It sounded foolish, that Ilsa had barely used her magic in that way before. “It ain’t that I never thought of shifting as a way to defend myself. I s’pose I just never knew the worst of what I’d be defending myself against. I din’t know how strong I’d have to be. And dogs just ain’t strong enough.”
“Is there something else suitable in your repertoire?”
“I’ve done some bigger animals before. I used to practise a horse in the cellar sometimes when I lived with Mrs Holmes, but all they can do in a fight is kick. And I’ve tried some zoo animals, but they ain’t no use in public so I never practised them. And when I don’t practise, and I ain’t looked at one up close in a while, I forget all the details.”
“Alright,” said Oren thoughtfully. “Why don’t you tell me which animal you would like for your combat form.”
Ilsa chewed the inside of her cheek. She had one on her mind, but what if it was stupid? “They got this leopard at the zoo in the Otherworld, right? ’Cept her fur is white and silver, instead of sandy.”
“Ah. A snow leopard.”
“Yeah. And she ain’t all that big, not like wolfhound big, but she looks strong and she’s got these really big paws. And I figure, maybe if I could do a snow leopard, but bigger…”
“Yes, I see,” said Oren, nodding, and Ilsa breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t appear to find the suggestion ridiculous. “It seems appropriate that you would favour a cat. Gedeon and Hester both do.”
Perhaps it was a small thing – she had seen Eliot as a big cat too; there was only so many powerful animals to choose from – but Ilsa felt a thrill at the connection.
“A snow leopard,” Oren repeated to himself. He was rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Alright. I think I can…”
He tucked his glasses away, rolled his shoulders once, and shifted effortlessly into a larger than life version of the leopard in Ilsa’s memory. He prowled slowly back and forth in front of her in a figure of eight; the perfect case study. Ilsa beamed.
There was an ease to Ilsa’s understanding of anatomy to which she could only credit her magic. When she concentrated on the shape of an animal, the way it moved, she felt a flicker of the charge that entered her bones and let her shift. Apes, she understood best, followed by other mammals. Birds were harder. Reptiles gave her a headache, and she had never accomplished one.
Ilsa watched Oren make his slow figure of eight half a dozen times, then he sat on his haunches and let her come closer. Ilsa had seen the wolves behaving like humans, and she’d seen dozens of other Changelings in animal form the day Captain Fowler had brought her through the portal. She had even flown alongside Eliot and marvelled at the newness of being among her own kind. But it was another novelty entirely to stand so close to a leopard that was not a leopard, to see the wonder of her own magic before her eyes in a way she had scarcely dared to imagine. A smile played on her lips the entire time.
The leopard came to life in her mind smoothly, and when Oren jerked his head, halfway between a nudge and a nod, Ilsa understood it was her turn.
She shook off the aches and nausea of her previous attempts and felt her way into the form, letting go when she felt her magic take over. She pitched forward, landing on heavy paws. Her skin tingled sharply as a coat of dappled silver fur was thrown over it. Strength poured into her every muscle as she grew pointed teeth, a lustrous thick tail, rounded ears, and whiskers. She tried to concentrate on the feeling of her muscles growing, her body lengthening, pushing herself to be larger, stronger.
Too late, she felt her magic stutter as it lost its grip on the form. Her bones began to scream at her again; an aching protest that they couldn’t go any further. It only lasted a moment before panic took over, like snatching her hand back as it brushed a hot stove. She crashed back into her true body, heaving a breath, then another, dizzy from the exertion.
Oren shifted too. He watched her catch her breath, hands on her knees, and nodded in understanding when she straightened.
“You’re not hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine. I tried to go too big, is all.”
“Don’t,” he said. Ilsa made an exasperated sound at that “advice”, and Oren raised a hand to halt her protests. “That is to say, do not focus on growing at all.”
“But how am I s’posed to get bigger?”
“If you can maintain the transformative state, you will grow to the limit of your magic quite naturally, if you wish it. Cede control. Your magic knows what you want. Your only focus should be the form.”
“I din’t know that,” said Ilsa, though it sounded obvious now. She let her magic lead when it came to the form – it was the breakthrough that had finally let her escape the orphanage all those years ago – but she still exhausted herself by forcing other things. She wondered what else she was getting wrong.
“Do you want to try again?” Ilsa nodded. “Envisage the animal with the size and strength you desire, but remember to let go of it all when you begin to shift. Keep letting go, and see what happens.”
He stepped back, giving her plenty of space. Ilsa commanded her body to shift, and once again, her hands flew out to catch the ground as she changed shape. She tried not to think of completing the transformation; she simply kept the form in her mind without tugging on it as her magic did its work.
It was a matter of a second, then at
