High Wizard Millavarne gave Anthony a clean bill of health. Her ungents, salves, enchanted dusts, and potions had been able to heal his wounds but he still looked like a savage wolf. The rage still roared within him and the feral shape concealed his true nature. The curse was, effectively, stuck. When in NeverEarth, he would be a wolf—day or night, full moon or not—despite him not being a true lycanthrope. His blood, she assured him, was not infectious; Duchess Malgrave’s plot would never have succeeded. But he was a wolf, now, and as long as he remained in a land where the magic flowed as it did in NeverEarth, a wolf he would remain. It was possible that repeated travels back and forth between here and Earth would further erode the enchantment but even Millavarne could not say for sure.
He was stranded on an island of his own body in the midst of a sea of people who feared his bestial visage.
Word quickly spread of his predicament and by royal decree Anthony’s story was spread throughout the land to ensure his safety. He bristled at the idea of something so personal being spread so far and wide, but he understood why Allasande did it. Besides, he had other things on his mind.
A few days later, Moira and Wiste escorted he and Karl back to the door in the woods. They took the carriage, again, but this time in comfort and at a more leisurely pace. He would still be on-time to catch his flight back to Illinois to spend Christmas with his parents. But he didn’t feel particularly good about it.
Soon, he and Karl stood before his dorm room’s closet door, its thin, white veneer looking as it always did: pristine, simple, and wholly out-of-place standing in the middle of the wood.
“Shall we step back and de-fur you?” Karl asked.
He had given up trying to hold Anthony’s hand. Over the last few days, they’d been cordial but the Duchess’ quiet threat filled Anthony’s mind with horrible images. He’d celebrated as much as the rest of them but Midwinter had been as hollow as the Christmas awaiting him. He had to say something. He’d put it off before now but he couldn’t any longer.
“Karl,” he growled, “I’m … I’m not going back.”
“What?”
“You’ve got the little memory charm Allasande gave you; you won’t forget this. But I … I can’t go back.”
“But you’ll be human again!”
“That’s not the point,” he said.
Anthony had been racking his brains for how to tell Karl the truth; how to warn him. He’d spoken to Allasande and Moira and Wiste about the threat but each of them had said the choice was ultimately up to him what to say to Karl.
And did he really want to fix this?
“This past week,” he said, slowly, “it’s been … hard.” He looked at Karl’s eyes; water touched their edges as his boyfriend anticipated the words that were to come. “We’ve argued more than ever; there have been several times I’ve felt so much rage, I had to stop myself from doing something … I’d regret.”
“All the more reason to come back; put the wolf back in his cage—”
“That’s not enough,” Anthony said. “We’ve been having these arguments even when not in NeverEarth. And I … I’ve got to say, I … I don’t feel comfortable back on Earth any more. Not with you.”
This time he definitely recognized the expression on Karl’s face: he looked like he’d been stabbed in the heart.
“Oh, come on! You’re not saying—”
“We should spend some time apart,” he finished. “You go back. Call my folks and tell them … tell them I’m not coming home for the holidays. I’ll figure out what to do after that. But right now...” He trailed off, miserable. He felt his own heart breaking. His wolven heart magnified the feeling a hundredfold. “I’m sorry.”
Karl stood there for a minute looking as if he was trying to figure out what to say. Eventually, though, he just turned and knocked four times on the door before turning the knob counter-clockwise. He opened the passage on the first try and stepped through into Anthony’s dorm.
Through the door he could see his former life: the computer desk, the couch by the window, snow falling in the nighttime parking lot, outside. He saw it all. And, for the first time, it didn’t look like his.
“I’m sorry, Karl,” he whispered. He didn’t know if he said it loud enough for his boyfriend to hear.
Then Karl shut the door behind him.
Anthony stood with Wiste and Moira in the snow and tried to figure out what to do next.
The End
About the Author
Sylvan Scott is a writer living in the cold wastes of Minnesota writing about fantasy and how it interacts with our daily world. He has been writing since childhood when he would create tales about robots and strange monsters. He has been writing the “NeverEarth” stories since 2011 to join his other projects, “Vanguard” and “Skylands”. He is a proud member of the GLBT community, is a member of speculative fiction fandom, has been a reporter, and loves finding new ways to work his hobbies into his writing.
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