Ali gazed up at the Vhendal home with no small amount of trepidation.

As homes went, it was large and imposing; the Vhendal family had been one of means for quite some time. But that wasn’t the issue here; the Arcine family had had its power for just as long, and their family home was more extravagant. A large home was what Ali was used to.

No, the problem was the errand that brought Ali here – and the other matters of recent history between the two families. None of it Ali’s choosing, but convincing anyone else of that was proving to be quite difficult. The tigress had, after all, loomed quite large in her father’s vile plans – never mind that she actually hadn’t been given much of a choice in the matter, nor even advance notice; when Markas Arcine had first suggested a marriage – no, a liaison, a mixing of blood – between his line and the Vhendal, been rebuffed, and then resorted to sorcery in an effort to take the boy’s seed by force…

Well, reasonable people would conclude that he’d gained the cooperation of his only daughter in that plot.

Ali grimaced. At least, if this night’s endeavour was successful, she’d not need to worry about that sort of plot again. It was frightfully awkward, though, that Arek Vhendal had been the one to devise and perfect magic of the sort Ali needed, given what Ali’s father had done to him, and tried to do, and implied that Ali was a willing accomplice to.

It was not a guilty conscience – at least not for her own sake – that stiffened Ali’s shoulders when muted footsteps announced the arrival of somebody on the other side of the door. Nor was it guilt for anything she’d done or intended that let her relax a smidgeon when it turned out to be a servant rather than one of the Vhendal line; the fox who was in charge of the day-to-day affairs of the house.

“Good evening, Miss,” he said as he bowed her in. “Master Arek is expecting you. This way, please.”

As Ali followed him through the clean, well-appointed halls, from the bubble of light around one lantern to the next, all that tension returned, and then some. Arek had come home the night after that horrible mess, bedraggled and shaken, to find Ali in the sitting-room with his father; the look on his face then had been terrible. Even once the initial shock had worn down and Ali’s father had been safely incarcerated, the cheetah still hadn’t trusted her – not even her motives in seeking this particular magic. That heated conversation was not something she looked forward to resuming…

She was shown into a much more brightly-lit room, set up as a sorcerer’s laboratory. The fox bowed, announced, “Alystarra Arcine, Master,” and when the room’s occupant murmured a quick thanks, bowed himself out again.

Ali tried not to grimace at the name. Alystarra was a perfectly respectable name for a girl of good breeding – that it had come to symbolize everything ill-fitting about her life was one thing she did not hold against her father, not when she was in her right mind, but it still felt uncomfortable.

No less so for the scrutiny she found herself under.

Despite the evening being well advanced, Arek was garbed as a journeyman sorcerer, in grey trousers and cornflower-blue shirt, with a paler grey cloak cinched by a silver moon-and-star brooch. He wore gloves, though he hadn’t gone so far as to pull up his hood; his head and tail were all that were visible of his distinctive pattern, black spots running together into streaks on bright gold.

Ali bit her lip, trying not to dwell on the young man’s appearance. But if Arek noticed the focus of her attention, he didn’t comment on it; what he said was, “You truly don’t like that name, do you?” His voice was softer than she’d expected it to be – almost speculative.

Ali couldn’t help but flinch. “It’s a perfectly good name,” she said. “I just wish it weren’t mine.”

“That it weren’t suited to you,” the cheetah filled in, and squared his narrow shoulders. “Well. If you’ve everything I asked for, we can get to work right away.”

Drawing a breath, Ali lifted the bundle she’d brought, advancing to set it on the workbench at Arek’s gesture. The cheetah sorted through the contents – the chips of this rock and that ore, the larger chunks of a few, none larger than her thumb; he’d sworn that all of them, or rather components of each, had place in the body, if in very different form, and having such raw materials available would make the process easier to perform and far gentler on the subject.

He would know best the rigours of that process, having demonstrated it on himself, practitioner and patient in one.

The small vial of blood had been the simplest thing to procure, as it was Ali’s own. “With this,” Arek said, “I can prepare a solution that will undo the change. It will lose its force with time, however, likely within a month; past that point, although I can attempt a countervailing change, some details might not exactly match.”

“I don’t imagine it will be necessary,” Ali insisted, “but I can’t fault your caution.”

“So I’m coming to understand,” the cheetah replied, and unwrapped the last item.

It was a small glass jar, though a fair bit larger than the vial of blood, and Ali felt her ears burn as Arek looked it over, the cheetah’s brows rising at the sight of it quite full with thick white fluid. Finding a male tiger to contribute that had been horribly awkward, but Arek had insisted that it was the most critical component, the one that could not be omitted. Find one she had – not her father; that thought would have been horrifying on so very many levels, and it had been such a relief to learn that any male tiger would do. But to find the jar full… “I told the fellow, as you told me, that it was only so large so as to not be unwieldy, that the, um, proceeds of a single session would do. He apparently thought this instruction worth exceeding, though he swears it’s only his own.” She’d told the young man of her errand, and of why she could not make of him a proper lover even if both of them were so inclined; yet there’d been something peculiar about his expression as he’d returned the full jar to her with his reassurances.

“I… see. Well.” This he set aside, and taking up the vial of blood, started bustling about his workbench, combining it with other things he’d prepared. As he spoke, he explained, “Most of these components are necessary for one reason: you’ll likely be quite some measure larger than you are now. This… also means your clothing will almost certainly be useless.”

“…Oh.” Ali flushed; she hadn’t even considered that practicality. “I’d thought it would leave me… mostly the same.”

“Reasonable, as you’ve the height and breadth of some men already,” Arek granted. “But as you are large and heavyset for a woman, so too you will probably make a large, heavyset man.”

“Oh,” was about all Ali could say to that.

The cheetah took a deep breath that had little to do with the work of his hands. “I… can offer you the hospitality of my house, and something to at least cover yourself; and a tailor can be summoned on the morrow.”

That caught her off-guard, given how uncomfortable he’d been around her before. “Truly? I wouldn’t want to impose…”

He looked up and offered a crooked, apologetic smile before turning his eyes back down to his work. “Yes, well, I… wasn’t being wholly reasonable, before, and I’m coming to believe what you’d said before. For my earlier lapse in courtesy, it seems only fair to extend that courtesy now. And… to release you from that pledge. It was inappropriate to assume such motives of you, and I apologize.”

“Goodness, you hardly need apologize to me,” Ali objected. “With all that my father had done, as much as my name had figured in his plans, I’d hardly blame you for suspecting me of wanting this only as a way to get at you in spite of that… that speech he dragged out of you in the forum!”

Arek shook his head. “You’d come in good faith and disavowed his plans. That deserved more consideration than I then gave it. While it’s kind of you to bear no ill will, the fault was mine, and I am correcting it.”

“Well… if you’re certain. I accept apology and hospitality both,” Ali said, getting the formality out of the way. “Truth be told… it’ll be welcome to not need to spend the night in that vast pile by myself.” For while the magistrates might yet bestow some of the fines exacted from Markas Arcine to his only child, for the moment she could not afford to employ servants at the family house.

“Very good.” He smiled – a true, open smile that was a delight to see – and, setting a flask under a spout, left the bench to tug the bell-pull, instructing the butler, when he arrived, that Arek’s guest was to be given the larger guest suite, possibly for some while, and that it should be made ready.

As the fox went on his way, Arek returned to the workbench, and set about reducing the various rocks to powder. Though he mixed them with mortar and pestle, the bulk of the work was magical, a twist to the fundamental nature of the rock that even Ali could follow and could have performed – suppressing its solidity and letting it crumble, rather than overcoming that solidity with brute force.

That was the work of but a few moments, and once it was done, he brought the mortar and the sealed jar to one end of the bench, where stood a great basin partly-full of water, a bench beside it bearing a number of thick, folded cloths, a few of which might be loose garments; a tall mirror, such as a tailor might have available, also rested there, though turned away from the basin. “It might be simplest,” he said, taking up a strip of black cloth, “if you were to… ah… disrobe and recline in here. By floating, you’ll avoid some chafing which could be unpleasant; too, it provides much of the substance that will be needed. I’ll give what privacy I can.”

Ah; that cloth was a blindfold, then. “That won’t be necessary,” Ali said. “I know that this is a professional matter – it’s no more improper than if you were a healer.” And this form that felt so ill-fitting wasn’t one that Arek would show much interest in – that had, after all, been the main thrust of his impassioned speech that day in the forum – so that should help limit any awkwardness. “And at least allow me to heat the water myself.”

That offer was received gladly; Ali, after all, was more of an elementalist than he was, and the application of such raw force came more easily to her than to the more subtly-talented cheetah. Still, Arek busied himself about the workbench while she poured heat into the water and, with one last thrill of mingled anxiety and excitement, set aside her clothing and climbed into the basin.

“Very well. Relax,” the cheetah instructed, standing at the basin’s rim, eyes closed in concentration. “Let it happen.”

And happen it did – it was a curious sensation, as of being momentarily adrift from reality; like dreaming, but more intense, yet – seemingly – briefer. It was a surprisingly comfortable thing.

And then the moment passed, and all was as it had been. For a moment, Ali wondered if something had gone amiss.

“There,” Arek panted. “It’s… it’s done. You may climb out, dry yourself, and see the results here.”

“Here” – Ali caught his gesture – was the mirror Ali had seen earlier, even now showing only a wall of the workroom. Obligingly, Ali set a hand on the basin’s rim, to stand and climb out of the water.

But the sight of that hand was cause to linger, for it was much broader than Ali was used to, the arm attached to it far stouter.

Excited now, Ali looked further down, enough to see that the change had in fact done its work. That was not a woman’s body; she – no, he – was a man in full. He slopped a rather shameful amount of water onto the floor in his haste to get out of the basin, towelling himself with vigour such as he’d never felt.

Arek was right; Ali made for a tall, heavyset man – a fair bit over six feet, most likely; much bigger than the slightly-built cheetah. Ali’s athletic pursuits seemed to have translated over somehow, as he was quite visibly muscular. Yet despite his new bulk, moving about still felt so natural, so easy – like this was how he was meant to be all along.

And that feeling… completed something.

“Well,” the cheetah said, his breath steady now, his tone bemused. “You certainly don’t look like an Alystarra now.”

“No,” Ali breathed, gazing down at his new self. His ears flushed a bit, seeing masculine equipment down below, but even that felt more right than any attribute of womanhood ever had. “No,” he repeated, “I… think I might go by Alistair?” He didn’t quite know why he spoke it like a question.

“That fits,” Arek replied, and that affirmation gave Ali his answer. And then the cheetah shocked him by reaching up to touch his jaw.

“You do make a very fine man, Alistair,” the smaller male purred, a gleam dancing in his brilliant green eyes. “If it’s not too forward, I could add my personal hospitality to that of my house…”

Not knowing what to say, Ali gave into his first impulse, which was to grasp Arek’s shoulders and kiss him. And as the cheetah’s body pressed up against his, that felt like exactly the right thing to do.