Chapter 11: Between Two Skins

I stood before the bathroom mirror, examining my muscular, hairy body — mine, and yet not mine. I hadn't taken the matrix from Patrick, but from his father. After all, the number of metamorph forms you can hold is limited, so I chose an adult werewolf. Not only did it grant greater strength, but it also gave me something I sorely lacked: adulthood.

There are so many things I can't do because of my real body's young age. I remembered how it all happened.

"Dad! Arthur and Apolline and I are training. Can you believe it? They can already throw fire! And Arthur can fight just as well as me!" Patrick's pride was obvious — he adored his father and wanted to show off. The man, middle-aged, with a rough stubble and a rugged look, broke into a wide smile at his son's excitement.

"Really? So young and already so strong. Well, have you picked a bride from them yet?" he teased.

"Dad! What are you saying?!" Patrick blushed furiously.

"What? Look at those beauties! If you don't act fast, someone else will, and you'll be left crying," the man continued, grinning.

"Hey!" I shouted, "I'm a boy!"

"Sure, of course, a boy," the man replied, barely hiding his sarcasm. Meanwhile, Apolline covered her face, trying not to burst out laughing — and failing, judging by her wheezing.

"Don't mind him, Dad. Arthur always says that. But we know boys don't get that pretty!" Patrick added, supporting his father.

"Don't judge by yourself, Patrick," I shot back, and Apolline couldn't hold it anymore. She doubled over, laughing so hard she clutched her stomach. And after her, everyone else joined in — her laughter was just that contagious.

Now I regret ever hiding my gender. Even when I'm completely serious, no one believes me anymore. When we parted, I cast the matrix removal spell — which I'd memorized using word magic — on Patrick's father, whose name I never bothered to ask. Not that it matters. What's more interesting is that he sensed it! The man chuckled and sniffed the air, wolf-like.

"Dad, did something happen?" Patrick asked, worried.

"No, son, probably just my imagination," he replied. I need to be more careful. If werewolves can sense such charms, animals will be even more sensitive — especially magical ones. Form collection just got a lot more complicated. I thought matrix removal spells left no trace.

***

Ariel wasn't home — she'd gone to a tutor to prepare for her exams. She never attended magic school, and education is important. Or at least, the proof of it is. At first, she didn't want to leave me alone, but over the past five years, I'd proven myself not just smart, but also responsible and unproblematic. I managed to convince her nothing bad would happen.

They could have left me with Jacqueline, but she worked and left Apolline with her grandmother.

So, I decided to transform, making sure to remove my clothes first. Good thing, too — I could have shredded them, given the change in height and proportions. After all, only my body goes into spatial storage.

It wasn't just my appearance that changed. I became stronger, faster, my sense of smell and hearing sharpened, and my teeth grew longer and sharper, especially the fangs.

At first, I was almost overwhelmed by the flood of scents and sounds. I could literally feel, deep in my gut, how much more irritable and aggressive I'd become.

But I didn't lose the ability to transform into a harpy, and my fire magic was just as strong. That only confirmed my suspicion: this is "ME," or some other kind of ability not tied to the body. First things first — I transformed back. That's the most important thing for a metamorph. It didn't work the first or second time.

Okay, I spent half a day just learning to reverse the transformation. I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd tried an animal form first. Until I fully master human forms, I won't even touch animals.

But there's another plus to forms — damage doesn't transfer to the real body. I could hack myself to pieces, as long as I don't die instantly. That opened up another skill for me: transgression.

Transgression, or apparition, is spatial teleportation — or, more precisely, a variety of it. It differs from Sumerian magic in that the puncture in hyperspace is much smaller, so the mana cost is much lower — I'd say dozens of times less. The cost depends mostly on the portal's size, and it grows exponentially.

But this method has its drawbacks. First, there's disorientation on arrival. With experience, it gets better, but never goes away completely, so it's barely usable in battle. Second, there's the range — a narrow channel collapses easily at long distances. I don't know the exact limit, but I think within one or two thousand kilometers is safe; beyond that, it's dangerous and requires either a portkey or several "jumps."

There's also the risk of leaving body parts behind — splinching — but that's a danger with all spatial magic. That's why, until I had a spare body, I never dared to train this skill, as useful as it is dangerous.

***

With about three hours left until Ariel's return, I stood in Patrick's father's form in a clearing behind the settlement, breathing deeply.

In my hand was a magic wand. In a bag by the tree, a flask of rowan decoction — a healing potion. In my memory, a minor healing spell. That's it. I began drawing the figure with my wand — for an experienced user, this isn't even necessary.

I'd read about transgression in Ariel's books, which she'd hidden well. Good enough for a child, but not for me, not with aura sight. Suddenly, I was twisted, as if dragged through a tube the width of a needle's eye, and I was already on the other side of the clearing.

Puking bile. Yeah, that went well for a first try! Now, where's my hand? Blocking the pain, I went to look for it…

Hand, leg, ear, eye, half a buttock, and spleen. I'd really mastered the art of artistic organ scattering! But eventually, after draining the flask of rowan decoction and casting a couple of minor healings, I finally learned to transgress WHOLE.

Now I just need to land where I want, and it'll be perfect! I'm so tired of this life. I'm going to sleep.

***

Ariel apparated home as soon as she was free. Her heart was heavy — she couldn't shake the feeling that her son would do something reckless in her absence. But her worries were for nothing. When she arrived, her angel was sleeping peacefully in bed. Probably just tired. Smiling, she kissed his forehead and went to prepare lunch for tomorrow.

***

And so, with sweat, blood, and scattered limbs, I gained relative financial independence and freedom! Viva la revolution! Of course, in public I had to wear a half-face mask — I didn't want to get the person whose appearance I used in trouble, and changing metamorphic forms is much harder than returning to my own body.

The first thing I bought was sweets in Flower Alley — I am a growing organism, after all. I wonder, can veelas get fat? I've never seen a fat veela. That would be a sight.

And second — exactly what I came for.

"Good day, can I help you with something?" The young clerk at "Magique Librairie" greeted me, his thin mustache twitching under his nose, light brown hair slicked back.

A magical bookstore isn't like a Muggle one. Magic lets you arrange books in the most amazing ways without losing access. A stack shaped like stairs, a magical animal, or a famous character? No problem. As soon as you pull out a book, another slides into its place.

"Yes, do you have reference books and texts on charm construction, artificing, runology, herbology, concentrators, numerology, magic theory, household and battle magic… Actually, better if I just give you a list." I handed over a sheet filled with tiny handwriting.

"Some we have, some I'll need to order, some are forbidden, and some I've never even heard of. How many do you need?" he asked, a bit overwhelmed.

"Everything that exists."

"Everything?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not at all, it's just… very expensive," he hesitated.

"Money's not a problem. Here's a deposit." I pulled out a magical checkbook and wrote a number with four zeros. The goblins accepted the withdrawal, though I worried they'd flag it as stolen. But apparently, only money you personally stole is considered such. They even gave me this amusing checkbook as a large depositor.

"Of course, no problem!" The clerk's attitude changed instantly, especially when I added, "Handle it quickly and you'll get a one percent tip on the whole order." Need I say everything was ready in half an hour? Only the special orders would take a month. So, with two bottomless bags, each with a huge internal space, I headed home.

Finally, my thirst for magical knowledge would be quenched. I never valued money for its own sake — only as a tool to achieve my goals. Unbidden, my father's face from my past life surfaced in my mind. We'd once heard a radio story about a miserly old woman who, after her death, was found to have three million pounds hidden in her house. I was ten then, and my father about as old as I am now.

"You see, son, why you shouldn't just save for tomorrow? That old woman could have spent her money, seen the world, helped the needy, or even just burned it as a message to the world. But she only saved it — and died as aimlessly as the money she hoarded," he'd said, lighting the pipe that would one day kill him.

For some reason, that moment stuck with me. That's why I never set out to be the richest person in the world. I'd rather do what I love, travel, and learn new languages.

***

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