Changeling

"Not necessarily a hawk or a cat," he explained. "No witch can change themselves or someone else into a being that does not resonate with the one to be changed. For example, if you feel an affinity for horses, want to know what it would feel like to race across the plains, then it's fairly easy to shift into that. But if you feel no affinity for the animal, have nothing of that creature in you, then it can't be done. Which is why witched don't usually shift into most reptile or fish."

Oh, Goddess, he seemed serious. I tried to stall. "Can all witches do this?"

"No. Not even very many. But I can, and I think you can, too." He looked deeply into my eyes until I felt that the two of us made up the entire universe. "What do I feel like to you?" he whispered. "What do you feel like?"

An image came to me, and animal. I hesitated to say it. It was the animal that had come to me in terrifying dreams in New York—the animal that represented Ciaran and all of his children, me included. I was so scared about what might happen right here, right now, that it was beyond comprehension. But if I couldn't understand it, then I couldn't really feel it. "A wolf," I said. "Both of us."

His smile was like the moon coming out from behind a bank of clouds. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes. Say there words, Morgan: A

Mindlessly, wondering if I were being spelled by Ciaran but no longer caring, I repeated the ancient, frightening words. Before my eyes Ciaran began to change, but it was hard to say how—were his teeth sharper, longer? His hands curling into claws? Did I see a new, feral wildness in his eyes?

His voice was growing softer and softer, and I cast my senses out to hear the words so I could repeat them. Then I heard something that wasn't a word. It was… a sound and a shape and a color and a sigil, all at once. It was impossible to describe. No. It was Ciaran's true name, the name of his essence. I don't know how I recognized it… it was instinctive. I had learned Ciaran's true name, I thought hazily. That meant…

In the next second I gasped and bent double, racked with a searing, unexpected pain. I stared down my hands. They were changing. I was changing. I was shape-shifting into a wolf. Oh, god, help me.

I cried out, but my voice was already not my own. I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling the soft loam beneath me, barely aware of Ciaran changing slipping out of his clothes, revealing a thick black-and-silver coat. His intelligent hazel eyes looked at me from a wolf's face. I tried to scream in horror and pain, but my voice was strangled and broken. My body was in a rack, being forced to bend and curl in u

I stepped closer to Ciaran, my four legs moving smoothly, precisely, with no effort. I felt hw strong I was, how powerful—my jaws felt heavy, my legs were roped with lean muscle, and I was breathing easily, although the change had been horribly stressful. Ciaran opened his mouth in a sinister, wolfy grin, as if to say, Isn't it great? I gri

Then I remembered. The watch sigil. The wolf in me wanted to be ru

Ciaran made no response, as if he hadn't noticed, hadn't felt it. I had no idea whether or not it would «stick» since he was a changed being. Then Ciaran nudged me with his head and, turning, bounded off into the night. Feeling fiercely happy, all thoughts of Morgans and missions and spells gone, I leapt after him. My muscles contracted and expanded effortlessly; it was easy to catch up with him, and we loped along side by side as a million new sensations flooded my animal brain. With my magesight I could always see well in the dark, but now it was as if things were highlighted and outlined for me with infrared. With each indrawn breath a world of scent, flavors borne on the breeze, added an incredibly powerful, exciting beyond description.

When Ciaran looked back, I opened my mouth and showed him my pointy teeth. He had given me the gift of a lifetime, I knew. We ran for miles through the woods, leaving the cemetery behind, following scents, feeling the crisp air ruffling through our fur. I ran happily in Ciaran's paw prints, trying to soak up as much of this sensation as possible. I didn't know if it would ever happen again, and I wanted to relish every second.

I hadn't even begun to tire when Ciaran cantered to a halt and sniffed the air. Eagerly I stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and lifted my head. My eyes widened, and I looked at him, seeing the knowledge in his eyes. I smelled it too. Prey.

17. The Choice

Colin, I write to you in fevered hysteria. I learned only hours ago that Nuala is to be burned at the stake, in Barra Head. I can see that at last her devil's work has caught up to her, but the sentence! As Father Benedict himself said, God is to judge good and evil, not man! Ca