The next day I was excited to visit the twins after breakfast and continue working on my tapestry.

My dreams had been of nothing but the loom, and the peace I found watching my fingers complete row after row. 

As I ate, I smiled at Interra and Amatha, my new friends, and they returned my greeting with knowing nods. The prince was present for the meal, the first time I'd seen him since the whelp's punishment at dinner. He appeared in no less a foul mood than usual, and I shuddered to think I might be ordered to keep him company once more. When he was taken away from the meal by one of the physicians, I was relieved. I hoped this was a sign that, after what happened in the garden, I would never be asked to entertain him again. My day was free, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it. Wrapped up in giddy anticipation, I had forgotten a certain appointment was waiting to be kept.

Roland grabbed my arm when I rose from the table, and I watched in despair as the twins left the hall. But I knew our meeting would not last the whole day, and after a few rounds of tedious chess and a short bickering about the wolf, I would be released, so I followed Roland without argument.

We did not go to his room.

Instead, the physician guided me through a door in the corner of the dining hall, which led to a winding staircase that grew increasingly ill-lit as we descended.

A new wing to get lost in, I thought as we reached the bottom and passed another door. To my relief, there was no maze, only a narrow hall with a single door at its end, lit by two torches on either side. The walk to it would be done in near blindness, for there was no other light in the passage.

"We're beneath the ground now," Roland explained as he took the torch that hung outside the door at the bottom of the staircase. The limited light cast shadows across the physician's face, making his visage somewhat eerie. "This is a place not many are allowed to see. It's known only to a special few."

As we walked, my foot struck something. Whatever it was tumbled away with a hollow clanking.

"Where are we?"

"The bowels of the castle. Beyond that door is the dungeon."

A few of Ma's stories contained dungeons, and they were always spoken of with an ominous tone. A dungeon, I knew, was a place where bad people were left to rot.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Roland chuckled. "You have nothing to fear. Imprisoning is one of many uses a dungeon has."

"What are the other uses?"

"You'll see."

We stopped at the door and he produced a black key from his pocket. He guided it to the lock but paused before turning it.

"What's behind this door must remain secret. No matter what happens, you cannot speak to anyone about it." 

"Even the king?"

"You must never lie to your king, of course. But you don't have to speak of this place without him asking first."

I wasn't amused by Roland's scheming. He didn't like me, I'd figured that out from the start, and his attempts to become my friend were nothing but a ruse to gain information about the wolf inside of me. It seemed the dungeon was a place where his reckless ideas could be furthered, and I hoped our visit wouldn't end with blood splashed across the floor. He pushed the door open and I followed him into a room where the air was as cold as a winter night, and there was no light save for the flame he carried. I heard a click and realized Roland had locked the door behind us.

Had I walked into a trap?

"I know it can be a frightening place," he said to soothe me, "but there's nothing here that wants to harm you."

"Why did you lock the door?"

"So no one could follow us."

"Who would follow us down here?"

"No more questions."

A sense of danger rose within me, and from deep inside I felt the wolf grow agitated. Roland did nothing to abate this dread, and made things worse by dousing his torch and plunging us into darkness.

"I want to leave," I whimpered.

"Just wait a moment."

He clapped his hands four times and uttered a phrase in a language I did not understand. The room came into view under the fire of torches spanning the length of a stone wall several feet long. Their flames burned bright blue.

Fire created by magic.

An alchemy table, long enough for a grown man to comfortably lay upon, sat in the middle, littered with scrolls and glass tubes that varied in shape and size. Most of them held colored liquids—potions or chemicals, I guessed of their nature. Many of the scrolls were filled with foreign writing while some had sketches drawn in charcoal. One scroll had a gruesome image of a human body cut in half to reveal what was inside. Another depicted a man without his skin, which showed his various muscles and bones.

Hunched over the table and grinding a mysterious powder with a mortar and pestle was a woman who looked as ancient as the world. She was sitting on a stool, her body curled like a bug, and her face was stained with soot and grease. The rags she wore hung loose around her bony frame. Her head had more skin than hair, and the few strands left were white as snow.

"Didn't know we had a visit today." Her voice was like dry tree bark, more growl than melody, and her lips remained in a scowl as if it pained her to speak. She didn't stray from her work when she greeted us but continued to crush the powder with her speckled, toadish hands.

"It's a special visit," Roland replied. "I've brought a guest."

The woman looked at us and I saw that she had only one eye. Where the other should have been was a pocket dotted with moles.

She made an unpleasant picture, but I tried not to judge her harshly. When her eye found me it brightened with excited curiosity.

"Why didn't you tell me? I would've put on my guest attire!"

She cackled and spat a glob of mucus onto the floor, then hopped off her stool and, with surprising quickness, moved to a cabinet and threw open its doors. Inside were rows of potions.

"He's no stranger to unseemly sights," Roland said with a hint of humor, "you needn't bother."

"Unseemly, am I? Wasn't too unseemly that night when—"

"Be mindful, Gran. The boy can hear you."

She clucked her tongue and chose a potion with pink and blue swirling inside of it. Her brown fingernail popped off the cork and the vial was tipped into her mouth. As the last drop hit her tongue her appearance began to change, starting at her feet and rising to her head.

Wrinkled leather became smooth skin. Bones stretched into slender legs and arms, and her body shook and shaped into an attractive figure. The rags on her body were enchanted too, becoming a green dress that hugged her new curves. Her face took on a youthful complexion, without a single blemish or mark. A regal jawline and nose rose to view, and her lips plumped while turning a subtle shade of red. Black hair sprouted from her head and fell in soft waves down to the small of her back. 

Only her good eye was transformed, curling into an almond shape with thick lashes. The other remained empty, though the skin of it was less grotesque. She tied a strip of cloth around her head to hide it.

In a second, the crone had become a beautiful maiden, and I blushed at the cut of her gown, which gave a generous peek of her bosom.

Roland hummed in approval. "As always, you outdo yourself, and for meager company."

"Not often I meet someone new," she replied, and the croak of her voice was gone, replaced with a sound as sweet as a lullaby.

"I'm not complaining," Roland said with a grin. "This is the boy I told you about. The one with the gift."

"The young pup?" She frowned and put her hands on her hips. Even in her displeasure, she was lovely. "Why didn't you bring him to me sooner? He should have been here the first night, and you know it."

"I wanted to learn the nature of him."

"And?"

"I believe the boy will work with us without complaint."

"My name is Josiah," I said through gritted teeth.

I was tired of being called 'boy'. Roland knew my name, and it felt like an insult for him not to use it. The woman scoffed and beckoned me over.

"Come here, and let me get a good look at you."

I dragged my feet on my approach, half frightened and half intrigued. Heat rose to my cheeks when she put her hands on my shoulder and turned me in a circle.

"You look normal enough." She grabbed my chin and stared into my eyes. "Ah, there it is. Lurking just beneath the skin." I didn't need to ask what she was referring to. "It's growing impatient. I see it pacing." She released me and turned to Roland. "He's about to burst! You're lucky there hasn't been a change."

Roland shrugged helplessly.

"What do you mean, 'about to burst'?" I asked.

Her finger touched the tip of my nose.

"You keep that animal caged too long and it'll become desperate. It'll fight until it finds a way to escape. Sheer dumb luck it hasn't already, especially with it being young." She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting that you have control over it."

"I thought so, too," Roland said.

"Well, we ought to give it the fresh air it craves."

She didn't wait for me to argue, but darted around the room and grabbed various instruments and bottles. The last item she picked up was an iron shackle.

"Are you a witch?" I'd blurted my thoughts without considering manners. 

She gave me a hard look. "Depends. What do you think that means?"

"You...use magic? And you know about strange things."

"Aye, on both accounts. Does that make you scared of me, boy?"

I considered the question. "No. My ma was a witch."

I don't know why I told her. Maybe I assumed it would provoke her sympathy. The woman bristled, and even Roland released a small gasp.

"Is she now?" the woman asked. "Did she hurt little animals or people?"

"Never! She was kind. She talked to animals."

"And this witch mother of yours...what's her name?"

I was ashamed of how great a struggle it was to recall.

Ma's name...Ma's...name...

It was Ma, wasn't it?

No, I'd heard once, maybe twice, during my childhood.

It might have had the letter G in it. Maybe an L.

"Ga...Gel...something like that?"

"Ginthea? Glinda?"

"I don't think it was either of those."

"Gileena? Galeia? Genta? Gentel?"

"Oh! You may have said it. What was the second one?"

"Galeia."

My face scrunched in concentration. "That might have been it, but I'm not sure."

The already chilly air turned to ice. The woman gaped at me with a mixture of fear and befuddlement. I looked at Roland, but he was just as confused by her response.

"What is it, Gran?" he asked.

"I hope the boy is misremembering."

"Does such a person threaten us? If his mother was a witch, maybe the boy's gift came from—"

The woman held her hand up to silence him. "I will not speak on it further, and we've no time to sit and wonder. The child will stand still with his arms at his sides."

I waited as she measured and poured several potions into a bottle. She swirled it to mix the ingredients, then handed it to me.

"Drink."

"What is it?"

"Don't fight me on this, boy. You'll drink it willingly or forced." Her furrowed brow softened and she added, "It's something to calm the nerves. Tastes like blueberries."

She was right, the potion was delicious, and I instantly felt my shoulders relax and my racing thoughts slow. I didn't even mind when she wrapped the shackle around one of my ankles and tethered it to a ring on the floor.

"Just for safety," she explained. "Not ours, but yours. Don't worry about growing out of it, I've made sure it'll fit any size you take."

I was content to remain still and await further instruction. She took the cork from a new vial and held it to my lips, while her other hand ran its fingers through my hair.

"This one won't taste as good as the last, but I doubt you'll care. Down the hatch, there's a good boy."

As I drank I heard Roland ask from behind me, "What's that one for?"

"A helping hand to urge the wolf along."

"The boy had no problem changing in court."

"Where all the king's knights had their swords pointed at his throat? We're not tyrants here, and I don't wish to scare the wolf."

"Careful with your words about the king."

"I'll do as I please in my own damn dungeon! If the king dislikes it, he can have someone else procure ingredients for his son's medicine!" She spat on the floor. "We'll see how he likes it when there's no magic to lean on, and he has to rely on physician wisdom to keep the prince alive! Would have held a dead infant if not for me! And for that, I deserve to use the words I want."

Roland did not argue.

A tingle ran through my body. Needle pricks of fur sprouted from my arms and legs.

"Does it hurt him to change?" Roland asked.

"You saw him do it, didn't you? What do you think?"

"I couldn't be sure."

"Well, his bones break and his skin stretches to the point of tearing, while his muscles and nerves twist into a new shape. Does that sound comfortable?" When Roland remained silent, she nodded. "There's your answer."

She was wrong, but I did not tell her that. I had undergone hundreds of changes in the circus, and each time the pain was less intense. The pricks and sharp tugs from within were insignificant, nothing like the agony of the first few transformations, and as the wolf had grown in its power it eased the pain, perhaps in the same way it healed both of our wounds when we went from one form to the other. 

As my nose elongated into a snout, Roland and the woman's eyes grew wide in wonder. My control was pushed to the back of our shared mind, and I became an impartial viewer watching behind the wolf's eyes. Its great body dropped to the floor on padded paws, and the cold and damp of the dungeon wasn't so uncomfortable under a thick coat of fur. The woman was right, and the shackle that had been placed around my ankle fit above the animal's back paw without constricting or hurting it.

It felt good to be the wolf, as if by changing I let go of an enormous tension that had been building inside. The wolf felt it too and shook its head as a shiver of satisfaction rolled through its bones.

"The fun begins," I heard the woman say, and from a different cabinet she produced a leg of meat. She doused it with another potion and threw it to the wolf, who sniffed at the offering and, always pleased to eat, began to gnaw on the flesh.

The woman gathered bottles into her apron and knelt near the wolf. The animal paid her little attention, every so often darting a glance through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said. "I only want information. Can you understand me? Does the boy inside recognize my words?"

The wolf huffed and nodded.

"Very good. Roland forgot his manners and didn't introduce us. I'm Odd Gran, witch of the dungeon." She turned back to the physician. "See if the boy remembers my name when he returns." She pulled a blade from her apron. "I'm going to nick your paw. It might sting or you might feel nothing, but it'll be shallow and nothing to worry over."

The wolf gave an indignant snort—and Odd Gran snorted right back.

"Don't understand why you're pouting about it. We know the scratch won't be there for long, don't we?" She held the blade in front of the wolf's face so it could sniff it. "See? Nothing dangerous. Give me your paw and don't fuss. I want to see the process."

She held out her hand but the wolf hesitated. I had no reason to urge its compliance, for she was a stranger who wanted to cut its body, and the only assurance we had that it would stop there was her word.

"I'm sure you received far worse where you came from. And there's another piece of lamb waiting for a wolf who follows directions."

That was enough to persuade it. The wolf slapped its paw over Odd Gran's palm, and the size of it engulfed her.

"Thank you. Good wolf."

She made a tiny incision just above the claw, enough to draw blood but do no significant damage. The wolf didn't flinch, but its eyes went from the meat to the woman, and regarded her with curious anticipation.

Was it waiting for her to strike—did it want a reason to attack?

"Wonderful," Odd Gran said with a gasp. "Come quickly and see!"

By the time Roland moved to her side the wound had healed, and there was nothing to suggest it had been there except a drop of red in the gray fur.

"The cut was there," Odd Gran said as she touched the spot with her nail.

"It's like you never touched it," Roland whispered.

"We'll take some samples next. I'll cut again and you'll hold a bottle to catch the blood."

The second incision was deeper than the first, and the wolf released a low growl in warning.

"It's a pinch to you," Odd Gran scoffed. "Plain foolish, a great beast whimpering. If I wanted to hurt you, believe me, I could."

The wolf's ears flattened against its head in embarrassment.

Roland was only able to catch a small amount of blood before the skin knit together, but Odd Gran appeared satisfied as she inspected the vial.

"Lovely."

She gathered the wolf's saliva into a second bottle, which caused a bit of a scene when the animal tried to shake loose from her grasp, until another sharp word subdued it. The blade cut a tuft of fur which was carefully placed into a third bottle. Lastly, she swept a long, thin spoon over its gums and teeth before depositing it into a fourth bottle. As she was scraping the roof of its mouth, the tickling of the instrument made the animal's eyes water. When it could no longer stand the sensation, it released a powerful sneeze directly into Odd Gran's face.

The woman wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and dryly replied, "I've got what I need for today."

"Will it work?" Roland asked. "Can you produce—"

"I said I've got what I need. Didn't say nothing about it working."

She corked the four bottles and tucked them into her apron, then sat back on her heels and studied the wolf. Her mouth curled into a smile.

"Such an exquisite creature."

She reached out and ran her fingers over the wolf's head. It allowed her touch and released a contented sigh.

"It's not as wild as the boy claims," Roland said. "He thinks the beast is unpredictable and prone to attack."

"It understands my words, which denotes intelligence. Or perhaps the boy has a semblance of control, even if he doesn't realize it."

"Curious."

"My suspicion of the quick healing was correct."

"How soon can we have a real test?"

"The sooner you leave me in peace and let me do my work, the sooner we'll have the opportunity. It's possible I could have something by tomorrow." Her smile fell. "Pity it has to be kept. I would delight in watching it run."

"It would escape and we'd be back to nothing."

"Go on, then. I'll send word when I have news for you."

With its belly full, the wolf's eyes grew heavy under Odd Gran's gentle touch. There was no desire to fight or flee, and all it wanted was to remain in comfortable rest on the dungeon floor. Odd Gran's fingers moved to the space between its eyes, and with long, soothing strokes she guided the wolf into sleep.

***

I woke up in my bed. I was a boy again, though I had no memory of changing back or walking to my room. Through a window I could see the sun dipping below the horizon, a signal that dinner would begin shortly.

My chance to continue at the loom was gone for the day.

My head felt dizzy, like I'd slept too long. The last thing I recalled was hearing Odd Gran and Roland talking—

An image flashed in my mind and I wasn't sure if it was a real memory.

Odd Gran holding a flame next to my skin. With a wicked grin, she burned me while Roland held my arms down.

A cage was placed around my head, stealing my view of anything but darkness.

Someone laughed.

Was this a nightmare of the wolf?

I raised my shirt to look for a sign that I had been hurt and found nothing. There wouldn't be any evidence, I realized, thanks to the quick healing the wolf gave me. I concentrated inward and tried to speak to the animal.

Did something happen in the dungeon?

Silence.

Are you all right?

It felt odd to have concern for the beast.

Are you all right?

I repeated the question several times without receiving a reply.

My skin rose into goose pimples as dread overtook me.

Are you all right?

At last, the wolf's low voice answered:

Bad. Hurt. Afraid.