The scent was that of dry, cool skin, leached of nearly all its natural odor, and an overabundance of soap. Lewis Andersen. Quentin turned his head to watch for the betrayal of movement. Leaves rustled, and a black-clad figure fled with a snapping of twigs and branches, noisily skirting the edge of the clearing until he was out of view.
Lewis Andersen. Quentin grimaced and finished dressing. He should have taken more care, but all he’d thought to do was Change and leave his human problems behind for a short, precious time.
Had Lewis seen him Change? He wasn’t the kind to report such knowledge to the world at large, but given his state of mind, Quentin very much feared such a bizarre sight would only worsen his condition. He’d surely see a shapechanger as a creature of the devil—if he weren’t convinced of his own madness.
Can you possibly make matters worse? he asked himself. He was very much afraid he knew the answer.
He walked back to the house, too preoccupied to sense Johanna until she met him on the garden path.
“Quentin! I’m glad you’re back.” She smiled—actually smiled at him, oblivious to what he’d done. His heart lodged in his throat.
“The goods are in the kitchen,” he said. “Oscar is somewhere about.” He summoned up his courage. “Johanna, you and I must talk—”
“Yes, we will attempt another session this afternoon. But I wished to tell you that Harper has agreed to let you observe my work with him, and we are about to begin.”
The timing could not have been worse. He was in no state to concentrate on Johanna’s techniques, not when he had so much to explain.
She saw his reluctance and misinterpreted it. “I know that our meetings have not been as productive as we hoped, but I believe you may benefit from this. Harper is another excellent hypnotic subject. All our work thus far has been most promising. This is the first time I will ask him to talk of the War itself.” She touched Quentin’s arm lightly; the hairs stood up all over his body. “He trusts you, Quentin, and that is why he wishes to have you present.”
“I wouldn’t desert a comrade in arms,” Quentin said with a humorless smile. “Lead on.”
The chaise longue with which Quentin had become so familiar was now occupied by Harper, who looked fully relaxed, his hands folded across his chest and his eyes closed. Quentin knew that emotion seethed under Harper’s skin; no human being could suffer as he had and mend so quickly.
Johanna insisted that the acceptance of one’s past held the mind’s true cure. Quentin’s stomach knotted with dread more intense than any he’d experienced when he was Johanna’s subject. God help him, he didn’t want to visit Harper’s past, see into Harper’s soul.
But it was too late to back out now. He took a second chair behind Johanna and concentrated on her routines as she darkened the room and led Harper into a trance. Her voice was rich and persuasive, tender as a mother’s.
The muscles in the former soldier’s face went slack. His breathing slowed, hands rising and falling with the steady motion of his chest.
“Harper,” Johanna said. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes.” Harper’s voice was deeper than usual, slightly slurred but intelligible.
“Good. You will now remember all the things we discussed and practiced in our previous meetings. You know there is nothing to fear.”
“Yes.”
“As we agreed, I am now going to ask you to remember the days when you served with the Twenty-second Indiana Regiment. As you talk of this time, you will feel no distress, nor fear, no pain unless that is what you wish. You will be able to separate yourself from all you experience if you find it too difficult. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would like you to think back to the time when you first volunteered to serve. How you felt when you joined, and why you made the decision to do so.”
Harper was silent for several moments. “I didn’t want to go, you know,” he murmured. “I never was much of one for fighting. Everyone in town knew that. My friends—they were all ready to join up as soon as the first shot was fired. No one said anything to me, but they looked. I always felt them looking. And all I wanted was just to stay home and blacksmith like my pa.” He sighed. “It was a good life, working with horses. I didn’t think I’d like shooting people.”