The Autumn Castle (17 page)

“‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, her eyes narrow and flinty.

“‘How can I continue to love you when you are so brutal and vain?’ I said.

“‘You will continue to love me as you always have,’ she said, practical as ever. ‘I see no reason why it should be otherwise.’

“Her confidence angered me, partly because it was true. I had been a slave to my desire for her. ‘Perhaps I never loved you,
Zosia. Perhaps I was bewitched by your beauty. I can no longer stay here with you. You are heartless.’”

Eisengrimm stopped and sighed, his head sagging forward on his paws and his eyes fluttering closed. “Zosia became enraged.
As I turned to the door to leave, I felt a magnetic net of magic envelop me and pull me back into the room. Zosia fixed me
with a glare, and with her free hand reached into the pocket of her bloodied apron and pulled out a spell.

“‘Zosia, no. Let me go,’ I said. Like anyone faced with a sudden horror, I could not believe that it was truly happening,
that she would truly hurt me. I was wrong.”

“She put you under an enchantment?”

“My body ran with a peculiar, fluid sensation, as though my skin were milk and my bones were toffee. ‘You shall be changed,’
she said in a low voice. ‘Of the first four creatures you see you may take your choice, and you shall be that creature until
you are foolish enough to love again.’”

Eisengrimm opened his eyes. “I felt my heart charge. If I could get to the village without seeing four other creatures, I
could see a man, remain a man. But the woods were deep and too treacherous to close my eyes. As soon as I burst out the door
of the cottage, I saw a crow sitting on a branch peering down on me. I thought, not a crow, their voices are so ugly. I ran
on. Next I saw a bear napping in a clearing. I thought, not a bear, their bodies are so cumbersome. I ran on. Next I saw a
fox running through the grass. I thought, not a fox, they are hunted for sport. I ran on, hoping to make it to the village
before seeing another animal. But it was not to be.

“I saw a wolf, and my body began to burst its seams. Bones and organs crushed against one another, my skin ran with tingles
and trembles. I heard Zosia from far away, her wild voice dark on the wind, calling, ‘Choose your new form.’ But I could not.
I wanted to be none of those beasts. I thought perhaps if I did not choose, I would die, and maybe that would be better.

“I collapsed to the ground and closed my eyes, waiting for death. I did not die. When I arose, I was in the shape you see
now.”

Christine reached out and touched a large gray paw, fascinated. “A wolf.”

“Yes, and I can be any of the other animals as I choose. The only thing I cannot be is a man; the only thing I cannot be is
my true self.”

“But the enchantment can be broken?”

“Zosia made it all but impossible. I returned to her immediately to rail at her, to beg her, to threaten her with my teeth.
She was intractable.

“‘The enchantment will only be broken when you are foolish enough to fall in love again,’ she said. ‘The woman you love will
have to utter your true name.’”

“What is your true name?”

“I cannot tell you. To utter my own name would mean that the enchantment remains permanent. My love would have to travel to
Zosia’s woods and find it there, with great danger to herself. Nor can I tell anyone who has not asked directly that I was
once a man. As I have said, you are the first person in over seventy years who has asked.”

“But when you fall in love can’t you—”

“I am already in love, Christine.”

“And she’s never asked about you? About your past? About why you are as you are?”

“You assume she loves me in return. You assume that she is not too grand and not too proud to care about the heart of a wolf.
You know her, Christine, you know what she is like.”

Christine was puzzled a moment, then gasped. “Mayfridh. You’re in love with Mayfridh?”

“And so you understand, she will never ask me. She has only ever known me as I am. Besides, she is too . . . self-involved
to concern herself deeply in the fates of others.”

“Can I tell her?”

“No. Any direct efforts by me or by somebody acting for me are bound to make the enchantment stay forever.”

Christine bit her lip, not sure what to say. “Could you try to fall in love with somebody with more potential for helping
you?”

“You know that hearts do not behave rationally. At least, mine does not.”

Christine sat back, staring at him. “I’m so sorry. How can you stand being around her all the time?”

“I endure it, Christine, as best I can. I feel love, but none of a man’s desire, which is a small blessing. And I haven’t
given up hope altogether. I may live another three hundred years. Luck may yet be with me.”

Christine turned to the window and was surprised to see the sky brightening outside. “That’s weird. I thought it was afternoon
when I arrived.”

“It was.”

“But the sun’s coming up. It must be morning.”

“It is.”

Christine shook her head. “But what happened to night?”

“The Autumn Castle is morning or afternoon. Always either, never neither.”

She checked her watch. Ten hours had passed. “Oh, my God.”

“What’s wrong?”

She hurried to her feet. “I thought time must pass slower there.”

“Time here has no relation to time in the Real World.”

“I’ll have to get back home. Jude will be worried.”

Eisengrimm leapt from the bed and moved to the door, all dutiful counselor again. “Of course,” he said. “I will lead you back
to the woods.”

Hotel Mandy-Z was quiet when she arrived. She hoped Jude would still be working and hadn’t missed her. She pushed open the
door to his studio but he wasn’t there. The room was in darkness, but she could make out the shape of a large canvas on the
easel, and it appeared to have paint on it. So Jude had overcome his latest block. She switched the light on to look at it.

Gray. Black. Brown. And in the corner, at the bottom, on the right, a splash of mingled crimson and fuchsia.

She stared at it for long moments, then switched the light off and went upstairs, trying to get used to being back in her
own bones, aching and pulling. No light under the door from Gerda’s apartment. Maybe she had taken Mayfridh out drinking.
No light under the door from Jude’s apartment. Maybe he was with them, and hadn’t even missed her. She closed the door behind
her and went to the bedroom.

He was there, sound asleep, his hair tangled and disarrayed against the pillow, one warm, smooth shoulder exposed above the
covers. She sat lightly on the edge of the bed, still in her coat and boots, and reached out to smooth his hair. He stirred,
but then settled back to sleep.

“Please don’t fall in love with her, Jude,” she whispered in the dark. And then realized she had named the very thing of which
she was most afraid.

M
ayfridh stepped into the long shadows of afternoon in the autumn forest, hoping she was in time. It was Eisengrimm’s birthday,
and she had given orders for a banquet. It had slipped her mind completely—the Real World was so intoxicatingly charming—but
luckily Christine had reminded her with something she said.

“How well do you know Eisengrimm?” Christine had asked.

And the light had flickered in Mayfridh’s head. Eisengrimm. The birthday banquet. As much as she would have loved to stay
and explore the Real World more—shopping with Gerda was more exciting than she could give words to—Eisengrimm’s banquet was
important. He was her most trusted friend.

She hurried up through the castle gate and into the overgrown garden—where the leaves grew weary and the thorns grew conspicuous—skidding
to a halt near the great hall. Relax. Hilda had taken care of everything. The long table had been erected, the musicians from
the village were tuning their instruments, branches of evergreen decorated the walls.

“It’s all ready then?” she asked as Hilda bustled by.

Hilda paused, startled momentarily by Mayfridh’s appearance, then said, “Yes, yes, Queen Mayfridh. Eisengrimm is in your chambers.
I have just sent one of the cooks to fetch him. Take your seat, Majesty. You’re just in time.”

There was no time to change out of her Real World clothes, so she sat at the head of the long table in her red velvet minidress
and lace-up boots while others gathered around the sides of the room.

The pipes struck up a solemn tune and Eisengrimm slunk in, his head darting around to take in the scene.

“Oh, a banquet!” he exclaimed.

“Dear friend,” Mayfridh said, rising from her seat to greet him. “Happy birthday.”

“What have you done to your hair?”

“Sit down,” she said, holding a chair out to him.

He jumped into it. The other guests were seated and Mayfridh took her place at the head of the table while the village musicians
played.

“I don’t like it,” Eisengrimm said over the music.

“You don’t like what?” Mayfridh responded irritably.

“Your hair. It was such a beautiful color before.”

“But now it’s even more beautiful, do you not see?” She held a strand out. “Real World colors.”

Eisengrimm harrumphed and put a paw on the table to draw his trencher closer. “Not everything in the Real World is better
than our world.”

“Oh, Eisengrimm, be not so gruff. Of course I do not prefer the Real World. I just like its colors and its noises and its
smells.”

A servant came by and loaded their plates with hunks of roast meat. The musicians changed to a lively tune and voices in the
room grew loud, the roar of the fire grew hot. Mayfridh sipped her wine and for a moment compared this room to the crowded
jazz club her new friends frequented. Now it was hard to choose. She had always loved her own world so much, but there was
a sparkling edge to the Real World that was missing in this rural place; a sense of knowing and presence that was as smooth
and as toxic and as addictive as the cigarettes Gerda had introduced her to.

And, of course, there was Jude.

“Tell me of the Real World,” Eisengrimm said, licking gravy from his chops. “What have you done with your time?”

“I have met all of Christine’s friends, and I spend my time talking and drinking and shopping with them. They are all artists
and Jude paints the most wonderful pictures. They capture the very essence of the Real World.”

“Have you put aside any silly fancies towards him?”

Mayfridh thought about the collection of Jude’s possessions—a tarnished cuff link, an old T-shirt, and a wad of chewed gum—wrapped
safely in the bottom of her bag. “Of course.”

Eisengrimm fixed her with a yellow stare. “Really?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Christine wanted to know if you could perform love spells. I presume she suspects your interest.”

Mayfridh felt herself blush, Gerda’s words of admonishment still stinging.
You’ve got to learn to hide it better.
“I have since learned to control my interest, as I have no intention of acting upon it.”

“Good,” Eisengrimm said, “good.”

“But, Eisengrimm, I suspect Jude does not truly love Christine.”

“And why do you suspect that?”

“Because he . . . he has a secret.”

Eisengrimm’s snout creased into a sneer. “A secret?”

“Gerda said so, Christine’s friend. Gerda said that he doesn’t really love Christine and that he has a secret.”

“Gossip in the Real World is the same as gossip in our world. It should never be listened to, let alone repeated.”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes Eisengrimm was so righteous.

“I do not find it surprising that Jude loves Christine,” Eisengrimm continued. “She is gentle and rare and always sees the
best in people. It is on Christine that you should be focusing your attention.”

Mayfridh smiled. “Oh, Eisengrimm . . . but there is someone else in the Real World I wish to make contact with.”

“Who?”

“My parents.”

“Your parents are dead.”

“My
real
parents. My human parents.” For so many years she had forgotten about them, but now, running around in Berlin with her old
friend, memories of her Real World mother and father had begun to impress themselves upon her. “I miss them.”

“I would not advise it, Little May.”

“Why not? You advise against everything. Are you jealous of my enjoyment?” The music paused just as she raised her voice,
and Mayfridh realized a hundred pairs of eyes had turned to her.

“Oh, go about your business,” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

The music started again and the conversation bubbled once more. Mayfridh sank down in her seat. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

“I advise you for your own good, Mayfridh, not to spoil your fun. Time ticks on. The leaves are falling.” He indicated the
giant birch outside the mullioned window in the deep sunset. “When the last leaf falls from that tree, you will have to leave
your Real World parents behind, perhaps forever. It could be centuries before these worlds align again. You will forget them.
They will not forget you. Your mother and father have suffered enough. Do not make them lose you twice.”