A quick peek under the stalls showed they were all empty of feet, so she had her existential crisis in front of the mirror over the sinks, which pumped in fresh water at will, just another example of the wonders of modern invention.

‘How much of someone’s personality comes from their brain, and how much from their hormones?’

The question sent cold spider legs crawling down her back, and she stared into her own reflected eyes, trying to take comfort in the fact that those, at least, were the same in both of her bodies. ‘Are my hormones the same as Sebastien and as Siobhan?’ That seemed impossible, simply because of the distinction in sex. Her brain itself might not even be the same. After all, everything else was different. ‘But injuries transfer over. And my blood is traceable in either form. So what does that mean?’

Unlike the frogs, she was not swapping between sexes—between different expressions of her own body. Which would have been mind-bending enough on its own. No, she was shifting into a different body entirely. ‘How much needs to change before I’m someone else? Even my name is different.’

She realized she was panting and leaned over to splash some cold water on her face. ‘Have I been feeling differently, thinking differently?’ She hadn’t noticed and wasn’t sure she could tell. After all, she was not an objective, outside observer.

For a moment, the stream of water sounded like a calm, insistent humming, and she jerked her head back, staring at it in alarm. She turned the faucet off, then snapped her fingers next to her ears to disrupt the phantom memory of sound, taking comfort in the agitated pounding of her heart.

Discovering the truth of her fears would take more than just awareness and introspection. Understanding the effects of such magic would require extensive study, hundreds of subjects monitored by objective outside agents as they underwent the same transition she had. But this, of course, was impossible for more than one reason.

She had continually reassured herself that she was the same person, that a change of bodies meant nothing about who she was on the inside, and in fact had felt bizarrely comfortable in either body, after getting over the initial shock. That comfort might be a sign to the negative, however, since it could have been an effect of the spell itself, meant to mitigate the chance of a mental breakdown.

She wiped her frigid, wet hands over the back of her neck, taking a perverse thrill in the shiver that wracked her body. Water dripped from her blonde lashes. ‘My consciousness is continuous between both forms. There’s no interruption. My memories are the same. It’s not as if I’m temporarily killing and later resurrecting either version of myself each time I switch. Even if the transformation is affecting my personality, I still consider me to be “myself” under the effects of alcohol or other substances. Why can’t this be the same? My name might change, and my body, but there is something deeper than that, something that makes me me, which is constant.’ The words felt right, but still, she was unsure.

‘There is no evidence of a soul,’ she admitted to herself. ‘And without that, what am I except for the consciousness created by my body? The consciousness which is dependent upon my body.’ When the Aberrant had taken control of her body, forcing her to calm, its effect had infected more than just her physical flesh. Her mind had begun to lose its grip, too. And what was she, if not her mind? ‘If I do not run my own mind, what runs it? If I don’t control my own thoughts, my own decisions, my own feelings, where is the barrier between “me” and “other?” Will I even notice if I cease to be myself?’

Though she had been trying not to think of it, blood and fire flashed across her mind’s eye. Squeezing her eyes closed, she pressed a knuckle into her temple until it hurt—until it felt like she would leave a bruise—but the pain pushed the memory away.

Her panic had grown too large to grasp entirely, and so, perversely, was settling into a dull dread instead. ‘That all may be true, but does it actually matter?’ She was at school, away from the string Aberrant that was once Newton. It couldn’t get her. And it was dead by now anyway, proper punishment for devouring Newton and killing those people. It couldn’t control, or consume, anyone.

And as for her body, she couldn’t be sure that she was feeling exactly the same as she would have, entertaining the exact thoughts she would be in her original form, but it felt authentic. If she had thought of these possibilities when she first discovered the effects of the amulet, she might have been more frightened at the implications, but she had been switching back and forth for months now and noticed no adverse effects. ‘Perhaps now is not the time to have a mental breakdown. There is nothing I can do about it, after all. I won’t give up the opportunities that Sebastien allows me, and I won’t throw away my past as Siobhan. If some part of my mind is lost and replaced every time, which isn’t necessarily the case—I don’t know how the artifact works, after all—at least my magic seems to be constant.’

When her fingers had stopped trembling, she wiped away the water, leaving her cheeks and nose red from the cold. She dug out a small jar of bruise balm from her bag and wiped it on her temple as a preemptive measure. Staring at her dark eyes in the mirror, she whispered, “I’m in control,” and when she was sure they seemed confident in that statement, she returned to the classroom.

Burberry gave Sebastien a half-sympathetic, half-exasperated look, then offered her a dose of anti-anxiety potion. “I get a few dozen who don’t have the stomach for dissection every term. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the woman said kindly.

Sebastien accepted the potion and returned to her desk, though her anxiety had nothing to do with the killing and dissecting of a magical frog.

“That was kind of her,” Ana murmured with a small smile. “Very discreet.”

Sebastien had no idea what Ana was talking about, too busy downing the potion in a single gulp. Its magic took effect quickly, but not before she had the sudden thought that this, too, was a mind-altering substance. Under the effects of the potion, she felt that she really had overreacted. The question of identity was a serious one with important implications, but it was not as though she was trapped in this body. If it really was affecting her mind, she should first decide if that was actually unacceptable rather than simply horrifying. If she found that it was unacceptable, she would eventually return to her original form for good. When she was ready.

To distract herself from her thoughts, Sebastien reached out for a topic of conversation. “Ana, with everything that’s happened, I forgot to ask if your little sister was alright, after you had to leave in such a rush last week.”

Ana, who was using a scalpel to remove the frog’s tiny lungs, didn’t reply for a few seconds. “She’s okay. I got her another artifact to wear that she can use to alert me if any more situations like that arise. It was Damien’s idea.”

‘I wonder where he got that one,’ Sebastien thought wryly, thinking of the bracelets they both wore. “Does your Cousin Whoever do things like this often?”

“Cousin Robbie. His father encourages him. Both my uncles take every opportunity to discredit or make Nat and me seem weak—to make us seem unworthy as heirs to the Gervin Family. They encourage their children to do the same. Alec could have turned out much worse, really. He’s nothing like Cousin Robbie. Uncle Malcolm and Randolph are hoping to convince my father to name one of them, or maybe their children, as heir.”

“But he wouldn’t actually do that, would he?”

Ana hesitated. “My father… Well, all three brothers have some antiquated views about the capabilities and ‘proper place’ of women.”

Sebastien snorted. “Really? But you’re a thaumaturge, same as the rest of them. Women might be physically weaker than men, but our—your magic is in no way inferior. Our magic is no different, nor our capability as leaders.”

Ana shrugged. “The truth doesn’t actually matter to a certain kind of person. ‘Women—so emotional. Weak mind, weak Will,’” she said, obviously quoting someone unpleasant. She sighed. “Really, it’s a remnant of our grandfather, and my mother doesn’t help the situation. She married into the Family, and—” Ana cut off, shaking her head as she used small scissors to snip away the bini frog’s intestines. “Well. In any case, my father has the option to choose his heir, and while he has made no actual declarations, I’ve seen the way things have been going over the last few years. I’ve tried to display my competence, but his brothers’ opinions carry too much weight.”

They were both silent for a few seconds, and then Sebastien asked, “Is that why you never wear skirts or dresses?”

Ana gave a short, sharp laugh. “I’ve been wearing pants at every opportunity since I first tried them as a child. Drove my mother spare, but eventually she gave up, except for special occasions. Perhaps it does have something to do with wanting to seem more capable, but really they’re just so much more comfortable and practical. Do you know how cold skirts are in winter? And have you ever tried to run without flashing your thighs?”

Sebastien coughed into her fist. “Well, I’ve never worn skirts. But I believe you.”

“My uncles have grown more aggressive with their campaign as I get older. I’m fine, I can handle it, but Nat… Now that I’m gone, she has no one to shield or comfort her. My mother tries, but she’s afraid of conflict and stepping outside of acceptable social boundaries, so sometimes she can be almost as bad as the rest of them. I think she’d prefer it if I could just marry a nice man who would take over running the Family while I indulge in hobbies and run a charity or something.” Ana got a little too violent with her frog, and its slippery kidney went shooting off onto the floor.

She hurried to retrieve the bean-sized organ before Burberry noticed, and when she returned she gave Sebastien a demure smile. “Everything’s fine overall, I’m just…frustrated. I feel helpless.”

Sebastien knew that smile was fake. She’d seen its overly sweet rays pointed at too many other people to believe it. Ana’s real smile was slightly lopsided, edging on a smirk. “Assuming you don’t want to be usurped by your uncles or one of your cousins, or to marry a man who will keep you as arm candy, you can’t just let them go on like this. You’re being passive, reactive. You need to be the aggressor if you want things to change.”

Ana set down her dissection tools, turning to look at Sebastien more fully.

Sebastien continued, peeling the frog’s skin off with careful slices of her scalpel. “You need a more permanent solution to your problem.” It was something she might not normally have said, if she wasn’t still shaken up—something honest.

Ana hesitated, then asked, “What kind of permanent solution?”

“Nothing that could backfire and harm you severely if it goes wrong. Nothing…illegal. Something that would cut off their source of power and influence at its roots. You know more about the situation and the people involved than me—you’re the one who would know what might work best.”

Ana was uncharacteristically silent for a while, before murmuring, “I would need help…”

“Mmm,” Sebastien agreed absently, distracted with brewing the scouring concoction.

After turning in a single vial for grading, Sebastien carefully packaged and kept the leftover components, since no one seemed to keep track of those things, or care. Some students just threw away the remainder, not caring that they were basically throwing away coin. Sebastien had accumulated a handful of random components this way over the course of the term. As they were filing out of the classroom, Sebastien wondered if she might secretly replenish other supplies from the University’s stock.

She was trying to calculate if the benefit was worth the risk when she heard someone say Newton’s name in a scandalized tone. Her head pivoted toward the source as if pulled by a string.

Question: Any speculation about how the amulet works?