“This should make things clearer,” I said, not above a touch of melodrama. I reached out my hand and took the staff, thus breaking the spell that hid it. At the same time I dissolved the spell that camouflaged my power and began the shift that would return me to my usual part-feline form. I knew to Father’s mage sight I must have suddenly blazed with energy. A moment later the blaze faded away and I stood there, staff held in my clawed hand. My father gaped at me in shock. “Ashen, what… how…?”

I smiled, showing my pointed eyeteeth, and explained. “I told you the truth about what happened to me, but I left out a few crucial details at the end. Lord Morren did something that triggered my latent power and my Ritah ability. But I had to know, I just had to be sure that I was being welcomed for myself, and not for the magic’s sake.”

Father shook his head in amazement. “I am truly sorry for everything I’ve done to make you need such a reassurance. But by all the gods Ashen, you’ve got an aura so powerful I don’t know how you hid it. I’ve never seen any mage with an aura like that except the grand masters!”

I laughed then, delighted by his amazement and approval. “That isn’t the half of it,” I said, seized by a sudden urge to show off. “Take a look at this!” I leaned the staff against a nearby tree and started the shift. A moment later I was looking up at my father through the leopard’s eyes. I spared a moment this time to wonder exactly what happened to my clothes when I shifted like that. I filed the idea away for further research.

“A shapeshifter,” breathed my father. “I’ve head stories, but I never thought I’d see one, let alone that it would be my son.”

I grinned at him with a toothy feline grin. Then I changed back into my own shape. “Can you forgive my deception?”

“Of course! I need forgiveness far more than you do, son.”

I shook my head. “That’s all in the past. There’s nothing to forgive. Now come on, let’s go home,” I said, savoring the sound of that wonderful word. Home.

The next few days were almost entirely wonderful. We told Mother about my powers, and she was quietly pleased. Chris was immensely impressed by my shapeshifting ability and asked if I could show him how. I told him I’d try. After all, if I’d inherited the ability, why couldn’t he have it too? We spent many fun, if fruitless, hours in the garden trying it. We always gave up on the magic before long and ended up playing. I discovered the joys of being scratched behind the ears and rediscovered the joys of tag and hide-and-seek. (Chris informed me that shapeshifting and using my nose was cheating.) The best times though were the long hours I spent with my father in his workroom. Despite the fact that it was a more orderly version of Lord Morren’s, even to being perched in the third story of our home, I wasn’t troubled by bad memories. Working with my father was a pure joy, and nothing could taint it. We delved into magic together eagerly. We thought so much alike in so many ways, understood each other so well, and yet we were different enough to have different angles and different insights into the problems we investigated.

The source of those problems, however, remained the only blight on my otherwise happy existence. The house mark was annoying and I wanted it off, but the collar had continued to tighten over the last few weeks, and now was tight enough that it was beginning to interfere with my breathing. I worked through dozens of possible methods of removal with the meticulous care I’d learned during my university days, but the collar’s spells were interlaced and complex. The house mark was simpler. We found half a dozen possible solutions right off. It wasn’t a terribly complicated spell, but my father wasn’t happy with any of the ideas we came up with.

“What kind of sadist was this Lucius?” growled my father in irritation as we investigated yet another avenue of research. “Every method we find is going to cause you a lot of pain to use.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I just want the cursed thing off.” I really didn’t mind. The pain of removing the house mark wouldn’t be any greater than the pain of putting it on, and I knew I could stand that without much difficulty. Father, however, kept looking for an option that wouldn’t hurt me. “Dad, you’re not going to find an option that doesn’t involve pain. Lord Morren was exactly that, a sadist. Just pick one and get it over with.” I’d said as much before, but this time he seemed to believe it.

“All right. I don’t like it, but I guess that’s what we’ll have to do.”

“What are we waiting for?” I asked. “Let’s do it today.”