Witchcraft, A Solution Prepared
#2 of Witchcraft
The second part of Witchcraft. Hope you enjoy it.
As always, comments are appreciated and requested.
continued from 'A Costly Accident...'
Cold water slapped Pasqual's face, instantly awakening him. He spluttered in surprise, finding himself sitting in a stream of icy cold water. He quickly sprang for the bank, crawling out onto grass that was cool with nightdew. And then, he looked down and screamed in fright, the sound coming out as a mournful howl. His body really was covered in black fur. His legs were now digigrade, a muzzle interfered with his sight and he could feel a tail extending from his back. Ragged tatters of his clothing hung from his body in various places, torn to shreds by the claws that now extended from his hands. He howled again, then quickly clamped his mouth shut, trying to will the dream to end, to will himself human again. But it was all for not, the dream persisted. And somehow, as he sat in the clearing, dripping wet and shivering, it came to him that it was all very real. For a few minutes, he sat between the groves of pine and beech, despairing at his fate, unable to understand what had happened. And then, the face of a cute red panda morph came back into his head. Soho might be able to explain what had happened. She might even be able to return him to normal.
Rising quickly to his feet, Pasqual ran through the woods, going down on all fours so he could run the better beneath the trees. It took him barely five minutes to find the witch's house and he nearly laughed in relief to find a light on in the window. He walked up the path to the front door on his hind legs, forcing himself to go slow so as not to startle his friend. But, as he neared the door, he heard a sound he had not expected coming from inside.
It sounded like a woman crying. Curious and fearful, Pasqual pushed open the door to the house's main room slowly, revealing a sight that made his heart nearly shatter in sorrow, though he did not at the moment know why. Soho was seated at a table, the book she had been reading out of to make the warding potion open before her. A yellow tallow candle sat next to her in a stand and its flickering flame revealed the red panda's tears as they trailed down her cheeks. She sobbed bitterly into her folded arms and he walked slowly inside, still trying not to disturb her and unsure how to react. He had never seen his friend in such a state. However, moving inside caused the candle to flicker in the wind and she looked up slowly with bloodshot eyes. When she saw him standing there, she gasped, scooting back her chair quickly, fear widening in her eyes.
"Soho, it's just me Pasqual." He said, putting his hands up in a non-threatening posture. She stared at him in disbelief for a second, then she ran to him, throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder. Pasqual put his wolfish arms around her and held her to him out of instinct alone, for he was too startled to do anything remotely rational. She stood for a few minutes in his arms, crying her eyes out, and then she began to calm down. Her sobbing soon quieted until all that remained were a few sniffles as she gathered herself. Finally, she stepped back a bit from him, and he let her go, though he did not want to. He had enjoyed her closeness, enjoyed her scent, though he still didn't know why it made him feel the way it did.
"I am so sorry Pasqual." She said, her words dripping with sorrow. "This is my fault. It's all my fault."
"What do you mean?" He asked, cocking his head to the side at her.
"I mixed up the recipes for two potions." She said, sniffing and wiping away a tear. "I took me this long to find the recipes in the book. I thought I was making a healing potion, but all I ended up doing was making you into a werewolf. It wasn't the potion that healed you, it was the lycanthropy."
Pasqual stood for a moment, utterly speechless. Of all the possible explanations, he had not expected this one. He had heard of werewolves before of course, everyone had. They existed in tales meant to frighten small children, told around the campfire in the deep night; phantoms that would rise out of the mists of old and suddenly strike down the unwary. And now, Pasqual realized, he had become one, a mythical creature. His mind reeled, searching for another answer, any answer, no matter how absurd, that would explain away what had happened, but none came to mind.
"This is great, just great." He finally said, sinking into a nearby chair. "I haven't lived much of my life and now it's ruined. I wonder if anyone else in history has had such bad luck."
"I'm sorry. You must hate me now." Soho said, leaning against the table, staring at her feet in shame. This comment brought Pasqual up short and he raised his head, looking at her once more. By all rights, he should have hated her, should have despised her for her mistake. But there it was; it was a mistake, an honest one and he could not hate her for it, not matter what it had caused. She would never intentionally do anything to hurt him, he knew. He shook his head and then spoke once more.
"No, I don't hate you." He said, causing Soho's eyes to return suddenly to his face. "You didn't mean to do it. So you made a mistake. I can guarantee you that if I had been the one trying to make a potion, it probably would have killed instead of this. I guess I will just have to find a way to live with this. How long am I supposed to stay transformed?"
"Until the full moon sets." Soho replied, but then she came over to him once more, crouching down before him so he didn't need to crane his neck to see her. "I promise I will make it up to you. There has to be a cure, an antidote to the potion I gave you. I promise I won't rest until I find it. Okay?"
"Alright." Pasqual replied, hope kindling in his heart. "What do you need me to do?"
"Try and relax while I find what we are looking for." Soho replied, returning to the table and scanning the pages with renewed vigor. Pasqual tried his best to relax, but the fey energy that had accompanied the rise of the moon was still strong in him, making him restless. He finally rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth across the room. Six strides from wall to wall, back and forth, the floor boards of the house creaking beneath his feet rhythmically as he walked. The continuous, even tread of his feet on the wood was somewhat calming to his energized mind, and he occupied the rest of his mind trying to ignore the little things that kept popping up in his head. What if the potion had no counter? What if the transformation was permanent? What if his parents found out that he was a werewolf? Would they still accept him? What if, What if, What if?
With every other cycle of steps, he glanced at Soho, watching her study the book. At first, she read the same two pages over and over again, which he had to assume contained the recipe for the potion that had changed him. Then, she had started flipping through the pages, looking for something in particular. The flipping of pages, which followed a beat of their own, was distracting, and after a quarter of an hour, had started to grate on his nerves. However Soho soon reached the end of the book and shut the cover, a hand to her chin while she pondered some problem.
"What is it?" he finally asked and Soho did not answer. It was only after he repeated the question that she seemed to realize he had spoken at all.
"Well, fortunately, a counter potion exists." She said, which made Pasqual's heart leap with anticipation. "But, unfortunately, it isn't in this book. My teacher has many more books in the other room, though it would go much faster if I had your help."
"I can't read this stuff." Pasqual protested, confused. "I don't even know what language that is."
"Its okay, all you have to do is look for a specific phrase." Soho said, smiling at him. "I will right it down for you once I get the books. Okay?"
"Okay." He replied and dragged his chair over to the table while Soho got up and walked out of the room. While she was in the other room, he couldn't help but wonder at why she was so distracted. He couldn't think of a reason why she should be. She had always been the most focused person he had ever known. Nothing had seemed to unsettle her before when she was concentrating on a problem, nothing. And yet, she seemed preoccupied with something that weighed on her mind, though he could not begin to guess at what it was. Perhaps it was simply guilt at what had happened to him.
His train of thought was interrupted a moment later by Soho coming back in through the doorway, a stack of books and scrolls in her arms. Once she had set these down on the table, she took a scrap of paper and an old fashioned quill pen from an inkwell and very clearly wrote a series of runes on it. When she was done, she slid the paper over towards him.
"This is what we are looking for. All you have to do is look for any mention of this line." She said, setting half of the stack of books before him on the table. "Let me know if you see it."
"Alright then." Pasqual said and opened the cover of the top tome. The title page and table of contents were written in a flowing version of the script that Soho had written on the scrap of paper, and it took him a few moments to acquaint himself with the script of the book. Once he was done, he began to scan the pages eagerly, looking for the letters on the scrap of paper. However, after a few minutes of scanning pages written in a wholly alien script, he found his mind starting to drift. While the candle burned lower and lower, he scanned the pages, trying to stay focused, but he soon found it to be a hard task. It was immensely wearisome to stare at endless lines of words that he could not read and would not likely have understood even if he did. He began to look forward more and more to the pages with illustrations, as widely spaced and often very odd as they were, for no more reason other than to have something else to look at than the endless writing.
Even though the process was mind-numbingly boring, he did manage to glean some glimpses into the trade Soho had chosen, as brief as they were. Pasqual soon realized that the book was set up into sections, separated by a title set apart from the other words. After this followed a section of what looked like ingredients and he soon found that it was not unlike the recipe book his mother used in the kitchen. After he realized this, just to keep his mind from wandering too far, he tried to guess what each potion did from the pictures included in the descriptions while he scanned for the telltale words. However, he ran out of pages within the book without finding a single mention of the words, except for scattered copies of the smaller words in the line. The next book was more of the same, but the writing style was again different, more slanted, and more difficult to read. After a few more minutes of scanning the pages, while Soho replaced the guttering candle with another one, he found suddenly that this book had another difficulty. It was written by many different hands, each inscribing another potion or spell, sometimes with two or more writing different parts of the same one.
For a few minutes, this stymied his attempts to decipher the letters, until he recognized a pattern with all the different hands that had written in the tome. One of the letters in the line he was searching for, an intertwining pair of diamonds that he couldn't begin to guess how to write, always stood out and it was quite rare to find in the book. To quicken the rate at which he searched, he started scanning just for that letter, stopping when he found it and scanning the line it was in. However, even with this new method of searching, the book took the better part of two hours to go through, and he still had not found the phrase they were looking for. The next tome, and the one after that, and indeed, the one after that, all contained no mention of it. Once, during the slowly moving hours of reading, Soho had perked up, peering closer to the book she had been reading as if she had found something, but it had turned out to be nothing more than a false alarm. However, because the situation was so desperate, he forged on doggedly, ignoring how boring and hopeless the reading seemed.
So entranced with the reading was he that he did not realize it was getting close to sunrise until his body suddenly jerked upright, his sable fur standing on end, his body beginning to tremble. He rose quickly from the table, causing Soho to look at him, concerned. Pasqual stumbled over to the nearby window and looked out, seeing the full moon dipping below the rapidly lightening horizon. The trembling in his body intensified until he could no longer remain still. Then, all at once, a strange sensation that was not quite pain, but something very uncomfortable all the same suddenly grew in his gut. He doubled over, his face a frown, and let out a groan. His body seemed to be shrinking back down to its normal size. His legs convulsed suddenly and he stumbled backward as they returned to normal human shape. While he stumbled, his left leg caught against on of the table legs, sending him reeling towards a wall. Wind-milling his arms, he managed not to fall headfirst into it, but his flailing arm contacted the potted plant that had been singing three days ago. Up until now, it had been still and silent, as if it were asleep, but the moment he jarred it, it swayed around violently, jerking back and forth, whistling shrilly.
While Pasqual lost what remained of his balance and fell to the ground, landing painfully on his rapidly disappearing tail, Soho got up and touched the plant, stroking its stem gently. The frantic whistling calmed slightly and the plant began to return to stillness. And then, Soho turned back and offered her hand to Pasqual. He took it, allowing her to help him back up to his feet. When he got back up, he thanked her and examined himself. The wolfish characteristics had faded back into his body, leaving him human once more, if not quite the way he had been. Hurrying to the mirror, he looked at himself and was surprised. His normally slight build had been replaced. He was now broader, filled out, his body now that of a soldier or professional athlete. His straight black hair, normally kept cut short, had grown out into a long curly mane, which had vanished when he had transformed and returned with the rising sun. His facial features had changed some too. Now they had a somewhat wolfish cast to them, and his green eyes had thin yellow rings around the pupils. All in all, he looked more wild, stronger than before, and if truth be told, more handsome than he had been. But despite this, he wasn't sure he liked what he now looked like; it wasn't his face. It was alien, and he felt like he was looking at a stranger's face in the mirror. But, as he stood staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed that Soho, who had returned to the table, was not looking at the scroll spread out before her.
Instead, her gaze was on him. She seemed to be examining him even as he examined himself, a fact which his rational mind thought he should be concerned about, though it bothered him that he could not remember why. The chill breeze that heralded the rising sun rushing in through the open window reminded him exactly why as it caressed his bare flesh, making him shiver. With his clothing ripped to shreds, he was hardly decently dressed. In fact, looking at himself, he realized he was wearing practically nothing. Startled and heartily embarrassed, he covered himself with his hands and put his back to the wall beside the mirror.
"Do..." He began, his voice breaking with nervousness. He coughed, and tried again, a little annoyed at Soho's amused look. "Is there anything I could wear around here?"
"Hold on a moment, I will go get one of the witch's cloaks." Soho said, getting up. As she walked past him towards the door, he noticed that her gaze did not waver from him and he thought he saw more than a passing interest in her gaze as she walked by. He tried to put that troubling thought out of his mind, but it was soon replaced by another thought that was little better. As Soho passed him, and her scent found its way to his nostrils once more, he found that there was a new note within it, one that he had never noticed before, though it started some kind of reaction within him as if he had. It was a sharp, spicy undercurrent beneath her usual comforting scent, and he felt his heart speed up a little at it. Heat began to rise within his body, a new kind of heat he had never felt before. It wasn't the fey warmth the potion had brought, nor the heat of his embarrassment. It was an exciting heat, one he could not begin to categorize, and accompanying it was a broad feeling of anticipation. The feeling was not very intense, just enough to feel, but not enough to bother him. When Soho returned with the flowing brown cloak, he swirled it around his neck, ensuring that it covered him sufficiently. It was much too small to act as it should have, had it fit, but it was quite long enough to cover him.
At last settled, he returned to the table and the books. He did not even consider that he was due back at work today, that his parents would likely want to know where he had been all night. Nor did he consider that someone might find his ravaged clothing in the clearing where he had fallen asleep and assume the worst. All that mattered at the moment was finding a cure for the potion. Pasqual was halfway through his sixth book before either of them found anything, but when he did, he knew somehow that he had hit the jackpot. The entire line he was looking for made up a title on a page and he spoke excitedly to Soho, a relieved smile spreading across his face.
"Found it!" He cried, making Soho's head jerk upward in surprise. He pushed the book over to her and she scanned the page for a moment, before nodding. However, as she read, the expression on her face seemed to mimic the life cycle of a flower. A smile blossomed on it, then it wilted into a frown of concern, then a look of utmost worry.
"What is it?" Pasqual asked, suddenly worried too.
"This is the right potion." She said, relieving his greatest worry. "But I have never made a potion as complicated as this one before. Also, even if I get it right, it has to stew for two days before it can be drunk." She quickly reread a passage from the page and spoke again, "And..."
"And what?" Pasqual inquired when she did not continue.
"And there is a very grave risk." She explained. "It requires some of the castor's blood to make it work, and that means that if I get it wrong, if you drink it, both of us will die."
"Is it the only way to remove the curse?" he asked, and she nodded, looking scared. "Then I am willing to risk it, if you are."
"I am." She confirmed, seemingly reassured by his confidence in her. "We should get started." With that, she and Pasqual both rose to their feet and Soho led the way into the other room. With her friend's help, she filled a smaller caldron with water and started a fire burning to bring it to a boil. Then, she had Pasqual carry many bundles of herbs, whole strands of berries of varying types and a variety of mushrooms, including a large Blackwort, while she checked and doubled checked the book containing the recipe. Finally sure they had everything they needed, Soho led the way back into the caldron room. Then, the pair spent a few hours chopping, crumbling, juicing and slicing the ingredients, each one going into the caldron in a precise order. Sometimes, Soho would have Pasqual stir the boiling concoction while she gradually added ingredients, at others, she would stand close to him, speaking spells while waving her hands over the potion and at times, over him. Once, she apologized to him, then quickly pulled a curly lock of hair out by its roots, making him yelp, then dropped it into the potion. Soon enough, as the sun was just beginning to pass noon, she finally set the book down and smiled. The potion was glowing an unpleasant sort of brown, like mud, and it did not smell at all appetizing.
"Alright, we have to let it stew for about twelve hours before we add the rest of the ingredients." She stated and he nodded, following her out of the room and back onto the main chamber. Soho sat herself at the table and Pasqual followed her, leaning against the edge of the table, massaging his sore arms. It was hard work to stir the potion for so long. Still though, he was relieved that it was going so well. After a few moments of silence, Pasqual spoke.
"How will I know if the potion worked?" He asked, thinking ahead a few days with great hope to when it would be done.
"Well, according to the book, there are only two outcomes." Soho replied, leaning back a little in her chair, stretching. "After I add the last ingredient, either it will work, or it will kill us."
While she said this, Pasqual could not help but examine her body while she stretched. To his surprise, he found himself looking at her in a new light, one that he had always shirked from in the past. She was actually very shapely, her curves very attractive to look at. Her fur looked so sleek and shiny and he didn't doubt that it was extremely smooth and soft. Her breasts were of the perfect size in his opinion, a little larger than normal for a woman of her height, though not enough to look disproportionate. He found himself feeling a little disappointed that the edge of the table prevented him from seeing further down... Pasqual shook himself, astonished that he had even begun to think such lewd thoughts about his friend. Suddenly, he noticed that he could smell the spicy quality in her scent once more, a little stronger than it had been and he wondered if there was a connection. Seeking an escape from the situation, he spoke once more.
"Well, since the potion needs to stew so long, I think I will go home and get some clothes." He said and Soho smiled.
"Okay, but hurry back, the potion will need constant attention when it is done with this round of stewing." She said, nodding to him. Pasqual returned her grin and pushed himself back up to his full height. Bidding his friend goodbye, he left the room and began to walk back toward the town. The gravel on the road hurt his bare feet, so he slipped off it and began to walk through the grass beneath the near trees. And, suddenly realizing just how awkward a situation it would be if he met someone on the road dressed only in a too-small brown cloak, he slipped further back into the trees, making his way towards his house out of memory alone. As he walked, he began to consider the odd events of the day. He had transformed into a werewolf and then back to human, though a human form that was, he had to admit, an improvement from his original look. And then, he considered the odd change in Soho's scent and his reaction to it. He had never reacted that way to seeing Soho stretch before that day, and he had not known that he could ever feel such desire for her.
About the same moment his house had come into view and he had made for the back where he could reach his window, a sudden realization struck him with such force that it almost made him stumble. The reason why he had been embarrassed for so long about being naked with her, the reason why he had so enjoyed her scent, was suddenly very obvious. He wanted her. He had never had anything more than crushes among the girls his age in the town; that is to say, he had never felt so attracted to anyone as he felt to Soho. And that scared him more than the prospect of being a werewolf did. She was one of his best friends, and she was also a morph, which made such feelings fundamentally wrong. And yet, as he pushed his window up and climbed into his room, he realized that they didn't feel wrong, no matter what anyone else said. Troubled, he quickly took off the cloak and slipped into a fresh shirt and trousers. He grabbed a second change of clothes and stuffed them into a backpack before sitting down on the bed and putting on a new pair of boots, having lost his work boots when he had transformed. He was just about done lacing them up when his mother knocked on the door.
"Pasqual, are you in there?" She asked, her voice lacking the concern that he had expected. Grimacing, he replied, hoping she wouldn't feel the need to come inside and therefore see his new, altered body. He would have to spend a long time telling them all about what had happened, and frankly, he didn't want to be around the house that long, especially with the day growing old. He wouldn't want to have to transform in front of them, if that even happened every night.
"Yeah, I'm here." He called, hurrying to finish tying his boots. "What is it?"
"Where have you been?" She called in return, her tone accusing, as if he had been doing something bad. "Your boss came by wondering why you didn't show up today."
"Oh, uh..." he said, groping for a suitably vague excuse that would be enough to convince her to leave him alone. "I was...Tending to a sick friend."
"Which friend?" She asked and he groaned inwardly, wanting nothing more than to go running on back to the witch's hut and his cure.
"My best friend." He replied, going over to his window to slip out again. "She is not feeling well and I stopped in to help her get better."
"What is going with you Pasqual?" his mother asked and a flash of annoyance flitted across his mind. "You seem so tired lately. Are you feeling well?"
"I'm fine, I haven't been sleeping well is all." Pasqual answered, then with a sudden inspiration, "I am just laying down now to get some rest. I will be needing to take a few days off to tend to my friend. Tell my boss if you see him that I will make it up to him when I can."
"Alright dear, hope your friend feels better." His mother said and then he heard her footsteps leaving his door. Grinning to himself, he slithered out of his window and ran off back down the road, heading once again to the house that kept his solution, and the source of his confusion, within it. While he ran, he realized that if his new body remained, he would need to get some new clothes. His body was too big for his clothing to fit entirely comfortably anymore. It was especially tight under his shoulders, to the point of being painful. He ended up tearing off the sleeves of the shirt completely and loosening the belt he was wearing to its loosest setting. At last comfortable, he picked up the pace along the road, eager to get to the house.
When he arrived at the witch's house, he found Soho lying stretched out in the grass in the yard, her hands folded behind her head, watching the clouds. She looked up as he approached and nodded to him before going back to staring up. As Pasqual approached, he found that he had to consciously look away from her to keep the odd thoughts from coming back. When he was near to where she was laying, he spoke at last.
"What are you doing?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
"Just watching the clouds and thinking." She replied, indicating the grass beside her. "You can join me if you like."
"Sure." He replied, laying down beside her and looking up. It was nearly sunset by this time, and the clouds had taken on the odd fiery hue of the sun sinking beyond the horizon. While he was laying there, Pasqual noticed that he could smell the spicy scent once again, and that it was definitely stronger than before. He worked hard to put it out of his mind and began to take deep, calming breathes. All of this helped to relax him enough that he did not succumb to the wild urge to blatantly stare at Soho while she lay beside him, hiding nothing of her body. She was obviously unaware of his thoughts and confusion and he concentrated on the clouds above them to take his mind off her. After a few minutes of laying there in silence, he finally spoke. "What are you thinking about?" Soho took a long time to answer him, and he thought she was thinking of the best way to explain her thoughts to him.
"I was just thinking of all that I would miss if this doesn't work." She finally replied, still gazing upward. "Finding a mate, having children. All the places I will never see. I regret the first two most I think." Pasqual looked over at her and found to his surprise that the gleam of tears was in her eyes. It broke his heart to see any friend in tears, but especially one that his feelings for went much deeper than he had thought they did. Refusing to stand to see his friend in such a state, Pasqual reached over and put an arm around her. Soho turned her head to look at him in surprise, but did not object.
"You can stop worrying about that." He said, locking his gaze with hers. "Because this potion is going to work. It is going to remove the curse from me, you are going to be just fine and no one is going to know any different. Okay?"
Soho's only answer was to shake her head, closing her eyes as tears fell from them. Pasqual pulled her close and put his arms around her in a warm hug. Soho rested her head on his shoulder and cried openly while he held her. For his part, Pasqual couldn't help but notice that her fur really was as soft and smooth as it had looked, and as she remained against him, every breath he breathed was full of her scent. The spicy tang that he had smelled before was indeed stronger, but it didn't overwhelm the way she normally smelled. Instead, it seemed to amplify it, defining it all the more strongly. And, despite the way the tang normally made him feel, it was enough at that moment for him to just hold her, to comfort her, to try and take away her sorrow. The odd pair remained lying like that for a few minutes until Soho got herself under control once more. Once she seemed to have recovered, Pasqual reluctantly let her go and she climbed back up to her feet. The stars had come out above them, and the moon was just peeking over the horizon. The restless energy that had so bothered Pasqual before he had transformed for the first time was no longer so insistent. Instead, he felt as if it was nothing more than a further awakening of his senses, making him more alert, more aware of all that was around him. Since the moon was no longer full, since it was missing a thin sliver on the side, the transformation did not come; he remained a human being.
The pair made their way back into the house together and shut the door behind them, shutting out the night. Once inside, they walked to the room where the potion was bubbling away over the coals of a fire. It was now clear, and the color of freshly brewed black tea. The look was an improvement, though to his enhanced senses, the smell now coming from it nearly turned his stomach. It smelled vaguely like old shoes that had been left someplace moist and warm for a few days. Turning away to get a breath of fresh air, Pasqual remembered the news he had meant to tell his friend.
"I almost forgot." He exclaimed, turning away from the rank fumes of the potion, "I managed to convince my parents that I had a sick friend that I had to look after. It bought us a few days I think."
"That is good." Soho replied, smiling once more, then turning to check the book she had been reading out of. "Alright, the potion now has to be stirred every five minutes for thirteen hours."
"Thirteen?" Pasqual questioned, sure he had not heard her correctly. When she nodded, he asked. "Why thirteen?"
"Good question." Soho answered, scanning the book while her hands picked up the knobbly hawthorn stick once more. "It doesn't say. Something to do with the path of the moon I would expect. Well, I suggest we take turns watching it. I will go first if you want."
"Okay." Pasqual replied, leaning up against the table again, watching her give the potion a stir, first one way, then the other. From the slow motion of the stick, he guessed that its consistency was that of syrup, which did not make it sound any more appetizing to him.
The hours of the night passed slowly, the pair taking hour long shifts stirring the potion. Pasqaul, who no longer felt tired at night, sent Soho off to sleep around midnight, five hours into the thirteen that would prepare the potion for the last steps. When she had gone, he sat on the table and thought for a while. He often gazed at his reflection in the caldron, pondering the new lines that his face had taken on. It was very different, and yet familiar enough that he recognized it. He finally came to the conclusion that he sort of liked the way he looked now. It might just have been the lycanthropy making him accept his new form, but he had to admit that he looked good. He looked a few years older than he had before, more mature, and the wolfish cast his features had taken on added a hint of mystery to his look. And, as he sat, now and again stirring the potion, first one way, and then the other, he became aware that he was hoping that his new, fitter body would remain to him, even after the lycanthropy was taken away by the potion.
It was a long night, though Pasqual found that he could occupy himself quite well by leaving the window open, letting the cool nightbreezes inside. He found it immensely satisfying to try and guess what each scent coming in through the window was, and what each quiet sound belonged to. Once, while he went to get more wood to put on the fire, he even heard the howl of a distant wolf pack on the hunt, and briefly considered adding his voice to theirs, though he restrained himself, deciding that without being transformed, it would sound just plain odd and might disturb them. Instead, he contented himself with listening to their eerie, ghostly song. The echoes lasted for a good half an hour before fading away completely. Finally, as the dawn approached, he began to hear more sounds, and smell more scents as the world grew lighter once more outside. He heard the light rustling sound of mice scurrying through the grass, and sound of bird wings as they woke and prepared for the day. He was so engrossed with the sounds and scents of the world outside that he completely missed the approach of Soho. When her soft hand touched his shoulder he jumped, startled.
"Good morning." Soho said, coming around so he could see her. She looked more rested and not quite as sad as she had before. She seemed to have a certain glow about her today, which made him think that the sleep had done her more good than he had expected it to. And, as she passed him, headed to check the book once more, he realized that her scent had again changed. The spicy note was still there, but it had not grown any stronger. It had remained at the same intensity as it had before, so that wasn't what had changed. Instead, it seemed that her scent, all of it, had grown more substantial; not more powerful or more intense, just more present. And with the wafting smell came the odd, exciting warmth once more, causing Pasqual to turn his mind away from it, though this was much more difficult than he had thought it would be.
"Good morning Soho." He replied, giving the potion another turn. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, I did." She confirmed, smiling at him, a gesture which set loose a flock of butterflies in his stomach. "Thank you for asking."
He nodded and she went back outside of the room to get something for the potion. He heard her bustling about in the next room for a few moments, and then she came back in with an armload of assorted herbs, a glass vial filled with something that glowed faint blue, a clean white cloth and a long, thin box. She set the herbs and the vial down on the table, then turned towards him, lifting the lid of the box. Inside, lying on a smooth pillowed surface of black velvet, was a long knife carved from clean white stone.
"This is a very special knife." She explained, picking it up carefully. "Its got a grove that goes down through the handle to this spot." She lifted the handle so he could see the hole at the bottom. He nodded slowly, though he could not begin to guess why she was showing it to him. Seeing his look, she smiled sadly and explained that as well. "I need you to understand this because you are the one who is going to have to use it when the time comes. I can't do it myself, I don't have the discipline."
"What?" Pasqual exclaimed, nearly dropping the stir stick into the potion. "I can't cut you with a knife."
"You have to." She said, laying the knife down and taking his free hand. "The amount of blood we will need means that you will have to hold the knife still, and I can't do that after I have cut myself. Please?" For a brief moment, he almost said no. But then, the look on Soho's face convinced him. He would do it, not for himself, but because she needed this to undo her mistake, to make things right.
"Alright, if it is the only way." Pasqual replied, looking out at the sun. "I think the thirteen hours are nearly up."
"You're right." She replied. "Which means I have some work to do." With that, the panda turned back to the table and started crumbling the herbs she had brought into a bowl. After she finished, she directed Pasqual to stop stirring and to put the stick aside. Nodding, he laced his fingers together and flexed, pushing his arms out behind him, stretching out the kinks that had developed in them. "Alright, here, take the knife."
Taking a deep breath, Pasqual did so, lifting the stone knife carefully. It wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be, which he assumed was due to the groove cut into it. Its handle was perfectly carved and textured so there was no chance it would slip out of his hand while he was using it. Soho held out her hand towards him, palm down.
"When you make the cut, make sure that the blood flows down the groove." Soho said, closing her eyes and swallowing nervously. "Hold the bowl with the herbs under the knife handle with your free hand."
"Okay..." Pasqual said, positioning the bowl carefully so the hole in the handle was over the center. Then, moving ever so slowly, he touched the sharp edge of the knife to her palm, careful not to cut her. He could see her trembling visibly in anticipation of the cut, but he held off making the motion for a moment. "How much blood do we need?"
"Enough to cover the herbs at the bottom." Soho said, a quaver in her voice the only indication of how nervous she was. Pasqual nodded, taking another deep breath to steady himself, then pushed the knife against her hand, drawing it across her skin. She whimpered, but did not move as the knife's edge bit her flesh, then Pasqual instinctually shifted the knife's position so that it the warm red blood flowing down its length traveled directly into the groove. He watched with a kind of horrid fascination as the red trail disappeared into the handle, reappearing as droplets that fell from the handle, coating the herbs in crimson. He was also immediately aware of the coppery tang of blood in the air, and the scent of fear and pain coming from Soho. He hated to do this, to cause her pain, but he had too, she said so. It took no more than a few moments for the herbs to be covered, and the instant they were, Pasqual pulled the knife back from her hand, laying it aside on the table next to the bowl. Soho opened her eyes and smiled in relief, picking up the white cloth with her unhurt hand, and pressing it against the cut, wincing. Moved with regret, Pasqual took her hand gently in his and spoke.
"Here, let me help." He said and gently tied the cloth around her hand, tightly enough to stop the bleeding, but loose enough not to cause her pain. While he did so, he was never more aware of how close she was to him. Her scent washed into his nostrils with every breath he took, and he could feel his heart beating stronger with anticipation for something he did not understand. He looked up from his work, meeting her rich yellow-brown eyes and he felt his breath catch. He hadn't seriously noticed it before, but she really was very beautiful; so beautiful, with the sun making the white patches on her fur glow, that it took his breath away, filled all his mind. For a moment, he simply held her hand, feeling her hold his in return, then she looked away, blushing. She cleared her throat and looked at the table, picking up the glass vial with its slightly glowing contents.
"Perfect." She commented, uncorking the stopper and tipping the vial into the bowl. The contents of the bowl suddenly started to steam, letting off a small shower of bright red sparks that winked into nothingness a foot above the bowl. Quickly, before the steam had faded, Soho poured the bowl into the potion's caldron. The potion suddenly steamed as if it were boiling, though it had not gotten any hotter. Pasqual leaned away from the steam, afraid of being burned again, but it faded quickly, leaving the potion a pale yellow color, like fresh honey. The smell immediately improved as well, the mixture now giving off a woody scent not unlike whisky. Soho smiled, and nodded her satisfaction, piling some more wood beneath it to fuel the fire. "Good. Now we just let it stew until evening and it will be ready. You hungry?"
"I sure am." Pasqual stated, surprised to find his stomach growling angrily at him. "What have you got to eat?"
"Come on, I'll make us something." She said, going back into the main room. While Pasqual sat down and massaged his arms once more, Soho opened the shutter on the window, letting in the sunlight. The moment the light hit the whistling plant, it began to sway, singing once more, filling the room with its odd music. Soho bustled around the room behind him, beginning to cook a meal that would satisfy both of them. She had not gotten very far through the process when there came a knock at the door. Looking curious, Soho stopped what she was doing and walked to the wooden door and swung it open. Standing there outside was a sight that made Pasqual jump, fearing that his lie was discovered. It was one of his coworkers, a man he had worked with for more than a year, a man who was almost a friend. He smiled at Soho and finally spoke.
"I'm sorry to bother you ma'am, but I need a vial of Soothing potion." He said. Soho nodded and stepped back, allowing the man to walk inside. While the panda went to get the vial he requested, the man finally noticed Pasqual sitting there. To his surprise, the man looked at him without the slightest glimmer of recognition. "Good day to you sir. You just visiting town?"
"I am." Pasqual replied, resolved to keeping his secret as long as he could. The man did not seem to recognize his voice either and when Soho returned with the vial of potion, he thanked her and paid, giving Pasqual no more attention. Finally, he turned back to the door, bidding both of them goodbye. When he had shut the door behind him, Pasqual breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought he would recognize me and then he would tell my parents that I was here and not with a sick friend like I said."
"Well, you do look quite different now Pasqual." Soho responded. "You might actually have to get used to that, I don't know whether this will return you to what you used to look like or not."
"I kinda hope it doesn't." He said, causing her to look at him in surprise. "I like this new look."
"Well, to be honest," Soho said, turning back to her cooking. "I do too."
Pleased, Pasqual sat back in his chair and waited for her to finish. While he was waiting, he listened to the song of the plant and felt himself relaxing. If he didn't have other obligations to his family and to his job, he could see himself staying here with her. For a few minutes, he let his mind drift, pondering this new fantasy. He could see himself living with her, here on the border of the woodlands. He could learn the witch's trade as well, and perhaps he could be at last satisfied with his life. He knew that, if given the chance, he would do it. He jolted himself back to the present when Soho laid a plate down in front of him with a freshly cooked meal on it. Looking over at Soho as she sat down at the table with him, he smiled to himself. If only...