Innocence Lost

Michael decided Morgan must like freezing. It was bitingly cold, but Morgan was wearing only a thin black silk shirt under his black jacket. “Why didn't you warn me it was this cold?”

“Because I did not know we would end up here. I was told to find an unusual wolf and bring back its ear.”

“I asked what do you do when you disappear. When you said you jaunt, I didn't know you meant through planes of existence and, well, time and space.”

Morgan threw his arm around Michael, so that his voluminous black cloak fell around Michael's shoulders too. The comfort difference was remarkable. “How does this cloak work?”

“The inside provides a shadow for its own shadow jump, so the inside surface is really a jaunt plane.”

Morgan pulled a pair of silver-rimmed glasses and placed them carefully on his face. Michael stared at him, confounded. “What are those for?” He tapped the rim.

“They allow me to see,” Morgan answered bluntly.

“Really?”

Michael noticed Morgan's eyes actually flitting about as a sighted person's would. His steel grey eyes still appeared the way they always did, with no black in the center where an pupil would be. “I do not see the way a person naturally would. They are attuned to my inner sight. I can see anger, fear, danger, and insubstantives like that.”

“Insubstantive is a word?”

“Michael, do not be offended, but please be quiet.”

Michael spelled T-H-I-S-O-K into Morgan's palm. Morgan half-turned his head to him and made a short assenting noise. Morgan gently walked forward so the snow made little noise under his feet. A wolf trotted across the taiga. It was an odd blue color. Michael was unsure if the wolf noticed them, or Morgan sensed it first but it suddenly broke into a run and Morgan gave chase. Michael decided to run with him rather than freeze. “Fe'spodad,” he intoned.

Michael's speed greatly increased. Morgan had already hit an inhumanly fast pace. The wolf was only staying ahead by a hair. Michael's wondered how Morgan managed to invoke magic without incants or chanting. And why the hell was he coming to ridiculously cold places like this one if he was only interested in hunting? The wolf attempted to swerve past a rock and didn't succeed. It caromed off and skidded. Morgan planted his feet as a dark rifle or shotgun suddenly appeared in his hands and it fired soundlessly. Blood sprayed on the snow as the wolf's hip was blown apart. The firearm in Morgan's grip disappeared. Morgan who was hardly breathing heavily spoke in Magir. “By the order of the Court of Mages, you are executed.”

The wolf frantically tried to get away. Morgan grabbed its neck and a gun coalesced into his hand. He placed it against the wolf's temple and fired. Coins flew everywhere along with the gore. The wolf's form unraveled into a humanoid one. Morgan broke two fingers off the corpse's hand. The whole of the experience was under three minutes. Michael caught up, panting heavily, “Good lord, Morgan! You just shot an elf!”

“Did I? I was only told I was eliminating a subversive.” Morgan wrapped the fingers in a cloth and put them in a satchel.

“You knew you were killing somebody?”

Morgan nodded. He shook the blood from his hands. “I am trained assassin, Michael. This is what I do when I disappear.”

Michael looked at Morgan in astonishment. He made a short squeak to indicate surprise. “Morgan, why?”

“Mother had me trained, of course.” Morgan sounded like he was going to cry or have a fit. He started to walk away.

“Do you want the gold that scattered when you killed him?” Belatedly, Michael wondered what it was doing with a large pouch of gold.

Morgan made queer sound, somewhere between a sob and a stifled laugh. “Those coins are his blood money for someone else that he killed. He must have seen me coming and did a quick shapeshift. I personally knew him. He was a guild assassin, too. This is the life I am going to lead. Take them if you want. I do not need them.”

Well, that explained that vexing detail. The last thing some skindancers hold are absorbed in form near the head. He must have noticed them first and changed hurriedly and incompletely. Michael couldn't believe his brother was counting coup at the age of thirteen years. He went and hugged him. Morgan returned the embrace and they reappeared in a worn room. It smelled of mildew and explosions. Michael didn't release his hug. “How long have you been doing this?” he asked quietly.

Morgan used his bland, detached voice. “Since we were six.”

Michael couldn't comprehend that. The detail was too jarring. At six, they were playing on jungle gyms and Morgan was learning braille. As his stood there in shock, Morgan walked away.