Chapter 7: Arthur the Veela

Ariel gazed with love and tenderness at her peacefully sleeping little angel, who had stuck his finger in his mouth instead of the fallen pacifier. For some reason, her son never liked pacifiers — he would spit them out almost immediately. In general, he was a calm and clever child: he didn't cry over trifles, didn't demand attention, and only fussed when his diaper needed changing, he was hungry, or needed to burp up some curdled milk.

She couldn't stop marveling at how beautiful her child was. If you looked at his light, almost white hair and his big, bright blue eyes, you might think he was a pureblood veela. Of course, that was impossible — but couldn't a mother be allowed to believe in the best?

There was a knock at the door. Ariel kissed her boy on the forehead and went to answer.

"Ariel, girlfriend—" Jacqueline started loudly, but seeing Ariel's finger to her lips, she continued in a whisper, "Well, how did everything go? Any problems?"

"Don't stand in the doorway, come in," Ariel said, inviting in the girl who had become her friend. Unlike Ariel, Jacqueline was a true veela: energetic, pushy, and always cheerful. "Just keep your voice down, Arthur just fell asleep."

"You named your son after him?" Jacqueline asked, heading for the small couch.

"Yes, after him," Ariel replied, knowing her friend wouldn't approve, but not caring.

"First you took his last name — what was it, Marlowe? Now you name your son after him too."

***

Despite her strong desire to name the child Victor, Ariel had to follow the instructions of the man who had saved her. Victor had decided in advance to erase all traces of his name for safety's sake. That was why he chose to change it in his new life.

Now, he would be Arthur Marlowe, taking the surname of his late mother — someone the authorities knew nothing about. After all, no one who had known his mother was still alive.

***

"I get that he meant a lot to you, but how long did you even know him? Three days?" Jacqueline pressed. "He either lied to you, or he's dead — and if he's dead, he doesn't care anymore. You need to move on," she said, shaking her head.

"Deceived? How? He healed me, freed me from what was basically slavery, and gave me… gave me so much," Ariel caught herself, almost revealing what Viktor had taught her. "Why do you talk about someone you never even met like that?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. I blurted that out without thinking. It's just, you talk about him so much you forget about yourself. It's like you've made it your goal to live for him, not for yourself. You've already done everything he asked — you don't owe him anything now," Jacqueline apologized, which was rare for her.

"I get what you're saying. But you weren't in my place. You weren't almost raped at fourteen, and for resisting, disfigured by a dark spell. Your mother didn't die a terrible death for avenging that bastard. You didn't spend three years afraid to look in the mirror, getting only pity and disgust from others."

"And when, finally, someone pulled me out of that hell, he died. I felt it, Jacqueline! When he died, I felt it through Arthur," Ariel sobbed, letting out all her pent-up emotions.

"Feel better now?" Jacqueline hugged her.

"So you did this on purpose?"

"Naturally. My father was a Muggle, a psychology professor. When you were pregnant, I was afraid your hysteria might affect the child, but now it's okay. You needed to let it all out, but for that you had to be thrown off balance… sorry."

"Thank you, but don't ever do that again! By the way, is that the only reason you came?" Ariel asked, eyeing Jacqueline's sly smile.

"Not only. Apolline's been pestering me about when she can see her little brother," she grinned at the new mother.

"All of you are the same — just as curious and restless!"

"You bet!"

"Hey, that wasn't a compliment!"

"I know, so what? Will you let her see him?"

"You still haven't given up on making them friends?"

"What else is there? The other kids in the coven are too old for her, so she's bored. And three-year-olds are real terrors — I'm already overwhelmed with her."

"So you want me to be overwhelmed too?" Ariel asked, squinting suspiciously.

"Of course! I shouldn't be the only one suffering," Jacqueline answered, as cheerful as ever.

***

"Arthur, Arthur, let's play!" my new friend called, bouncing with excitement. She'd been fussing over me almost from the start, but I'd only been able to join her active games for the past six months.

Yes, I'm already two years old, but I look three, thanks to nourishing my body with excess prana. I don't do this all the time — most often, I just go out to the undergrowth around our feminist settlement and release almost all my energy at once. As it turns out, this is great for developing the nous, and also dangerous for others.

Apolline followed my example. Though, unlike her, I also release energy with different intentions — not just out of curiosity, but for experimentation. I don't have enough will or control to take all the mana into my power, but even with what I manage, I've drawn some interesting conclusions, confirming Lerach's words about magic: rituals, wands, word magic, staffs — all these are just crutches to help work magic.

The most important thing is the mage's will, his steel faith in the result, and mana. Natural magic is built on this — when you simply desire, and reality bends to your will. But mastering it is as desirable as it is difficult. Still, I managed to improve plant growth. If I'm going to work magic, let it be useful.

"All right, let's go," I agreed with this little pest, who could annoy anyone. But I invented games that were interesting not only for her, but for me too. After all, I'm an adult in a child's body, and playing with dolls isn't exactly my thing.

Now we're heading to the stone wall that fences our settlement from wild animals, werewolves, and centaurs. They're not really dangerous, but during the full moon, or when centaurs go into rut… better to be somewhere else.

Our settlement is large, with many small, often family houses, an administration building, our own elementary school, and dormitories. Everyone here is friendly and used to veela peculiarities — like throwing magical fire.

I liked it here: fresh air, beautiful girls everywhere, and none of the rush I felt in London. The coven has its own, completely different rhythm of life. No one would be surprised to see someone spend the whole day wandering in the undergrowth, watching magical and ordinary animals and trees.

Unlike the wild forests, ours — at the foot of the Pyrenees — is relatively safe, thanks to werewolves, centaurs, and veelas destroying all dangerous creatures. The warm climate only adds to the feeling of paradise — or at least a very pleasant place to live.

"Well, are we throwing from twenty meters today?" I asked Apolline, who was skipping along, the hem of her green cotton dress bouncing. I wore brown shorts and a white shirt, though I still looked more like a girl.

And that was good, because if people found out I was a boy — there'd be an uproar. Sure, my name is odd for a girl, but wizards give their kids even stranger names, like constellations.

Ariel herself asked me not to spread word about my gender. She's gotten smarter — she knows that kind of fame wouldn't do me any good.

"What, afraid to lose? Let's do thirty!" Apolline challenged. Who's afraid here! You're the one who always loses. But I don't mind letting her win sometimes — it's not hard, and it keeps things fun.

"And who was whining last time that it was too far?" We reached the part of the wall where a target was crudely drawn in chalk, surrounded by scorch marks and chips.

For hitting the center, I awarded ten points; the next ring, seven, and so on. By this simple method, I taught Apolline to count — it was amusing to watch her cute little face, so serious as she tried to add up her score on her fingers. She always made mistakes!

Apolline always went first — she simply couldn't wait to show off. And if I shot first, she'd just jump around and get in the way.

She took what she thought was a serious pose and transformed into a half-bird, half-girl: two black wings sprouted from her back, her body covered in feathers, her eyes turning yellow, and a beak appearing where her nose had been.

For pureblood veelas, transforming is as natural as breathing. No training, gestures, or charms needed — just a thought, and it happens. It's not necessary for throwing fire, but it makes it much easier to control. The blood seems to boil, and the aura overflows with power.

Yes, I turned out to be a veela — and I still have no idea how that happened. We discovered it when I stubbed my little toe on a dresser and burned it to ashes, transforming into a half-bird. Too bad I didn't have a camera to capture Ariel's face when she saw that.

No, I have one theory, though it's unconfirmed. I think veela abilities are a kind of "Me," a soul superstructure. If the father's magic is too strong, it suppresses the mother's, and a boy is born — but the "Me" can't transfer to the soul. If a girl is born, the "Me" transfers easily, and I suspect that quarter-bloods and half-bloods, with enough desire and training, can awaken all the abilities of purebloods.

In that case, my situation makes sense: my goal was to preserve only my gender, and I didn't have enough desire or strength for the rest, which led to this entertaining effect. But it's not without drawbacks.

For example, it's harder for me to be universal in the elements — I'm too inclined toward fire, and correcting that will take forty years, if not more. It's not that I can't learn other magical arts, just that I'll get much better results in fire magic for the same effort.

And Ariel won't give me the bracelet and wand — stingy! She said she's planning a surprise. Considering tomorrow is my birthday… It's tough being an adult — everything is too obvious.

By now, Apolline had thrown her fireballs, half of which went wide. That didn't stop her from raising her beak and looking at me challengingly. How do I know? My empathy has awakened too. At first, it was a real curse — trying to separate others' emotions from my own, especially when there were a lot of them, made me feel sick.

"Well done, Apolline, much better already." Before she could get too proud and say something silly, I added, "Now watch how it's done."

I didn't transform on principle — the harder it is for me now, the easier it'll be in my second form. Ten balls, not shapeless clots like Apolline's, flew one after another at the target. I hit the center three times, the rest landed close.

"That's not fair, Arthur! You're cheating!" she cried.

"How so?" I laughed.

"I don't know, but it's not supposed to be like that! You're younger than me and you didn't even become a bird!"

"Want to know my secret?"

"Really? You'll tell me?"

"Of course. Come here, I'll whisper it." She came closer, shifting back to her human form, and put her ear to my lips. "Just don't tell anyone, okay?"

"I won't, I promise!"

"I'm a veela!" I whispered, as if revealing the secret of the universe.

"Mooooom! Arthur is making fun of me!" Apolline ran off to complain to her mother, Ariel's friend. That's how we live.