone.”

Reysa shrugged. “I keep a body upright. Able to stand, flex, move.”

“She’s too modest,” Magnus insisted. “Reysa’s a respected authority in limb reattachment. She hasn’t achieved as many surgeries as some older surgeons, not yet, but her success is unrivaled. Limbs may seem clumsy, mechanical chunks of meat, but they’re all fine detail. Nervous and vascular systems are intricate, complicated puzzles. Surgeons effective at reattachment and transplant must connect an array of interlocking parts, impossible to design in advance.”

“Most cases are emergencies,” Reysa said, though she seemed more comfortable letting Magnus explain.

“Donor and recipient interfaces must fit, be made to synchronize, exchange fluids and electricity, the prime movers of life. It’s a magical power, almost godlike.” Magnus seemed genuinely proud, awed by his wife.

This seemed to please Reysa more than embarrass her. “Working on athletes and accident victims doesn’t afford me Magnus’s freedom to exit the mainstream. I can’t opt out, at least not yet. I’m looking for ways.”

“We do collaborate well,” Magnus said. “Our skills are complimentary.”

“And we’re seeking others who are sympathetic,” Reysa added.

“She has a recent story,” Magnus said, as if just remembering. “Pretty dramatic. You might find it interesting.”

Reysa looked to Magnus. “The legs?”

Magnus nodded.

“A car accident,” Reysa began with slow caution, as if telling the story were as fraught with potential missteps as one of her surgeries. “Well, before that. From nowhere, this young man approached me, while eating lunch. He’d learned my name, sought me out. A great athlete, a sprinter, Olympic hopeful at 400 meters. He asked about Paralympic athletes, who compete on artificial limbs. You’ve seen those, flexible carbon fiber blades?”

Aurye nodded.

“I spoke with him on a Thursday afternoon. That Saturday night, he was rushed to the hospital. His car had been totaled. The legs, I judged, could not be saved.” Reysa paused, watching Aurye’s response.

Aurye couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “That’s terrible.”

“Why is it terrible?” Magnus asked.

“For this young man, the sprinter, it was not terrible,” Reysa said. “It was exactly what he wanted. The athletic advantage of ultra-light limbs. More than that, to be noteworthy. Not just win races.”

Aurye tried to process all she was saying. “He wanted?”

“It was arranged, scheduled,” Reysa said. “I was ready at the hospital.”

Though Aurye believed she understood the first impulse, another aspect troubled her. “But he had a gift. I’m not sure he should destroy such a capable body.”

“We destroy to create,” Reysa said. “He wanted to be an inspiration. To remake his life.”

“But he could have died, if things had…”

“Died?” Reysa looked puzzled, then understood. “No, the accident wasn’t much. The legs weren’t destroyed, barely damaged really. I told him in advance, just make sure there’s lots of blood. Enough to be convincing.”

“Told him… In advance?” Aurye looked back and forth between Reysa and Magnus.

“No reason to risk his life. We decided I should take his legs, for Magnus. The sprinter wanted to become an inspiration, and that’s what he became. He has a book deal now. Some producer wants to create a movie, his life story.”

“He found what he wanted,” Magnus added. “And I have new, athletic legs.” He stepped away from the rail, took a stride and turned, as if modeling.

Aurye wondered, could this be true? Even now, it seemed more likely the Bergs just wanted to shock her.

Reysa watched, appraising her husband’s movements. “It was my first chance to contribute to our plan in a major way. I showed Magnus I was ready to help remake him, the way he was already changing me.”

“The way he was…” Aurye looked at Reysa. “Both of you?”

“Come closer.” Reysa rotated her hands to show off her wrists. Around each ran a line, which Aurye first took to be suicide scars, but the lines continued all the way around. “Magnus left the seams visible, by design. We wanted to accentuate them, to clarify what we are. Assemblages of varied parts.”

“What?” Part of Aurye was shocked, the rest couldn’t believe it was possible. “Who are you made of?”

Reysa looked into Aurye’s eyes, held her gaze steady so Aurye wouldn’t doubt. “I won’t tell you the names, not yet. But these hands of mine, they aren’t the same I was born with.”

Magnus unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them down and stepped out. “Here, see?” He demonstrated the clear delineation, mid-thigh, just below where his boxer briefs ended. Both legs were slightly mismatched above and below the line. “We love the contrast, where skin joins skin.”

Aurye considered. Reysa’s wrists, Magnus’s legs. Each body exhibited a sharp transition between shapes, colors and textures. Where differences met, how could one even be sure which was the original? Distinctions blurred.

Magnus picked up his jeans, reached in the pocket and produced photographs. “Look, see? Don’t worry, nothing graphic.”

The photos showed a teenage girl, blond and vigorously athletic.

“I could show you the torn-up mess of pulped meat I had to work with. But look. Reysa and I collaborated. She reattached, kept flesh alive, restored limb function. I made it look new. Better than new.”

Aurye wasn’t sure how to react. The girl’s arm displayed nothing like the jarring transition of Reysa’s or Magnus’s transplants. She was a normal girl, skin the radiant, buttery tan of healthful youth.

“Do you see what I meant to achieve? Never mind that it didn’t work, I mean, we try, sometimes fail. Do you see my intention?”

One arm tapered differently than the other. The imbalance was slight, reminding Aurye of tennis players, whose racquet arms often developed more muscle. She looked strong, poised, if slightly asymmetrical.

“The girl didn’t like it, I can’t deny that. I was going to lose a malpractice lawsuit. So I learned to paint by numbers. Until I found another way to practice my art.”

“This isn’t just Magnus.” Aurye’s statement to Reysa contained a question.

“No,” Magnus corrected. “We’ve developed our philosophy together, over time. And we never harm. Never anything the client doesn’t want.”

This aspect Aurye found inspiring. The Bergs weren’t in competition, Reysa wasn’t merely in support of Magnus. The two collaborated. “But are you sure it’s safe, legal? I mean, of course you are.” If she knew anything about the Bergs, it was their precision about everything.

“They sign waivers, agree not contact medical boards or authorities,” Magnus said. “Informed adults of sound mind. That doesn’t preclude eccentricity, or strange desires.”

“What do you think?” Reysa asked cautiously.

Aurye considered. “It’s surprising, disconcerting. My initial gut reaction was fear, to be honest.”

“Understandable,” Reysa said. “And do be honest.”

“But I get it. You’re looking to make lives that work for you. Sometimes that’s not easy, or takes stepping over some lines.” What line would Aurye be willing to cross? To be able to take control of herself, she would give anything.

“Yes, I admit it,” Reysa said with a smirk. “We do things others might consider perverted, disgusting and wrong.”

“You want to hear the true revelation?” Magnus looked pleased, self-contained and satisfied, as if he had a beneficial secret to share. “I couldn’t become myself until I severed all ties, went underground. My vision became clearer. And I was shocked what people will pay for unorthodox services. The majority may be appalled by willful disfigurement, but those who desire it might happily pay millions.”

Aurye almost repeated the word. Millions. She didn’t want the Bergs to think her too interested in money. Really that wasn’t the first thing they possessed that appealed to her. She wanted help eradicating herself.

“Thus the mountaintop castle,” Reysa said lightly.

“Money is freedom.” Magnus shrugged. “At least it helps. The rest is not giving a damn what anyone thinks.”

Aurye couldn’t believe this was real. She felt inspired, impressed by Magnus’s uncompromising transformation, and more, she desired something like it for herself. Though her hands trembled at what they’d revealed to her, Aurye admired them more than ever.

“Exiting the mainstream wasn’t exile,” Magnus said, “though at first, I thought it was.”

“I still commute into Portland on Tuesdays and Wednesdays,” Reysa said. “I do good work. Sometimes I take weeks off to travel with Magnus. He’s free. I’m still becoming free.”

Magnus turned and went to open the double doors. “Time to go in.”

Though the room had been shut, the dry warmth from the fireplace downstairs reached even here. Moonlight fell through the skylight, making the operating theater almost day-bright. A central surgical table was surrounded by carts and stands of medical gear, and less recognizable industrial equipment. In two far corners, white curtains drew back to reveal vacant hospital beds. Against the rightmost wall, metal racks stood far enough out of the light that whatever they stored was obscured in shadow.

Aurye stepped toward that darkness, lured by the unknown. Light glinted off glass. The shelves held jars, or tanks.

Sudden light flashed above, jarringly bright. An instant later, thunder crashed. Brilliance illuminated everything stored in the glass containers, suspended in emerald liquid. Body parts small as fingers, hands and eyes, and larger. Heads, limbs, torsos.

“In death, they leave behind much that remains useful,” Reysa said. “But living flesh is easier to work with.”

Aurye swallowed. “You didn’t bring me here to take—”

“No,” Reysa answered quickly, then giggled in a manner that put Aurye’s fears to rest. “You’re not new flesh to us. We value more than youth, which counts for nothing in the end. Magnus excels at cosmetic shaping, so if the point were only to constantly tighten, well. We could forever remake ourselves into younger-looking versions of the same people. We’re physically fit, healthy. Younger than our years.”

“What, then? What do you want from me that you don’t already have?” Aurye looked to Magnus.

“Varieties of personhood, within the same partner,” he answered. “Reysa gave me the eye of a very tall and thin Kenyan immigrant, who died aged twenty-nine from severe burns to legs and torso. His eyes were undamaged. I took only one, afraid to change my vision too much at once.”

Aurye leaned close, looked again at Magnus’s eyes. Her first impression had been correct. The eyes of two different men. “And you?” she asked Reysa. “What else? Your wrist seams. How could a surgeon cut off her own hands?”

“It’s not necessary to cut through to bone, though that’s what we did with Magnus’s legs. My new hands are what you might call a veneer, like most of my changes so far.” Reysa gestured to demonstrate the flexibility of her hands, then lifted off the decorative camisole to reveal a patchwork torso. Her flesh was a beautiful puzzle. Not deformity, not feeble grasping for youth’s shallow appeal. She was more beautiful than anyone Aurye knew. A sculpture of contrasting parts.

Magnus moved to Reysa’s side. “Can you see how I love my wife even more, this way?”

Aurye understood. She’d always thought Reysa striking, at least as conventionally attractive as Aurye herself, but less ordinary, eyes and mouth far more interesting.

Magnus pulled his sweater over his head. He and Reysa stood revealed, proof of their convictions offered in varied surprising details. Thick scars, proportions which might seem wrong at first glance, but which careful appraisal revealed more pleasing, by some perspective of aesthetic judgment Aurye found hard to articulate. She heard it inside her, a voice speaking for the first time. Felt the pull of unorthodox attraction, of weird possibility and strange desire.

What Aurye wondered was, could they do this to her? Fix what was broken, remake her to become more strange, even perversely beautiful? She imagined her future self, someone as yet unknown.

“It’s true, we objectify you,” Reysa said. “But we’ve always objectified ourselves, and one another. Everyone.”

“So you’re not asking me to swap legs?” She laughed, nervous despite the enticement. “Anything like that?”

Magnus answered. “We don’t want to consume you.”

“Then what?”

“Our plan is long. Eventually, you should finish college, med school. But first, help us broaden our circle.”

“You want others?” Aurye tried to assemble pieces of this offer. “Not just me? Who?”

“We don’t know. You’ll help us find them. You’re attractive, likable. You work in a visible spot, the coolest bar on the mountain, with a clientele of active mountain types. Snowboarders, climbers, travelers staying at Timberline.”

Aurye nodded.

Magnus continued where Reysa left off. “Young athletic men and women, decadent, pleasure-seeking. Accustomed to living outside the lines. Yes, our ideas are transgressive. They require a certain willingness to step past boundaries, where others stop. For some, life’s thrills may have worn thin. They might be receptive to dramatic transformation.”

“If we wanted to be promiscuous, we could,” Reysa said. “Creative living is all the perversion we need. You know, if a universal maker existed, she’d be the most perverse being imaginable.” She shot her husband a look and a wink.

Magnus smirked. “Reysa determinedly postulates this notion of a female creator. I think we need more wine.”

“This is a lot to understand,” Aurye said. “Explain it to me a different way.”

“We want a larger menu,” Magnus said.

“Friends,” Reysa said. “We’ll take from more. Give to more.”

“I think I see, and understand.” Aurye wanted to sit. All the tension had left her. She felt no more apprehension, no more wondering what the Bergs intended. “Also, I think you’re right about more wine.”

“I’ll go for a bottle.” Magnus started for the stairs.

“Bring two,” Reysa called. After he was gone, she turned to Aurye. “Do you think he could’ve carried three?”

Aurye laughed, head still spinning with everything their suggestions entailed. Some aspects seemed shocking, but when she weighed her personal affection for the Bergs, their desire to help her, along with the resources at their disposal, and balanced these against her otherwise dismal options, gravity seemed to draw her inexorably nearer their orbit. They were so vibrant, more engaging and attractive than any couple Aurye knew. Even more so, now that she knew the degree to which they’d become who they were by their own uncompromising efforts. This unorthodox approach formed the core of what kept them energetic, vibrant and youthful in mind and body.

Could this be true, could her own life transform, broken parts be replaced? Everything would be easier without so many limitations. A life of energy and health, clarity of mind, leisure, physical elegance. She loved how the Bergs offset each other, beautiful balanced within themselves and counterpoised against one another. It all felt so seductive.

“So, have we shocked you?” Reysa ventured. “Exceeded your boundaries?”

Aurye considered. The contrary was true, but she hesitated to let them think her too desperately willing, lacking any restraint at all. “I’m afraid actually you’d be shocked, if you knew what I’d give if I could just…” She gestured, but was afraid it came across as nihilistic rejection of everything in life, rather than willingness to obtain something better, and optimism Reysa and Magnus could help. She wasn’t sure how to explain her predicament, afraid they might see her differently if they knew everything, could see all her hidden flaws laid bare. But of course they would see, eventually.

“You’re tempted,” Reysa guessed. “We could take you such places.”

Magnus entered with two uncorked bottles. “Away from the humdrum, toward the beautiful strange.” He poured.

Reysa lifted her glass. “To possibility.”

The three toasted, and drank as though thirsty.

“If it seems strange, my lack of shock at your… surprising suggestions, there are reasons,” Aurye ventured. “I think once we hit bottom, and face what seems like the impossibility of going on, if we do come out the other side, it’s freeing. So I’m probably open to alternatives most would reject.”

“I’m the same,” Reysa assured her. “Broken down by trauma. For me, three times. First, as I was leaving for college, my stepfather tried to prevent me. Made threats against my mother, broke my arm, then my nose. When these didn’t deter me, he escalated. Emotional, sexual. It nearly broke me, but I left, never returned. Never again considered that place home.”

“Horrible,” Aurye said.

Magnus kept his eyes on the floor, motionless except to sip from his wine. Reysa continued.

“Next, my first husband, another surgeon, and yes I realize how that sounds, marrying one surgeon after another. He rejected me for a woman less accomplished, less challenging to him, after my accident. He even said, She may not be as hot as you, but at least she’s not so fucking familiar. I didn’t think I’d make it, but I did. I found Magnus.”

“And third?” Aurye couldn’t help looking at Magnus, fearing the possibility he may once have harmed Reysa in ways similar to the two prior stories. That seemed impossible, but they were always talking about inevitable betrayal.

“Magnus, but not something he did to me. The lawsuit, seeing the toll it took on him. That devouring fear. Both sleepless, afraid of losing our home, his career, which he believed to be everything. When I saw Magnus break, something in me broke.” Reysa looked away, gulped her wine, then seemed to remember she wasn’t alone. “I became willing to cross any line, to protect this. The only life I’ll ever have.”

“You seem very strong to me,” Aurye told her. “Both of you.”

“Do you understand now?” Magnus asked. “This is how anything becomes possible.”

“I’m younger, but I’ve faced my share,” Aurye said. “But to have an ally against the world, willing to do anything to protect me. I want it. I used to believe I’d find a man like that, but it’s rare.”

“You will,” Reysa said.

“How do I know when I have it?” Aurye asked. “I mean, that I’ve found perfect, faithful devotion, someone willing to die for me, kill for me, and not just another weak, betraying bastard?”

Magnus moved between Aurye and Reysa. “Find someone whose desire to remain close to you doesn’t decrease when trouble comes. Who stays closer by your side when you need them.”

“That’s right.” Reysa took Magnus’s hand. Aurye could see them squeeze.

Reysa knelt on the bare stone, then sat and lay back. “Lie down. Look up. The clouds are coming again.”

Magnus did the same, so Aurye followed suit. The skylight revealed a thin crescent moon against pure black sky.

“Clouds?” Aurye asked. “Are you sure it’s—”

She was interrupted by a flash, not so bright and proximate as what had first revealed the storage tanks. Soon, thunder followed, then wispy clouds moved across until the moon was nothing but hidden backlight.

“Tell me again,” Aurye said. “Tell me what you want us to do together.”

Magnus answered. “We want to widen our circle. To share with others, just one at first, then another. A few more, not many. Wider variety of personhood. That’s what we crave.”

“If we can’t transcend personal death,” Reysa said, “we can create an immortality of relationship. Mutual support.”

“What do you think of what we’ve said?” Magnus asked, hesitant. “Maybe we frightened you.”

“In all our talks at Midgard, you seemed receptive,” Reysa said. “Not to this idea exactly, but our various strange hypotheticals. You always seemed to get it.”

“If you want to go home, you can,” Magnus said. “We’ll consider you a friend, even if—”

“It isn’t that you’ve frightened me,” Aurye interrupted.

Reysa rolled over, touched Aurye’s arm. “What then?”

“Something troubles you,” Magnus said. “You still seem afraid.”

“I am afraid. Not of you.” Aurye stood. She reached for the lace hem of her dress, lifted it over her head. Still she wore the black fleece tights and white long-sleeved sweater. She lifted the bottom of the sweater, raised it enough to start revealing her bare belly, then hesitated.

“You don’t need to—” Reysa stood, approached almost close enough to touch Aurye, but held back.

Magnus sat up, seeming mortified, certain Aurye had misunderstood. “We didn’t mean you should have to—”

The glow through the skylight diminished as clouds advanced. Nothing remained of moonlight. Snow swirled, barely visible.

 

Aurye didn’t cover herself. “I understood. I just have to show myself.” She stepped back, leaned against the operating table.

“I don’t…” Magnus trailed off.

Aurye lifted the under-sweater to reveal her naked torso. A six-inch strip of surgical tape ran vertically up the side of her abdomen, below her left breast. Her hands wanted to cover, but she fought the impulse. Now was time to reveal. Against her will, fingers flitted nearer the wound.

Lightning struck, filled the room with ultimate brightness. For a flash, nothing was hidden. Electricity surged through the strange machinery behind the surgical table. Static popped and invisible power filled the air with a living hum.

“I used to cover it with thick adhesive gauze,” Aurye said. “It’s something I’ve gotten better at.”

“Wound care?” Reysa asked.

“Concealment. Hiding a wound that will never heal.” She pinched the top end of the tape, pulled up, then down. She shuddered as the tape came free. Flaps of skin opened, pulled apart. The wound wasn’t bloody, or even wet. It was an open vacancy, not a recent injury. Something had always been missing. “No matter what, people end up seeing.”

Magnus stood, came to Reysa’s side. Both approached.

“This is me.” Aurye expected inquiries about doctors, diagnoses, how parents could have allowed the wound to remain. Why hadn’t someone cut out the disease, sewn her shut?

The Bergs said nothing, only regarded Aurye gently, seeming afraid their scrutiny might inflict further damage. The room had become so dark. Aurye could barely see Reysa and Magnus, knew she too must be almost invisible.

Lightning flashed, and for another instant everything was perfect white. Thunder followed.

“It’s rare,” Aurye whispered. “Thundersnow.”

Reysa knelt, did not touch, but looked unflinchingly at the opening in Aurye’s side. It led not into her gut, to some vital inner aspect of her. It led away, like a pit in the ground, vanishing into the dark. Aurye hated it so much. It had always been with her. “It’s like your painting,” Aurye said. “Prometheus with the giant eagle, devouring.”

“If you want to change,” Magnus said, “we’ll help.”

“I’ve always wanted to,” Aurye said, “just didn’t believe it.”

“You can change yourself as little as you like,” Reysa said.

“More.” Aurye felt emotion surging. She couldn’t let herself cry. “Change as much as I can.”

“You don’t have to,” Reysa cautioned.

“Let me give something back,” Aurye suggested. “Something small. First to Reysa, then when I heal, to Magnus.”

“Not yet, and don’t worry,” Reysa said. “We have plenty of donor parts.”

“There’s always meat,” Magnus added lightly. “More than we could ever use.”

“What I want is for my body to be always torn apart,” Aurye insisted. “Again and again, forever. I might age, but never become old. I’ll constantly be something new. Cut apart, and sewn back into some fresh unknown shape.”

Reysa touched her shoulder gently. “Dare try, or never know.”

Aurye felt it for the first time, believed it was true. Acceptance, the first she could remember. She felt no desire to return home. “To be my new self, I want to give away pieces of the old one.”

Magnus nodded. “We have only one life each. One chance.”

“So we endlessly role-play, speculate on every possible ending,” Reysa said. “Betrayals, murder-suicide pacts, feeble dissolutions. We plan for any eventuality, solve each in advance and thus avoid them all. Along the way, replace parts of ourselves. Someday we’ll die, but first we can be entirely new.”

“All our work is to ensure this never ends.” Magnus gestured not outwardly, around the room, at the grand house or the mountain, but between himself and Reysa. He expanded the gesture to include Aurye.

Clouds thinned, glowing at the moon’s insistence, and latent energy carried within atmosphere ozone-rich after penetration by lightning.

“None of this should ever have to end,” Aurye said. “None of us.”

Lightning flashed again, cut the sky as if in agreement.