Once again, I found myself in a state of panic at the presence of company both unexpected and unwanted. Of course, I find most company to be either one or the other, and more often than not both, but normally fate has the common decency to space out such encounters to a degree that allows some recovery in between. Just goes to show that I was still capable of naivety after all, considering I was stupid enough to still expect common decency. That’s the funny thing about decency, it’s less common than we’re led to expect.

Once again, my mind raced about from one horrible possibility to another, like a moth flitting between candles, and just as self-destructive. Had they felt the magic dissipating too quickly? Had they realized there was a little too much blood downstairs for just the one monster? Were they coming upstairs to kill me just for the fun of it? I snapped myself out of those intrusive thoughts with a shake of my head.

I briefly considered climbing out the window, but when standing up nearly sent me to my knees, I decided that running wasn’t an option. Well, not a good one. A new -well not new, but unbloodied- shirt was dug out from the bowels of my tattered old bag. I pulled it over my head, the thick woollen fabric tousling my sweat-drenched hair and took a look into my little mirror. The shirt wasn’t mine, I’d stolen it a few years ago off of a clothesline in some no-name town up north. It was overly baggy and had been mended and stitched up so much it was more patchwork than shirt by that point. My reflection stared back at me, a monster playing pretend in a world It didn’t belong in.

I gave the mirror a weak, fatigued smile, and my reflection returned the expression, though it was more wolfish and predatorial than I’d intended. Having teeth designed to bite through bone will do that. I took a deep breath and pulled one last little bit of power from downstairs. It was probably a little too much to go unnoticed, but if I didn’t have enough to change, I would be dead anyway. With my eyes still locked on my reflection, I pictured myself shifting back into my human disguise, once more thankful that it was so low maintenance. My features altered themselves slowly, as making the change suddenly can be disorienting even to an experienced shapeshifter. after a few seconds, I was back to my slouching, pale, dark-eyed human self. I may have ended up a little whiter than usual, but hey, I was running on empty at that point.

Even disguised, I still looked like shit. My hair was even more raggedy than normal, and the bags under my eyes were deep and dark, like muddy wagon ruts carved underneath my bloodshot eyeballs. The fresh shirt offset things a little, but my trousers were still bloodstained and ripped in places, so its presence was largely negligible. Still, I’ve looked worse. Far worse.

I wobbled towards the door, steadying myself with the wall as I moved. I slumped against the doorframe when I reached it and leaned against the wood with woozy resignation. Well, if they’d figured me out, they wouldn’t have knocked, would they? I thought. Not to mention that if they’re up here, they’ll be less likely to notice the missing magic downstairs. I guess the outlook wasn’t as bleak as it could have been. But then that’s not really saying much.

Without a pause to second-guess, I unlatched the lock and opened the door a crack, wincing at the ribbon of light that poured through the gap and right into my eye. After a few moments of blinking and squinting, I looked up to see Silvia and Martin leaning against the wall across the corridor. Both were still towering masses of monster-killing muscle, but they seemed to have discarded their weapons somewhere. That gave me a small glimmer of hope that I wasn’t about to be dragged out into the street and killed with impunity, but I was taken utterly aback when I saw their expressions.

The looks on both of their faces were ones of complete and utter genuine concern. Their eyes shot wide when I opened the door further, and my shabby, battered appearance was fully revealed. They weren’t there to interrogate me, they were checking up on me. Me! A stranger who they had just met that afternoon, who they knew solely through the word of their -frankly borderline crazy- adoptive and estranged mother. That immediately raised a new, completely different sort of paranoid suspicion in me. Neither of them said a word, instead, they just shared a brief, mutually mortified glance with each other.

“What?” I rasped, suddenly aware that my throat was as dry as a desert. My brain felt like it was floating.

“Are, are you alright?” Martin asked, his voice rife with uncertainty.

I looked down at myself. One trouser leg had somehow gotten itself half-stuffed into my sock. The other was nearly torn off at the ankle. My shirt was untucked and reached almost to my knees. There was dried blood on my shoes. “No,” I replied.

“Oh.” He faltered a little, clearly surprised by the candid answer. “Well, do you need any help? I know some basic healing spells…” Martin drifted off as he reached for the knife that wasn’t there, and turned to look to his left, down the hall. He’d likely left his little talisman downstairs. He quickly looked back to me, with an expression slightly more strained than it had been a moment earlier. I leaned out past the doorframe, following the direction his gaze had been cast.

Mae lurked by the top of the stairs, looming menacingly -well, as much as someone barely five feet tall can loom- with a look of thinly veiled fury on her wrinkled features. I was briefly thankful for the fact that I didn’t have a mother to disappoint.

“No.” I didn’t really trust myself to speak more than monosyllabic words, and the scratching feeling in my throat agreed.

“Ok… well we just want to check on you, and apologize for, uh, endangering your life, I suppose.” He scratched the back of his head and shifted his stance, every bit the picture of shameful embarrassment.

“We’re really, really sorry Corin,” Silvia added. “We’re not especially used to having to, well to worrying about collateral damage.”

“Right.” Martin nodded, “And we really didn’t expect a monster to follow us into town, and we were sort of unprepared.”

“Good thing it was just a Changeling,” Silvia smiled reassuringly, though it fell from her face after a moment as if she’d realized something. “Say, how did you know that he was a Changeling?”

Martin looked at her, confused, before he realized what she meant. “Oh, right. How did you see past his illusion?”

I nearly went ridged, inwardly cursing my past self for his carelessness. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut when it matters? Why couldn’t I just mind my own business, instead of getting dragged into something that had absolutely nothing to do with me? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. An idiot who let himself get comfy and lazy. An idiot who, despite any other shortcomings, still had an extensive amount of experience with lying.

There are a lot of ways to lie, but there are only a few ways you can lie well. The most effective method that I’ve found, which I tend to ascribe to, is to actually lie as little as possible. The more lies you tell, and the more complex the story you fabricate, well that’s just more threads you can get yourself tangled up in. All good lies are built around truths, as it is the truth that gives a lie a firm foundation. Of course, not the whole truth. The omission of certain details is, by the nature of lying, quite necessary. Giving people as little detail as possible will normally result in them assuming things to fill the gaps in your story, or better yet, think that the answer is somehow deeply personal and that they're prying by asking. So, rather than go on some lengthy conjecturing about how I was able to tell based on my extensive study of monsters or some such nonsense, I kept it to the three S’s. Short, simple, and sincere.

“He just, looked like a Changeling I guess,” I answered, shrugging slightly.

“Ok, but to us, he was a completely normal person.” Silvia’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You couldn’t have seen through it unless…” She trailed off, eyes widening slowly as she seemed to realize something. If my legs didn’t feel like wet dough, I would have run back into my room and dove straight out the bloody window. Instead, I just took a tottering half-step backwards and started thinking of how I was going to lie my way out of this one. “You’re Gifted!” she exclaimed, grinning wildly.

“What!?” Martin and I blurted the word out at the same time, apparently both equally surprised and confused. He squinted at her, I tried not to sigh with relief.

“Corin, did you ever get examined by anyone as a kid?” Silvia asked, slapping Martin on the shoulder and shooting him a look I didn’t really get the meaning of, but that seemed to make him remember something, as an understanding expression began to spread across his face. He turned back to me with an odd gleam in his eyes.

In most human civilizations, it's normal for children to get taken to someone experienced in magic, often some old, retired adventurer or a hedge mage, capable of detecting the tell-tale signs of any passive magical abilities. Considering the rarity of such innate talents, few are ever found, but the possibility of having a child who could shoot to the highest stratum of society just because they can see magical energy or read auguries is more than enough motivation for essentially every human parent to get their children tested. Such talents are the only ways humans can use magic without a focus. They’re largely thought to be gifts from the God of Light, Saolis, creator and benevolent patron of all non-monstrous beings in the world. Hence the term, “Gifted.”

“Uh, no… I’m an orphan.” I answered in a quiet voice. It wasn’t really a lie, orphans don’t have parents, I don’t have parents, technically it's true. I was still wary, but surprised, they hadn’t figured me out yet.

Silvia’s smile got somehow wider, and she turned to her brother again. “He never got examined! He wouldn’t know if he’d never seen one before!”

“You’re saying he-” Martin started to say, beaming a smile that matched his sisters.

“He can see past illusions!” Silvia cried, grabbing Martin by the shoulders, and shaking him excitedly. Full understanding of what she had been building toward dawned on me.

They thought I was light-touched. With the ability to see past Illusions. Talk about taking the wrong road to the right destination. Well, that was my luck for the year used up. It was a pretty fair assumption, to be honest, and the fact that they’d come to it on their own meant that they genuinely seemed to believe it. If I’d thought to make that my excuse from the beginning, they’d have been at least a little suspicious.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, groggily. Honestly, I was starting to feel a little better at that point, but I decided to play on the dazed and confused teenager angle a little more. Nothing like a little guilt to make someone think twice around you.

“Well, you see we’ve been trying to find someone t-oww!” Martin yelped as a tiny liver spot-covered hand grabbed his earlobe and pulled him away from my door.

“Ach come away an quit yer gabbin’, you’ve bothered tha boy enough fer one day!” Mae shouted, squinting up at her kids. “Leave ‘im be an’ away wich’ya, I’m sick ah’ the sight af tha both ah’ ye.” Her other hand darted up to grab Silvia’s ear but, falling short, settled for grabbing her by the collar instead. She doddered back towards the stairs, her two reticent children in tow, protesting heavily. They were released at the top of the staircase and subsequently trudged downstairs with expressions equally chastised, excited, and somehow still a little guilty. I watched them go, thankful for the reprieve. I’ve always hated talking to people for longer than a few minutes, especially when I’m the topic of the conversation. Still, I think I managed to come out of the talk uncharacteristically ahead for once.

“Show yersels oot!” Mae yelled at their backs before turning to face me as the siblings departed. Her scowl softened a little as she looked me up and down. “Get some rest lad. You’ve ‘ad a hell af a day.”

I blinked, surprised at the apparent care in her voice. “Mae, I-“

“An’ you’ve got work tomorrow! You’ve some fuckin’ mess tae clean up!” she interrupted, back to her usual callous self, and then turned to stomp downstairs, cane probing the steps as she descended.

Well, there's the Mae I know. I thought, smiling a little to myself as she left. Her muttered cussing became distant and faint, and I heard the back door slam shut on its hinges.

I returned to the interior of my room, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. With the door once more comfortingly locked, and our sudden visitors hopefully on their way back to their own lodgings, I felt myself relaxing for the first time since noon. I collapsed onto the bed, face-down on top of the threadbare pillow propped up on the headboard. I was so exhausted the lumpy padding felt fit for a king. I kicked off my shoes and got comfortable, turning over onto my side and looking out into the darkness of my room. The mirror on my pile of books was still propped up, and I caught my own eye in the reflection. The human face in the mirror stared back.

If I was smart, I’d collect my things and slip out in the night, move on, and start fresh somewhere else. Sure, I hadn’t been discovered, but who knew how long until I was? With two adventurers around, it would get a lot harder to stay incognito, that’s for sure. I’d had a good run, six months was a lot longer than I’d gotten in most places, and I had a tidy sum of savings in the hidden pocket of my rucksack that would serve me well starting over. It made sense to leave, and I tried to tell myself that, but I just couldn’t bring myself to get up and start packing. A part of me passed it off as a mixture of exhaustion and laziness, but another part knew the truth. I was happy here, at least as happy as I was able to be. Even though I knew it was logical and entirely safer to run again, for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to.

I decided to sleep on it, and soon began to slip away into unconsciousness, even despite the late hour. Not even the dark of night would keep me up. As usual, I did not dream.