I asked. But either the house didn't answer, or I didn't know how to listen.

The next few days were awkward. Madge had a general air of disapproval about her, but whether it was directed at me, or Anthony, or the situation in general, I really couldn't say. Josephine kept making me little figures, which I put in a row on my mantle. Nicholas was perpetually trying to refill my drink or carry things for me, and Aubrey snapped at anyone who looked at me like a jealous bulldog. Only Gerald seemed to take things entirely in stride.

I noticed basically none of this. I was in love.

Darren and I took lots of long walks on the grounds, or in the nearby park. The winter weather that had seemed so oppressive before now felt bracing and cheerful. Now that there were no secrets between us, we spoke more openly about our pasts. I told the story of the last six months from my point of view, and we looked back with nostalgia on how cute we were, those days after we'd first met.

"I was so into you, you have no idea," I told him on the way out to the shared workspace one morning. "I had no idea either. I figured I couldn't be attracted to a guy, so all those warm fuzzies were just regular old friendship."

"And you really are attracted to me? It's not just the necklace?"

"I really am. Even when I'm not wearing it." I had told Darren about the necklace's effect on Aubrey. "I think it was designed to magnify something that was already there."

"Can I try it?" he asked suddenly.

I stopped, then took a few steps at a jog to catch up. "I'm sorry, you want to try on the necklace?"

"Why not?"

"I mean... okay." I moved to take off the necklace.

"Not here. Let's wait until we get inside."

That gave me time to worry, of course. Why did he want to try out the necklace? Maybe it was the necklace's fault that my whole gender identity flipped. If Darren tried it on, would he wind up just like me, uncomfortable in his own body forever?

And yet, when we got to the workspace and took off our winter coats, I handed the necklace over without a murmur. I didn't feel quite so weird about Darren seeing my true form. I still preferred to keep it on, but he treated me the same regardless, and that was a nice feeling.

I watched with trepidation as Darren lowered the necklace over his head. Just as before, waves of change radiated out from it. His sweater, a rough wool knit in the style he favored, became finer and more feminine. His jeans tightened over new curves. In moments, I was looking at myself. Her eyes were wide, lips parted.

"Whoa. This is weird." He shifted his weight from side to side. "Yeah, this is super weird."

"Not every day you get to see how the other side lives, is it?" I asked in an attempt to be cheerful.

He bounced on his toes. "This is... I don't like this at all." He looked up at me. "And this feels normal to you?"

"It was a little strange at first," I replied a bit defensively. "But yeah."

Darren lifted the necklace off his neck. The glamour peeled away quickly, vanishing almost as soon as the cord cleared his head. He handed it back to me. "For me, it was like there was a bell in my head that was just clanging away, saying 'Wrong, wrong, wrong.'"

I slipped the necklace on again, and sighed in relief as my form changed. "Maybe you just have to get used to it."

"Maybe. Did it feel wrong like that to you?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't think it did. I mean, it was weird at first, sure. But the day after I got it, I spent all morning playing with it, seeing how it worked, checking myself out in the mirror. It felt great."

Darren pulled me close. "I think, my love, that speaks volumes."

I snuggled it, enjoying the scratchy feeling of the wool on my cheek. "I think you're right."

"Seriously, you walk around all day like that? On purpose?"

I swatted him playfully. "You know you love it."

He gave me a squeeze and moved away towards his workspace. "I won't deny it has an effect. But I feel like I owe you a favor just for putting up with a body like that. You really like it?"

"I really do."

My mood was lighthearted as I worked that morning. I put a few finishing touches on a canvas I'd been working on for the gallery, and set it aside. It would need to cure before I could varnish it, several weeks at least even with the fancy synthetic varnish I used. The problem was, every time I got it out to varnish, I discovered some other bit of touchup work that needed doing, and the clock reset.

Swearing once again that I was really, finally done, I got out a blank canvas I had prepared. My real purpose today was to try to replicate my one magical success, the repair of the crack in my room. If I could make such a change on command, perhaps I could do the same for myself.

In the front yard of the house, a tree had fallen in a storm the previous autumn. The tree itself was cleared away, but the stump had been left behind. Madge balked at the expense—she would spend a mint on supplies for us Fellows, but complained noisily about the prices of local contractors. I had offered to see what I could do about it, and she readily agreed.

Sasha the cat jumped up on my lap as I worked, and I stroked his back absently. I had a good visual memory, and I was able to sketch out the front of the house from memory. The stump occupied the middle third of the painting, thick and ungainly, with a sharp spike of wood one one side where it had torn as the tree fell.

The details began to sharpen, and I almost lost awareness of my surroundings. Now, how was I going to remove it? With the crack, it had not been enough to paint over it. I had to strip down the wall and paint each layer as if I were building the wall from scratch. I began to carve pieces of the stump away. A fine speckle of paint accumulated beneath it—sawdust, I decided. It felt as if each piece were being carted away individually.

Soon, the stump was gone, but I did not feel as if I had finished. I repaired the ground, adding sand, a layer of soil, and a roof of sod. It didn't quite match the grass around it yet, but spring would take care of that. Finally, almost as an afterthought, I painted the pieces I had carted away, far across the lawn next to the visitor parking lot. They would be easy enough to collect from there—assuming that anything had happened. I might have just wasted a good deal of paint on nothing at all.

I caught a movement from the corner of my eye. Sasha had been walking up the aisle, but saw me and darted away.

Wait.... not Sasha. I looked down. The cat was still in my lap. He looked up sleepily and meowed once.

"Darren, did you see Sasha just now?"

"No, I haven't... wait, isn't that him in your lap?"

"I thought... well, never mind. What have you been working on?" I walked over, noticing for the first time just how covered in paint I was. "I must look a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he said, kissing me on the forehead. Darren showed me a bucket full of little wire figures that he had made. They were simply built, just little twists of a dull gray wire, but the poses were somehow more expressive than the simplicity should have allowed.

"They're great," I said, holding one in my palm. "What are they for?"

"No idea," he said, tossing a few more in the bucket. "Just felt like making them. I'm sure they'll be good for something."

It was something I had learned about Darren—he had a very different approach to art than I did at times. While I had toyed around with sculpture and photography, the bulk of my time went into painting. I didn't like having too many projects going at once, either; I much preferred to start on a painting and work it to completion before starting the next—last minute touchups notwithstanding.

Darren, on the other hand, rarely knew what he was going to work on any given day. He would show up to his work space and pick up a drawing he had not touched in months, or dig through a pile of papers to find the exact one that had a diagram of something he wanted to build. I decided that if we wanted to stay together, we should never collaborate artistically.

"What about you?" he asked.

I took him around to the painting I had made. "What do you think?"

"An unusual choice of subject," he said diplomatically.

"It was for the magic, not the finished product," I replied. "If all went well, that stump in the front should be gone."

"Ready to head back? We can see if it worked on the way."

We put our winter gear back on and set off. The day had gotten darker. How long had we been in there? My stomach suddenly rumbled.

"I think I'm going to try tonight," I told him, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." My hand found his and squeezed, mitten to mitten. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to have this glamour. But... you know the way you felt when you put the necklace on? That's how I feel when I take it off."

Darren nodded slowly. "I thought I understood. But after trying your necklace out, I think I get it in a way I never could before."

"What if it doesn't work?" I said, voicing a fear I had kept quiet until now. "What if it's like your scars, and the magic won't let me?"

"Then you'll just have to figure out how to turn your own scars to silver, I guess."

I could tell my spell had worked before we got to the front of the house. Over by the parking lot was a neat stack of wood in all different shapes and sizes. I jumped up and down when I saw it. "Look, look!"

The lawn was patched just like I painted it, with a turf that had not yet grown to blend with the grass around. I knelt in front of it and picked up a pinch of sawdust. I had done it, and what's more, I had done it on purpose. I could do real, actual magic.

But what would happen when I tried to do it on myself? I couldn't wait to start. That night after dinner, I kissed Darren an early good night and ran upstairs to my own private workspace to try.