I waited until dark, as instructed.

It was never really dark in Vaeios, the city of dreams and splendour. Even at this hour, the city was alive with light and sound. The rhythmic drums of the music played in the taverns of the Market District sounded in harmony with the monotonous clink clink clink of a blacksmith’s hammer here in the Artisans District. Who could, worked through the night to replenish his stock before dawn. The international market of Irea’s capital city had grown into one of the most successful trade hubs, and not in the least part for the Naera’s contribution.

The Naera. A minority race with whom the Irin share their country, is what official annals will tell about them. The truth is more along the lines of a suppressed ethnic minority group that, being banished to the very bottom of the country’s skylands, has no choice but to scavenge or slave away in Irin owned alitheon mines in the clouds for deplorable wages. It is every Naera’s dream to live on the light side of the suspended islands instead of in the drafty, patchwork hives hanging from the edges of the land. While winged and airborne like the Irin, their insectlike appearance has made them outcasts deemed a blight on the heavenly land. Of course, no one will tell you the Naera are shunned for their inferior features where the law can hear it, but their compound eyes and skeletal wings have never been in fashion in Irea. Only a handful of Naera have ever been graced with the privilege to live in the capital, and even then had they been restricted to the lowest regions, like the Market District and the outskirts of the Residential District. The Artisans District and the Palace District in particular, are off limits to them under any circumstances. That is why learning that Pascia’s workshop is in fact situated in the Artisans District, was rather surprising to me. The fact that it was practically impossible to find, not so much. This is because Pascia is a master in the art of Alteration. An obscure art. I would not be at all surprised to learn that she is the single practitioner of this brittle branch of magic left in the world. It was a long shot, but I was desperate enough to seek her out.

I was told to wait until dark. Obviously, with my paper faces lining the streets, I was not keen on striding out and about in broad daylight to begin with. I will not go in depth about my rise to fame, but I can tell it involved a tragic misunderstanding and more than a few drops of blood. The darkness of night has been more gentle on my nerves as of late. In fact, this foreign city could do with darker nights, if you ask me. As I scurried down the opulent streets of Vaeios, I silently cursed the thousands of glow bugs that buzzed overhead like so many dancing stars, throwing their lurid luminance on every shop and house around. Suspended between these hung endless lines of ever burning lanterns. It was impossible to avoid every pool of multi-coloured light they cast. My back swam in my cloak by the time I reached the end of the street in question. I pressed myself flat against the wall and peered around the corner.

The alley was deserted and a world apart from the snazzy streets so far. A foul, acrid smell came wafting on the cool breeze. It stung my eyes. Every city has its rotten spots but this spot seemed decayed beyond any appetite. I pressed a hand before my mouth and started walking. Like a thief in the night I tiptoed, picking my way past mud pools and heaps of unidentified waste as I looked for a door. There was one, at the very end of the back street. I said door, but it was more like a scatter of boards, hanging forlorn from rusty hinges. Through the slits I saw nothing but pitch black. If anyone had ever had a shop here, it must have been some time before the Great Quake. That, or a particularly effective debt collector had made sure even the doorknob was impounded for the few chips it would make. I gave the door a left-handed push.

“Hello?” I tried. “Anybody home?”

My voice resounded from the walls as if I had stepped into a cave. From somewhere close by, I thought I heard the scurrying feet of rodents. “I am not with the authorities,” I added for good measure. “In fact, I would like to avoid any contact with men of the law as long as my face is as well-known as it is. I was told I could find someone here who could help me with this little issue. If anyone could introduce me to that person, I’d be forever in your debt. Figuratively, of course.” A rustling noise came from the right.

“Who’s there?” a voice croaked.

“A customer,” I answered cautiously.

“Payment, hmm? Payment?”

“You mean if I’ve got coin?” I replied to the darkness. I fingered the decently fat pouch in my pocket. From it came a meaningful tinkling. “I am sure we can do business.”

“Business! Do business!” cackled the voice.

“Sure, but that takes two. Not to be rude, but if you could make a light I could see with whom I have the honour.” The voice had not sounded very intelligent and I began to have my doubts. Pascia might not have lost all her marbles, but there was definitely a hole in the bag by the sound of it. Then, somewhere in the back a flame flickered into life. Above it hovered two huge, shiny eyes.

“Certainly, customer,” said the flame, “allow me to clean up.”

Immediately, the very darkness began to smoulder at the bottom, burning up like a sheet of paper. I watched the line of fire eat the black around us, revealing a brilliant white walled room behind it. Great oaken shelves lined the walls, bursting with books, vials and tins in all sizes. Overhead, a large spiderweb morphed into an elegant chandelier, candles alight and all. Across the room stood a tall, thin figure dressed in a flamboyant dress of colours I did not even know existed. The two huge compound eyes belonged to a Naera woman and shone with a hundred candle flames.

“Welcome,” she said, waving a slender three fingered hand to one of the sofas near the hearth. “Please, have a seat.” “Have a seat!” cried another voice, and from a perch to my right flew a gold-fronted macaw that landed gracefully on the woman’s shoulder. Its splashy plumage matched her in striking colourfulness. “A talking bird,” I grinned. “Is it truly a macaw or is it an aurox you’ve Altered so it can sit on your shoulder more comfortably?” I took the lady’s hand in mine and politely planted a kiss on the cold chitin. “Miss Pascia, I presume?” The lady smiled. Her glossy eyes made up most of her head. There were no other features besides them and two furry antennae that slightly bobbed up and down as she walked. The fantastically coloured train of her dress were actually her delicate, membranous wings, I saw as she sat down.

“Indeed I am, stranger. Seen as you know my name, I assume you know of my trade, also.”

“Even if I had not, after such a splendid display of the art of Alteration cast on an entire building, anyone could guess. But pardon my poor manners and allow me to introduce myself.”

“Introduce! Hmm, introduce!” echoed the macaw.

I reached in my breast pocket, dug up a folded paper and smoothed it out on the coffee table. From the wanted poster, a young Rashari man stared us defiantly in the face. I looked at it for a moment.

“My mouth is not really that wide, is it?” I asked. Pascia studied the paper, alternating looks between it and me. “No, but your gills are more pronounced than on the drawing.” I clapped my hands to the sides of my neck. “They most certainly are not! They’re not even functional, they are just remnants of our days in the water.” Pascia giggled. It sounded like the whirring of a fairy’s wings. “I did not think you had come for my services purely for cosmetic reasons, mister-” she looked down to the poster, “Niqui Coldriver.” I shook my head.

“Please, just call me Niq. On the contrary, Miss Pascia. I sought you out to erase this handsome visage in favour of something a little less… attractive.” Pascia leaned back in her sofa and looked me up and down.

“Well, Niq. Are you familiar with the art of Alteration?”

“Familiar? Familiar, hmm?”

“I am a trader, not a mage. Although, the business has become unhealthy for me and I seek to see the world through different eyes. Can you do that?”

Pascia sighed. “Through the power of Illusion, it is possible to change any perceived aspect of reality because it is not bound by the laws of nature. For both the caster and the target, an Illusion overlays reality and makes it appear like a new reality while it is in actuality but a veil. Alteration however, must abide by the natural rules and applying it on physical bodies comes with consequences.”

“Again, now for the linguistically challenged?”

“Illusion is not bound by nature’s laws, Alteration is. Illusion is a perceived change in reality by the caster and the target. It can be made undone by a snip of the fingers and everything continues as if nothing happened.” She leaned forward, tenting her slender fingers. “Unlike Illusion, Alteration alters the subject's very nature to create a reality that is recognised by everyone. Alteration is rather more rigorous. Altering inanimate objects such as this building is harmless and simple to reverse. While it’s not a walk in the park, Altering living creatures is possible. However, reversing Alteration spells cast on them, is another matter entirely.

It has been attempted in the past, with varying results.”

“Was that a warning?”

“It was a disclaimer.”

“Right. Half price then if I end up a frog.” I held out my hand. Pascia shook it.

“Half price, hmm!”

I had expected an arcane ritual of sorts. Pentagrams on the floor, stifling incense burnings, demonic incantations, things like that. Instead, Pascia told me to stand up, get undressed and spread my arms. She circled me a couple of times, examining me while professionally ignoring my colouring cheeks. Eventually she seemed to have come to a decision. “Rashari have some striking similarities with Ceratan,” she concluded. “The end result depends on your natural features and their ability to adjust, but I might just be able to convince reality that you are a Ceratan instead.” I could name numerous differences from the top of my head, but seen as that was precisely what I wanted Altered, I decided to play it safe.

“You mean you got to Alter the whole nine yards? Can’t I remain Rashari?” I ventured. “One that looks different from the Rashari that I am now,” I added when I saw a dark twinkle cross Pascia’s facetted eyes.

“If the Alteration is too close to the original reality, it will simply revert back within a few days,” she pointed out. “You can’t fool reality that easily. If you believe strapping a red round nose to your face is all it takes to put the authorities off track, I invite you to visit Yubiniya’s Joke Shop on the other end of the District instead.”

“Ceratan it is!”

“Close your eyes, take a deep breath and stay still.”

A strange feeling began to seep into my body. It was as if my very cells began to reconstruct, sculpting my flesh anew from the inside out. The thin skin between my palmate feet and hands retreated. My toes, first slender and smooth, fused together and hardened into broad, cloven hooves. The azure scales of my skin shifted and compacted into hardened bony scutes along my upper arms, legs and spine.

“Ah!” A sharp pain shot up from my elbows as the ulnas of my lower arms grew pointy appendages that pierced through my skin. Only the pain that threatened to split open my skull was more of an ordeal. The muscles in my neck tightened, struggling to keep my head up as two horns sprouted from my forehead. I was just about to black out when I heard Pascia call “Done!” and she handed me a mirror. When the haze before my eyes had lifted, I looked.

“Hello, handsome.”

The eyes staring back at me were still my own. The rest of the face was that of a young Ceratan. The horns that had grown from my forehead grew up and curled back down to about the height of my ears. The fins and feelers that used to dance around my head had turned solid and clumped together to form thick strands of keratin that reached until my newly acquired tail. “Would you look at that. I never had a tail before.” My voice had dropped several octaves. It matched my grey, leathery skin and sharp-edged teeth.

“You had,” Pascia simply said. “You’re a Ceratan. All Ceratan have tails.”

“All tails! All tales!”

All Ceratan have tails. For reality, I am a Ceratan now and so I automatically have a tail. The lingering headache kept me from asking anything technical. I slid into my old clothes, ripping a hole here and there to accommodate my new features.

“I’d better be off. There’s a whole new life waiting for me out there,” I winked, smiling my fanged teeth bare. I dug up the pouch and let it slide onto the table. My eyes fell on the wanted poster. “Who’s that guy?” I nodded. Pascia looked and shrugged.

“I’ve never seen him in my life.”

“Never seen him, hmm! Never seen him!”